Ambition lov’d, but ne’er to love was kind;
Vex’d thrones did more than quiet shades desire.
Her garments now in loose neglect she wore,
As suited to her wild dishevell’d hair.
In the fury of her passion she breaks out into execrations against the innocent.
Blasted be all your beauties, Rhodalind!
Till you a shame and terror be to sight;
Unwing’d be Love, and slow as he is blind,
Who with your looks poison’d my brother’s sight!