'Poor instrument,' quoth she, 'without a sound, (1465)
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue; (1466)
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, (1467)
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong; (1468)
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes (1470)
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.