A she (than Hector's parent longer aged,Sister to Cumae's Sibyl seemeth me;Equal to thee whom, to his home returned,Theseus found lying in the fosse a-cold!)Hither with tottering gait is wont to come;And, wrinkled hands upraising to the stars,Begs that she'll never fail a yard to find;And, as yester'een she prayed ere daylight fledOne of three teeth she happened out to crache.'Bear it afar (cried I) and let it lurkBeneath thy tattered robe and tawny stole;(Fen as 'tis ever wont); and dread the fightOf meagre jaws which ope with such a gape--By hairy nostrils capped and eminent nose--Thou hadst deemed to see an Epicurean yawn.'