Page 2265 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And beauty dead, black Chaos comes again. [1020]

«Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves!
Trifles unwitnessed with eye or ear

Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves».
Even at this word she hears a merry horn, [1025]
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

As falcons to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light,

And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight: [1030]
Which seen, her eyes as murder’d with the view,

Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew.

Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there all smother’d up in shade doth sit, [1035]
Long after fearing to creep forth again:

So at his bloody view her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head.

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain, [1040]
Who bids them still consort with ugly night

And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who like a king perplexed in his throne
By their suggestion, gives a deadly groan.

Whereat each tributary subject quakes, [1045]

As when the wind imprison’d in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes;
Which with cold terror doth men’s minds confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes: [1050]