And was caught into her, made one with her?

CRASSUS.
The scent is fierce and hot
Like a rutting panther's slot.
Yet you are matched with mirth,
Shaking each other like two wrestlers.

ALICIA.
What should stir
Your melancholy but laughter?

CRASSUS.
Look, before us
Light streams, a tremulous chorus.
Oh, it is vague and vacillating!

ALICIA.
Love,
Young love of maidens, is the soul thereof.
And in the midst, behold, O man!
The image of great Pan.

CRASSUS.
I fear him.

ALICIA.
Go and lie there, at his feet.
Lie supine! Lie on that moss-covered root,
While I draw forth the flute