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Who did not whet his teeth at him again,

But by a kiss thought to persuade him there,

And, nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine

Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

‘Had I been toothed like him, I must confess

With kissing him I should have killed him first;

But he is dead, and never did he bless

My youth with his, the more am I accursed.’

With this she falleth in the place she stood,

And stains her face with his congealèd blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale.

She takes him by the hand, and that is cold.

She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,

As if they heard the woeful words she told.

She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,

Where lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies;

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld

A thousand times, and now no more reflect,

Their virtue lost, wherein they late excelled,

And every beauty robbed of his effect.

‘Wonder of time,’ quoth she, ‘this is my spite,

That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

‘Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy

Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend.

It shall be waited on with jealousy,

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