" "To whom conferr'd a peacock's indecent, A squirrel's harsh, a phoenix too frequent.

That night, even more so than the preceding one, the butterflies beat their wings, and the passionate phoenixes were convulsed.

Nay, nor the unmatched phoenix lives anew, Unless she burn: if then I am distraught By fire, I may to better life be brought Like those whom death restores nor years undo.

Why could she not meet some charming companion, some phoenix worthy of her?