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twg_000000029700 | lend her force Courageously to pluck him from his horse. Over one arm the lusty coursers rein, Under her other was the tender boy, Who blushd and pouted in a dull disdain, With leaden appetite, unapt to toy; She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, He red for shame, but frosty in desire. The studded bridle on a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029701 | ragged bough Nimbly she fastens;O! how quick is love! The steed is stalled up, and even now To tie the rider she begins to prove: Backward she pushd him, as she would be thrust, And governd him in strength, though not in lust. So soon was she along, as he was down, Each leaning on their elbows and their hips: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029702 | Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, And gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips, And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open. He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks; Then with her windy sighs and golden | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029703 | hairs To fan and blow them dry again she seeks. He saith she is immodest, blames her miss; What follows more, she murders with a kiss. Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, Till either gorge be stuffd or prey be gone: Even | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029704 | so she kissd his brow, his cheek, his chin, And where she ends she doth anew begin. Forcd to content, but never to obey, Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face. She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers So they were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029705 | dewd with such distilling showers. Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, So fastend in her arms Adonis lies; Pure shame and awd resistance made him fret, Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: Rain added to a river that is rank Perforce will force it overflow the bank. Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, For to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029706 | a pretty ear she tunes her tale. Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets, Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale; Being red she loves him best, and being white, Her best is betterd with a more delight. Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; And by her fair immortal hand she swears, From his soft | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029707 | bosom never to remove, Till he take truce with her contending tears, Which long have raind, making her cheeks all wet; And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. Upon this promise did he raise his chin, Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave, Who, being lookd on, ducks as quickly in; So offers he to give what she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029708 | did crave, But when her lips were ready for his pay, He winks, and turns his lips another way. Never did passenger in summers heat More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. Her help she sees, but help she cannot get; She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn: O! pity, gan she cry, flint-hearted boy, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029709 | Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? I have been wood as I entreat thee now, Even by the stern and direful god of war, Whose sinewy neck in battle neer did bow, Who conquers where he comes in every jar; Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, And beggd for that which thou unaskd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029710 | shalt have. Over my altars hath he hung his lance, His batterd shield, his uncontrolled crest, And for my sake hath learnd to sport and dance, To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. Thus he that overruld I overswayd, Leading him prisoner in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029711 | a red rose chain: Strong-temperd steel his stronger strength obeyd, Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, For mastring her that foild the god of fight. Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red, The kiss shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029712 | be thine own as well as mine: What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head, Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies; Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? Art thou ashamd to kiss? then wink again, And I will wink; so shall the day seem night. Love keeps his revels where there are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029713 | but twain; Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight, These blue-veind violets whereon we lean Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. The tender spring upon thy tempting lip Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted, Make use of time, let not advantage slip; Beauty within itself should not be wasted, Fair flowers | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029714 | that are not gatherd in their prime Rot, and consume themselves in little time. Were I hard-favourd, foul, or wrinkled old, Ill-nurturd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, Oerworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold, Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee; But having no defects, why dost abhor me? Thou canst not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029715 | see one wrinkle in my brow, Mine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning; My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning, My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029716 | Or like a fairy, trip upon the green, Or like a nymph, with long dishevelld hair, Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. Love is a spirit all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me; Two strengthless doves | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029717 | will draw me through the sky, From morn till night, even where I list to sport me. Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029718 | Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. Narcissus so himself himself forsook, And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; Things growing to themselves are growths abuse, Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029719 | breedeth beauty; Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty. Upon the earths increase why shouldst thou feed, Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? By law of nature thou art bound to breed, That thine may live when thou thyself art dead; And so in spite of death thou dost survive, In that thy likeness still is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029720 | left alive. By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, For where they lay the shadow had forsook them, And Titan, tired in the midday heat, With burning eye did hotly overlook them, Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, So he were like him and by Venus side. And now Adonis with a lazy spright, And with a heavy, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029721 | dark, disliking eye, His louring brows oerwhelming his fair sight, Like misty vapours when they blot the sky, Souring his cheeks, cries, Fie, no more of love: The sun doth burn my face; I must remove. Ay me, quoth Venus, young, and so unkind! What bare excuses makst thou to be gone! Ill sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind Shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029722 | cool the heat of this descending sun: Ill make a shadow for thee of my hairs; If they burn too, Ill quench them with my tears. The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, And lo I lie between that sun and thee: The heat I have from thence doth little harm, Thine eye darts forth the fire that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029723 | burneth me; And were I not immortal, life were done, Between this heavenly and earthly sun. Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel? Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: Art thou a womans son and canst not feel What tis to love, how want of love tormenteth? O had thy mother borne so hard a mind, She | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029724 | had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this? Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: Give me one kiss, Ill give it thee again, And one for intrest, if thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029725 | wilt have twain. Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, Statue contenting but the eye alone, Thing like a man, but of no woman bred: Thou art no man, though of a mans complexion, For men will kiss even by their own direction. This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, And swelling passion doth | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029726 | provoke a pause; Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong; Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause. And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, And now her sobs do her intendments break. Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand, Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground; Sometimes her arms | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029727 | infold him like a band: She would, he will not in her arms be bound; And when from thence he struggles to be gone, She locks her lily fingers one in one. Fondling, she saith, since I have hemmd thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, Ill be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029728 | thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. Within this limit is relief enough, Sweet bottom grass and high delightful plain, Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, To shelter thee from tempest and from rain: Then be my deer, since I am such | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029729 | a park, No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark. At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple; Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, He might be buried in a tomb so simple; Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie, Why there love livd, and there he could not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029730 | die. These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits, Opend their mouths to swallow Venus liking. Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking? Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! Now which way shall she turn? what shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029731 | she say? Her words are done, her woes the more increasing; The time is spent, her object will away, And from her twining arms doth urge releasing: Pity, she cries; some favour, some remorse! Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. But lo from forth a copse that neighbours by, A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, Adonis tramping | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029732 | courser doth espy, And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud: The strong-neckd steed, being tied unto a tree, Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, And now his woven girths he breaks asunder; The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, Whose hollow womb resounds like heavens thunder; The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029733 | iron bit he crusheth tween his teeth, Controlling what he was controlled with. His ears up-prickd; his braided hanging mane Upon his compassd crest now stand on end; His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, As from a furnace, vapours doth he send: His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, Shows his hot courage and his high desire. Sometime | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029734 | he trots, as if he told the steps, With gentle majesty and modest pride; Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps, As who should say, Lo thus my strength is tried; And this I do to captivate the eye Of the fair breeder that is standing by. What recketh he his riders angry stir, His flattering Holla, or his Stand, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029735 | I say? What cares he now for curb or pricking spur? For rich caparisons or trappings gay? He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. Look when a painter would surpass the life, In limning out a well-proportiond steed, His art with natures workmanship at strife, As if the dead the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029736 | living should exceed: So did this horse excel a common one, In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone. Round-hoofd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Look, what a horse should have he did not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029737 | lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back. Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares; Anon he starts at stirring of a feather: To bid the wind a base he now prepares, And where he run or fly they know not whether; For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, Fanning the hairs, who | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029738 | wave like featherd wings. He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her; She answers him as if she knew his mind, Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels, Beating his kind embracements with her heels. Then like a melancholy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029739 | malcontent, He vails his tail that like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. His love, perceiving how he was enragd, Grew kinder, and his fury was assuagd. His testy master goeth about to take him, When lo the unbackd breeder, full of fear, Jealous of catching, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029740 | swiftly doth forsake him, With her the horse, and left Adonis there: As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them. All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits, Banning his boisterous and unruly beast; And now the happy season once more fits That love-sick love by pleading may be blest; For lovers | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029741 | say, the heart hath treble wrong, When it is barrd the aidance of the tongue. An oven that is stoppd, or river stayd, Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: So of concealed sorrow may be said, Free vent of words loves fire doth assuage; But when the hearts attorney once is mute, The client breaks, as desperate in his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029742 | suit. He sees her coming, and begins to glow, Even as a dying coal revives with wind, And with his bonnet hides his angry brow, Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, Taking no notice that she is so nigh, For all askance he holds her in his eye. O what a sight it was, wistly to view How | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029743 | she came stealing to the wayward boy, To note the fighting conflict of her hue, How white and red each other did destroy: But now her cheek was pale, and by and by It flashd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. Now was she just before him as he sat, And like a lowly lover down she kneels; With | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029744 | one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: His tendrer cheek receives her soft hands print, As apt as new-falln snow takes any dint. Oh what a war of looks was then between them, Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, His eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029745 | Her eyes wood still, his eyes disdaind the wooing: And all this dumb play had his acts made plain With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. Full gently now she takes him by the hand, A lily prisond in a gaol of snow, Or ivory in an alabaster band, So white a friend engirts so white a foe: This | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029746 | beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Showd like two silver doves that sit a-billing. Once more the engine of her thoughts began: O fairest mover on this mortal round, Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound, For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, Though nothing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029747 | but my bodys bane would cure thee. Give me my hand, saith he, why dost thou feel it? Give me my heart, saith she, and thou shalt have it. O give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it, And being steeld, soft sighs can never grave it. Then loves deep groans I never shall regard, Because Adonis heart | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029748 | hath made mine hard. For shame, he cries, let go, and let me go, My days delight is past, my horse is gone, And tis your fault I am bereft him so, I pray you hence, and leave me here alone, For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, Is how to get my palfrey from the mare. Thus | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029749 | she replies: Thy palfrey as he should, Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire, Affection is a coal that must be coold; Else, sufferd, it will set the heart on fire, The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. How like a jade he stood tied to the tree, Servilely masterd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029750 | with a leathern rein! But when he saw his love, his youths fair fee, He held such petty bondage in disdain; Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. Who sees his true-love in her naked bed, Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, But when his glutton eye so full hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029751 | fed, His other agents aim at like delight? Who is so faint that dare not be so bold To touch the fire, the weather being cold? Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy, And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, To take advantage on presented joy, Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee. O learn to love, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029752 | the lesson is but plain, And once made perfect, never lost again. I know not love, quoth he, nor will not know it, Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it; Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it; My love to love is love but to disgrace it; For I have heard, it is a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029753 | life in death, That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath. Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinishd? Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? If springing things be any jot diminishd, They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth; The colt thats backd and burdend being young, Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. You | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029754 | hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part, And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat: Remove your siege from my unyielding heart, To loves alarms it will not ope the gate: Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattry; For where a heart is hard they make no battry. What! canst thou talk? quoth she, hast thou a tongue? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029755 | O would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; Thy mermaids voice hath done me double wrong; I had my load before, now pressd with bearing: Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding, Ears deep sweet music, and hearts deep sore wounding. Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love That inward beauty and invisible; Or were I deaf, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029756 | thy outward parts would move Each part in me that were but sensible: Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, Yet should I be in love by touching thee. Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me, And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, And nothing but the very smell were left me, Yet | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029757 | would my love to thee be still as much; For from the stillitory of thy face excelling Comes breath perfumd, that breedeth love by smelling. But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste, Being nurse and feeder of the other four; Would they not wish the feast might ever last, And bid suspicion double-lock the door, Lest jealousy, that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029758 | sour unwelcome guest, Should by his stealing in disturb the feast? Once more the ruby-colourd portal opend, Which to his speech did honey passage yield, Like a red morn that ever yet betokend Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. This ill presage | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029759 | advisedly she marketh: Even as the wind is hushd before it raineth, Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, His meaning struck her ere his words begun. And at his look she flatly falleth down For looks kill love, and love by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029760 | looks reviveth; A smile recures the wounding of a frown; But blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth! The silly boy, believing she is dead, Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red. And all amazd brake off his late intent, For sharply he did think to reprehend her, Which cunning love did wittily prevent: Fair fall the wit | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029761 | that can so well defend her! For on the grass she lies as she were slain, Till his breath breatheth life in her again. He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks To mend the hurt that his unkindness marrd: He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029762 | kisses her; and she, by her good will, Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. The night of sorrow now is turnd to day: Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, Like the fair sun when in his fresh array He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, So | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029763 | is her face illumind with her eye. Whose beams upon his hairless face are fixd, As if from thence they borrowd all their shine. Were never four such lamps together mixd, Had not his clouded with his brows repine; But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light Shone like the moon in water seen by night. O where am | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029764 | I? quoth she, in earth or heaven? Or in the ocean drenchd, or in the fire? What hour is this? or morn or weary even? Do I delight to die, or life desire? But now I livd, and life was deaths annoy; But now I died, and death was lively joy. O thou didst kill me; kill me once again: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029765 | Thy eyes shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain, That they have murderd this poor heart of mine; And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. Long may they kiss each other for this cure! Oh never let their crimson liveries wear, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029766 | And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year: That the star-gazers, having writ on death, May say, the plague is banishd by thy breath. Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, What bargains may I make, still to be sealing? To sell myself I can be well contented, So thou wilt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029767 | buy, and pay, and use good dealing; Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips, Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips. A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; And pay them at thy leisure, one by one, What is ten hundred touches unto thee? Are they not quickly told and quickly gone? Say, for non-payment that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029768 | the debt should double, Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble? Fair queen, quoth he, if any love you owe me, Measure my strangeness with my unripe years: Before I know myself, seek not to know me; No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears: The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, Or being early pluckd, is sour to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029769 | taste. Look the worlds comforter, with weary gait His days hot task hath ended in the west; The owl, nights herald, shrieks, tis very late; The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, And coal-black clouds that shadow heavens light Do summon us to part, and bid good night. Now let me say good night, and so say | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029770 | you; If you will say so, you shall have a kiss. Good night, quoth she; and ere he says adieu, The honey fee of parting tenderd is: Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. Till breathless he disjoind, and backward drew The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, Whose precious | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029771 | taste her thirsty lips well knew, Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth, He with her plenty pressd, she faint with dearth, Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; Whose vulture | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029772 | thought doth pitch the price so high, That she will draw his lips rich treasure dry. And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, With blindfold fury she begins to forage; Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, Planting oblivion, beating reason back, Forgetting shames pure blush and honours | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029773 | wrack. Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, Like a wild bird being tamd with too much handling, Or as the fleet-foot roe thats tird with chasing, Or like the froward infant stilld with dandling: He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. What wax so frozen but dissolves | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029774 | with tempring, And yields at last to every light impression? Things out of hope are compassd oft with ventring, Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: Affection faints not like a pale-facd coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward. When he did frown, O had she then gave over, Such nectar from his lips she had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029775 | not suckd. Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; What though the rose have prickles, yet tis pluckd. Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last. For pity now she can no more detain him; The poor fool prays her that he may depart: She is resolvd no longer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029776 | to restrain him, Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, The which by Cupids bow she doth protest, He carries thence encaged in his breast. Sweet boy, she says, this night Ill waste in sorrow, For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. Tell me, loves master, shall we meet tomorrow Say, shall we? shall we? wilt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029777 | thou make the match? He tells her no, tomorrow he intends To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. The boar! quoth she; whereat a sudden pale, Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, Usurps her cheek, she trembles at his tale, And on his neck her yoking arms she throws. She sinketh down, still hanging by his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029778 | neck, He on her belly falls, she on her back. Now is she in the very lists of love, Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: All is imaginary she doth prove, He will not manage her, although he mount her; That worse than Tantalus is her annoy, To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. Even as poor birds, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029779 | deceivd with painted grapes, Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw: Even so she languisheth in her mishaps, As those poor birds that helpless berries saw. The warm effects which she in him finds missing, She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. But all in vain, good queen, it will not be, She hath assayd as much as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029780 | may be provd; Her pleading hath deservd a greater fee; Shes love, she loves, and yet she is not lovd. Fie, fie, he says, you crush me; let me go; You have no reason to withhold me so. Thou hadst been gone, quoth she, sweet boy, ere this, But that thou toldst me thou wouldst hunt the boar. Oh be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029781 | advisd; thou knowst not what it is, With javelins point a churlish swine to gore, Whose tushes never sheathd he whetteth still, Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. On his bow-back he hath a battle set Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret; His snout digs sepulchres whereer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029782 | he goes; Being movd, he strikes whateer is in his way, And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed, Are better proof than thy spears point can enter; His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed; Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029783 | him, part, through whom he rushes. Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine, To which loves eyes pay tributary gazes; Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, Whose full perfection all the world amazes; But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread! Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029784 | still, Beauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends: Come not within his danger by thy will; They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends. When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, I feard thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. Didst thou not mark my face, was it not white? Sawst thou not signs of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029785 | fear lurk in mine eye? Grew I not faint, and fell I not downright? Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast. For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy Doth call himself affections sentinel; Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, And in a peaceful hour | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029786 | doth cry Kill, kill! Distempring gentle love in his desire, As air and water do abate the fire. This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, This canker that eats up loves tender spring, This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy, That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring, Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, That if I love thee, I thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029787 | death should fear. And more than so, presenteth to mine eye The picture of an angry chafing boar, Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie An image like thyself, all staind with gore; Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed, Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head. What should I do, seeing thee so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029788 | indeed, That tremble at thimagination? The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, And fear doth teach it divination: I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow. But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruld by me; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Or at the fox which lives by subtilty, Or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029789 | at the roe which no encounter dare: Pursue these fearful creatures oer the downs, And on thy well-breathd horse keep with thy hounds. And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles How he outruns the wind, and with what care He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles: The many musits | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029790 | through the which he goes Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer; Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear. For there | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029791 | his smell with others being mingled, The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; Then do they spend their mouths: echo replies, As if another chase were in the skies. By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029792 | with listning ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still. Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the passing bell. Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way, Each envious briar his weary legs do scratch, Each shadow makes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029793 | him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never relievd by any. Lie quietly, and hear a little more; Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Unlike myself thou hearst me moralize, Applying this to that, and so to so, For love | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029794 | can comment upon every woe. Where did I leave? No matter where, quoth he Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: The night is spent. Why, what of that? quoth she. I am, quoth he, expected of my friends; And now tis dark, and going I shall fall. In night, quoth she, desire sees best of all. But if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029795 | thou fall, oh then imagine this, The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn. Now of this dark night I perceive the reason: Cynthia | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029796 | for shame obscures her silver shine Till forging nature be condemnd of treason, For stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine; Wherein she framd thee, in high heavens despite, To shame the sun by day and her by night. And therefore hath she bribd the destinies, To cross the curious workmanship of nature, To mingle beauty with infirmities, And pure | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029797 | perfection with impure defeature, Making it subject to the tyranny Of mad mischances and much misery. As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint Disorder breeds by heating of the blood; Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damnd despair, Swear natures death, for framing thee so fair. And not the least of all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029798 | these maladies But in one minutes fight brings beauty under: Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, Whereat thimpartial gazer late did wonder, Are on the sudden wasted, thawd and done, As mountain snow melts with the midday sun. Therefore despite of fruitless chastity, Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, That on the earth would breed a scarcity And barren dearth of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029799 | daughters and of sons, Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. What is thy body but a swallowing grave, Seeming to bury that posterity, Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? If so, the world will hold thee | 60 | gutenberg |
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