Amidst a pleasant green
Which sun did seldome see,
Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian queen,
The head of a wild boare hung on a tree;
And driven by zephire's breath
Did fall, and would the lovely youth beneath,
On whom yet scarce appeares
So much of bloud as Venus' eyes shed teares.
But ever as she wept, her antheme was,
Change, cruell change, alas!
My Adon, whilst thou liv'd, was by thee slaine,
Now dead, this lover must thou kill againe?