Metin
For now's the time to stretch with whip and spur.
Think there's the Syren's den, the deadly bay,In the original Lotophages, that is, eaters of the fruit of a certain tree called Lotos. The Lotophages were a people of Africa, who inhabited an island called Menynge: Ulysses's party having tasted of this country's fruit thought no more of their return, so delicious did they think it. Pliny says the Lotos came from the country of the Nazomonians near the Syrtes, rocks, or rather shelves, upon the coast of Africa. The tree was as big as a pear-tree, and the fruit about the size of a bean, of a saffron color and extremely sweet, but it changed its nature if transplanted into Italy. The Sirens are reported to sing of this shore.
885
Make all the sail you can and scud away.
Your fond resentment quit, and condescend
To take your very rival for your friend.
Salute him kindly, though with deep regret;
Embrace him, I'll pronounce your cure complete.
890
Now to perform a true physician's part,
And show I'm perfect master of my art;
I will prescribe what diet you should use,
What food you ought to take, and what refuse.
Mushrooms of ev'ry sort provoke desire,
895
Salacious rockets set your veins on fire;
The plant I recommend is wholesome rue,
It clears the sight and does the blood subdue:
But, in a word, of all the herbs that grow,
Take only such as keep the body low.
900
If my opinion you would have of wine,
It quenches love, and does to love incline.
A little breath of wind but fans the fire,
