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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.
O, hard-believing love, how strange it seems
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.
"No, no," quoth she, "sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear,
Then, gentle shadow (truth I must confess),
"Tis not my fault: the boar provoked 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,
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, And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.
"Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew.
Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Where they resign their office and their light
Whereat each tributary subject quakes :
This mutiny each part doth so surprise,
And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
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;
Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow; Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.
Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly
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.
"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.
"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.
"Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
But when Adonis lived, 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 off, and, being gone,
"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,
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.
"But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
If he did see his face, why then I know
"'Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine