First, what rumour avers, they gave her to us a virgin--
They lie on her. A light lady! be sure, not alone 20
Clipp'd her an husband first; weak stalk from a garden, a pointless
Falchion, a heart did ne'er fully to courage awake.
No; to the son's own bed, 'tis said, that father ascended,
Vilely; with act impure stain'd the facinorous house.
Whether a blind fierce lust in his heart burnt sinfully flaming, 25
Or that inert that son's vigour, amort to delight,
Needed a sturdier arm, that franker quality somewhere,
Looser of youth's fast-bound girdle, a virgin as yet.