Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/27

Poor Queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee with scorn!

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing:
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing:
Pitty she crys, some favour, some remorse:
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse:

But loe, from forth a Copp's that neighbours by,
A breeding Jennet, lusty, young, and proud,
Adonis trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
The strong neckt Steed being tyed unto a tree
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds:
And now his woven girts he breaks asunder,
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heavens thunder:
The Iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up prickt his braided hanging mane
Upon his compast Crest now stands an end:
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a Furnace vapours doth he lend,
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shews his hot courage, and his high desire.

Some-