burn’d,from the unusual firethat kindled
his breast
His tears defac’d the surface of the well,
With circle after circle, as they fell:
disfiguring reverberations in the water
from the tears
And now the lovely face but half appears, O’er-run with wrinkles, and deform’d with tears. “Ah whither,” cries Narcissus, “dost thou fly? Let me still feed the flame by which I die;
Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast: His naked bosom redden’d with the blow, In such a blush as purple clusters show, Ere yet the sun’s autumnal heats refine Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.
The glowing beauties of his breast he spies, And with a new redoubled passion dies.
The glowing beauties, the throbbing
discolorations left by the redoubled
blows
As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run, And trickle into drops before the sun; So melts the youth, and languishes away, His beauty withers, and his limbs decay; And none of those attractive charms remain, To which the slighted Echo su’d in vain.
Then on th’ wholsome earth he gasping lyes, ‘Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes. To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires, And in the Stygian waves it self admires.