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 youth

Here 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.