2710And 'twas so dark, I cannot see to write.
Nay, at a nonplus it all pencils sets.
'Twas hell's epitome, the cage of night,
Walled in with pitch and roofed o'er with jets.
The lynx at midday here would wish for day,
And cats without a torch must grope their way.
But leave him labyrinthed and thus distressed,
And see Bellama, and examine how
She brooks the absence of her bosom-guest,
If discontent does revel on her brow.