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Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong,
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause.

And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,

And now her sobs do her intendments break.
Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand;
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band;
She would, he will not in her arms be bound:
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.
'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee
here,

"Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be the park, and thou shalt be my deer,
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale;
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom grass, and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain.

Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouze thee, though a thousand bark.'
At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple;
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple:

Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why there love lived, and there he could not die.
These loving caves, these round enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking:
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?

"

Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee with scorn!
Now which way shall she turn? What shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing:
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
'Pity,' she cries, some favour, some remorse!'
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.
But, lo! from forth a copse that neighbours by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girts he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's

He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
Look when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art, with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed:

So did this horse excel a common one,
In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone.
Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and
long,

Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing
strong,

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flatt'ring holla, or his stand, I say?
What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons, or trappings gay?

Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide.
Look, what a horse should have, he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather:
To bid the wind abase he now prepares,
And where he run, or fly, they know not whither.
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, which heave like feather'd
wings.

He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;
She answers him, as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,

Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy malecontent,
He vails his tail, that like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttocks lent;
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume:
His love perceiving how he is enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.
His testy master goes about to take him,
When lo! the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river staid,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
thun-Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;

But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.
He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind;
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow,
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind;
Taking no notice, that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.

As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows, that strive to over-fly them.
All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast.
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love, by pleading may be blest.
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.

der.
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.
His ears up-prick'd, his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest, now stands on end:
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:

His eye, which glistens scornfully like fire,
Shews his hot courage, and his high desire.
Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty, and modest pride:
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say, lo! thus my strength is tried: How white and red each other did destroy!

O! what a sight it was wistly to view,
How she came stealing to the wayward boy;
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,

And thus I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.

But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him, as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheeks feels:

His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print,
As apt, as new-fallen snow takes any dint.
O! what a war of looks was then between them!
Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain,
With tears, which chorus-like, her eyes did rain.
Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a jail of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band,

So white a friend engirts so white a foe!
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Shew'd like to silver doves, that sit a billing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
'O fairest mover on this mortal round!
Would thou wert, as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole, as thine, thy heart my wound.
For one sweet look my help I would assure thee.
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure
thee.

'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?"
'Give me thy heart,' saith she, 'and thou shalt have it.
O! give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it;
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis heart hath made mine hard.
'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go,
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault, I am bereft him so:
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone.

For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'
Thus she replies: "Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:
Affection is a coal, that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire.

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.
'How like a jade he stood, tied to a tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;

Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.
'Who sees his true love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?

Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?
'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy,
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy;
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee,

O! learn to love, the lesson is but plain,
And, once made perfect, never lost again.'

'You hurt my hand with wringing: let us part
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat;
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart,
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate.

Dismiss your vows, your feign'd tears, your flattery, For where the heart is hard, they make no battery. 'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'Hast thou a tongue?

O! would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong!
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing,
Melodious discord! Heavenly tune harsh-sound-
ing!

Earth's deep sweet music! and heart's deep sorewounding!

'Had I no eyes, but éars, my ears would love
That inward beauty, and invisible;
or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part of me, that were but sensible,

Though neither eyes, nor ears to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love, by touching thee.
"Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much :

For from the stillatory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfumed, that breedeth love by
smelling.

'But oh! what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wish the feast should ever last,
And bid suspicion double-lock the door;

Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
Should by his stealing in disturb the feast."
Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd,
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,

Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gust and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
This ill presage advisedly she marketh,
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth;
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,

His meaning struck her, ere his words begun.
And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth:
A smile recures the wounding of a frown,
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy believing she is dead,

Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red,
And in amaze brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent,
Fair fall the wit, that can so well defend her:

For on the grass she lies, as she were slain,
Till his breath breathed life in her again.

'I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will I know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it,
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs, and weeps, and all but in a breath
'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jót diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth.
The colt that's back'd, and burden'd being young,
Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt, that his unkindness marr'd;
He kisses her, and she, by her good will,
Would never rise, so he will kiss her still.
The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day,
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth;
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array,
He cheers the moru, and all the world relieveth:
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye:

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine:
Were never four such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded, with his brows repine;

But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,

Shone like the moon, in water seen by night. 'O! where am I,' quoth she, ‘in earth, or heaven? Or in the ocean drench'd! or in the fire! What hour is this? or morn, or weary even? Do I delight to die? or life desire?

But now I lived, and life was death's annoy: But now I died, and death was lively joy. 'O! thou didst kill me, kill me once again! Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Has taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain, That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine: And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 'Long may they kiss each other for this care! Oh never let their crimson liveries wear! And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year!

That the star-gazers having writ on death, May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath. 'Pare lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, What bargains may I make still to be sealing? To sell myself I can be well contented, So thou wilt buy and pay, and use good dealing: Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips! 'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me, And pay them at thy leisure one by one. What is ten hundred kisses unto thee? Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone? Say for non-payment that the debt should double, Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?' 'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me, Measure my strangeness with my unripe years! Before I know myself, seek not to know me! No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears;

The mellow plumb doth fall, the green sticks fast, Or being early pluck'd, is sour to taste. 'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, His day's hot task hath ended in the west; The owl, night's herald shrieks, 'tis very late, The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest: And coal-black clouds, that shadow heaven's light, Do summon us to part, and bid good-night. 'Now let me say good-night, and so say you! If you will say so, you shall have a kiss. Good-night,' quoth she; 'and ere he says adieu, The honey fee of parting tender'd is.

"

Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace, Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. Till breathless he disjoin'd, and backward drew The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, Whereon they surfeit, yet complain ou drowth:

He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. Now quick desire hath caught her yielding prey, And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, Paying what ransome the insulter willeth: Whose vulture thought doth pitch the prize so high, That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry.

Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage: Planting oblivion, beating reason back; Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's wrack.

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, With blindfold fury she begins to forage;

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When he did frown, O had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd:
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have pricks, yet it is pluck'd:
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.
For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart.
She is resolved no longer to restrain him,
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart;

The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, He carries thence encaged in his breast. 'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow,

For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow? Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?" He tells her no: to-morrow he intends

To hunt the boar, with certain of his friends. The boar!' quoth she, whereat a sudden pale, Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale, And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:

She sinketh down, still hanging on his neck, He on her belly falls, she on her back. Now is she in the very lists of love, Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: All is imaginary, she doth prove,

He will not manage her, although he mount her: That worse than Tantalus is her annoy,

To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy.

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw;
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds, that helpless berries saw.
'The warm effects which she in him finds missing.
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.
But all in vain, good queen, it will not be,
She hath assay'd as much, as may be proved;
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved!
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee:

,Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me, let me go; You have no reason to with-hold me so.'

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'On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;
His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret,
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes:

Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way;
And whom he strikes, his crooked tushes slay.
'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof, than thy spear's point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture.

The thorny brambles, and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes. 'Alas! he nought esteems that face of thine, To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes; Nor thy soft hand, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, Whose full perfection all the world amazes;

But having thee at vantage (wondrous dread!) Would root these beauties, as he roots the mead. 'O! let him keep his loathsome cabin still, Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends. Come not within his danger by thy will; They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends. When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. 'Didst thou not mark my face? Was it not white? Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright? Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,

My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, But like an earthquake shakes thee on my breast. For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy Doth call himself atlection's centinel; Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill: Distemp'ring gentle love with his desire, As air and water doth abate the fire.

'This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker, that eats up love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissensions jealousy,
That sometimes true news, sometimes false doth
bring,
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear,
That if I love thee I thy death should fear;
And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs, on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,
Doth make them drop with grief, and hang the head.
What should I do? seeing thee so indeed,
That trembling at the imagination,
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed?
And fear doth teach it divination.

I prophecy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.
'But if thou needs will hunt, be ruled by me,
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty,
Or at the roe, which no encounter dare:

Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breathed horse keep with thy

hounds.

And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch, to overshut his troubles, How he out-runs the wind, and with what care, He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles.

The many musits through the which he goes, Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 'Sometimes he runs among a flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell;

And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell;

And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer: Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear. 'For there his smell with others being mingled, The hot-scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled, With much ado, the cold fault cleanly out;

Then do they spend their mouths; echo replies, As if another chace were in the skies.

'By this poor Wat far off, upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still: Anon their loud alarums he doth hear,

And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick, that hears the passing bell. Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way: Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay. For misery is trodden on by many; And being low, never relieved by any. Lie quietly and hear a little more! Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Unlike myself, thou hear'st me moralize, Applying this to that, and so to so;

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For love can comment upon every woe. 'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he, Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: The night is spent.' Why, what of that?' quoth she, 'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends:

And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.' 'In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all.' 'But if thou fall, O! then imagine this, The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. Rich preys make rich men thieves; so do thy lips Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,

Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn.
'Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
Till forging nature is condemn'd of treason,
For stealing mulds from heaven, that were divine,
Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day, and her by night.
And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies,

To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature;
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of sad mischances and much misery.
'As burning fever, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood:

Surfeits, impostumes, grief, and damn'd despair,
Swear nature's death, for framing thee so fair.
'And not the least of all these maladies,
But in one minute's sight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities,
Whereat th' impartial gazer late did wonder,

Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done, As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun. 'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns, That on the earth would breed a scarcity, And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, Be prodigal! The lamp that burns by night, Dries up his oil, to lend the world his light.

'What is thy body, but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity,
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?

If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 'So in thyself thyself art made away; A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, Or theirs, whose, desperate hands themselves do slay,

Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life.
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets;
But gold, that's put to use, more gold begets.'
'Nay then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme;
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream.

For by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.
'If love hath lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching, like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown.
For know, my heart stands armed in my ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there;
Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast;
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.

No, lady, no, my heart longs not to groan, But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. "What have you urged, that I cannot reprove? The path is smooth that leadeth unto danger. I hate not love, but your device in love, That lends embracements unto every stranger. You do it for increase; O strange excuse! When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse. Call it not love! for love to heaven is fled, Since sweating lust on earth usurps his name; Under whose simple semblance he hath fed Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame: Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

'Love comforteth, like sun-shine after rain;
But lust's effect is tempest after sun:
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain:
Lust's winter comes, ere summer half be done:

Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies:
Love is all truth; lust full of forged lies.
'More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green:
Therefore in sadness now I will away,
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen:
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,
Do burn themselves for having so offended.'
With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace
Of those fair arms, which bound him to her breast:
And homeward through the dark lawnd runs apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.

Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky, So glides he in the night from Venus' eye. Which after him she darts, as one on shore, Gazing upon a late embarked friend,

. Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did, the merciless and pitchy night,
Fold in the object, that did feed her sight.
Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
Hath dropt a precious jewel in the flood,

Or 'stonish'd, as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood:
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans:
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled.

'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times, 'woe! woe!' And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. She marking them, begins a wailing note, And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty: How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote;

How love is wise in folly, foolish witty:

Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe! And still the choir of echoes answers so. Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, For lovers' hours are long, though seenfing short: If pleased themselves, others they think delight In such-like circumstance, with such-like sport. Their copious stories, oftentimes begun, End without audience, and are never done. For who hath she to spend the night withal, But idle sounds resembling parasites, Like shrill tongued tapsters answering every call, Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?

She said, 'tis so: they answer all, 'tis so, And would say after her, if she said no. Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast That sun ariseth in his majesty:

Who doth the world so gloriously behold, The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: 'O thou clear god, and patron of all light, From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow The beauteous influence, that makes him bright: There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother, May lend thee light, as thou dost lead to other.' This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, Musing, the morning is so much o'er-worn: And yet she hears no tidings of her love: She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn; Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily, And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. And as she runs, the bushes in the way, Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, Some twine about her thigh, to make her stay; She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace:

Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ake, Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake. By this she hears the hounds are at a bay, Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way, The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder: Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds, Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds. For now she knows it is no gentle chace, But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud; Because the cry remaineth in one place, Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:

Finding their enemy to be so curst,

They all strain curt'sy who shall cope him first. This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, Through which it enters, to surprize her heart; Who overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, With cold pale weakness numbs each feeling part:

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