From stately Ilion (whose proud-reared wals
Seem'd to controule the cloudes, till Vulcan darted
Against their Tower his burning fier-bals)
When sweet Cassandra (leauing her soft bed)
In seemely sort her selfe apparelled.
And hearing that her honourable Sire,
(Old princely Pryamus Troy's aged King)
Was gone into Ioues Temple, to conspire
Against the Greekes, (whom he to war did bring)
Shee, (like a Furie), in a bedlam rage,