Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/54

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

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She veil'd her eye-lids, who like sluces stopt
The crystal tide, that from her two cheeks fair,
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt.
But thro' the floud-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again,

O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye,
Both crystals, where they view'd each others sorrow,
Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry:
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving which should best become her grief.
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seemeth chief:
 But none is best; then join they altogether,
 Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

By this, far off, she hears some Huntsman hollow:
A Nurses song ne're pleas'd her babe so well:
The dire imagination, she did follow,
This sound of hope doth labour to expell:
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her, it is Adonis voice.

Wherat