Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/293

 And blaming sore the destnyes, sayd: Yit shall they not obteine Their will in all things. Of my greefe remembrance shall remayne (Adonis) whyle the world doth last. From yeere to yeere shall growe A thing that of my heavinesse and of thy death shall showe The lively likenesse. In a flowre thy blood I will bestowe. Hadst thou the powre, Persephonee, rank sented Mints to make Of womens limbes? and may not I lyke powre upon mee take Without disdeine and spyght, to turne Adonis to a flowre? This sed, shee sprinckled Nectar on the blood, which through the powre Therof did swell like bubbles sheere that ryse in weather cleere On water. And before that full an howre expyred weere, Of all one colour with the blood a flowre she there did fynd Even like the flowre of that same tree whose frute in tender rynde Have pleasant graynes inclosde. Howbee't the use of them is short. For why the leaves do hang so looce through lightnesse in such sort, As that the windes that all things perce, with every little blast Doo shake them off and shed them so as that they cannot last.