Part 8

Lines 1177–1194

  1. 1177 'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy father's guise,
  2. 1178 Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,
  3. 1179 For every little grief to wet his eyes:
  4. 1180 To grow unto himself was his desire,
  5. 1181 And so 'tis shine; but know, it is as good
  6. 1182 To wither in my breast as in his blood.
  7. 1183 'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
  8. 1184 Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
  9. 1185 Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
  10. 1186 My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
  11. 1187 There shall not be one minute in an hour
  12. 1188 Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.'
  13. 1189 Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
  14. 1190 And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
  15. 1191 Their mistress, mounted, through the empty skies
  16. 1192 In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
  17. 1193 Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
  18. 1194 Means to immure herself and not be seen.