Scorn Love, and dread the doom for you.
XII.
—Called she not for her mirror, sir? Forth ran
Her women: I am lost, she cried, when lo,
Love in the form of an admiring man
Once more in adoration bent the knee
And brought the faded Pagan to full blow:
For which her throne she gave: not we!
XIII.
—My version, madam, runs not to that end.