"To thy intreaties Psyche's life I give,
(Replied th' indulgent mother to her son;)
"But yet deform'd, and minish'd let her live;
"'Till thou shalt grant a better change foredone;
"Nor shall that change, but thro' death gates be won.
"This meed be thine, ore her and hers to reign!
"Already Nature puts her horrors on:
"Away! — I to my bow'r of bliss again!
"Thou to thy task of love, and voluntary pain. "