And here their tender age might suffer peril, 40

 40

But that, by quick command from sovran Jove,

I was despatched for their defence and guard:

And listen why; for I will tell you now

What never yet was heard in tale or song,

From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape

Crushed the sweet poison of misuséd wine,

After the Tuscan mariners transformed,

Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,

On Circe’s island fell: (who knows not Circe, 50

 50

The daughter of the Sun, whose charmèd cup

Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,

And downward fell into a grovelling swine?)

This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks,

With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,

Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son

Much like his father, but his mother more,

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