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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 perplexe d in his throne,

By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. Whereat each tributary subject quakes; As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes, Which with cold terrors doth men's mind confound :

This mutiny each part doth so surprise,

That from their dark beds, once more, leap her eyes; And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight Upon the wide wound that the boar bad trench'd In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench’d:

No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,

But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed.
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, frantickly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead.

Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow;

Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. Upon bis hurt she looks so steadfastly, That 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 ost 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 turn'd to fire, my heart to lead :

Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire!

So shall I die by drops of hot desire. Alas, poor world, what treasure bast thou lost! What face remains alive that's worth the viewing! Whose tongue is musick now? what canst thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing ?

The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him.

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

But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air

Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair; And therefore would he put bis 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 bis tears. To see his face, the lion walk'd along Behind some hedge, because he would not fear bim; To recreate himself, wben he bath sung, The tiger would be tame, and gently bear him:

If he had spoke, the wolf would leave bis 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 cherries;

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 killd him so.
'Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain ;
He ran upon the boar with bis sharp spear,
Who would not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there

And nozzling in his flank, the loving swine

Sheathi’d, unaware, his task in his soft groin.
Had I been tooth'd like bim, I mast confess
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first
But he is dead, and never did be bless
My youth with his; the more I am accurst.

With this she falletb in the place sbe stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes bim by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ear, a beavy tale,
As if he heard the woeful words sbe told:

She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,

Where lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies: Two glasses, where herself herself beheld A thousand times, and now no more reflect; Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d, And every beauty robb’d of his effect:

Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite,

That, you being dead, the day should yet be light. Since thou art dead, lo! bere I prophesy, Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend; It shall be waited on with jealousy, Find sweet beginning, but uosavoury end;

Ne'er settled equally, to high or low;

That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud, And shall be blasted in a breathing-while; The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd With sweets, that sball the sharpest sight beguile:

The strongest body shall it make most weak,

Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak. It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures:

It shall be raging-mad, and silly-mild,

Make the young old, the old become a child.
It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear;
It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful and too severe,
And most deceiving, when it seems most just;

Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward,

Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.
It shall be cause of war, and dire events,
And set dissention 'twixt the son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious 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 side lay kill'd,
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white;

Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood

Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell Comparing it to her Adonis' breath; And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, Since he himself is reft from her by death :

She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears

Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise, (Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) For every little grief to wet his eyes : To grow unto bimself was his desire,

And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good

To wither in my breast, as in his blood. Here was thy father's bed, bere in my breast; Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right: Lo! in this bollow cradle take thy rest, My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:

There shall not be one minute of an hour,

Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.
Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd,

Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
Means to immure berself, and not be seen.


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