They found the careless host dispers’d upon the plain, Who, gorg’d, and drunk with wine, supinely snore.
The god was wroth, and at his temples threw A branch in Lethe dipp’d, and drunk with Stygian dew: The pilot, vanquish’d by the pow’r divine, Soon clos’d his swimming eyes, and lay supine.
Thou see’st the foe secure; how faintly shine Their scatter’d fires! the most, in sleep supine Along the ground, an easy conquest lie: The wakeful few the fuming flagon ply; All hush’d around.
On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies; His vest and armor are the victor’s prize.
Backward he fell; and, as his fate design’d, The ruins of an altar were behind: There, pitching on his shoulders and his head, Amid the scatt’ring fires he lay supinely spread.
" ’Not unreveng’d Ulysses bore their fate, Nor thoughtless of his own unhappy state; For, gorg’d with flesh, and drunk with human wine While fast asleep the giant lay supine, Snoring aloud, and belching from his maw His indigested foam, and morsels raw; We pray; we cast the lots, and then surround The monstrous body, stretch’d along the ground: Each, as he could approach him, lends a hand To bore his eyeball with a flaming brand.