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This Swaine, intreated by the mirthfull rout,
That with intwined armes lay round about
The tree 'gainst which he lean'd. (So haue I seene
Tom Piper stand vpon our village greene,
Backt with the May-pole, whilst a iocund crew
In gentle motion circularly threw
Themselues about him.) To his fairest Ring
Thus 'gan in numbers well according sing:
Venus by Adonis side
Crying kist, and kissing cride,
Wrung her hands and tore her haire,
For Adonis dying there.
Stay (quoth shee) ô stay and liue!
Nature surely doth not giue
To the Earth her sweetest flowres
To be seene but some few houres.
On his face, still as he bled
For each drop a teare she shed,
Which she kist or wip't away,
Else had drown'd him where he lay

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Faire Proserpina (quoth shee)
Shall not haue thee yet from mee;
Nor thy soule to flie begin
While my lips can keepe it in.
Here she clos'd againe. And some
Say Apollo would haue come
To haue cur'd his wounded lym,
But that shee had smother'd him.