Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/40

The boar! (quoth she) whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing Rose,
Usurps her cheeks, she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.

Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her Champion mounted for the hot encounter:
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her although he mount her:
That worse than Tantalus is her annoy,
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.

Even as poor Birds deceiv'd with painted grapes,
Do surfet by the eye, and pine the maw;
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw;
The warm effects which she in him finds missing,
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain; good Queen, it will not be,
She hath assaid as much as may be prov'd,
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee:
She's love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd.
Fie, fie, he says, you crush me, let me go,
You have no reason to with-hold me so.

Thou hadst been gone (quoth she) sweet boy e'r this,
But that thou toldst me thou wouldst hunt the Boar.

O