IXFair was the morn when the fair queen of love,* * * * * *Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,For Adon’s sake, a youngster proud and wild;Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill;Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;She, silly queen, with more than love’s good will,Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds.“Once,” quoth she, “did I see a fair sweet youthHere in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!See in my thigh,” quoth she, “here was the sore.”She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,And blushing fled, and left her all alone.
Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love,* * * * * *Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,For Adon’s sake, a youngster proud and wild;Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill;Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;She, silly queen, with more than love’s good will,Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds.“Once,” quoth she, “did I see a fair sweet youthHere in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!See in my thigh,” quoth she, “here was the sore.”She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,And blushing fled, and left her all alone.