look,
  Whom straggling in the neighbouring fields he took. 
  With fumes of wine the little captive glows,
  And nods with sleep, and staggers as he goes.
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     ’I viewed him nicely, and began to trace
  Each heavenly feature, each immortal grace,
  And saw divinity in all his face. 
  “I know not who,” said I, “this god should be;
  But that he is a god I plainly see: 
  And thou, whoe’er thou art, excuse the force
  These men have used; and, oh! befriend our course!”
  “Pray not for us,” the nimble Dictys cried,
  Dictys, that could the main-top-mast bestride,
  And down the ropes with active vigour slide.
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  To the same purpose old Epopeus spoke,
  Who overlooked the oars, and timed the stroke;
  The same the pilot, and the same the rest;
  Such impious avarice their souls possessed. 
  “Nay, heaven forbid that I should bear away
  Within my vessel so divine a prey,”
  Said I; and stood to hinder their intent: 
  When Lycabas, a wretch for murder sent
  From Tuscany, to suffer banishment,
  With his clenched fist had struck me overboard,
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  Had not my hands, in falling, grasped a cord. 
     ’His base confederates the fact approve;
  When Bacchus (for ’twas he) began to move,
  Waked by the noise and clamours which they raised;
  And shook his drowsy limbs, and round him gazed: 
  “What means this noise?” he cries; “am I betrayed? 
  All! whither, whither must I be conveyed?”
  “Fear not,” said Proreus, “child, but tell us where
  You wish to land, and trust our friendly care.” 
  “To Naxos then direct your course,” said he;
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  “Naxos a hospitable port shall be
  To each of you, a joyful home to me.” 
  By every god that rules the sea or sky,
  The perjured villains promise to comply,
  And bid me hasten to unmoor the ship. 
  With eager joy I launch into the deep;
  And, heedless of the fraud, for Naxos stand: 
  They whisper oft, and beckon with the hand,
  And give me signs, all anxious for their prey,
  To tack about, and steer another way.
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  “Then let some other to my post succeed,”
  Said I, “I’m guiltless of so foul a deed.” 
  “What,” says Ethalion, “must the ship’s whole crew
  Follow your humour, and depend on you?”
  And straight himself he seated at the prore,
  And tacked about, and sought another shore. 
     ’The beauteous youth now found himself betrayed,
  And from the deck the rising waves surveyed,
  And seemed to weep, and as he wept he said;
  “And do you thus my easy faith beguile?
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  Thus do you bear me to my native isle? 
  Will such a multitude of men employ
  Their strength against a weak, defenceless boy?”
     ’In vain did I the godlike youth deplore,
  The more I begged, they thwarted me the more. 
  And now by all the gods in heaven that