Mark how, possess'd, his lashless eyelids stretch

Around his demon eyes! Corinthians, see!

My sweet bride withers at their potency."

"Fool!" said the sophist, in an under-tone

Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan

From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost,

He sank supine beside the aching ghost.

"Fool! Fool!" repeated he, while his eyes still

(Editor：law)