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Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd, Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
As it from thence they borrow'd all their shine : And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage :
Were never four such lamps together mix'd, Planting oblivion, beating reason back;
llad not his clouded, with his brows repine; Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave


Hot, faint, and weary with her hard embracing, Shone like the moon, in water seen by night. Like a wild bird being tamed with too much hand'O! where am I,' quoth she, “in earth, or heaven?

ling, Or in the ocean drench'd! or in the fire !

Or as the fleet-foot roe, that's tired with chasing, What hour is this? or morn, or weary even? Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling, Do I delight to die? or life desire ?

He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, But now I lived, and life was death's annoy: Whiles she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

But now I died, and death was lively joy. What wax so frozen, but dissolves with temp'ring, 'O! thou didst kill me, kill me once again! And yields at last to every light impression ?

Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Things out of hope are compass’d'oft with venHas taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain,

t'ring, That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine: Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission. And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,

Affection faints not, like a pale-faced coward, But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. But then wooes best, when most his choice is 'Long may they kiss each other for this care!

froward. Oh never let their crimsou liveries wear!

When he did frown, O had she then gave over, And as they last, their verdure still endure, Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd: To drive infection from the dangerous year! Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover ;

That the star-gazers having writ on death, What though the roşe have pricks, yet it is pluck'd:

May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath. Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, 'Pare lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,

Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last. What bargains may I make still to be sealing? For pity now she can no more detain him; To sell myself I can be well contented,

The poor fool prays her that he may depart. So thou wilt buy and pay, and use good dealing: She is resolved no longer to restrain him,

Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart;

Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips ! The which, by Capid's bow she doth protest, 'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me,

He carries thence encaged in his breast. And pay them at thy leisure one by one. 'Sweet boy,' she says, this night I'll waste in What is ten hundred kisses upto thee?

sorrow, Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone? For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.

Say for non-payment that the debt should double, Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?

Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?' Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match ?' 'Fair queen,' quoth ho, 'if any love you owe me,

He tells her no: to-morrow he intends Measure my strangeness with my unripe years !

To hunt the boar, with certain of his friends. Before I know myself, seek not to know me! The boar!' quoth she, whereat a sudden pale, No fisher but the upgrown fry forbears;

Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, The mellow plumb doth fall, the green sticks fast, Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale, Or being early pluck’d, is sour to taste. And on his neck her yoking arms she throws: “Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,

She sinketh down, still hanging on his neck, His day's hot task hath ended in the west;

He on her belly falls, she on her back. The owl, night's herald shrieks, 'tis very late,

Now is she in the very lists of love, The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest:

Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: And coal-black clouds, that shadow heaven's light, All is imaginary, she doth prove, Do summon us to part, and bid good-night. He will not manage her, although he mount her:

That worse than Tantalus is her annoy, 'Now let me say good-night, and so say you! To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy. If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes, Good-night,' quoth she; ‘and ere he says adieu, The honey fee of parting tender'd is.

Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw; Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace,

Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,

As those poor birds, that helpless berries saw. Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face.

'The warm effects which she in him finds missing. Till breathless he disjoin'd, and backward drew She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,

But all in vain, good queen, it will not be, Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,

She hath assay'd as mich, as may be proved ; Whereon they surfeit, yet complain ou drowth: He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved !

Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee: Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.

,Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me, let me go; Now quick desire hath caught her yielding prey,

You have no reason to with-hold me so.' And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;

Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,

this, Paying what ransome the insulter willeth: Whose vulturethought doth pitch the prize so high, o! be advised! thou know'st not what it is,

But that thou told'st me, thon wouldst hunt the boar: That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry.

With javelin's point a charlish swine to gore, And haring felt the sweetness of the spoil,

Whose tushes never sheath'd he whettoth still, Witha blindfold fury she begins to forage;

Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.

'I am,'

'On his bow-back he hath a battle set

And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; To stop the loud pursuers in their yell; His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret, And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer: His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes : Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear.

Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way ;'For there his smell with others being mingled,

And whom he strikes, his crouked tushes slay. The hot-scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, “ His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm’d, Ceasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled, Are better proof, than thy spear's point can enter; With much ado, the cold fault cleanly out; His short thick neck cannot be easily harm’d; Then do they spend their mouths ; echo replies, Being ireful, on the lion he will venture.

As if another chace were in the skies. The thorny brambles, and embracing bushes, "By this poor Wat far off, upon a hill, As fearful of him, part

, through whom he rushes. Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, 'Alas! he nought esteems that face of thine, To hearken if his foes pursue him still: * To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes;

Anon their loud alarums he doth hear, Nor thy soft hand, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, And now his grief may be compared well Whose full perfection all the world amazes ; To one sore sick, that hears the passing bell. But having thee at vantage (wondrous dread!)'

, 'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Would root these beauties, as he roots the mead. Turn, and return, indenting with the way: 'O! let him keep his loathsome cabin still, Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends. Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay. Come not within his danger by thy will;

For misery is trodden on by many;
They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends. And being low, never relieved by any.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, Lie quietly and hear a little more!
I feard thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. Nay, do not struggle

, for thou shalt not rise: 'Didst thou not mark my face? Was it not white ? To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? Unlike myself, thou hear'st me moralize, Grew I not faint ? and fell I not downright? . Applying this to that, and so to so; Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,

For love can comment upon every woe. My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, 'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he,

But like an earthquake shakes thee on my breast." Leave me, and then the story aptly ends : 'For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy The night is spent.' Why, what of that?' quoth she, Doth call himself atlection's centinel;

th he, “expected of my

friends: Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,

And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'
And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill: 'In night,' quoth she, desire sees best of all.'

Distemp'ring gentle love with his desire, 'But if thou fall, o! then imagine this,
As air and water doth abate the fire.

The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,

And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. This canker, that eats up love's tender spring, Rich preys make rich men thieves; so do thy lips This carry-tale, dissensions jealousy,

Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, That sometimes true news,

sometimes false doth Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn. bring,

* Now of this dark night I perceive the reason: Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,

That if I love thee I thy death should fear; Till forging nature is condemn’d of treason, And more than so, presenteth to mine eye For stealing mulds froin heaven, that were divine, The picture of an angry chafing boar,

Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite, Under whose sharp fangs, on his back doth lie To shame the sun by day, and her by night. An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore ; * And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies,

Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed, To cross the curious workmanship of nature,

Doth make them drop with grief,and hang the head. To mingle beanty with infirmities,
What should I do? seeing thee so indeed, And pure perfection with impure defeature;
That trembling at the imagination,

Making it subject to the tyranny
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed ? of sad mischances and much misery.
And fear doth teach it divination.

As burning fever, agues pale and faint, I prophecy thy death, my living sorrow, Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood, If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint 'Bat if thou needs will haut, be ruled by me, Disorder breeds by heating of the blood: Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,

Surfeits, impostumes, grief, and damn'd despair, Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty,

Swear nature's death, for framing thee so fair. Or at the roe, which no encounter dare:

And not the least of all these maladies, Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, But in one minute's sight brings beauty under : And on thy well-breathed horse keep with thy Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, hounds.

Whereat th' impartial gazer late did wonder, And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done, Mark the poor wretch, to overshut his troubles, As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun. How he out-runs the wind, and with what care,

“Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles.

Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns,
The many musits through the which he goes,

That on the earth would breed a scarcity,
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, "Sometimes he runs among a flock of sheep, Be prodigal ! The lamp that burns by night, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell; Dries up his oil, to lend the world his light.

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"What is thy body, but a swallowing grave,

Or 'stonish’d, as night-wanderers often are, Seeming to bury that posterity,

Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood: Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, Even so confounded in the dark she lay, If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans

Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled, "So in thyself thyself art made away ;

Make verbal repetition of her moans : A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, Passion on passion deeply is redoubled. Or theirs, whose, desperate hands themselves do 'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times, 'woe! woe! slay,

And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life. She marking them, begins a wailing note,

Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets ; And sings extemp’rally a woeful ditty :

But gold, that's put to use, more gold begets.' How love makes young men thrall, and old men 'Nay then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again

dote; Into your idle over-handled theme;

How love is wise in folly, foolish witty : The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,

Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe! And all in vain you strive against the stream. And still the choir of echoes answers so.

For by this black-faced night, desire's fool nurse, Her song was tedious, and outwore the night,

Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. For lovers' hours are long, though seenting short: 'If love hath lent you twenty thousand tongues, If pleased themselves, others they thiok delight And every tongue more moving than your own, In such-like circumstance, with such-like sport. Bewitching, like the wanton mermaid's songs, Their copious stories, oftentimes begun, Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown. End without audience, and are never done.

For know, my heart stands armed in my ear, For who hath she to spend the night withal,

And will not let a false sound enter there; But idle sounds resembling parasites, Lest the deceiving harmony should run

Like shrill tongued tapsters answering every call, Into the quiet closure of my breast;

Soothing the humour of fantastic wits ? And then my little heart were quite undone,

She said, 'tis so: they answer all, 'tis so, In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.

And would say after her, if she said no. No, lady, no, my heart longs not to groan, Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,

But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, “What have you urged, that I cannot reprove? And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The path is smooth that leadeth unto danger. That sun ariseth in his majesty: I hate not love, but your device in love,

Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That lends embracements unto every stranger. The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

You do it for increase; O strange excuse! Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse.

O thou clear god, and patron of all light, Call it not love! for love to heaven is fled, From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow Since sweating lust on earth usurps his name; The beauteous influence, that makes him bright: Uuder whose simple semblance he hath fed There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother, Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame:

May lend thee light, as thou dost lead to other.' Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

Musing, the morning is so much o'er-worn: 'Love comforteth, like san-shine after rain; And yet she hears no tidings of her love: But lust's effect is tempest after sun :

She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn; Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain: Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily, Lust's winter comes, ere summer half be done: And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies:

And as she runs, the bushes in the way, Love is all truth; lust full of forged lies.

Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, More I could tell, but more I dare not say; Some twine about her-thigh, to make her stay; The text is old, the orator too green:

She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace: Therefore in sadoess now I will away,

Like a milch doe, whose swelling duys do ake, My face is full of shame, my heart of teen: Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake. Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,

By this she hears the hounds are at a bay, Do burn themselves for having so offended.'

Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way, Of those fair arms, which bound him to her breast: The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder: And homeward through the dark lawnd runs apace; Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds, Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress’d. Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds. Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,

For now she knows it is no gentle chace, So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.

But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud; Which after him she darts, as one on shore, Because the cry remaineth in one place, Gazing upon a late embarked friend,

Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud : . Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, Finding their enemy to be so curst, Whose ridges with the eeting clouds contend: They all strain curt'sy who shall cope him first. So did the mercilcss and pitchy night,

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, Fold in the object, that did feed her sight.

Through which it enters, to surprize her heart; Whereat amazed, as one that unaware

Who overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, Hath dropt a precious jewel in the flood, With cold pale weakness numbs each feeling part:


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Liko soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, 0! how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye; . Thus stands she in a trembling ecstacy,

Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow: Till, cheering up her senses sore dismay'd, Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry. She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,

But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, And childish error, that they are afraid ;

Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. Bids them leave quaking, wills them fear no more: Variable passions throng her constant woe,

And with that word, she spied the hunted boar, As striving, which should best become her grief: Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red, All entertain'd, each passion lab Like milk and blood being mingled both together, That every present sorrow seemeth chief. A second fear through all her sinews spread,

But none is best; then join they all together, Which madly hurries her she knows not whither.

Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. This way she rans, and now she will no further, By this, far off, she hears some huntsman hollow:

But back retires, to rate the boar for murther. A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well. A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,

The dire imagination she did follow, She treads the paths that she untreads again;

This sound of hope doth labour to expel : Her more than haste is mated with delays,

For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,

And Natters her, it is Adonis' voice.
Full of respect, yet not at all respecting : Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,

In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. Being prison’dl in her eye, like pearls in glass: Here kennel'd in a brake, she finds a hound,

Yet sometime falls an orient drop beside, And asks the weary caitiff for his master;

Which her cheek melts, as scorning, it should pass, And there another licking of his wound,

To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaister :

Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. And here she meets another sadly scowling, O hard believing love! How strange it seems

To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! When he had ceased his ill-resounding noise,

Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes, Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,

Despair and hope make thee ridiculous ! Against the welkin vollies out his voice;

The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, Another and another answers him,

With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought,

Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. Adonis lives, and death is not to blame: Look how the world's poor people are amazed

It was not she that call'd him all to nought, At apparitions, signs and prodigies,

Now she adds honour to his hateful name : Whereon, with fearful eyes, they long have gazed, She'clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings, Infusing them with dreadful prophecies:

Imperious supreme of all mortal things.
So she, at these sad signs, draws up her breath, 'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet death, I did but jest;

And sighing it again, exclaims on death. Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear, ‘Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,

When as I met the boar, that bloody beast, Hateful divorce of love,' thus chides she death, Which knows no pity, but is still severe. 'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess) mean,

I rail'd on thee fearing my love's decease. To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath, 'Tis not my fault: the boar provoked niy tongue;

Who, when he lived, his breath and beauty set Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander,

Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet? 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong, *If he be dead-() uo! it cannot be !

I did but act, he's author of thy slander. Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it. Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet it thou hast no eyes to see,

Could rule them both without ten women's wit.' may ; But hatefully at random dost thou hit.

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;

Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart. And that his beauty may the better thrive, "Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, With death she humbly doth insinuate: And hearing him, thy power had lost his power.

Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories The destinies will curse thee for this stroke, His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower. 'O Jove!' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I,

Love's golden arrow at him should have fled, To be of such a weak and silly mind,

And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. To wail his death, who lives, and must not die, Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind! weeping?

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, What may a heavy groan advantage thee?

And beauty dead, black chaos comes again. Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 'Fie! fie! fond love, thou art so full of fear, Those eyes, that taught all other eyes to see? As one with treasure Jaden, henim'd with thieves :

Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.' Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.'

Éven at this word she hears a merry horn,
Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vaild her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd

Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn.
The crystal tide, that from her two cheeks fair, As faulcon to the lare, away she flies:
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd. The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light,

But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, And in her haste unfortunately spies
And with his strong course opens them again. The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight.

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Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, 'When he beheld his shadow in a brook,

Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew. There fishes spread on it their golden gills: Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,

When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,

That some would sing, some other in their bills And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,

Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherLong after fearing to creep forth again: So, at his bloody view her eyes are fled

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. Into the deep dark cabins of her head,

But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, Where they resign'd their office and their light

Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, To the disposing of her troubled brain :

Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore; Who, bids them still consort with ugly night,

Witness the entertainment that he gave. And never wound the heart with looks again :

If he did see his face, why then I know, Who like a king perplexed in his throne,

He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. By their suggestions gives a deadly groan;

''Tis true, 'tis true, thus was Adonis slain, Whereat each tributary subject quakes,

He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,

Who would not whet his teeth at him again, Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes, But by a kiss thought to persuade him there: Which with cold terrors doth men's minds confound. And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine This mutiny each part doth so surprize,

Sheath'd unaware his tusk in his soft groin. That from their dark beds, once more, leap her 'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess, eyes,

With kissing him, I should have kill'd him first. And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight

But he is dead, and never did he bless
Upon the wide wound, that the boar had trench'd My mouth with his; the more am I accurst.'
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white

With this she falleth in the place she stood, With parple tears, that his wound wept, was drench’d.

And stains her face with his congealed blood No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;

But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed. She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth,

She whispers in his ear a heavy tale, Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;

As if he heard the woeful words she told: Dumbly she passions, franticly she doleth;

She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. Where, lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies.

Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow, Two glasses, where herself herself beheld

Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now. A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Upon his hurt she looks so stedfastly,

Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three; And every beauty robb’d of his effect.
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,

'Wonder of time!' quoth she, this is my spight, That makes more gashes where no breach should be:

That, you being dead, the day should yet be light.
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled, “Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend;
My toogue cannot express my grief for one;

It shall be waited on with jealousy,
And yet,' quoth she, behold two Adons dead! Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end,
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,

Ne'er settled equally to high or low;
Mine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead : That all love's pleasures shall not match his woe.
Heavy hearts lead melt at mine eyes' red fire,

'It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud, So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

And shall be blasted in a breathing while, * Alas, poor world! what treasure hast thou lost! The bottom poison, and the top ofer-straw'd What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? With sweets, that shall the sharpest sight beguile. Whose tongue is music now? What canst thou boast The strongest body shall it make most weak, of thiogs long since, or any thing ensuing? Strike the wise dumb, and teach the food to speak. The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and

trim," It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, But true sweet beauty lived and died in him.

Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ; Bonnet, or veil, henceforth no creature wear!

The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, Nor sun, nor wind will ever strive to kiss you: Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures ; Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;

It shall be raging mad, and silly mild, The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.

Make the young old, the old become a child. But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair. It shall suspeet, where is no cause of fear ; And therefore would he put his bonnet on,

ft shall not fear, where it should most mistrust;

It shall be merciful and too severe,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
The wind would blow it off, and being gone,

And most deceiving, when it seems most just;
Play with his locks, then would Adonis weep:

Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward, And straight, in pity of his tender years,

Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. They both would strive who first should dry his it shall be cause of war and dire events,

And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire; To see his face, the lion walks along

Subject and servile to all discontents, Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;

As dry combustious matter is to fire. To recreate himself when he hath sung,

Sith, in his prime, death doth my love destro y The tiger would be tame, and gently hear hiny:

They that love best, their love shall not enjoy.', If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey, By this the boy that by her side lay kill'd, And never fright the silly lamb that day. Was melted like a vapour from her sight,


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