XLV.

His bandage slipped down into a cravat-- His wings subdued to epaulettes--his quiver Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at His side as a small sword, but sharp as ever-- His bow converted into a cocked hat-- But still so like, that Psyche were more clever Than some wives (who make blunders no less stupid), If she had not mistaken him for Cupid.