Valmiki Ramayana 3.43.28

3.43.28

upaśṛṇvantu me sarve sākṣibhūtā vanecarāḥ
nyāyavādī yathā vākyam ukto 'haṃ paruṣaṃ tvayā

His calm reply he gently made:
'No words have I to answer now:
My deity, O Queen, art thou.
But 'tis no marvel, dame, to find
Such lack of sense in womankind.
Throughout this world, O Maithil dame,
Weak women's hearts are still the same.
Inconstant, urged by envious spite,
They sever friends and hate the right.
I cannot brook, Videhan Queen,
Thy words intolerably keen.
Mine ears thy fierce reproaches pain
As boiling water seethes the brain.
And now to bear me witness all
The dwellers in the wood I call,
That, when with words of truth I plead,
This harsh reply is all my meed.
Ah, woe is thee! Ah, grief, that still
Eager to do my brother's will,
Mourning thy woman's nature, I
Must see thee doubt my truth and die.
I fly to Ráma's side, and Oh,
May bliss attend thee while I go!
May all attendant wood-gods screen
Thy head from harm, O large-eyed Queen
And though dire omens meet my sight
And fill my soul with wild affright,
May I return in peace and see
The son of Raghu safe with thee!'
The child of Janak heard him speak,
And the hot tear-drops down her cheek,
Increasing to a torrent, ran,
Aa thus once more the dame began:
'O Lakshman, if I widowed be
Godávan's** flood shall cover me,
Or I will die by cord, or leap,
Life weary, from yon rocky steep;