Like a milch doe, whofe fwelling dugs do ake, Hafting to feed her fawn, hid in fome brake.

By this, the hears the hounds are at a bay, Whereat the ftarts, like one that fpies an adder, Wreath'd up in fatal folds, juft in his way,

The fear whereof doth make him shake and fhudder:

Even fo the timorous yelping of the hounds,
Appalls her fenfes, and her fp'rit confounds.

For now the knows it is no gentle chase,

But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud; cause the cry remaineth in one place,

Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be fo curft,

| Look! how the world's poor people are amaz'd
At apparitions, figns, and prodigies;
Whereon with earful eyes they long have gaz'd,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies:

So fhe, at these fad figns, draws up her breath,
And fighing it again, exclaims on death.
Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love (thus chides the Death)
Grim-grinning ghoft, earth's worm, what doft
thou mean?

To ftifle beauty, and to fteal his breath?

Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
Glofs on the rofe, fmell to the violet.

If he be dead, O no! it cannot be

his difmal cry rings fadly in her car, hrough which it enters, to furprise her heart; Tho overcome by doubt, and bloodless fear, With cold pale weakness numbs each feeling part: Like foldiers, when their captain once doth yield,

1

They bafely fly, and dare not stay the field.

hus ftands the in a trembling extafy,
il cheering up her fenfes fore difmaid,
he tells them 'tis a cauflefs fantasy :

nd childish error, that they are afraid;

Bids them leave quaking, wills them fear no

more:

And with that word, the spy'd the hunted boar.

hofe frothy mouth bepainted all with red, ike milk and blood being mingled both together, fecond fear through all her finews fpread, hich madly hurries her fhe knows not whither. This way the runs, and now she will no further, But back retires, to rate the boar for murder.

thoufand fpleens bear her a thousand ways, e treads the paths that fhe untreads again; er more than hafte is marred with delays: ike the proceedings of a drunken brain, Full of refpect, yet not at all respecting; In hand with all things, hought at all effecting.

ere kennel'd in a brake fhe finds a hound, nd afks the wary caitiff for his master; nd there another licking of his wound, ainft venom'd fores the only foveraign plaifter. And here fhe meets another fadly fcowling. To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.

Then he had ceas'd his ill-refounding noise, nother flap-mouth'd mourner black and grim, gainst the welkin vollies out his voice; nother, and another, answer him, Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,

Shaking their scratcht cars, bleeding as they go.

O yes, it may; thou haft no eyes to fee,
But hatefully at random doft thou hit.

Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart,
Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.

Had'ft thou but beware, then he had spoke,
And hearing him, thy power had loft his power.
The deftinies will curfe thee for this ftroke,
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flow-

er:

Love's golden arrow at him should have fled, And not death's ebon-dart to strike him dead.

Doft thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weeping?

What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why haft thou caft into eternal fleeping
Those eyes, that taught all other eyes to fee?

Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,'
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.

Here overcome, as one full of defpair,
She veil'd her eye-lids, which like fluices stopt
The crystal tide, that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bofom drop'd.

But through the flood-gates breaks the filverrain,

And with his ftrong courfe opens them again.

O how her eyes and tears did lend, and borrow!
Her eyes feen in her tears, tears in her eye;
Both cryftals, where they view'd each other's
forrow:

Sorrow, that friendly fighs fought still to dry.

But like a ftormy day, now wind, now rain, Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable paffions throng her constant woe,
As ftriving which should best become her grief:
All entertain'd, each paffion labours so,
That every prefent forrow feemeth chief.

But none is beft, then join they all together,
Like many clouds confulting for foul weather.

By this, far off the hears fome huntsman hollow;
A uurfe's fong ne'er pleas'd her babe so well,
The dire imagination she did follow,

To fee his face the lion walk'd along

With this fhe falleth in the place fhe flood,
And flains her face with his congealed blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ear a heavy tale,

As if he heard the woful words fhe told:
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo! two lamps burnt out in darknes
lies.

Two glaffes where her felf her self beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue loft, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect.

Wonder of time! (quoth fhe) this is my fpight. That, you being dead, the day shou'd yet be light.

Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy,
Sorrow, on love, hereafter fhall attend;
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find fweet beginning but unfavoury end,
Ne'er fettled equally too high, or low:
That all Love's pleafures fhall not match his

woe.

It shall be fickle, falfe, and full of fraud, And shall be blasted in a breathing while,

him;

To recreate himfelf when he hath fung,

The tyger wou'd be tame, and gently hear him : If he had spoke, the wolf wou'd leave his prey, And never fright the filly lamb that day.

When he beheld his fhadow in a brook,
There fishes spread on it their golden gills:
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That fome would fing, fome other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red
cherries;

He fed them with his fight, they him with berries.

But this foul, grim, and urchin-fnouted boar,
Whose downward eye ftill looketh for a grave,、
Ne'er faw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave.
If he did fee his face, why then I know,
He thought to kifs him, and hath kill'd him
fo.

'Tis true, 'tis true, thus was Adonis flain,
He ran upon the boar with his fharp fpear,
Who wou'd not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kifs thought to perfuade him there:

And noufling in his flank, the loving fwine
Sheath'd unaware his tusk in his foft groin.

Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confefs,
With killing him, I should have kill'd him first.
But he is dead, and never did he blefs
My mouth with his; the more am I accurs'd.

With fweats, that fhall the fharpeft fight beguile.
The strongest body fhall it make most weak,
Strike the wife dumb, and teach the fool to
speak.

It fhall be fparing, and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepid age to tread the measures;
The ftaring ruffian fhall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down the rich, inrich the poor with trea-
fures;

It fhall be raging mad, and filly mild,

Make the young old, the old become a child.

It fhall fufpect, where is no caufe of fear;
It fhall not fear, where it fhould most mistraft;
It fhall be mercifull, and too fevere,
And most deceiving when it seems most just :
Perverse it fhall be, when it feems most toward,
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

It fhall be the caufe of war and dire events,
And fet diffention 'twixt the fon and fire;
Subject and fervile to all difcontents,
As dry combuftious matter is to fire.

Sith in his prime, death doth my Love destroy,
They that love best, their Love shall not enjoy.

By this, the boy that by her fide lay kill'd,
Was melted like a vapour from her fight,
And in his blood, that on the gronnd lay fpill'd,
A purple flower fprung up chequer'd with white,
Refembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood,
Which in round drops upon their whiteness
ftood.

And fays, within her bosom it fhall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death:

She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping fap, which fhe compares to

tears.

Poor Flower! (quoth fhe) this was thy father's guife,

(Sweet iffue of a more sweet-smelling fire)
For every little grief to wet his eyes,
To grow unto himself was his defire,

And fo 'tis thine; but know it is as good
To wither in my breast, as in his blood.

Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right;
Low in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
There fhall not be one minute of an hour,
Wherein I will not kifs my fweet Love's flow-

er.

Thus weary of the world, away fhe hies,
And yokes her filver doves, by whofe swift aid,
Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;

Holding their courfe to Paphos, where their
Queen

Means to immure herfelf, and not be seen.