"True are his words, and he whom truth offends, Not with Telemachus, but truth contends; Let not the hand of violence invade The reverend stranger, or the spotless maid; Retire we hence, but crown with rosy wine The flowing goblet to the powers divine! Guard he his guest beneath whose roof he stands: This justice, this the social rite demands."
The peers assent: the goblet Mulius crown'd With purple juice, and bore in order round: Each peer successive his libation pours To the blest gods who fill'd the ethereal bowers: Then swill'd with wine, with noise the crowds obey, And rushing forth, tumultuous reel away.