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 And drunk to me half this Musean story, Inscribing it to deathless memory: Confer with it, and make my pledge as deep, That neither's draught be consecrate to sleep! Tell it how much his late desires I tender, (If yet it know not) and to light surrender My soul's dark offspring, willing it should die To loves, to passions, and society!

Sweet Hero left upon her bed alone, Her maidenhead,—her vows,—Leander gone, And nothing with her but a violent crew Of new-come thoughts, that yet she never knew, E'en to herself a stranger was; much like Th' Iberian city that War's hand did strike By English force in princely Essex' guide , When Peace assur'd her towers had fortified; And golden-finger'd India had bestow'd Such wealth on her, that strength and empire flow'd