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 Love is not full of pity, as men say, But deaf and cruel where he means to prey.

And now she wish'd this night were never done, And sigh'd to think upon th' approaching sun; For much it griev'd her that the bright day-light Should know the pleasure of this blessed night, And then, like Mars and Ericine, display Both in each other's arms chain'd as they lay. Again—she knew not how to frame her look, Or speak to him, who in a moment took That which so long, so charily she kept; And fain by stealth away she would have crept, And to some corner secretly have gone, Leaving Leander in the bed alone. But as her naked feet were whipping out, He on the sudden clung her so about, That mermaid-like unto the floor she slid; One half appear'd, the other half was hid. Thus near the bed she blushing stood upright, And from her countenance behold ye might A kind of twilight break, which through the air , As from an orient cloud, glimps'd here and there;