Valmiki Ramayana 2.9.46

2.9.46

athaitad uktvā vacanaṃ sudāruṇaṃ nidhāya sarvābharaṇāni bhāminī
asaṃvṛtām āstaraṇena medinīṃ tadādhiśiśye patiteva kinnarī

The royal lady wounded through
The bosom with the darts that flew
Launched from the hump-back's tongue
Pressed both her hands upon her side,
And o'er and o'er again she cried
With wildering fury stung:
'Yes, it shall be thy task to tell
That I have hurried hence to dwell
In Yama's realms of woe,
Or happy Bharat shall be king,
And doomed to years of wandering
Kaus'alyá's son shall go.
I heed not dainty viands now
Fair wreaths of flowers to twine my brow,
Soft balm or precious scent:
My very life I count as naught,
Nothing on earth can claim my thought
But Ráma's banishment.'
She spoke these words of cruel ire;
Then stripping off her gay attire,
The cold bare floor she pressed.
So, falling from her home on high,
Some lovely daughter of the sky
Upon the ground might rest.
With darkened brow and furious mien,
Stripped of her gems and wreath, the queen
In spotless beauty lay,
Like heaven obscured with gathering cloud,
When shades of midnight darkness shroud
Each star's expiring ray.