Slowly she sails, and scarcely stems the tides; The pressing water pours within her sides. His passengers at length are wafted o’er, Expos’d, in muddy weeds, upon the miry shore. No sooner landed, in his den they found The triple porter of the Stygian sound, Grim Cerberus, who soon began to rear His crested snakes, and arm’d his bristling hair. The prudent Sibyl had before prepar’d A sop, in honey steep’d, to charm the guard; Which, mix’d with pow’rful drugs, she cast before His greedy grinning jaws, just op’d to roar. With three enormous mouths he gapes; and straight, With hunger press’d, devours the pleasing bait. Long draughts of sleep his monstrous limbs enslave; He reels, and, falling, fills the spacious cave. The keeper charm’d, the chief without delay Pass’d on, and took th’ irremeable way. Before the gates, the cries of babes new born, Whom fate had from their tender mothers torn, Assault his ears: then those, whom form of laws Condemn’d to die, when traitors judg’d their cause. Nor want they lots, nor judges to review The wrongful sentence, and award a new. Minos, the strict inquisitor, appears; And lives and crimes, with his assessors, hears. Round in his urn the blended balls he rolls, Absolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls. The next, in place and punishment, are they Who prodigally throw their souls away; Fools, who, repining at their wretched state, And loathing anxious life, suborn’d their fate. With late repentance now they would retrieve The bodies they forsook, and wish to live; Their pains and poverty desire to bear, To view the light of heav’n, and breathe the vital air: But fate forbids; the Stygian floods oppose, And with circling streams the captive souls inclose.