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| Venus and Adonis | |
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| <BODY> | |
| <H1>Venus and Adonis</H1> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo<BR> | |
| Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| TO THE<BR> | |
| RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,<BR> | |
| EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.<BR> | |
| RIGHT HONORABLE,<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <P>I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to | |
| your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so | |
| strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem | |
| but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take | |
| advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver | |
| labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall | |
| be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a | |
| land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your | |
| honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I | |
| wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful | |
| expectation.</P> | |
| <P>Your honour's in all duty,<BR> | |
| WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.</P> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face<BR> | |
| Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,<BR> | |
| Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;<BR> | |
| Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;<BR> | |
| Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,<BR> | |
| And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,<BR> | |
| 'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,<BR> | |
| Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,<BR> | |
| More white and red than doves or roses are;<BR> | |
| Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,<BR> | |
| Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,<BR> | |
| And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;<BR> | |
| If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed<BR> | |
| A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:<BR> | |
| Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,<BR> | |
| And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,<BR> | |
| But rather famish them amid their plenty,<BR> | |
| Making them red and pale with fresh variety,<BR> | |
| Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:<BR> | |
| A summer's day will seem an hour but short,<BR> | |
| Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,<BR> | |
| The precedent of pith and livelihood,<BR> | |
| And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,<BR> | |
| Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:<BR> | |
| Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force<BR> | |
| Courageously to pluck him from his horse.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,<BR> | |
| Under her other was the tender boy,<BR> | |
| Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,<BR> | |
| With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;<BR> | |
| She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,<BR> | |
| He red for shame, but frosty in desire.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| The studded bridle on a ragged bough<BR> | |
| Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--<BR> | |
| The steed is stalled up, and even now<BR> | |
| To tie the rider she begins to prove:<BR> | |
| Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,<BR> | |
| And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| So soon was she along as he was down,<BR> | |
| Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:<BR> | |
| Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,<BR> | |
| And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;<BR> | |
| And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,<BR> | |
| 'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears<BR> | |
| Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;<BR> | |
| Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs<BR> | |
| To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:<BR> | |
| He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;<BR> | |
| What follows more she murders with a kiss.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,<BR> | |
| Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,<BR> | |
| Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,<BR> | |
| Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;<BR> | |
| Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,<BR> | |
| And where she ends she doth anew begin.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Forced to content, but never to obey,<BR> | |
| Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;<BR> | |
| She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,<BR> | |
| And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;<BR> | |
| Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,<BR> | |
| So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net,<BR> | |
| So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;<BR> | |
| Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,<BR> | |
| Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:<BR> | |
| Rain added to a river that is rank<BR> | |
| Perforce will force it overflow the bank.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,<BR> | |
| For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;<BR> | |
| Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,<BR> | |
| 'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale:<BR> | |
| Being red, she loves him best; and being white,<BR> | |
| Her best is better'd with a more delight.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;<BR> | |
| And by her fair immortal hand she swears,<BR> | |
| From his soft bosom never to remove,<BR> | |
| Till he take truce with her contending tears,<BR> | |
| Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;<BR> | |
| And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Upon this promise did he raise his chin,<BR> | |
| Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,<BR> | |
| Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;<BR> | |
| So offers he to give what she did crave;<BR> | |
| But when her lips were ready for his pay,<BR> | |
| He winks, and turns his lips another way.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Never did passenger in summer's heat<BR> | |
| More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.<BR> | |
| Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;<BR> | |
| She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:<BR> | |
| 'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy!<BR> | |
| 'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,<BR> | |
| Even by the stern and direful god of war,<BR> | |
| Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,<BR> | |
| Who conquers where he comes in every jar;<BR> | |
| Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,<BR> | |
| And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,<BR> | |
| His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,<BR> | |
| And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,<BR> | |
| To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,<BR> | |
| Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,<BR> | |
| Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,<BR> | |
| Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:<BR> | |
| Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd,<BR> | |
| Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.<BR> | |
| O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,<BR> | |
| For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight!<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,--<BR> | |
| Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red--<BR> | |
| The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.<BR> | |
| What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:<BR> | |
| Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies;<BR> | |
| Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?<BR> | |
| 'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,<BR> | |
| And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;<BR> | |
| Love keeps his revels where they are but twain;<BR> | |
| Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:<BR> | |
| These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean<BR> | |
| Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip<BR> | |
| Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted:<BR> | |
| Make use of time, let not advantage slip;<BR> | |
| Beauty within itself should not be wasted:<BR> | |
| Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime<BR> | |
| Rot and consume themselves in little time.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,<BR> | |
| Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,<BR> | |
| O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold,<BR> | |
| Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice,<BR> | |
| Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee<BR> | |
| But having no defects, why dost abhor me?<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;<BR> | |
| Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning:<BR> | |
| My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,<BR> | |
| My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;<BR> | |
| My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,<BR> | |
| Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,<BR> | |
| Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,<BR> | |
| Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,<BR> | |
| Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:<BR> | |
| Love is a spirit all compact of fire,<BR> | |
| Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;<BR> | |
| These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;<BR> | |
| Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,<BR> | |
| From morn till night, even where I list to sport me:<BR> | |
| Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be<BR> | |
| That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?<BR> | |
| Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?<BR> | |
| Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,<BR> | |
| Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft.<BR> | |
| Narcissus so himself himself forsook,<BR> | |
| And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,<BR> | |
| Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,<BR> | |
| Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear:<BR> | |
| Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:<BR> | |
| Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;<BR> | |
| Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,<BR> | |
| Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?<BR> | |
| By law of nature thou art bound to breed,<BR> | |
| That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;<BR> | |
| And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive,<BR> | |
| In that thy likeness still is left alive.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,<BR> | |
| For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,<BR> | |
| And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,<BR> | |
| With burning eye did hotly overlook them;<BR> | |
| Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,<BR> | |
| So he were like him and by Venus' side.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,<BR> | |
| And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,<BR> | |
| His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,<BR> | |
| Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,<BR> | |
| Souring his cheeks cries 'Fie, no more of love!<BR> | |
| The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?<BR> | |
| What bare excuses makest thou to be gone!<BR> | |
| I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind<BR> | |
| Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:<BR> | |
| I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;<BR> | |
| If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,<BR> | |
| And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee:<BR> | |
| The heat I have from thence doth little harm,<BR> | |
| Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;<BR> | |
| And were I not immortal, life were done<BR> | |
| Between this heavenly and earthly sun.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,<BR> | |
| Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?<BR> | |
| Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel<BR> | |
| What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?<BR> | |
| O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind,<BR> | |
| She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this?<BR> | |
| Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?<BR> | |
| What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?<BR> | |
| Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:<BR> | |
| Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,<BR> | |
| And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,<BR> | |
| Well-painted idol, image dun and dead,<BR> | |
| Statue contenting but the eye alone,<BR> | |
| Thing like a man, but of no woman bred!<BR> | |
| Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion,<BR> | |
| For men will kiss even by their own direction.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,<BR> | |
| And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;<BR> | |
| Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth he wrong;<BR> | |
| Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause:<BR> | |
| And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,<BR> | |
| And now her sobs do her intendments break.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand,<BR> | |
| Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;<BR> | |
| Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:<BR> | |
| She would, he will not in her arms be bound;<BR> | |
| And when from thence he struggles to be gone,<BR> | |
| She locks her lily fingers one in one.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here<BR> | |
| Within the circuit of this ivory pale,<BR> | |
| I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;<BR> | |
| Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:<BR> | |
| Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,<BR> | |
| Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Within this limit is relief enough,<BR> | |
| Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,<BR> | |
| Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,<BR> | |
| To shelter thee from tempest and from rain<BR> | |
| Then be my deer, since I am such a park;<BR> | |
| No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,<BR> | |
| That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:<BR> | |
| Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,<BR> | |
| He might be buried in a tomb so simple;<BR> | |
| Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,<BR> | |
| Why, there Love lived and there he could not die.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,<BR> | |
| Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.<BR> | |
| Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?<BR> | |
| Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?<BR> | |
| Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,<BR> | |
| To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?<BR> | |
| Her words are done, her woes are more increasing;<BR> | |
| The time is spent, her object will away,<BR> | |
| And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.<BR> | |
| 'Pity,' she cries, 'some favour, some remorse!'<BR> | |
| Away he springs and hasteth to his horse.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by,<BR> | |
| A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud,<BR> | |
| Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,<BR> | |
| And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:<BR> | |
| The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,<BR> | |
| Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,<BR> | |
| And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;<BR> | |
| The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,<BR> | |
| Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;<BR> | |
| The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,<BR> | |
| Controlling what he was controlled with.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane<BR> | |
| Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;<BR> | |
| His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,<BR> | |
| As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:<BR> | |
| His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,<BR> | |
| Shows his hot courage and his high desire.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,<BR> | |
| With gentle majesty and modest pride;<BR> | |
| Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,<BR> | |
| As who should say 'Lo, thus my strength is tried,<BR> | |
| And this I do to captivate the eye<BR> | |
| Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| What recketh he his rider's angry stir,<BR> | |
| His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'?<BR> | |
| What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?<BR> | |
| For rich caparisons or trapping gay?<BR> | |
| He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,<BR> | |
| For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Look, when a painter would surpass the life,<BR> | |
| In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,<BR> | |
| His art with nature's workmanship at strife,<BR> | |
| As if the dead the living should exceed;<BR> | |
| So did this horse excel a common one<BR> | |
| In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,<BR> | |
| Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,<BR> | |
| High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,<BR> | |
| Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:<BR> | |
| Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,<BR> | |
| Save a proud rider on so proud a back.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares;<BR> | |
| Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;<BR> | |
| To bid the wind a base he now prepares,<BR> | |
| And whether he run or fly they know not whether;<BR> | |
| For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,<BR> | |
| Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| He looks upon his love and neighs unto her;<BR> | |
| She answers him as if she knew his mind:<BR> | |
| Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,<BR> | |
| She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,<BR> | |
| Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,<BR> | |
| Beating his kind embracements with her heels.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Then, like a melancholy malcontent,<BR> | |
| He veils his tail that, like a falling plume,<BR> | |
| Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent:<BR> | |
| He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.<BR> | |
| His love, perceiving how he is enraged,<BR> | |
| Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| His testy master goeth about to take him;<BR> | |
| When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear,<BR> | |
| Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,<BR> | |
| With her the horse, and left Adonis there:<BR> | |
| As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,<BR> | |
| Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,<BR> | |
| Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:<BR> | |
| And now the happy season once more fits,<BR> | |
| That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;<BR> | |
| For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong<BR> | |
| When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,<BR> | |
| Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:<BR> | |
| So of concealed sorrow may be said;<BR> | |
| Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;<BR> | |
| But when the heart's attorney once is mute,<BR> | |
| The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| He sees her coming, and begins to glow,<BR> | |
| Even as a dying coal revives with wind,<BR> | |
| And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;<BR> | |
| Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,<BR> | |
| Taking no notice that she is so nigh,<BR> | |
| For all askance he holds her in his eye.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| O, what a sight it was, wistly to view<BR> | |
| How she came stealing to the wayward boy!<BR> | |
| To note the fighting conflict of her hue,<BR> | |
| How white and red each other did destroy!<BR> | |
| But now her cheek was pale, and by and by<BR> | |
| It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Now was she just before him as he sat,<BR> | |
| And like a lowly lover down she kneels;<BR> | |
| With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,<BR> | |
| Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:<BR> | |
| His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,<BR> | |
| As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| O, what a war of looks was then between them!<BR> | |
| Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing;<BR> | |
| His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;<BR> | |
| Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:<BR> | |
| And all this dumb play had his acts made plain<BR> | |
| With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Full gently now she takes him by the hand,<BR> | |
| A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,<BR> | |
| Or ivory in an alabaster band;<BR> | |
| So white a friend engirts so white a foe:<BR> | |
| This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,<BR> | |
| Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Once more the engine of her thoughts began:<BR> | |
| 'O fairest mover on this mortal round,<BR> | |
| Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,<BR> | |
| My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;<BR> | |
| For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,<BR> | |
| Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee!<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?'<BR> | |
| 'Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thou shalt have it:<BR> | |
| O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,<BR> | |
| And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:<BR> | |
| Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,<BR> | |
| Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go;<BR> | |
| My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,<BR> | |
| And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so:<BR> | |
| I pray you hence, and leave me here alone;<BR> | |
| For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,<BR> | |
| Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, as he should,<BR> | |
| Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:<BR> | |
| Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;<BR> | |
| Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:<BR> | |
| The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;<BR> | |
| Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,<BR> | |
| Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!<BR> | |
| But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,<BR> | |
| He held such petty bondage in disdain;<BR> | |
| Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,<BR> | |
| Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,<BR> | |
| Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,<BR> | |
| But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,<BR> | |
| His other agents aim at like delight?<BR> | |
| Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold<BR> | |
| To touch the fire, the weather being cold?<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;<BR> | |
| And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,<BR> | |
| To take advantage on presented joy;<BR> | |
| Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee;<BR> | |
| O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain,<BR> | |
| And once made perfect, never lost again.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,<BR> | |
| Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;<BR> | |
| 'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;<BR> | |
| My love to love is love but to disgrace it;<BR> | |
| For I have heard it is a life in death,<BR> | |
| That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?<BR> | |
| Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?<BR> | |
| If springing things be any jot diminish'd,<BR> | |
| They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:<BR> | |
| The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young<BR> | |
| Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,<BR> | |
| And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:<BR> | |
| Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;<BR> | |
| To love's alarms it will not ope the gate:<BR> | |
| Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery;<BR> | |
| For where a heart is hard they make no battery.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?<BR> | |
| O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!<BR> | |
| Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;<BR> | |
| I had my load before, now press'd with bearing:<BR> | |
| Melodious discord, heavenly tune harshsounding,<BR> | |
| Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love<BR> | |
| That inward beauty and invisible;<BR> | |
| Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move<BR> | |
| Each part in me that were but sensible:<BR> | |
| Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,<BR> | |
| Yet should I be in love by touching thee.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,<BR> | |
| And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,<BR> | |
| And nothing but the very smell were left me,<BR> | |
| Yet would my love to thee be still as much;<BR> | |
| For from the stillitory of thy face excelling<BR> | |
| Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by<BR> | |
| smelling.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,<BR> | |
| Being nurse and feeder of the other four!<BR> | |
| Would they not wish the feast might ever last,<BR> | |
| And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,<BR> | |
| Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,<BR> | |
| Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,<BR> | |
| Which to his speech did honey passage yield;<BR> | |
| Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd<BR> | |
| Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,<BR> | |
| Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,<BR> | |
| Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| This ill presage advisedly she marketh:<BR> | |
| Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,<BR> | |
| Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,<BR> | |
| Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,<BR> | |
| Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,<BR> | |
| His meaning struck her ere his words begun.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| And at his look she flatly falleth down,<BR> | |
| For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth;<BR> | |
| A smile recures the wounding of a frown;<BR> | |
| But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!<BR> | |
| The silly boy, believing she is dead,<BR> | |
| Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| And all amazed brake off his late intent,<BR> | |
| For sharply he did think to reprehend her,<BR> | |
| Which cunning love did wittily prevent:<BR> | |
| Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!<BR> | |
| For on the grass she lies as she were slain,<BR> | |
| Till his breath breatheth life in her again.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,<BR> | |
| He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,<BR> | |
| He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks<BR> | |
| To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd:<BR> | |
| He kisses her; and she, by her good will,<BR> | |
| Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:<BR> | |
| Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,<BR> | |
| Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array<BR> | |
| He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth;<BR> | |
| And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,<BR> | |
| So is her face illumined with her eye;<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,<BR> | |
| As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.<BR> | |
| Were never four such lamps together mix'd,<BR> | |
| Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;<BR> | |
| But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,<BR> | |
| Shone like the moon in water seen by night.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'O, where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or heaven,<BR> | |
| Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?<BR> | |
| What hour is this? or morn or weary even?<BR> | |
| Do I delight to die, or life desire?<BR> | |
| But now I lived, and life was death's annoy;<BR> | |
| But now I died, and death was lively joy.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again:<BR> | |
| Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,<BR> | |
| Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain<BR> | |
| That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;<BR> | |
| And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,<BR> | |
| But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!<BR> | |
| O, never let their crimson liveries wear!<BR> | |
| And as they last, their verdure still endure,<BR> | |
| To drive infection from the dangerous year!<BR> | |
| That the star-gazers, having writ on death,<BR> | |
| May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,<BR> | |
| What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?<BR> | |
| To sell myself I can be well contented,<BR> | |
| So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing;<BR> | |
| Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips<BR> | |
| Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;<BR> | |
| And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.<BR> | |
| What is ten hundred touches unto thee?<BR> | |
| Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?<BR> | |
| Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,<BR> | |
| Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me,<BR> | |
| Measure my strangeness with my unripe years:<BR> | |
| Before I know myself, seek not to know me;<BR> | |
| No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:<BR> | |
| The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,<BR> | |
| Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,<BR> | |
| His day's hot task hath ended in the west;<BR> | |
| The owl, night's herald, shrieks, ''Tis very late;'<BR> | |
| The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,<BR> | |
| And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light<BR> | |
| Do summon us to part and bid good night.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Now let me say 'Good night,' and so say you;<BR> | |
| If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'<BR> | |
| 'Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says 'Adieu,'<BR> | |
| The honey fee of parting tender'd is:<BR> | |
| Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;<BR> | |
| Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew<BR> | |
| The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,<BR> | |
| Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,<BR> | |
| Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth:<BR> | |
| He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth<BR> | |
| Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,<BR> | |
| And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;<BR> | |
| Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,<BR> | |
| Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;<BR> | |
| Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,<BR> | |
| That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry:<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,<BR> | |
| With blindfold fury she begins to forage;<BR> | |
| Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,<BR> | |
| And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage,<BR> | |
| Planting oblivion, beating reason back,<BR> | |
| Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,<BR> | |
| Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling,<BR> | |
| Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing,<BR> | |
| Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling,<BR> | |
| He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,<BR> | |
| While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering,<BR> | |
| And yields at last to every light impression?<BR> | |
| Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing,<BR> | |
| Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission:<BR> | |
| Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward,<BR> | |
| But then woos best when most his choice is froward.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| When he did frown, O, had she then gave over,<BR> | |
| Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.<BR> | |
| Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;<BR> | |
| What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd:<BR> | |
| Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,<BR> | |
| Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| For pity now she can no more detain him;<BR> | |
| The poor fool prays her that he may depart:<BR> | |
| She is resolved no longer to restrain him;<BR> | |
| Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,<BR> | |
| The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,<BR> | |
| He carries thence incaged in his breast.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow,<BR> | |
| For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.<BR> | |
| Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?<BR> | |
| Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?'<BR> | |
| He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends<BR> | |
| To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'The boar!' quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,<BR> | |
| Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,<BR> | |
| Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale,<BR> | |
| And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:<BR> | |
| She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,<BR> | |
| He on her belly falls, she on her back.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Now is she in the very lists of love,<BR> | |
| Her champion mounted for the hot encounter:<BR> | |
| All is imaginary she doth prove,<BR> | |
| He will not manage her, although he mount her;<BR> | |
| That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,<BR> | |
| To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,<BR> | |
| Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw,<BR> | |
| Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,<BR> | |
| As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.<BR> | |
| The warm effects which she in him finds missing<BR> | |
| She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| But all in vain; good queen, it will not be:<BR> | |
| She hath assay'd as much as may be proved;<BR> | |
| Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee;<BR> | |
| She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved.<BR> | |
| 'Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me; let me go;<BR> | |
| You have no reason to withhold me so.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this,<BR> | |
| But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.<BR> | |
| O, be advised! thou know'st not what it is<BR> | |
| With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,<BR> | |
| Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,<BR> | |
| Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'On his bow-back he hath a battle set<BR> | |
| Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;<BR> | |
| His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret;<BR> | |
| His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;<BR> | |
| Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way,<BR> | |
| And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,<BR> | |
| Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;<BR> | |
| His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd;<BR> | |
| Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:<BR> | |
| The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,<BR> | |
| As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,<BR> | |
| To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes;<BR> | |
| Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne,<BR> | |
| Whose full perfection all the world amazes;<BR> | |
| But having thee at vantage,--wondrous dread!--<BR> | |
| Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;<BR> | |
| Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:<BR> | |
| Come not within his danger by thy will;<BR> | |
| They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.<BR> | |
| When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,<BR> | |
| I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Didst thou not mark my face? was it not white?<BR> | |
| Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?<BR> | |
| Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright?<BR> | |
| Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,<BR> | |
| My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,<BR> | |
| But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy<BR> | |
| Doth call himself Affection's sentinel;<BR> | |
| Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,<BR> | |
| And in a peaceful hour doth cry 'Kill, kill!'<BR> | |
| Distempering gentle Love in his desire,<BR> | |
| As air and water do abate the fire.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,<BR> | |
| This canker that eats up Love's tender spring,<BR> | |
| This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,<BR> | |
| That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,<BR> | |
| Knocks at my heat and whispers in mine ear<BR> | |
| That if I love thee, I thy death should fear:<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye<BR> | |
| The picture of an angry-chafing boar,<BR> | |
| Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie<BR> | |
| An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore;<BR> | |
| Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed<BR> | |
| Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,<BR> | |
| That tremble at the imagination?<BR> | |
| The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,<BR> | |
| And fear doth teach it divination:<BR> | |
| I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,<BR> | |
| If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me;<BR> | |
| Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,<BR> | |
| Or at the fox which lives by subtlety,<BR> | |
| Or at the roe which no encounter dare:<BR> | |
| Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,<BR> | |
| And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy<BR> | |
| hounds.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,<BR> | |
| Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles<BR> | |
| How he outruns the wind and with what care<BR> | |
| He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:<BR> | |
| The many musets through the which he goes<BR> | |
| Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,<BR> | |
| To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,<BR> | |
| And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,<BR> | |
| To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,<BR> | |
| And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer:<BR> | |
| Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'For there his smell with others being mingled,<BR> | |
| The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,<BR> | |
| Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled<BR> | |
| With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;<BR> | |
| Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,<BR> | |
| As if another chase were in the skies.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,<BR> | |
| Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,<BR> | |
| To harken if his foes pursue him still:<BR> | |
| Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;<BR> | |
| And now his grief may be compared well<BR> | |
| To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch<BR> | |
| Turn, and return, indenting with the way;<BR> | |
| Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,<BR> | |
| Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:<BR> | |
| For misery is trodden on by many,<BR> | |
| And being low never relieved by any.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Lie quietly, and hear a little more;<BR> | |
| Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:<BR> | |
| To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,<BR> | |
| Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,<BR> | |
| Applying this to that, and so to so;<BR> | |
| For love can comment upon every woe.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he,<BR> | |
| 'Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:<BR> | |
| The night is spent.' 'Why, what of that?' quoth she.<BR> | |
| 'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends;<BR> | |
| And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'<BR> | |
| 'In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'But if thou fall, O, then imagine this,<BR> | |
| The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,<BR> | |
| And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.<BR> | |
| Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips<BR> | |
| Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,<BR> | |
| Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:<BR> | |
| Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,<BR> | |
| Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,<BR> | |
| For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine;<BR> | |
| Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite,<BR> | |
| To shame the sun by day and her by night.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies<BR> | |
| To cross the curious workmanship of nature,<BR> | |
| To mingle beauty with infirmities,<BR> | |
| And pure perfection with impure defeature,<BR> | |
| Making it subject to the tyranny<BR> | |
| Of mad mischances and much misery;<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,<BR> | |
| Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood,<BR> | |
| The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint<BR> | |
| Disorder breeds by heating of the blood:<BR> | |
| Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair,<BR> | |
| Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'And not the least of all these maladies<BR> | |
| But in one minute's fight brings beauty under:<BR> | |
| Both favour, savour, hue and qualities,<BR> | |
| Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,<BR> | |
| Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,<BR> | |
| As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,<BR> | |
| Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,<BR> | |
| That on the earth would breed a scarcity<BR> | |
| And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,<BR> | |
| Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night<BR> | |
| Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'What is thy body but a swallowing grave,<BR> | |
| Seeming to bury that posterity<BR> | |
| Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,<BR> | |
| If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?<BR> | |
| If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,<BR> | |
| Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'So in thyself thyself art made away;<BR> | |
| A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,<BR> | |
| Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,<BR> | |
| Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life.<BR> | |
| Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,<BR> | |
| But gold that's put to use more gold begets.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Nay, then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again<BR> | |
| Into your idle over-handled theme:<BR> | |
| The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,<BR> | |
| And all in vain you strive against the stream;<BR> | |
| For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse,<BR> | |
| Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,<BR> | |
| And every tongue more moving than your own,<BR> | |
| Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,<BR> | |
| Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown<BR> | |
| For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,<BR> | |
| And will not let a false sound enter there;<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Lest the deceiving harmony should run<BR> | |
| Into the quiet closure of my breast;<BR> | |
| And then my little heart were quite undone,<BR> | |
| In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.<BR> | |
| No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,<BR> | |
| But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'What have you urged that I cannot reprove?<BR> | |
| The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger:<BR> | |
| I hate not love, but your device in love,<BR> | |
| That lends embracements unto every stranger.<BR> | |
| You do it for increase: O strange excuse,<BR> | |
| When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse!<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,<BR> | |
| Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name;<BR> | |
| Under whose simple semblance he hath fed<BR> | |
| Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;<BR> | |
| Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,<BR> | |
| As caterpillars do the tender leaves.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,<BR> | |
| But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;<BR> | |
| Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,<BR> | |
| Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done;<BR> | |
| Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies;<BR> | |
| Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'More I could tell, but more I dare not say;<BR> | |
| The text is old, the orator too green.<BR> | |
| Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;<BR> | |
| My face is full of shame, my heart of teen:<BR> | |
| Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,<BR> | |
| Do burn themselves for having so offended.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace,<BR> | |
| Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,<BR> | |
| And homeward through the dark laund runs apace;<BR> | |
| Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.<BR> | |
| Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky,<BR> | |
| So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Which after him she darts, as one on shore<BR> | |
| Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,<BR> | |
| Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,<BR> | |
| Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:<BR> | |
| So did the merciless and pitchy night<BR> | |
| Fold in the object that did feed her sight.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Whereat amazed, as one that unaware<BR> | |
| Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,<BR> | |
| Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,<BR> | |
| Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,<BR> | |
| Even so confounded in the dark she lay,<BR> | |
| Having lost the fair discovery of her way.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,<BR> | |
| That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,<BR> | |
| Make verbal repetition of her moans;<BR> | |
| Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:<BR> | |
| 'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times 'Woe, woe!'<BR> | |
| And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| She marking them begins a wailing note<BR> | |
| And sings extemporally a woeful ditty;<BR> | |
| How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;<BR> | |
| How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:<BR> | |
| Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,<BR> | |
| And still the choir of echoes answer so.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Her song was tedious and outwore the night,<BR> | |
| For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:<BR> | |
| If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight<BR> | |
| In such-like circumstance, with suchlike sport:<BR> | |
| Their copious stories oftentimes begun<BR> | |
| End without audience and are never done.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| For who hath she to spend the night withal<BR> | |
| But idle sounds resembling parasites,<BR> | |
| Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call,<BR> | |
| Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?<BR> | |
| She says ''Tis so:' they answer all ''Tis so;'<BR> | |
| And would say after her, if she said 'No.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,<BR> | |
| From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,<BR> | |
| And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast<BR> | |
| The sun ariseth in his majesty;<BR> | |
| Who doth the world so gloriously behold<BR> | |
| That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:<BR> | |
| 'O thou clear god, and patron of all light,<BR> | |
| From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow<BR> | |
| The beauteous influence that makes him bright,<BR> | |
| There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother,<BR> | |
| May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,<BR> | |
| Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,<BR> | |
| And yet she hears no tidings of her love:<BR> | |
| She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn:<BR> | |
| Anon she hears them chant it lustily,<BR> | |
| And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| And as she runs, the bushes in the way<BR> | |
| Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,<BR> | |
| Some twine about her thigh to make her stay:<BR> | |
| She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,<BR> | |
| Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,<BR> | |
| Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay;<BR> | |
| Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder<BR> | |
| Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way,<BR> | |
| The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;<BR> | |
| Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds<BR> | |
| Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| For now she knows it is no gentle chase,<BR> | |
| But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,<BR> | |
| Because the cry remaineth in one place,<BR> | |
| Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:<BR> | |
| Finding their enemy to be so curst,<BR> | |
| They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,<BR> | |
| Through which it enters to surprise her heart;<BR> | |
| Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,<BR> | |
| With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:<BR> | |
| Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,<BR> | |
| They basely fly and dare not stay the field.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;<BR> | |
| Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd,<BR> | |
| She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,<BR> | |
| And childish error, that they are afraid;<BR> | |
| Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:--<BR> | |
| And with that word she spied the hunted boar,<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,<BR> | |
| Like milk and blood being mingled both together,<BR> | |
| A second fear through all her sinews spread,<BR> | |
| Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:<BR> | |
| This way runs, and now she will no further,<BR> | |
| But back retires to rate the boar for murther.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;<BR> | |
| She treads the path that she untreads again;<BR> | |
| Her more than haste is mated with delays,<BR> | |
| Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,<BR> | |
| Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting;<BR> | |
| In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound,<BR> | |
| And asks the weary caitiff for his master,<BR> | |
| And there another licking of his wound,<BR> | |
| 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;<BR> | |
| And here she meets another sadly scowling,<BR> | |
| To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,<BR> | |
| Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,<BR> | |
| Against the welkin volleys out his voice;<BR> | |
| Another and another answer him,<BR> | |
| Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,<BR> | |
| Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Look, how the world's poor people are amazed<BR> | |
| At apparitions, signs and prodigies,<BR> | |
| Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,<BR> | |
| Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;<BR> | |
| So she at these sad signs draws up her breath<BR> | |
| And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,<BR> | |
| Hateful divorce of love,'--thus chides she Death,--<BR> | |
| 'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean<BR> | |
| To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,<BR> | |
| Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set<BR> | |
| Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'If he be dead,--O no, it cannot be,<BR> | |
| Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it:--<BR> | |
| O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,<BR> | |
| But hatefully at random dost thou hit.<BR> | |
| Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart<BR> | |
| Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,<BR> | |
| And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.<BR> | |
| The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;<BR> | |
| They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:<BR> | |
| Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,<BR> | |
| And not Death's ebon dart, to strike dead.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such weeping?<BR> | |
| What may a heavy groan advantage thee?<BR> | |
| Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping<BR> | |
| Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?<BR> | |
| Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,<BR> | |
| Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Here overcome, as one full of despair,<BR> | |
| She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt<BR> | |
| The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair<BR> | |
| In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt;<BR> | |
| But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,<BR> | |
| And with his strong course opens them again.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!<BR> | |
| Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;<BR> | |
| Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow,<BR> | |
| Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry;<BR> | |
| But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,<BR> | |
| Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Variable passions throng her constant woe,<BR> | |
| As striving who should best become her grief;<BR> | |
| All entertain'd, each passion labours so,<BR> | |
| That every present sorrow seemeth chief,<BR> | |
| But none is best: then join they all together,<BR> | |
| Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo;<BR> | |
| A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:<BR> | |
| The dire imagination she did follow<BR> | |
| This sound of hope doth labour to expel;<BR> | |
| For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,<BR> | |
| And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,<BR> | |
| Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass;<BR> | |
| Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,<BR> | |
| Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,<BR> | |
| To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,<BR> | |
| Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| O hard-believing love, how strange it seems<BR> | |
| Not to believe, and yet too credulous!<BR> | |
| Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;<BR> | |
| Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:<BR> | |
| The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,<BR> | |
| In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;<BR> | |
| Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;<BR> | |
| It was not she that call'd him, all-to naught:<BR> | |
| Now she adds honours to his hateful name;<BR> | |
| She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,<BR> | |
| Imperious supreme of all mortal things.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest;<BR> | |
| Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear<BR> | |
| When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,<BR> | |
| Which knows no pity, but is still severe;<BR> | |
| Then, gentle shadow,--truth I must confess,--<BR> | |
| I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| ''Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue;<BR> | |
| Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;<BR> | |
| 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;<BR> | |
| I did but act, he's author of thy slander:<BR> | |
| Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet<BR> | |
| Could rule them both without ten women's wit.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,<BR> | |
| Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;<BR> | |
| And that his beauty may the better thrive,<BR> | |
| With Death she humbly doth insinuate;<BR> | |
| Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories<BR> | |
| His victories, his triumphs and his glories.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'O Jove,' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I<BR> | |
| To be of such a weak and silly mind<BR> | |
| To wail his death who lives and must not die<BR> | |
| Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!<BR> | |
| For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,<BR> | |
| And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear<BR> | |
| As one with treasure laden, hemm'd thieves;<BR> | |
| Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,<BR> | |
| Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.'<BR> | |
| Even at this word she hears a merry horn,<BR> | |
| Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| As falcon to the lure, away she flies;<BR> | |
| The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;<BR> | |
| And in her haste unfortunately spies<BR> | |
| The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;<BR> | |
| Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,<BR> | |
| Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew;<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,<BR> | |
| Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,<BR> | |
| And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,<BR> | |
| Long after fearing to creep forth again;<BR> | |
| So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled<BR> | |
| Into the deep dark cabins of her head:<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Where they resign their office and their light<BR> | |
| To the disposing of her troubled brain;<BR> | |
| Who bids them still consort with ugly night,<BR> | |
| And never wound the heart with looks again;<BR> | |
| Who like a king perplexed in his throne,<BR> | |
| By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Whereat each tributary subject quakes;<BR> | |
| As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,<BR> | |
| Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,<BR> | |
| Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound.<BR> | |
| This mutiny each part doth so surprise<BR> | |
| That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| And, being open'd, threw unwilling light<BR> | |
| Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd<BR> | |
| In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white<BR> | |
| With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd:<BR> | |
| No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,<BR> | |
| But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;<BR> | |
| Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;<BR> | |
| Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;<BR> | |
| She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:<BR> | |
| Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow;<BR> | |
| Her eyes are mad that they have wept til now.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,<BR> | |
| That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;<BR> | |
| And then she reprehends her mangling eye,<BR> | |
| That makes more gashes where no breach should be:<BR> | |
| His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;<BR> | |
| For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,<BR> | |
| And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead!<BR> | |
| My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,<BR> | |
| Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:<BR> | |
| Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire!<BR> | |
| So shall I die by drops of hot desire.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!<BR> | |
| What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?<BR> | |
| Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast<BR> | |
| Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?<BR> | |
| The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;<BR> | |
| But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!<BR> | |
| Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:<BR> | |
| Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;<BR> | |
| The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you:<BR> | |
| But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air<BR> | |
| Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'And therefore would he put his bonnet on,<BR> | |
| Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;<BR> | |
| The wind would blow it off and, being gone,<BR> | |
| Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep;<BR> | |
| And straight, in pity of his tender years,<BR> | |
| They both would strive who first should dry his tears.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'To see his face the lion walk'd along<BR> | |
| Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;<BR> | |
| To recreate himself when he hath sung,<BR> | |
| The tiger would be tame and gently hear him;<BR> | |
| If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey<BR> | |
| And never fright the silly lamb that day.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'When he beheld his shadow in the brook,<BR> | |
| The fishes spread on it their golden gills;<BR> | |
| When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,<BR> | |
| That some would sing, some other in their bills<BR> | |
| Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries;<BR> | |
| He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,<BR> | |
| Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,<BR> | |
| Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;<BR> | |
| Witness the entertainment that he gave:<BR> | |
| If he did see his face, why then I know<BR> | |
| He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| ''Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain:<BR> | |
| He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,<BR> | |
| Who did not whet his teeth at him again,<BR> | |
| But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;<BR> | |
| And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine<BR> | |
| Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,<BR> | |
| With kissing him I should have kill'd him first;<BR> | |
| But he is dead, and never did he bless<BR> | |
| My youth with his; the more am I accurst.'<BR> | |
| With this, she falleth in the place she stood,<BR> | |
| And stains her face with his congealed blood.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;<BR> | |
| She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;<BR> | |
| She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,<BR> | |
| As if they heard the woeful words she told;<BR> | |
| She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,<BR> | |
| Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies;<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Two glasses, where herself herself beheld<BR> | |
| A thousand times, and now no more reflect;<BR> | |
| Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,<BR> | |
| And every beauty robb'd of his effect:<BR> | |
| 'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite,<BR> | |
| That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy:<BR> | |
| Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:<BR> | |
| It shall be waited on with jealousy,<BR> | |
| Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end,<BR> | |
| Ne'er settled equally, but high or low,<BR> | |
| That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,<BR> | |
| Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;<BR> | |
| The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd<BR> | |
| With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:<BR> | |
| The strongest body shall it make most weak,<BR> | |
| Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'It shall be sparing and too full of riot,<BR> | |
| Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;<BR> | |
| The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,<BR> | |
| Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;<BR> | |
| It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild,<BR> | |
| Make the young old, the old become a child.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;<BR> | |
| It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;<BR> | |
| It shall be merciful and too severe,<BR> | |
| And most deceiving when it seems most just;<BR> | |
| Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,<BR> | |
| Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'It shall be cause of war and dire events,<BR> | |
| And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire;<BR> | |
| Subject and servile to all discontents,<BR> | |
| As dry combustious matter is to fire:<BR> | |
| Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,<BR> | |
| They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd<BR> | |
| Was melted like a vapour from her sight,<BR> | |
| And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,<BR> | |
| A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,<BR> | |
| Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood<BR> | |
| Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,<BR> | |
| Comparing it to her Adonis' breath,<BR> | |
| And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,<BR> | |
| Since he himself is reft from her by death:<BR> | |
| She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears<BR> | |
| Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy fathers guise--<BR> | |
| Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire--<BR> | |
| For every little grief to wet his eyes:<BR> | |
| To grow unto himself was his desire,<BR> | |
| And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good<BR> | |
| To wither in my breast as in his blood.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| 'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;<BR> | |
| Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:<BR> | |
| Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest,<BR> | |
| My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:<BR> | |
| There shall not be one minute in an hour<BR> | |
| Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.'<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| Thus weary of the world, away she hies,<BR> | |
| And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid<BR> | |
| Their mistress mounted through the empty skies<BR> | |
| In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;<BR> | |
| Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen<BR> | |
| Means to immure herself and not be seen.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
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