Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/56

'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 womens wit.

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, & 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 dye,
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 one with treasure laden, hem'd with 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 Faulcon to the lure away she flies:
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light,
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul Boars conquest on her fair delight.

Which