Publisher's Synopsis
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase; Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn; Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him. "Thrice fairer than myself," thus she began, "The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, More white and red than doves or roses are: Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
