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155

(1079)
By this, lamenting Philomel had ended (1080)

The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow, (1081)

And solemn night with slow sad gait descended (1082)

To ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow (1083)

Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:
(1084)
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, (1085)

And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.

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