Of my captivity to mourn,
And all the weight and shame disgraced
Of such vile fetters to have borne.
Ever to my lorn mind return’d
Are thoughts of homage offer’d ill,
Disdains ill borne, affection spurn’d,
And sighs contemn’d, recurring still.
Then, ah, Enarda! all in vain
Thou think’st to please thee with my grief:
Love, who now looks on me again