¶FAire was the morne, when the faire Queene of loue,
¶Paler for
sorrow then her milke white Doue,
¶For Adons
sake, a young
ster proud and wilde,
120Her
stand
she takes vpon a
steepe vp hill.
¶Anon Adonis comes with horne and hounds,
¶She
silly Queene, with more then loues good will,
¶Forbad the boy he
should not pa
sse tho
se grounds,
125Once (quoth
she) did I
see a faire
sweet youth
¶Here in the
se brakes, deepe wounded with a Boare,
¶Deepe in the thigh a
spectacle of ruth,
¶Soe in my thigh (quoth
she) here was the
sore,
¶_She
shewed hers, he
saw more wounds then one,
130_And blu
shing fled, and left her all alone.