BOOK ONE. 17 He made his vengeance good, — Bore off the lambkin to the wood, And there, without a jury, Judged, slew, and ate her in his fury. XI. THE MAN AND HIS IMAGE.^^ TO M. THE DUG DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. A MAN who had no rivals in the love Which to himself he bore, Esteemed his own dear beauty far above What earth had seen before. More than contented in his error, He lived the foe of every mirror. Officious fate, resolved our lover From such an illness should recover, Presented always to his eyes The mute advisers which the ladies prize, — Mirrors in parlours, inns, and shops ; Mirrors the pocket furniture of fops ; Mirrors on every lady's zone,^* From which his face reflected shone. What could our dear Narcissus do ? From haunts of men he now withdrew, On purpose that his precious shape From every mirror might escape.
