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After the fiercest pangs of hot desire,
Between Panthea's rising breasts
His bending head Philander rests,
Thoug vanquished, yet unknowing to retire,
Close hugs the charmer, and, ashamed to yield,
Though he has lost the day, still keeps the field.

When, with a sigh, the fair Panthea said,
'What pity 'tis, ye gods, that all
The bravest warriors soonest fall!'
Then, with a kiss, she gently raised his head,
Armed him again for a fight, for nobly she
More loved the combat than the victory.

Then, more enraged for being beat before,
With all his strength he does prepare
More fiercely to renew the war;
Nor ceases till that noble prize he bore;
Even her such wonderous courage did surprise;
She hugs the dart that wounded her, and dies.

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