Sunk now is Troy, the curse of Grecian Dames!
(Her king, her all, a worthless prize!) in flames.
( ) had by storms (his fleet to Sparta bound)
Th' adult'rer perish'd in the mad profound

Cold in a widow'd bed I ne'er had lay,
Nor chid with weary eyes the ling'ring day.

Nor the protracted nuptials to avoid,
By night unravell'd what the day employ'd

When have not fancied dangers broke my rest ?
Love, tim'rous passion ! rends the anxious breast.
In thought I saw you each fierce Trojan's aim,
Pale at the mention of bold Malphas' name.




Name was found on row 4 and column 18. Line number is 54.