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Nay, give me no excuses vain, For none of them I ask, Plead truth to her thou cozenest now They'll serve thee in the task. And if my counsel thou wilt take, Forget these eyes, this heart, Forget my grief at thy neglect Forget me and depart." Thus to the Moor, Azarco, The lovely Zaida cried, And closed her lattice, overwhelmed With sorrow's rising tide.
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