Bacchus has placed him and some other drouths of his crew under guard, and limited them to so many drinks a day, for they were as dissipated as porters. I helped them to escape on condition that they should sail with us; which was a bargain. But they were more difficult to manage than a crew ashore after a three months' voyage. Imagine, now: they have gone off in search of Ariadne. By good chance they took the way to the beach. Scaramouch. Is Ariadne in the wood? Harlequin. Not at all: but they have all shipped such a sea of liquor that they would believe anything. Silenus told them to go and find Ariadne, and they straightway comprehended that she was in the vicinity. Scaramouch. I suppose we couldn't lay hands on her? Columbine. On Ariadne? you might as well try to lay hands upon a star. Scaramouch. Stripes and stirrups! a glorious idea! To have a well-preserved planet or a three-tailed comet on exhibition! Naxos and night! but that would be stupendous. For a caravan is the only plan; Hurry my toms and trulls! Ho-ye-ho, and a rumble-low! Pay your penny, and see the show: This is the age of gulls. [ They go out dancing. SCENE II.--The Sea-shore. Enter Ione. Ione. O wind, and do you wander all the night, Moving the broad, black clouds, heavy and high, And lifting, there and yonder, with a kiss, The wet plumes of the sea? O sweet west wind, Stay here and tell me secrets for a while! Whence do you come and whither are you bound? What music are you singing to yourself, Sometimes with muffled syllables that fall, And break their meaning on the hearts they touch? Is this the wind that turned against her mouth Forsaken Ariadne's wrathful sighs? I see her leaning on her clenched right hand, As she awakes and knows the flying sail, And thinks that even to her has man been false, Hatred and scorn--no sorrow, love, nor dread-- Starting in tears from both her angry orbs.-- My foot is wet! The tide is thronging up With jocund whispers, and the press of waves Scatters in pearly laughter on the sand. Surely the moon is arming for the night: O, now, I see her silver harness gleam Behind the dusky curtains of her tent! While the wind, swelling, sounds a trumpet-note, She showers her bounteous shadow on the sea, A largesse to the waves that toss their caps: And now she leaps into the lists of heaven.-- What creature in her shadow floats this way? It is a boat, and one sits at the helm! [Hides behind a rock. The sail is silken, and the hull, pearl-clad; It leaps from wave to wave: the sweet, salt spray, Like odoured tresses loosened in the dance, Streams from the prow. This is some god: he lands.-- If he be man, the men that I have known Are of a lower order. How the moon Shines on him! and his eyes drink in her light. He cannot know our world. Now on the sea, Now on the shore, he flings his looks about; And yet again, the moon. What if he be Endymion! O, would I were the moon! What! has he seen me?