By rivals deceitful and dark, and by kindred deboshed and debased.
She once was a proud reigning beauty, who now is a maid all forlorn,
As hopeless and helpless, and tearful as Ruth midst the alien corn.
Or poor Proserpine snatched by dark Pluto afar from the day and the light;
Torn away—like this maiden—from Ceres, and wrapt—like this maiden—in night.
Perchance she was just a bit haughty in virginal safety and pride;
No rival too near her high throne, Prince Fortunio aye at her side;
But now a poor Perdita, prone at the feet of her foes she lies bound,
And that melodramatic thud-thud draweth near—a most menacing sound!
Ah! sure 'twas enough to deprive the Maid of Protection, her trust!