A royal sceptre, gilded bright,
To show that o'er all hearts she reigns.
An orb in her left hand she bears,
For all the world her power must feel;
There Fortune prostrate lies; the dame
Halts with her foot the whirling wheel.
But Tarfe's shield is blank and bare,
Lest Adelifa should be moved
With jealous rage, to learn that he
Her Moorish rival, Celia, loved.