For this alone I'm pleas'd I wore the crown,
To find with what content we lay it down.
Heroes may win, but 't is a heavenly race
Can quit a throne with a becoming grace."
Thus spoke the fairest of her sex, and cheer'd
Her drooping lord; whose boding bosom fear'd
A darker cloud of ills would burst, and shed
Severer vengeance on her guiltless head:
Too just, alas, the terrors which he felt!
For, lo! a guard!—Forgive him, if he melt—