And fixed it deep within Amata's heart, That, thus envenomed, she might kindle rage, And sacrifice to strife her house and husband's age, Unseen, unfelt, the fiery serpent skims Betwixt her linen and her naked limbs, His baleful breath inspiring as he glides. Now like a chain around her neck he rides, Now like a fillet to her head repairs, And with his circling volumes folds her hairs. At first the silent venom slid with ease, And seized her cooler senses by degrees; Then, ere the infected mass was fired too far, In plaintive accents she began the war, And thus bespoke her husband:--"Shall," she said, "A wandering prince enjoy Lavinia's bed? If nature plead not in a parent's heart, Pity my tears, and pity her desert. I know, my dearest lord, the time will come, You would, in vain, reverse your cruel doom: The faithless pirate soon will set to sea, And bear the royal virgin far away! A guest like him, a Trojan guest before, } In shew of friendship sought the Spartan shore, } And ravished Helen from her husband bore. } Think on a king's inviolable word; And think on Turnus, her once plighted lord. To this false foreigner you give your throne, And wrong a friend, a kinsman, and a son. Resume your ancient care; and, if the god Your sire, and you, resolve on foreign blood, Know all are foreign, in a larger sense, Not born your subjects, or derived from hence. Then, if the line of Turnus you retrace, He springs from Inachus of Argive race." But, when she saw her reasons idly spent, And could not move him from his fixed intent, She flew to rage; for now the snake possessed Her vital parts, and poisoned all her breast. She raves, she runs with a distracted pace, And fills, with horrid howls, the public place. And, as young striplings whip the top for sport, On the smooth pavement of an empty court; The wooden engine flies and whirls about, Admired, with clamours, of the beardless rout; They lash aloud; each other they provoke, And lend their little souls at every stroke: Thus fares the queen; and thus her fury blows Amidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes. Nor yet content, she strains her malice more, And adds new ills to those contrived before: She flies the town, and, mixing with a throng Of madding matrons, bears the bride along, Wandering through woods and wilds, and devious ways, And with these arts the Trojan match delays. She feigned the rites of Bacchus; cried aloud, And to the buxom god the virgin vowed. "Evæ! O Bacchus!" thus began the song; And "Evæ!"[115] answered all the female throng. "O virgin worthy thee alone!" she cried; "O worthy thee alone!" the crew replied. "For thee she feeds her hair, she leads thy dance, And with thy winding ivy wreaths her lance." Like fury seized the rest: the progress known, All seek the mountains, and forsake the town: