Nor shall our cups make any guilty men: But, at our parting, we will be, as when We innocently met. No simple word, That shall be utter'd at our mirthful board, Shall make us sad next morning: or affright The liberty, that we'll enjoy tonight.
In tears she utter'd as the frozen snow Touch'd by the spring's mild ray, begins to flow, So just began to melt his stubborn soul, As mild-ray'd pity o'er the tyrant stole; But destiny forbade: with eager zeal, Again pretended for the public weal, Her fierce accusers urged her speedy doom; Again dark rage diffused its horrid gloom O'er stern Alonzo's brow: swift at the sign, Their swords unsheathed around her brandish'd shine. O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain, By men of arms a helpless lady slain!william julius mickle
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