But whence, ye furies, claims a third his share?"Enrag'd I spoke, and o'er her cheeks were spreadSwift newborn glories in a sudden red;Such blushes on the bridal night adornThe trembling virgin; such the rising morn.So sweet a hue the lab'ring Cynthia shows,Or the fair lily damask'd by the rose;Or iv'ry, which time's yellow taint defies,When twice enrich'd with proud Assyrian dies:Such were her looks, and a diviner graceHad never brighten'd that enchanting face.She cast her eyes down on the humble ground;Her eyes, so cast, an unknown sweetness found.Mournful her looks; her mournful looks becameShining thro' grief, and beautiful in shame.I rush'd, resolv'd her golden locks to tear,And with mad violence disrobe the fair;But as I viewed her face, th' extended handShrunk back, nor hearken'd to the harsh command.Others protection seek by dint of arms,