Page 36 (1/2)

"Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,

A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine;

He but lye downe and bleede awhile,

And then Ile rise and fight againe"

Ballad of Sir Andrew Barton

But I could not reht was

hateful to reat, innocent, bold sunrise

unendurable Here there was no well to coolwith the

bitterness of rotto, had it flowed clear as the rivers of Paradise I rose, and

feebly left the sepulchral cave I took my way I knew not whither, but

still towards the sunrise The birds were singing; but not for e of their ohich I had nothing to

do, and to which I cared not to find the key anyWhat distressedquestion, How can beauty and ugliness

dwell so near? Even with her altered complexion and her face of dislike;

disenchanted of the belief that clung around her; known for a

living, walking sepulchre, faithless, deluding, traitorous; I felt

notwithstanding all this, that she was beautiful Upon this I pondered

with undiain