And brought me to myself with much ado.
30They meant it well, to me it seem'd not so,
Much kinder had they been to let me go;
My anguish with my soul together came,
And in my heart burst out the former flame:
Since which, my uncomb'd locks unheeded flow,
Undrest, forlorn, I care not how I go;
Inspir'd with wine, thus Bacchus' frolic rout
Stagger'd of old, and straggled all about.
Put on, put on, the happy ladies say,