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IX. 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 thigh1, 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.
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