Her absence thee besottes: each hower, each hower
Of staie, to thee impatient seemes an age.
Enough of conquest, praise thou deem’st enough,
If soone enough the bristled fieldes thou see
Of fruitfull Ægipt, and the stranger floud
Thy Queenes faire eyes (another Pharos) lights.
Returned loe, dishonoured, despisde,
In wanton loue a woman thee misleades
Sunke in foule sinke: meane while respecting nought
Thy wife Octauia and her tender babes,