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

164 Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,

Being prison'd 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 drown'd.

165 Oh 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.

166 Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought; Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;

It was not she that call'd him all-to1 naught;
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

167 '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),
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

168 'Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue; Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;

All-to' entirely, altogether.

"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.'

169 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.

170 '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.

171 'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear,

As one with treasure laden, hemm'd 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.

172 As falcon to the lure, away she flies;

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies

The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew.

173 Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,

Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,

And there, all smother'd 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;

174 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 perplexèd in his throne,
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,

175 Whereat each tributary subject quakes:

As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound:
This mutiny each part doth so surprise,
That from their dark beds, once more, leap her eyes;

176 And being open'd, threw unwilling light

Upon the wide wound that the boar had 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.

177 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 stopp'd, her joints forget to bow;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.

178 Upon his 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 oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

179 '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' red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

180 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 anything ensuing ?

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

181 Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss Having no fair1to lose, you need not fear;

you :

The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you:

But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air

Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair;

182 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 tears.

183 To see his face the lion walk'd along

Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him:

1Fair:' fairness, beauty.

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.

184 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.

185 'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted1 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 kill'd him so.

186 'Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain ;
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,

But by a kiss thought to persuade him there,
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheath'd, unaware, the tusk in his soft groin.

187 Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess With kissing him I should have kill'd him

first;

But he is dead, and never did he bless

My youth with his; the more am I accurst.'
With this she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.
Urchin-snouted:' snouted like a hedgehog.