V.

The third I marked with melancholy eyes, A female head, that once a crown did wear, Cut off in life’s full bloom, now low she lies, The loose loves weeping o’er her early bier, Nor Virtue’s self denies a tender tear; So young a creature, wonder not she fell, And left the paths of chastity severe, Debauched by a court where lust did dwell Like treach’rous Circe, skill’d in many a witching spell.