'Hard-favor'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, Hateful divorce of love,'-thus chides she Death,

'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean

To stifle beauty and to steal his breath, Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set

Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ?

'If he be dead,-O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at
it:-

O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.

940

Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart.

'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,

And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.

The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke; They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower: [fled,

Love's golden arrow at him should have And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead.

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest

such weeping?

What may a heavy groan advantage thee? Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 951 Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see

Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigor, Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigor.'

Here overcome, as one full of despair,

She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt;

But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,

And with his strong course opens them again.

960

The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labor to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.

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, 981 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
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts un-
likely,

[ly.

In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickNow she unweaves the web that she hath wrought; 991

Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that call'd him, all-to naught:
Now she adds honors to his hateful name;

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
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe; 1000
Then, gentle shadow,-truth I must con-
fess,-

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

1010

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, 1019

And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear As one with treasure laden, hemm'd 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. As falcon to the lure, away she flies;

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; And in her haste unfortunately spies 1029 The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight; Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, [drew;

Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withOr, 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; 1040 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;

1050

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, franticly she 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 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.

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' rel fire!

So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

C 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 any thing ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim;

But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him. 1080

'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 Sheathed 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;

1119

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;

Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,

Put fear to valor, courage to the coward.

'It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire; 1160
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 vapor 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.

FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire

And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste

10

Haply that name of 'chaste' unhappily set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite;
When Collatine unwisely did not let
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's
beauties,

With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state; What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent

In the possession of his beauteous mate; Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,

19

That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few!
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting dew
Against the golden splendor of the sun!
An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun :
Honor and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of
harms.

That golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those :
His honor, 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, wrapp'd in repentant cold, Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old!

When at Collatium this false lord arrived, 50 Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame, Within whose face beauty and virtue strived 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 intituled,

From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field :

Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, Which virtue gave the golden age to gild 60 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 heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,
Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white
Of either's color 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.
Their 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

71

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 praised her so,-
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
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 limed no secret bushes fear :
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm ex-

press'd :

91

Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books:
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no

hooks;