- description
- # II. 739—762
## Overview
This section, labeled "II. 739—762," is a segment of a larger work, likely a poem or literary text. It spans from line 2494 to 2528 and was extracted from the file `pdf-01KG6Q7Q25RHMFT3SJXPV18VFF.txt` on January 30, 2026.
## Context
This section is part of the chapter titled "[VENVS AND ADONIS.](arke:01KG6S4EKY2NN9C1PGK59TDRWY)" and is contained within the collection "[PDF Workflow Main Test 2026-01-30T00:26:53](arke:01KG6NWQ2H2K4PGG7H4ZHYCZ3Y)". It follows the section "[II. 715—738](arke:01KG6S5JX7GRCEGV8YZ8WR7FGJ)" and precedes the section "[II. 763—786](arke:01KG6S5KEMZ01C4E1SAK808J50)".
## Contents
The text within this section is a passage from "VENVS AND ADONIS." It contains dialogue and poetic verses, with lines such as "So in thy felfe, thy felfe art made away," and "Nay then (quoth Adon) you will fall againe, / Into your idle ouer-handled theame." The content appears to be a continuation of a narrative or argument between Venus and Adonis, as suggested by the chapter title and the dialogue presented.
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- II. 739—762
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- II. 739—762
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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
- title
- II. 739—762