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.
