Kitap 3
Some beast he thinks he in the bushes hears,
And straight his arrows and his bow prepares.
Hold, hold, unhappy youth!-I call in vain;
With thy own hand thou hast thy Procris slain
" Me, me," she cries, " thou'st wounded with thy dart;
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But Cephalus was wont to wound this heart.
Yet lighter on my ashes earth will lie,
Since, tho' untimely, I unrivall'd die!
Come, close with thy dear hand my eyes in death;
Jealous of air, to air I yield my breath."
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Close to his heavy heart her cheek he laid,
And wash'd with streaming tears the wound he made;
At length the springs of life their currents leave,
And her last gasp her husband's lips receive.
Now to pursue our voyage we must provide,
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Till safe to port our weary bark we guide.
You may expect, perhaps, I now should teach
What rules to treats and entertainments reach.
Come not the first, invited to a feast;
Rather come last, as a more grateful guest,
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