And now she furious grows, in wild despair She wrings her hands and throws aloft her hair. “Where runn’st thou?” thus she vents her deep distress, “Why shunn’st thou her that crown’d thee with success? Her whose fond love to thee could sacrifice Her country and her parent; sacred ties! Can nor my love, nor proffer’d presents, find A passage to thy heart, and make thee kind? Can nothing move thy pity? O ingrate! Canst thou behold my lost, forlorn estate, And not be soften’d? Canst thou throw off one Who has no refuge left but thee alone? Where shall I seek for comfort? whither fly? My native country does in ashes lie: Or were ’t not so, my treason bars me there, And bids me wander. Shall I next repair To a wrong’d father, by my guilt undone?⁠— Me all mankind deservedly will shun. I out of all the world myself have thrown, To purchase an access to Crete alone, Which, since refused, ungenerous man, give o’er To boast thy race; Europa never bore A thing so savage: thee some tigress bred, On the bleak Syrt’s inhospitable bed,