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- # VENYS AND ADONIS.
Didst thou not marke my face, was it not white?
Sawest thou not signes of seare lurke in mine eye?
Grew I not faint, and fell I not downe right?
VVithin my bosome whereon thou doest lye,
My boring heart, pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my brest.
For where loue raignes, disturbing iealousie,
Doth call him selfe affections centinell,
Giues false alarmes, suggesteth mutinie,
And in a peacefull houre doth crie, kill, kill,
Distempering gentle loue in his desire,
As aire, and water do abate the fire.
This sower informer, this bate-breeding spie,
This canker that eates vp loues tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious iealousie,
That somtime true newes, somtime false doth bring,
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine eare,
That if I loue thee, I thy death should seare.
And more then so, presenteth to mine eye,
The picture of an angrie chafing boare,
Vnder whose sharpe fangs, on his backe doth lye,
An image like thy selfe, all staynd with goare,
Vvhoes blood vpon the fresh flowers being shed,
Doth make the droop with grief, & hang the hed.
what
II. 643—666
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