The chain of iron, the Scythian sword, It yields and shivers at thy word; Thy heart is as the rock, and knows No ruth, nor turning.

To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear, 5 Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both Thou, Adonais; wan they stand and sere Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears,odour, to sighing ruth.

The leman of a wanton youth Perhaps may gain her father's ruth, But never on his injured breast May lie, caressing and caressed.

I had hugged this purpose to my heart, Cast by for it all ruth, all pride, all scruples; Yet now its face, that seemed as pure as crystal, Shows fleshly, foul, and stained with tears and gore!

[In creeping thorough all her veins within, That she thereby shall raise much ruth and woe.

dissembling smooth! Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild?

Rebounding rocks shall rather ring my ruth, Than these Campanian piles, where terrors bide: And nature, that hath lift my throne so high, Shall witness Marius' triumphs, if he die.

Father, God be wi' ye: you have sent your son To seek on earth an earthly day of doom, Where I shall be adjudged, alack the ruth, To penance for the follies of my youth!

Fond hearts, farewell, that swallow'd have my youth; Adieu, vain muses, that have wrought my ruth; Repent, fond sire, that train'dst thy hapless son In learning's lore, since bounteous alms are done.

2 "As easily befalls that age which asketh ruth.