Nor hence they part ill from the filthy place, Wherein it lay, Drusilla's corse is borne;
Her with her lord they in a tomb encase, And, with what means the town supplies, adorn.
Drusilla's ancient woman, in this space, Marganor's body with her goad has torn.
Who only grieves she has not wind enow, No respite to his torture to allow.