104619On his bow-backe, he hath a battell set,

620Of brisly pikes that euer threat his foes,

621His eyes like glow-wormes shine, when he doth fret

622His snout digs sepulchers where ere he goes,

623 Being mou'd he strikes, what ere is in his way,

624 And whom he strikes, his crooked tushes slay.

105625His brawnie sides with hairie bristles armed,

626Are better proofe then thy speares point can enter,

627His short thick necke cannot be easily harmed,

628Being irefull, on the lyon he will venter,

629 The thornie brambles, and imbracing bushes,

630 As fearefull of him part, through whom he rushes.

106631Alas, he naught esteem's that face of thine,

632To which loues eyes paies tributarie gazes,

633Nor thy soft handes, sweet lips, and christall eine,

634Whose full perfection all the world amazes,

635 But hauing thee at vantage (wondrous dread!)

636 Wold roote these beauties, as he root's the mead.

107637Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still,

638Beautie hath nanght to do with such foule fiends,

639Come not within his danger by thy will,

640They that thriue well, take counsell of their friends,

641 When thou didst name the boare, not to dissēble,

642 I feard thy fortune, aud my ioynts did tremble.