Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/52

Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spred,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:
This way she runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the Boar for murder.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,
She treads the path that she untreads again,
Her more than haste is marred with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting;
In hand with all things, nought at all affecting.

Here kennel'd in a brake she finds an hound,
And asks the weary Caitif for his Master,
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaister,
And here she meets another sadly scolding,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.

When he hath ceast his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner black and grim,
Against the Welkin vollies out his voice,
Another and another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
Shaking their scratcht ears, bleeding as they go.

Look how the worlds poor people are amazed
At Apparitions, signs, and prodigies,

Whereon