I felt her lower to my bosom fall; And while her eyes had any sight at all, On mine she fix’d them; in her pangs still press’d My hand, and sigh’d her soul into my breast; Yet, being undeceived, resign’d her breath Methought more cheerfully, and smiled in death.”

With such concern the weeping hero told This tale, that none who heard him could withhold From melting into sympathizing tears, Till Aeacus with his two sons appears, Whom he commits, with their new-levied bands, To Fortune’s, and so brave a general’s, hands.