Book V, 177: The town-crier is supposed to speak

Lost! Love, wild Love! Even now at dawn he went his way, taking wing from his bed. The boy is thus,—sweetly-tearful, ever chattering, quick and impudent, laughing with a sneer, with wings on his back, and a quiver slung on it. As for his father’s name I can’t give it you; for neither Sky nor Earth nor Sea confess to the rascal’s parentage. For everywhere and by all he is hated; but look to it in case he is setting now new springes for hearts. But wait! there he is near his nest! Ah! little archer, so you thought to hide from me there in Zenophila’s eyes !