"... There was at hand A little plash that bowwed like a bowe that standeth bent, Where Scylla woonted was to rest herself, and thither went From rage of sea and ayre, what tyme the sonne amid the skye Is hotest making shadowes short by mounting up on hye. This plash did Circe then infect ageinst that Scylla came, And with her poysons which had powre most monstrous shapes to frame Defyled it. Shee sprincled there the jewce of venymd weedes, And thryce nyne tymes with witching mouth shee softly mumbling, reedes A charme ryght darke of uncouth woordes. No sooner Scylla came Within this plash, and to the waast had waded in the same, But that shee sawe her hinderloynes with barking buggs atteint."