Page 2260 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow,
«Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light, [860]
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright:

There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other».

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, [865]
Musing the morning is so much o’erworn,

And yet she hears no tidings of her love;
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn.
Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. [870]

And as she runs, the bushes in the way,

Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay;
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, [875]
Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake.

By this she hears the hounds are at a bay,
Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder
Wreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder: [880]

Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place, [885]

Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud;
Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart; [890]