ADONIS The kiss I gave you is bestowed in vain, and all in vain you strive against the stream for, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse, your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled. Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, but Lust's effect is tempest after sun. Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. No, lady, no my heart longs not to groan, but soundly . . . sleeps alone. I tell you, no tomorrow I intend to hunt the boar. . . . . . ."