Worse than the viper’s sting its teeth did wound
The wretch who felt it soon behov’d to die;
Nor could physicians ever yet be found
Who might a certain antidote apply:
Even they whose skill had sav’d a mighty host,
Against its bite no remedy could boast.
Revengeful Mey, her fury to appease,
And him destroy who durst her passion slight,
Feign’d to be stricken with a dire disease,
And call’d the hopeless Albin to her sight: