LXIII.

And so she pined, and so she died forlorn, Imploring for her Basil to the last. No heart was there in Florence but did mourn In pity of her love, so overcast. 500 And a sad ditty of this story born From mouth to mouth through all the country pass'd: Still is the burthen sung--"O cruelty, To steal my Basil-pot away from me!"

THE

EVE OF ST. AGNES.