Pierc'd by their insults, stung with bitter smart,
Sad fell poor GERTRUDE'S tears, high heav'd her heart.
Distant she flew, and siting on a stone,
Conceal'd, gave sorrow vent, and wept alone:
Till 'mid her grief, a virtuous just disdain
Came to her aid, and made her bosom glow;
With shame she burns, she blushes at her woe,
And wonders at her weakness and her pain.