To me far sweeter than a honeycomb full stored!”
Thus pleaded she; in coaxing, wheedling terms, with skill.
Her tears rolled down in streams, fast coursing at her will.
Her weeping and her sighs were past endurance felt,
Whose features, tearless, e’en his heart of steel could melt.175
That shower precursor was of lightning’s vivid gleam,
Whose flash lit in his breast a fire, with pity’s beam.
She, of whose beauty was a slave her husband still,
A double spell exerted through entreaty’s thrill.
One, whose least coolness sets man’s heart in flames,