Bound is the wretch, but not 'mid grass and flower, Whose limbs beneath the hangman's lashes burn All the next morn: they prison in the tower Origille, till Lucina shall return;
To whom the counselling lords reserve the power To speak the woman's sentence, mild or stern.
Harboured, till Gryphon can bear arms, at court, Aquilant fleets the time in fair disport.