ALEXANDER AND LYCON.

‘ What, no crown won,

These two whole years,

By man of fortitude beyond his peers,

In Thrace or Macedon?’

‘ No, none.

But what deep trouble does my Lycon feel,

And hide‘ neath chat about the commonweal?’

‘ Glauce but now the third time did again

The thing which I forbade. I had to box her ears.

‘ Twas ill to see her both blue eyes

Settled in tears

Despairing on the skies,

And the poor lip all pucker'd into pain;

Yet, for her sake, from kisses to refrain!’

‘ Ho, Timocles, take down

That crown.

No, not that common one for blood with extreme valour spilt,

But yonder, with the berries gilt.

‘ Tis, Lycon, thy just meed.

To inflict unmoved

And firm to bear the woes of the Beloved

Is fortitude indeed.’