Telling of capture; thus I serve her hopes,
The masculine-minded who is sovereign here.[n2]
And when night-wandering shades encompass round
My dew-sprent dreamless couch (for fear doth sit
In slumber’s chair, and holds my lids apart),
I chaunt some dolorous ditty, making song,
Sleep’s substitute, surgeon my nightly care,
And the misfortunes of this house I weep,
Not now, as erst, by prudent counsels swayed.
Oh! soon may the wished for sign relieve my toils,