Thy breast and lifeless by thy husband fall,
Like that same bird that, full up to the throat,
Swallows the little pebbles of the sand,
And, soaring high aloft upon her wings,
Suddenly closes them and drops down dead
Near her dead lover, where the body bursts.
But this, if you find hard, run with thy life
To this our safe abode, where willingly
The fun'ral pyre we, with our hands, will raise
And feed the flames thy body to consume.