“What fury did these sudden broils engage,
    How have their guiltless hands deserv’d your rage? 
    No Paris a stol’n dame to Troy conveys,
    No witch Media here her brother slays: 
    But slighted love must needs resenting be: 
    And midst the waves who is the raging he
    Now rob’d of arms that can attempt my fate? 
    By whom is simple death so little thought? 
    Let not your murderous rage out storm the seas,
    And dangers of the angry waves increase.”

When in a great heat Tryphoena had thus said, both armies stood still a while, and reviving the treaty of peace, put a stop to the war.  Our captain Eumolpus prudently us’d the occasion of her repentance, and having first severely chastiz’d Lycas, sign’d the articles, which were as follow.

“Tryphoena, you do from the bottom of your heart, as you are in perfect mind, promise never to complain of any injury you have receiv’d from Gito; nor mention, upbraid him with, or study to revenge directly or indirectly any action of his before this day; and to prevent your forcing him to an unwilling compliance, be it further agreed, that you never kiss, coll, or bring him to a closer hug, without the forfeiture of 100 denarii:  And for better security, that you always pay your mony, before you have your ware.

“Item, you Lycas, from the bottom of your heart, as you are in perfect mind; do promise never to reproach, or insultingly treat Encolpius, either in words, or gestures:  But, on the forfeiture of 200 denarii for each time you abuse him, behind his back.”

Conditions thus agreed on, we laid down our arms:  And, least any grudge might still remain, wipe off the memory of all things past, in repeated kisses.

All quarrels expir’d in universal shouts, and a sumptuous banquet that followed, spread equal mirth through the whole company:  The vessel rung with songs, the ensigns of their joy:  and the occasion of a sudden calm, gave other diversions:  Here a little artist bob’d for fish, that rising, seem’d with haste to meet their ruin:  There another draws the unwilling prey, that he had betray’d on the hook, with an inviting bait:  When looking up, we saw sea-birds sitting on the sail-yard, about which, one skill’d in that art having plac’d lime-twigs, made ’em his booty.  Their downy feathers, the air whirl’d about:  The other, the sea vainly tost too and fro.

Now Lycas began to be friends with me:  and Tryphoena, as a mark of her love, threw the bottom of her wine upon Gito:  At what time, Eumolpus, quite drunk, aim’d at rallery on those that were bald and branded; till having spent his life-less stock, he return’d to his verses; and designing an elegy on the loss of hair, thus began.

    Nature’s chief ornament, the hair is lost,
    Those vernal locks, feel winter’s blast: 
    Now the bald temples mown their banish’d shade,
    And bristles shine o’ the sun-burnt head.