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The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labor to expel ;

For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prisoned in her eye, like pearls in glass,
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,

To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drowned.

O, hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous !
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes,
Despair and hope make thee ridiculous :

The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame ;
It was not she that called him all-to' naught;
Now she adds honors to his hateful name ;
She clepes him king of


for kings, Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

graves, and


“ No, no," quoth she, “sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear,
Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe ;

Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess,)
1 railed on thee, fearing my love's decease.

· All-to. Mr. Dyce explains this as entirely, altogether.

.. 'Tis not my fault : the boar provoked my tongue; Be wreaked on him, invisible commander; 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; I did but act, he's author of thy slander;

Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet Could rule them both, without ten women's wit.”

Thus, hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate ;

Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.


“ O Jove," quoth she, “ how much a fool was I,
To be of such a weak and silly mind,
To wail his death who lives, and must not die,
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind !

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again."

6 Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemmed with thieves;
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves."

Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

As falcon to the lure away. she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ;

1 Shakspeare, in his greater works, was not ashamed to recur to the treasury of his early thoughts :

“ Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,

But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not
Chaos is come again.”

And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murdered with the

view, Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew.

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smothered up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again ;

So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep, dark cabins of her head;

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again ;

Who, like a king perplexéd in his throne,
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,

Whereat each tributary subject quakes:
As when the wind, imprisoned in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound,

The mutiny each part doth so surprise,
That from their dark beds once more leap her


And, being opened, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trenched
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was

drenched : No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, But stole his blood, and seemed with him to bleed

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead.

Her voice is stopped, her joints forget to bow;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.


Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly
Chat her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye
That makes more gashes where no breach should be:

His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,” quoth she, “ behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turned to fire, my heart to lead :

Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes' red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

“ Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! What face remains alive that's worth the viewing ? Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing ?

The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim ; But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.

6 Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear !
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair 1 to lose, you need not sear;
The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss


1 Fair, beauty.

But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air
Lurked like two thieves to rob him of his fair,

• And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone,
Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep:

And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his


“ To see his face the lion walked along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him:
To recreate himself, when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him :
If he had spoke the wolf would leave his

prey, And never fright the silly lamb that day.

" When he beheld his shadow in the brook
The fishes spread on it their golden gills ;
When he was by the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries, and ripe-red cher-

ries; He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

“ But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted' boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore:
Witness the entertainment that he gave;

If he did see his face, why then I know
He thought to kiss him, and hath killed him so.

i Urchin-snouted, with the snout of the urchin, or hedgehog.

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