Had minister’d so oft the bread of life,
The circumcised apostate did not shame
To shew in open day his turban’d head.
The Queen too, Egilona, one exclaim’d;
Was she not married to the enemy,
The Moor, the Misbeliever? What a heart
Were hers, that she could pride and plume herself
To rank among his herd of concubines,
Having been what she had been! And who could say
How far domestic wrongs and discontent