The scene is chang'd indeed; before her eyes
Ill boding looks and unknown horrors rise:
For pomp and splendour, for her guard and crown,
A gloomy dungeon, and a keeper's frown:
Black thoughts, each morn, invade the lover's breast,
Each night, a ruffian locks the queen to rest.
Ah mournful change, if judg'd by vulgar minds!
But Suffolk's daughter its advantage finds.
Religion's force divine is best display'd
In deep desertion of all human aid: