Come from the gloomy tun with merry shine.

Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood,

Each shrining in the midst the image of a God.

When in an antichamber every guest

Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd,

By minist'ring slaves, upon his hands and feet,

And fragrant oils with ceremony meet

Pour'd on his hair, they all mov'd to the feast

(Editor：art)