“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still. Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700 And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the passing bell. “Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way, 704 Each envious briar his weary legs do scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never reliev’d by any. 708 “Lie quietly, and hear a little more; Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Unlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, 712 Applying this to that, and so to so, For love can comment upon every woe. “Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he “Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: 716 The night is spent.” “Why, what of that?” quoth she. “I am,” quoth he, “expected of my friends; And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.” “In night,” quoth she, “desire sees best of all. 720 But if thou fall, oh then imagine this, The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 723 Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn." “Now of this dark night I perceive the reason: Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine 728 Till forging nature be condemn’d of treason, For stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine; Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite, To shame the sun by day and her by night. 732 “And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies, To cross the curious workmanship of nature, To mingle beauty with infirmities, And pure perfection with impure defeature, 736 Making it subject to the tyranny Of mad mischances and much misery. “As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, 740 The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint Disorder breeds by heating of the blood; Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair, Swear nature’s death, for framing thee so fair. 744 “And not the least of all these maladies But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under: Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, Whereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder, 748 Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done, As mountain snow melts with the midday sun. “Therefore despite of fruitless chastity, Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, 752 That on the earth would breed a scarcity And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 756