This saying, from his hated sight she fled;
Conducted by her damsels to her bed;
Yet restless she arose, and looking out,
Beholds the fleet, and hears the seamen shout
When great Aeneas pass’d before the guard, 110
To make a view how all things were prepared. 
Ah, cruel Love! to what dost thou enforce
Poor mortal breasts!  Again she hath recourse
To tears and prayers, again she feels the smart
Of a fresh wound from his tyrannic dart. 
That she no ways nor means may leave untried,
Thus to her sister she herself applied: 
’Dear sister, my resentment had not been
So moving, if this fate I had foreseen: 
Therefore to me this last kind office do, 120
Thou hast some int’rest in our scornful foe;
He trusts to thee the counsels of his mind,
Thou his soft hours, and free access canst find;
Tell him I sent not to the Ilian coast
My fleet to aid the Greeks; his father’s ghost
I never did disturb; ask him to lend
To this, the last request that I shall send,
A gentle ear; I wish that he may find
A happy passage, and a prosp’rous wind. 
The contract I don’t plead, which he betray’d, 130
Nor that his promised conquest be delay’d;
All that I ask is but a short reprieve,
Till I forget to love, and learn to grieve;
Some pause and respite only I require,
Till with my tears I shall have quench’d my fire. 
If thy address can but obtain one day
Or two, my death that service shall repay.’ 
Thus she entreats; such messages with tears
Condoling Anne to him, and from him bears: 
But him no prayers, no arguments can move; 140
The Fates resist, his ears are stopp’d by Jove. 
As when fierce northern blasts from th’Alps descend,
From his firm roots with struggling gusts to rend
An aged sturdy oak, the rattling sound
Grows loud, with leaves and scatter’d arms the ground
Is overlaid; yet he stands fixed; as high
As his proud head is raised towards the sky,
So low t’wards hell his roots descend.  With prayers
And tears the hero thus assail’d, great cares
He smothers in his breast, yet keeps his post, 150
All their addresses and their labour lost. 
Then she deceives her sister with a smile: 
’Anne, in the inner court erect a pile;
Thereon his arms and once-loved portrait lay,
Thither our fatal marriage-bed convey;
All cursed monuments of him with fire
We must abolish (so the gods require).’ 
She gives her credit for no worse effect
Than from Sichaeus’ death she did suspect,
And her commands obeys. 160
Aurora now had left Tithonus’ bed,
And o’er the world her blushing rays did spread;
The Queen beheld, as soon as day appear’d,
The navy under sail, the haven clear’d;
Thrice with her hand her naked breast she knocks,