Chapter 37

The queen, whom sense of honour could not move, No longer made a secret of her love, But call’d it marriage, by that specious name To veil the crime and sanctify the shame. The loud report thro’ Libyan cities goes. Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows: Swift from the first; and ev’ry moment brings New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings. Soon grows the pigmy to gigantic size; Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies. Inrag’d against t…