Once more in adoration bent the knee,

And brought the faded Pagan to full blow:

For which her throne she gave: not we!

- My version, madam, runs not to that end.

A certain madness of an hour half past,

Caught her like fever; her just lord no friend

She fancied; aimed beyond beauty, and thence grew

The prim acerbity, sweet Love's outcast.

(Editor：data)