Upon which, e're Chrysis cou'd make a return, she snatcht a pocket-glass from her, and after she had practis'd all her looks, to try if any appear'd less charming than before, she took hold of her petticoats that were a little rumpled with lying on, and immediately ran to a neighbouring temple dedicated to Venus.
I could not tell what to say or do, but as if I had seen a vision, at last began with horror to consider whether I had been rob'd of any real joy.
So when a dream our wandring eyes betrays, And to our side some hidden gold conveys; Our busie hands the inviting treasure seize, And hid in guilty folds the fancy'd prize. Sweating we fear lest any conscious spy, Might search our bosom, and the theft descry. But with our sieep when all our joys are o're, And minds restor'd to what they were before, Concern'd, we wish the fancy'd loss regain'd, And with the image still are entertain'd.
This misfortune might make me justly think it not only a true vision, but real witchcraft; for I had so long lost my strength I cou'd not rise: My mind at last, a little freed, began by degrees to recover its vigour, upon which I went to my lodging, and dissembling a faintness, lay down on the bed. A little after Gito, being inform'd I was ill, came to me, much troubl'd; but to allay his concern, I told him I was only a little weary, and had a mind for a nap. Several things I talkt to him of, but not a word of my last adventure, for I was afraid because I knew he envy'd every one that had a charm for me, and to prevent his suspicion, throwing my arms about him, I endeavour'd to give a proof of my love; but disappointed of the expectation I had rais'd him to, he rose very angry from my side, and accusing my weakness, and strange behaviour to him, told me that of late he had found my chief favours were bestow'd in another's arms.
"My love to you, Gito," said I, "has ever been the same, but now my dancing-days submit to reason."
"Therefore," said he, laughing at me, "in the name of Socrates, I thank you, because like him, you propose to love me: Alcibiades, Encolpius, did not rise a virgin from that philosopher's side."
"Then," added I, "believe me, Gito, I hardly know I've any thing of man about me, how useless lyes the terrible part, where once I was Achilles."