LIV.
Astolpho blew, still watchful of surprise,
Weening to see the engine sprung: fast flew
The giant,—as if heart as well as eyes
The thief had lost,—nor whitherward he knew:
Such is his fear, he kens not as he flies,
How his own covert mischief to eschew:
He runs into the net, which closing round,
Hampers the wretch, and drags him to the ground.
LV.
Astolpho, who beholds his bulky prey
Fall bodily, drives thither at full speed,
Secure himself, and, bent—to make him pay
The price of slaughtered thousands—quits his steed.
Yet after, deems a helpless wight to slay
No valour were, but rather foul misdeed:
For him, arms, neck, and feet, so closely tied,
He could not shake himself, the warrior spied.
LVI.
With subtle thread of steel had Vulcan wrought
The net of old, and with such cunning pain,
He, who to break its weakest mesh had sought,
Would have bestowed his time and toil in vain.
It was with this he Mars and Venus caught,
Who, hands and feet, were fettered by the chain:
Nor did the jealous husband weave the thread
For aught, but to surprise that pair in bed.
