A destin’d goat shall on thy altar lye,
    And the horn’d parent of my flock shall dye. 
    A sucking pig appease thy injur’d shrine,
    And hallow’d bowls o’re-flow with generous wine. 
    Then thrice thy frantick votaries shall round
    Thy temple dance, with youth and garlands crown’d,
    In holy drunkenness thy orgies sound.”

While I was thus at prayers, an old woman, with her hair about her eyes, and disfigur’d with a mournful habit, coming in, disturb’d my devotions; when taking hold of me, she drew all fear out of the entry; and “what hag,” said she, “has devour’d your manhood?  Or what ominous carcase have you stumbl’d over in your nightly walks?  You have not acquitted your self above a boy; but faint, weak, and like a horse o’recharg’d in a steep, tyr’d have lost your toyl and sweat; nor content to sin alone, but have unreveng’d against me, provokt the offended gods?”

When leading me, obedient to all her commands, a second time to the cell of a neighbouring priestess of Priapus, she threw me upon the bed, and taking up a stick that fastened the door, reveng’d her self on me, that very patiently receiv’d her fury:  and at the first stroak, if the breaking of the stick had not lessned its force, she might have broke my head and arm.

I groan’d, and hiding with my arm my head, in a flood of tears lean’d on the pillow:  Nor did she then, less troubled, sit on the bed, and began in a shrill voice, to blame her age, till the priestess came in upon us; and “what,” said she, “do you do in my chappel, as if some funeral had lately been, rather than a holy-day, in which, even the mournful are merry?”

“Alas, my Enothea!” said she, “this youth was born under an ill star; for neither boy nor maid can raise him to a perfect appetite; you ne’re beheld a more unhappy man:  In his garden the weak willow, not the lusty cedar grows; in short, you may guess what he is, that cou’d rise unblest from Circe’s bed.”

Upon this, Enothea fixt her self between us, and moving her head a while; “I,” said she, “am the only one that can give remedy for that disease; and not to delay it, let him sleep with me to night; and next morning, examine how vigorous I shall have made him.

  “’All Nature’s works my magick powers obey,
    The blooming earth shall wither and decay,
    And when I please, agen be fresh and gay. 
    From rugged rocks, I make sweet waters flow,
    And raging billows to me humbly bow. 
    With rivers, winds, when I command, obey,
    And at my feet, their fans contracted lay,
    Tygers and dragons too, my will obey. 
    But these are small, when of my magick verse,
    Descending Cynthia does the power confess. 
    When my commands, make trembling Phoebus reign,
    His fiery steeds, their journey back again. 
    Such power have charms, by whose prevailing aid
    The fury of the raging bulls