Verse > Anthologies > Elizabethan Sonnets > Chloris
Seccombe and Arber, comps.  Elizabethan Sonnets.  1904.
Sonnet XIX. The Hound, by eating grass, doth find relief
William Smith (fl. 1596)
THE HOUND, by eating grass, doth find relief:
For, being sick, it is his choicest meat.
The wounded Hart doth ease his pain and grief;
If he, the herb Dictamion may eat.
  The loathsome Snake renews his sight again,        5
When he casts off his withered coat and hue.
The sky-bred Eagle fresh age doth obtain
When he, his beak decayèd doth renew.
  I worse than these, whose sore no salve can cure;
Whose grief, no herb, nor plant, nor tree can ease:        10
Remediless, I still must pain endure
Till I, my CHLORIS’s furious mood can please.
  She, like the scorpion, gave to me a wound;
  And, like the scorpion, she must make me sound.

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