That all who saw fell doting on her; but
Herself so icy-cruel, that her heart
Froze dead all those her eyes had set on fire.
Whom the just God who walk’d that early world,
By right-revenging metamorphosis
Changed to a thing so abject-amorous,
She grovels on the ground to catch at any
Wither’d old trunk or sapling, in her way:
So little loved as loathed, for strangling those
Whom once her deadly-deathless arms enclose.