Whereat amazed, as one that unaware And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, Passion on passion deeply is redoubled: 830 'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times, 'Woe, woe!' And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. She, marking them, begins a wailing note, How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote ; Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, 840 Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, Their copious stories, oftentimes begun, End without audience, and are never done. For who hath she to spend the night withal, She says ''Tis so they answer all 'Tis so ;' Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 850 Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother, This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. And as she runs, the bushes in the way Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 860 Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, 870 By this she hears the hounds are at a bay; Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way, The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880 Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds For now she knows it is no gentle chase, Where tearfully the dogs exclaim aloud: Finding their enemy to be so curst, They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first. This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, Through which it enters to surprise her heart; 890 Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part: Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy; And childish error, that they are afraid; Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more: Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, This way she runs, and now she will no further, A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways; Full of respects, yet not at all respecting : 910 |