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Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep.

The wind would blow it off, and, being gone,

Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep,

And straight, in pity of his tender years,

They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

‘To see his face the lion walked along

Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him.

To recreate himself when he hath sung,

The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him.

If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,

And never fright the silly lamb that day.

‘When he beheld his shadow in the brook,

The fishes spread on it their golden gills.

When he was by, the birds such pleasure took

That some would sing, some other in their bills

Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries.

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

‘But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,

Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,

Ne’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore:

Witness the entertainment that he gave.

If he did see his face, why then, I know

He thought to kiss him, and hath killed him so.

‘’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain;

He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,

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