No, no, quoth she, sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear,
When as 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.
"Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;
'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.
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. 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, Aud, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 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 forlern. 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 asham'd of day, tnemselves withdrew. 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: 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 perplexed 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 terror doth men's minds confound: This mutiny each part doth so surprise, That, from their dark beds, once more leap her eyes; 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. 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. SHAKS, NOS. 115 & 116.

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;

And then she reprehends her mangling eye,

[be.

That makes more gashes where no breach should His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled; For oft 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 inine eyes' red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? what can'st 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 died with him.
Bonnet nor 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 hiss 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 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. To see his face, the lion walk'd along

Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him; 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. 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 kill'd him so.
'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. 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. She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;

She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,

As if they heard the woeful words she told She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, Where, lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies: 4 M

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! here I prophesy,

Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy,

Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low;
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe
It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud;

Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the top o'er-straw'd

With sweets, that shall the truest 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, where it shews 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 loves 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 himself 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, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest,

My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night.
There shall not be one minute in an hour,
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator;
What needeth then apology be made,
To set forth that which is so singular?
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:
Perchance that eavy of so rich a thing,
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting
His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should

vaunt

That golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those :
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash-false heat, wrapt in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old.

When at Collatium this false lord arriv'd,
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd
Which of them both should underprop her fame:
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.

But beauty, in that white intitutled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field;
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,-
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white.

This helraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,
Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white.
Of either's colour was the other queen,
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat.

This silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies, that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue (The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so)

In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to shew:
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe,
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper;

For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd:

For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But she, that never cop'd with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from theirling looks,
Nor read the subtle-shining seIRC I
Writ in the glassy margents of such books;
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks;
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.

He stories to her ears her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry

With bruised arms and wreaths of victory;
Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express.
And wordless so, greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming thither,
He makes excuses for his being there.
No cloudy shew of stormy blustering weather,
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vaulty prison stows the day.

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending weariness with heavy spright;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night,
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;
And every one to rest himself betakes,

Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wakes.

[ing:

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstain
Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed propos'd,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death suppos'd

Those that much covet, are with gain so fond,
That what they have not, that which they possess,
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage;
As life for honour, in fell battles' rage;
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and altogether lost.

So that in vent'ring ill, we leave to be
The things we are for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit
Make something nothing, by augmenting it.