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 Neptune was angry that he gave no ear, And in his heart revenging malice bare: He flung at him his mace, but as it went, He call'd it in, for Love made him repent. The mace returning back his own hand hit, As meaning to be veng'd for darting it. When this fresh bleeding wound Leander view'd, His colour went and came, as if he rued The grief that Neptune felt. In gentle breasts Relenting thoughts, remorse and pity rests; And who have hard hearts and obdurate minds, But vicious, hare-brain'd and illiterate hinds? The god seeing him with pity to be mov'd, Thereon concluded that he was belov'd. (Love is too full of faith, too credulous, With folly and false hope deluding us;) Wherefore Leander's fancy to surprise, To the rich Ocean for gifts he flies. 'Tis wisdom to give much, a gift prevails When deep persuading oratory fails.

By this Leander being near the land, Cast down his weary feet and felt the sand. Breathless albeit he were, he rested not, Till to the solitary tower he got: