The Rape of the Lock. A mock-heroic poem. Canto I • Paragraph 216
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On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, And shapes her sorrow to the beldam’s woes, Who nothing wants to answer her but cries And bitter words to ban her cruel foes. The painter was no god to lend her those, And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong, To give her so much grief, and not a tongue.