Thus ftands fhe in a trembling extafy,
Till cheering up her fenfes fore dismaid,
She tells them 'tis a caufelefs fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, wills them fear no more:
And with that word, the fpy'd the hunted boar..
Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A fecond fear thro' all her finews fpread,
Which madly hurries her fhe knows not whither.
This way fhe runs, and now the will no further,.
But back retires, to rate the boar for murder.
A thousand fpleens bear her a thousand ways,
She treads the paths that the untreads again;
Her more than hafte is marred with delays:
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of refpect, yet not at all refpecting;
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting
Here kennel'd in a brake, fhe finds an hound,..
And asks the weary caitiff for his master;
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd fores the only fovereign plaifter:
And here the meets another fadly scolding,
To whom the speaks, and he replies with howling.
When he had ceas'd his ill-refounding noife,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin vollies out his voice;
Another and another anfwer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below.
Shaking their fcracht ears, bleeding as they go..
Bas
Look how the world's poor people are amaz'd
At apparitions, figns and prodigies,
Whereon, with fearful eyes, they long have gaz'd, Infufing them with dreadful prophecies:
So fhe, at these sad 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
To ftifle beauty, and to steal his breath?
[mean? 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 !
Seeing his beauty, thou fhouldft strike at it.
O! yes, it may; thou haft no eyes to fee,
But hatefully at random doft thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age; but thy falfe dart
Miftakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.
Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had fpoke,
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'ft a flower:
Love's golden arrow at him fhould have fled,
And not death's ebon dart to ftrike him dead.
Doft thou drink tears, that thou provok'ft fuch weep-
What may a heavy groan advantage thee? Ling?
Why haft thou caft into eternal fleeping
Thofe 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 despair,
She veil'd her eye-lids, which like fluices stopp'd
The cryftal tide, that from her two cheeks fair,
In the fweet channel of her bofom dropp'd.
But thro' the flood-gates breaks the filver rain,
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 fo,
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, fhe hears fome huntfman hollow ::
A nurfe's fong ne'er pleas'd her babe fo well.
The dire imagination fhe did follow,
This found of hope doth labour 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 prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass :: Yet fometime falls an orient drop befide,
Which her cheek melts, as fcorning it should pafs
To wash the foul face of the fluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when the feemeth drown'd,
O hard believing love! how ftrange it seems
Not to believe! and yet too credulous !
Thy weak and woe are both of them extremes,
Defpair and hope make thee ridiculous!
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.
Now the unweaves the web that the had wrought,
Adonis lives, and death is not to blame:
It was not the that call'd him all to nought.
Now he adds honour to his hateful name:
She 'cleeps him king of graves, and grave for kings,
Imperial fupreme of mortal things.
No, no, (quoth fhe) sweet death, I did but jeft;
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear,
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is ftill severe.
Then gentle fhadow (truth I must confess)
I rail'd on thee fearing my love's decease.
"Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue! Be wreak'd on him (invifible commander !) 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong, I did but act, he's author of thy flander.
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet Cou'd rule them both without ten women's wit.
Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash fufpect she doth extenuate;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With death the humbly doth infinuate :
Tells him of trophies, ftatues, tombs, and flories,
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.
O Jove quoth fhe, how much a fool was I,
To be of fuch a weak and filly mind,
To wail his death, who lives, and muft not die,
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
For he being dead, with him is beauty flain,
And beauty dead, black chaos comes again.
Fye! fye fond love, thou art fo full of fear,
As one with treasure laden, hem'd with thieves:
Trifles (unwitneffed with eye or ear)
Thy coward heart, with falfe bethinking grieves
Even at this word the hears a merry horn,
Whereat the leaps, that was but late forlorn,
As faulcon to the lure, away fhe flies:
The grafs floops not, fhe treads on it fo light,
And in her hafte unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conqueft on her fair delight.
Which feen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, Like ftars afham'd of day, themselves withdrew.
Or as the fnail, whofe tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his fhelly cave with pain,
And there, all fmother'd up, in fhade doth fit,
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 refign'd their office and their light
To the difpofing of her troubled brain :
Who bids them ftill confort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again :
Who like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their fuggeftions gives a deadly groan.
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