Mycene-fancy fraught, Lusts fond alarmes,
Cros’d eye-stard’d Sparta, rapt with Phrigian charmes:
And teare-rent Sophyre, Synon-like betrayd
What votall oathes, loves sterne fort, ne’er bewrayd
But high-bred drifts, the stormy fates, grim night
And gloomy Hellespont, rob’d Heroes right:
As Illions destiny, forc’d Numidias Queene
To gore a Scepter, a Diadem in teene:
So haplesse I belov’d, O passion strange!
May as amaz’d, admire, that time, this change.