By this she hears the hounds are at a bay, Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder Wreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way, The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880 Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds. For now she knows it is no gentle chase, But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 884 Because the cry remaineth in one place, Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud, Finding their enemy to be so curst, They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888 This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, Through which it enters to surprise her heart; Who overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part; 892 Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield, They basely fly and dare not stay the field. Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy, Till cheering up her senses sore dismay’d, 896 She tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy, And childish error, that they are afraid; Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more: And with that word, she spied the hunted boar. 900 Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red, Like milk and blood being mingled both together, A second fear through all her sinews spread, Which madly hurries her she knows not whither: 904 This way she runs, and now she will no further, But back retires, to rate the boar for murther. A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways, She treads the path that she untreads again; 908 Her more than haste is mated with delays, Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting, In hand with all things, naught at all effecting. Here kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, 913 And asks the weary caitiff for his master, And there another licking of his wound, ’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster. 916 And here she meets another sadly scowling, To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. When he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise, Another flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, 920 Against the welkin volleys out his voice; Another and another answer him, Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go. Look how the world’s poor people are amazed 925 At apparitions, signs, and prodigies, Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; 928 So she at these sad signs draws up her breath, And sighing it again, exclaims on death. “Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931 Hateful divorce of love,” thus chides she death, “Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean? To stifle beauty and to steal his breath, Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet. 936