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Now is the in the very lifts of love,

Her champion mounted for the hot encounter :
All is imaginary, fhe doth prove,

He will not manage her, altho' he mount her:
That worse than Tantalus is her annoy,
To clip Elyfium, and to lack her joy.

Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes,
Do furfeit by the eye, and pine the maw:
Even fo fhe languifheth in her mishaps,
As thofe poor birds, that helplefs berries faw.
The warm effects which the in him finds miffing,
She feeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain, good queen, it will not be.
She hath affay'd as much, as may be prov'd,
Her pleading hath deferv'd a greater fee:
She's love, fhe loves, and yet the is not lov'd.!
Fie, fie, he fays, you crush me, let me go;
You have no reason to with-hold me fo.

Thou hadft been gone (quoth fhe) fweet boy, ere this,
But that thou told'ft me thou would'ft hunt the boar:
O! be advis'd; thou know'ft not what it is,
With javelin's point a churlifh fwine to gore,
Whose tufhes never fheath'd, he wetteth ftill,
Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.

On his bow-back he hath a battel fet

Of briftly pikes, that ever threat his foes;

His eyes, like glow-worms, fhine when he doth fret,
His fnout digs fepulchres where'er he goes:

Being mov'd, he ftrikes whate'er is in his way;
And whom he ftrikes, his crooked tushes flay.

His brawny fides, with hairy brifles armed,
Are better proof, than thy fpear's point can enter;
His fhort thick neck cannot be easily harmed;
Being ireful on the lion he will venture.

The thorny brambles, and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part, thro' whom he rushes.

Alas! he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which love's eye pays tributary gazes;
Nor thy foft hand, fweet lips, and cryftal eyne,
Whofe full perfection all the world amazes;

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But having thee at 'vantage (wondrous dread!) Would root these beauties, as he roots the mead.

O let him keep his loathfome cabin ftill!
Beauty hath nought to do with fuch foul fiends.
Come not within his danger by thy will;
They that thrive well, take counfel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to diffemble,
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

Didst thou not mark my face! Was it not white? Saw'st thou not figns of fear lurk in mine eye ? Grew I not faint? And fell I not downright? Within my bofom, whereon thou dost lie,

My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no reft, But like an earthquake fhakes thee on my breaft.

For where love reigns, difturbing jealousy
Doth call himself affection's centinel;
Gives falfe alarms, fuggefteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill;
Ditempring gentle love with his defire,
As air and water doth abate the fire.

This four informer, this bate breeding spy,

This canker, that eats up love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, diffentious jealousy,

That sometime true news, fometime false doth brings Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, That if I love thee, I thy death fhould fear.

And more than fo, prefenteth to mine eye.
The picture of an angry chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs, on his back doth lie
An image like thyfelf, all ftain'd with gore;

Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,
Doth make 'em drop with grief, and hang the head.

What should I do? feeing thee so indeed?
That trembling at th' imagination,

The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And fear doth teach it divination.

I prophefy thy death, my living forrow,

If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

But if thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me,
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare

Or at the fox, which lives by fubtilty;
Or at the roe, which no encounter dare:

Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breath'd horfe keep with thy
[hounds.

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

The many umfits thro' the which he goes,
Are like a labyrinth t' amaze his foes.

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Sometime he runs among the flock of sheep,

To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell;
And fometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To ftop the loud purfuers in their yell;

And fometime forteth with a herd of deer:
Danger devifeth fhifts, wit waits on fear.

For there his fmell with others being mingled,
The hot-fcent fnuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceafing their clamorous cry, till they have fingled,
With much ado, the cold fault cleanly out,

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

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

And now his grief may be compared well
To one fore fick, that hears the passing bell.

Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way : Each envious briar his weary legs doth fcratch, Each fhadow makes him ftop, each murmur stay. For mifery is trodden on by many;

And being low, never reliev'd by any.

Lie quietly and hear a little more,

Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rife :
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself, thou hear'ft me moralize,
Applying this to that, and fo to fo;
For love can comment upon every woe.

Where did I leave? No matter where (quoth he)
Leave me, and then the ftory aptly ends:

The night is spent. Why, what of that? (quoth fhe)
I am (quoth he) expected of my friends:

And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall,
In night (quoth fhe) defire fees beft 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 kifs.

Rich preys make rich men thieves, fo do thy lips
Make modeft Dian cloudy and forlorn,

Left the fhould steal a kifs, and die forfworn.

Now of this dark night I perceive the reason,
Cynthia for fhame obfcures her filver shrine,
Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason,
For ftealing molds from heaven, that were divine,
Wherein the fram'd thee in high heaven's defpite,
To fhame the fun by day, and her by night.

And therefore hath fhe brib'd the deftinies
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 fad mischances and much mifery.

As burning fever, agues pale and faint,mi 107
Life-poifoning peftilence, and frenzies woad,
The marrow-eating fickness, whofe attaint. }
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood :

Surfeits, impofthumes, grief, and damn'd despair,
Swear nature's death, for framing thee fo fair.

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