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 must not die,
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!

For he being dead, with him is Beauty flain;
And Beauty dead, black Chaos comes again.

Fie, fie, fond Love, thou art fo full of Fear,.
As one with Treasure laden, hem'd with Thieves:
Trifles (unwitnessed with Eye or Ear)

Thy Coward Heart with falfe bethinking grieves:
Even at this Word fhe hears a merry Horn,
Whereat the leaps that was but late forlorn.

As Faulcon to the lure, away fhe flies:
The Grass stoops not, the treads on it fo light,,
And in her haft unfortunately fpies
The foul Boar's Conqueft on her fair Delight.
Which feen,her Eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like Stars,asham'd of Day,themselves withdrew.

Or, as the Snail, 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 Suggestions gives a deadly Groan,

Whereat

Whereat each tributary Subject quakes,

As when the Wind imprison'd in the Ground, Strugling for Paffage, Earth's Foundation shakes, Which with cold Terrors doth Mens Minds conThis Mutiny each Part doth so surprise, (found. That from their dark Beds, once more, leap her

(Eyes.

And, being open'd, threw unwilling Sight
Upon the wide Wound that the Boar had trencht
In his foft Flank; whofe wonted Lilly white
With purple tears,that his wound wept, was drencht.
NoFlower was nigh,noGrafs, Herb,Leafor Weed,
But stole hisBlood,and feem'd with him to bleed.

This folemn Sympathy poor Venus noteth,
Over one Shoulder doth fhe hang her Head,
Dumbly the paffions, frantickly fhe doteth,
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:

Her Voice is stopt, her Joints forget to bow,
Her Eyes are mad that they have wept till now.

Upon his Hurt fhe looks fo fted fastly,
That her fight dazling,makes the Wound seem three,
And then the reprehends her mangling Eye,
That makes moreGashes where no Breach should be:
HisFace feems twain,each feveralLimb is doubled,
For oft the Eye mistakes,the Brain being troubled.

My Tongue cannot express my Grief for one; And yet (quoth fhe) behold two Adons dead: My Sighs are blown away, my falt Tearts gone; Mine Eyes are turn'd to Fire, my Heart to Lead. Heavy Hearts Lead melt at mine Eyes as Fire, So fhall I die by Drops of hot Defire.

Alas,

Alas, poor World, what Treasure haft thou loft?
What Face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whole Tongue isMufick now? what canft thou boast
Of Things long fince, or any thing enfuing?
TheFlowers are fweet, their Colours fresh & trim:
But true fweet Beauty liv'd and dy'd in him.

Bonnet or Veil, henceforth no Creature wear;
Nor Sun, nor Wind, will ever ftrive to kiss you:
Having no Fair to lofe, you need not fear;
The Sun doth fcorn you, & the Wind doth hiss you:
But when Adonis liv'd, Sun and sharp Air
Lurkt like two Thieves to rob him of his Fair.

༢་༡

And therefore would he put his Bonnet on,
Under whofe Brim the gawdy Sun would peep;
The Wind would blow it off, and being gone,
Play with his Locks, then would Adonis weep:
And ftrait in pity of his tender Years, (tears.
They both would strive who first should dry his

To fee his Face, the Lion walks along
Behind fome Hedg, because he would not fear him:
To recreate himfelf when he hath fung,

The Tygre would be tame, and gently hear him :
If he had spoke, the Wolf would leave his Prey,
And never fright the filly Lamb that day.

When he beheld his Shadow in a Brook,
There Fishes fpread on it their golden Gills:
When he was by, the Birds fuch pleasure took,
That fome would fing, fonte other in their Bills
Would bring him Mulberries,& ripe red Cherries:
He fed them with his Sight, they him with Berries.

But this foul, grim, and urchin fnouted Boar,
Whofe downward Eye ftill looketh for a Grave,
Ne'er faw the beauteous Livery that he wore;
Witness the Entertainment that he gave:

If he did fee his Face, why then, I know,
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him fo.

'Tis true, true, true, thus was Adonis lain,
He ran upon the Boar with his fharp Spear,
Who would not whet his Teeth at him again;
But, by a Kifs, thought to perfuade him there:
And, noulling in his Flank, the loving Swine
Sheath'd, unaware, his Tusk in his foft Groin.

Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confefs,
With killing him, I should have kill'd him first ;
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My Mouth with his, the more I am accurft:
With this fhe 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 Ear a heavy Tale,
As if he heard the woful Words fhe told:

She lifts the Coffer-lids that close his Eyes,
Where lo, two Lamps burnt out in darkness lies;

Two Glaffes, where her felf her felf beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect,
Their Virtue loft, wherein they late excell'd,
And every Beauty rob'd of his Effect:

Wonder of Time, quoth fhe, this is my Spight,
That,you being dead, the Day fhould yet be Light.

Since thou art dead, lo here I prophesy,
Sorrow on Love hereafter fhall attend:
It shall be waited on with Jealoufy,

Find fweet Beginning, but unfavoury End;
Ne'er fettled equally, too high, or low,

That all Love's Pleasures fhall not match his Wo.

It shall be fickle, falfe, and full of Fraud,
And fhall be blalted in a breathing while,
The bottom Poison, and the top o'er-straw'd
With Sweets, that fhall the sharpeft fight beguile.
The strongest Body shall it make most weak,
Strike the Wife dumb,and teach the Fool to speak.

It shall be sparing, and too full of Riot,
Teaching decrepit Age to tread the Measures;
The ftaring Ruffian fhall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down theRich,inrich thePoor with Treafures,
It shall be raging mad, and filly mild,

Make the Young old, the Old become a Child.

It fhall fufpect, where is no caufe of fear;
It fhall not fear, where it fhall most mistrust
It shall be merciful, and too fevere,
And most deceiving, when it feems most just:
Perverse it fhall be when it feems most toward,
Put Fear to Valour, Courage to the Coward.

It fhall be cause of War, and dire Events,
And fet Diffenfion 'twixt the Son and Sire,
Subject and fervile 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.