Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.

"What bird so sings, yet does so wail?
 O, 'tis the ravish'd nightingale--
 Jug, jug, jug, jug--tereu, she cries,
 And still her woes at midnight rise."

Of Saint Joan with child, the Duke of York says,
"She and the Dauphin have been juggling:
I did imagine that would be her refuge."

"Still at his mother's neck he fondly aims,
And strives to melt her with endearing names;
Yet still the cruel mother perseveres,
Nor with concern his bitter anguish hears.
This might suffice; but Philomela too
Across his throat a shining curtlass drew.
Then both, with knives, dissect each quiv'ring part,
And carve the butcher'd limbs with cruel art;
Which, whelm'd in boiling cauldrons o'er the fire,
Or turn'd on spits, in steamy smoak aspire:
While the long entries, with their slipp'ry floor,
Run down in purple streams of clotted gore."

"Cry out aloud on Itys! memory
That foster-brother of remorse and pain
Drops poison in mine ear,—O to be free"

Φιλομήλα
Athenian princess, beautiful sister
From pain came change

"In faith, I cannot: what would you have me do?
A juggling trick,--to be secretly open."