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- # VENVS AND ADONIS.
So in thy felfe, thy felfe art made away,
A mischiefe worfe then ciuill home-bred strife,
Or theirs whofe desperat hands them felues do fay,
Or butcher fire, that reaues his fonne of life:
Foule cankring ruft, the hidden treaure frets,
But gold that's put to vfe more gold begets.
Nay then (quoth Adon) you will fall againe,
Into your idle ouer-handled theame,
The kiffe I gaue you is beftow'd in vaine,
And all in vaine you ftiue against the ftreame,
For by this black-fact night, defires foule nourfe,
Your treatise makes me like you, worfe & worfe.
If loue haue lent you twentie thoufand tongues,
And euerie tongue more mouing then your owne,
Bewitching like the wanton Marmaids fongs,
Yet from mine eare the tempting tune is blowne,
For know my heart flands armed in mine eare,
And will not let a falfe found enter there.
Left the deceiuing harmonic should ronne,
Into the quiet clofure of my breft,
And then my litle heart were quite vndone,
In his bed-chamber to be bard of reft,
No Ladie no, my heart longs not to grone,
But foundly fleeps, while now it fleeps alone.
F
II. 763—786
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