He thence departs a heavy convertite; (744)
She there remains a hopeless castaway; (745)
He in his speed looks for the morning light; (746)
She prays she never may behold the day, (747)
'For day,' quoth she, 'night's scapes doth open lay,
And my true eyes have never practised how (749)
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.