Page 2264 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. [990]

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought:

Adonis lives, and death is not to blame;
It was not she that call’d him all to naught;
Now she adds honours to his hateful name:

She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings, [995]
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

«No, no», quoth she, «sweet death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear
Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,

Which knows no pity, but is still severe: [1000]
Then, gentle shadow, − truth I must confess, −
I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease.

«’Tis not my fault, the boar provok’d my tongue:
Be wreak’d on him, invisible commander.

’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong: [1005]
I did but act, he’s author of thy slander.
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit».

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,

Her rash suspect she doth extenuate; [1010]
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories

His victories, his triumphs and his glories.

«O, Jove», quoth she, «how much a fool was I, [1015]
To be of such a weak and silly mind,
To wail his death who lives, and must not die
’Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!