No spot or blame behind; which gives me hope That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream, Waking thou never wilt consent to do. Be not disheartened, then, nor cloud those looks, That wont to be more cheerful and serene Than when fair Morning first smiles on the world; And let us to our fresh employments rise Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers, That open now their choicest bosomed smells, Reserved from night, and kept for thee in store.”

So cheered he his fair spouse, and she was cheered, But silently a gentle tear let fall From either eye, and wiped them with her hair; Two other precious drops that ready stood, Each in their crystal sluice, he, ere they fell, Kissed as the gracious signs of sweet remorse, And pious awe, that feared to have offended.