- description
- # Section 11: 595-618
## Overview
This section, titled "11. 595-618," is a segment of a larger work, likely a poem or literary analysis. It spans from line 2285 to 2319 of its source document and is part of the chapter titled "[VENVS AND ADONIS.](arke:01KG6S4EKY2NN9C1PGK59TDRWY)". The text itself appears to be a portion of Shakespeare's poem "Venus and Adonis," focusing on the description of a boar and the ensuing dialogue or internal monologue.
## Context
This section was extracted from the file "[pdf-01KG6Q7Q25RHMFT3SJXPV18VFF.txt](arke:01KG6S2X2EBB305ENM00G16GWA)", which is part of the collection "[PDF Workflow Main Test 2026-01-30T00:26:53](arke:01KG6NWQ2H2K4PGG7H4ZHYCZ3Y)". It follows the section "[II. 571—594](arke:01KG6S5JX3ZVSVVN4JAN72CPEK)" and precedes the section "[II. 619—642](arke:01KG6S5JX3VY0AD5FZK4DCW3HH)".
## Contents
The text within this section describes a boar with vivid imagery, highlighting its ferocity and physical attributes: "On his bow-backe, he hath a battell fet, / Of brisly pikes that euer threat his foes," and "His eyes like glow-wormes shine, when he doth fret". It then shifts to a plea, likely from Venus to Adonis, urging him not to engage with the boar: "Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, / Beautie hath naught to do with such soule fiends". The passage concludes with a sense of foreboding, as the speaker recalls a premonition of danger upon hearing the boar mentioned.
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- Section 11: 595-618
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- 11. 595-618
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# VENYS AND ADONIS.
On his bow-backe, he hath a battell fet,
Of brisly pikes that euer threat his foes,
His eyes like glow-wormes shine, when he doth fret
His snout digs sepulchers where ere he goes,
Being mou'd he strikes, what ere is in his way,
And whom he strikes, his crooked tushes slay.
His brawnie sides with hairie bristles armed,
Are better proofe then thy speares point can enter,
His short thick necke cannot be easily harmed,
Being irefull, on the lyon he will venter,
The thornie brambles, and imbracing bushes,
As searefull of him part, through whom he rushes.
Alas, he naught esteem's that face of thine,
To which loues eyes paies tributarie gazes,
Nor thy soft handes, sweet lips, and christall eine,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes,
But hauing thee at vantage (wondrous dread!)
Wold roote these beauties, as he root's the mead.
Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still,
Beautie hath naught to do with such soule fiends,
Come not within his danger by thy will,
They that thriue well, take counsell of their friends,
When thou didst name the boare, not to disseble,
I seard thy fortune, and my ioynts did tremble.
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- 11. 595-618