Than self, far fondlier, than all his friends,She now Where four roads fork, and wind the wyndsHusks the high-minded scions Remus-sprung.

Not if I feigned me that guard of Crete,Not if with Pegasèan wing I sped,>Or Ladas I or Perseus plumiped,Or Rhesus borne in swifty car snow-white:Add the twain foot-bewing'd and fast of flight,And of the cursive' winds require the blow: