The Project Gutenberg eBook of Venus and Adonis, by William Shakespeare

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VENUS AND ADONIS

by William Shakespeare

Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
HENRY WRIOTHESLEY,bead kits for 10 year olds under 20 dollars EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON,
and Baron of Titchfield.

Right Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolishedlines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing sostrong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only, if your honour seem butpleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of allidle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if thefirst heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noblea godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield mestill so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and yourhonour to your heart’s content; which I wish may always answer your ownwish and the world’s hopeful expectation.

Your honour’s in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

VENUS AND ADONIS

Even as the sun with purple-colour’d face
Had ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek’d Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn;     4
    Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
    And like a bold-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him.

“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began,
“The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare,     8
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are:
    Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
    Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.     12

“Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:     16
    Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
    And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses.

“And yet not cloy thy lips with loath’d satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,     20
Making them red, and pale, with fresh variety:
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
    A summer’s day will seem an hour but short,
    Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.”     24

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good:     28
    Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force
    Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser’s rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,     32
Who blush’d 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.     36

The studded bridle on a 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:     40
    Backward she push’d him, as she would be thrust,
    And govern’d him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:     44
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.”     48

He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks.     52
    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,     56
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone:
    Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin,
    And where she ends she doth anew begin.     60

Forc’d 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,     64
    Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers
    So they were dew’d with such distilling showers.

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies;     68
Pure shame and aw’d 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.     72

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale.
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale;     76
    Being red she loves him best, and being white,
    Her best is better’d with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,     80
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
    Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet;
    And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,     85
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave,     88
    But when her lips were ready for his pay,
    He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer’s heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.     92
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,
    ’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?     96

“I have been woo’d as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;     100
    Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
    And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have.

“Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest,     104
And for my sake hath learn’d 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.     108

“Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d,
Leading him prisoner in a red rose chain:
Strong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.     112
    Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
    For mast’ring her that foil’d the god of fight.

“Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,     116
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:
What see’st 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?     120

“Art thou asham’d to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night.
Love keeps his revels where there are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight,     124
    These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean
    Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip     127
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 that are not gather’d in their prime
    Rot, and consume themselves in little time.     132

“Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old,
Ill-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,     136
    Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;
    But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow,     139
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.     144

“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen.     148
    Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
    Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie:     151
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves 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?     156

“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,
Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft.     160
    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,     164
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are growth’s abuse,
    Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;
    Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.     168

“Upon the earth’s 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;     172
    And so in spite of death thou dost survive,
    In that thy likeness still is left alive.”

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,     176
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.     180

And now Adonis with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,     184
    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 mak’st thou to be gone!     188
I’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:
    I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
    If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears.     192

“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 burneth me;     196
    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:     200
Art thou a woman’s son and canst not feel
What ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?
    O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
    She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.     204

“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:     208
    Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again,
    And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain.

“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead,     212
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred:
    Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion,
    For men will kiss even by their own direction.”     216

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause.     220
    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;     224
Sometimes her arms 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.     228

“Fondling,” she saith, “since I have hemm’d thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:     232
    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,     236
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain:
    Then be my deer, since I am such a park,     239
    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;     244
    Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
    Why there love liv’d, and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,
Open’d their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking.     248
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!     252

Now which way shall she turn? what shall 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:     256
    “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,     260
Adonis’ tramping courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
    The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree,
    Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.     264

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 heaven’s thunder;
    The iron bit he crusheth ’tween his teeth,     269
    Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass’d crest now stand on end;     272
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.     276

Sometime 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     281
    Of the fair breeder that is standing by.”

What recketh he his rider’s angry stir,
His flattering “Holla”, or his “Stand, I say”?     284
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons or trappings gay?
    He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
    For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.     288

Look when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion’d steed,
His art with nature’s workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed:     292
    So did this horse excel a common one,
    In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

Round-hoof’d, 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 lack,
    Save a proud rider on so proud a back.     300

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;     304
    For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
    Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather’d wings.

He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind,     308
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.     312

Then like a melancholy 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.     316
    His love, perceiving how he was enrag’d,
    Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d.

His testy master goeth about to take him,
When lo the unback’d breeder, full of fear,     320
Jealous of catching, 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.     324

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;     328
    For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,
    When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:     332
So of concealed sorrow may be said,
Free vent of words love’s fire doth assuage;
    But when the heart’s attorney once is mute,
    The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.     336

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,     340
    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 she came stealing to the wayward boy,     344
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 flash’d forth fire, as lightning from the sky.     348

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:     352
    His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print,
    As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.

Oh what a war of looks was then between them,
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing,     356
His eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them,
Her eyes woo’d still, his eyes disdain’d 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,     361
A lily prison’d in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band,
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:     364
    This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
    Show’d like two silver doves that sit a-billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
“O fairest mover on this mortal round,     368
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 but my body’s 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 steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it.     376
    Then love’s deep groans I never shall regard,
    Because Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard.”

“For shame,” he cries, “let go, and let me go,
My day’s delight is past, my horse is gone,     380
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.”     384

Thus she replies: “Thy palfrey as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire,
Affection is a coal that must be cool’d;
Else, suffer’d, it will set the heart on fire,     388
    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 master’d with a leathern rein!     392
But when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
    Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
    Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.     396

“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 fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?     400
    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,     404
To take advantage on presented joy,
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.
    O learn to love, the lesson is but plain,
    And once made perfect, never lost again.”     408

“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;     412
    For I have heard, it is a life in death,
    That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.

“Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?     416
If springing things be any jot diminish’d,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth;
    The colt that’s back’d and burden’d being young,
    Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.     420

“You hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart,
To love’s alarms it will not ope the gate:     424
    Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt’ry;
    For where a heart is hard they make no batt’ry.”

“What! canst thou talk?” quoth she, “hast thou a tongue?
O would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing;     428
Thy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now press’d with bearing:
    Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding,
    Ear’s deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding.

“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love     433
That inward beauty and invisible;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible:     436
    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,     440
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
    For from the stillitory of thy face excelling
    Comes breath perfum’d, that breedeth love by smelling.

“But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste,     445
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 sour unwelcome guest,
    Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?”     448

Once more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield,     452
Like a red morn that ever yet betoken’d
Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,
    Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
    Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.     456

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush’d before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,     460
    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 looks reviveth;     464
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.     468

And all amaz’d brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!     472
    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,     476
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d:
    He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
    Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.     480

The night of sorrow now is turn’d 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:     484
    And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
    So is her face illumin’d with her eye.

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d,
As if from thence they borrow’d all their shine.     488
Were never four such lamps together mix’d,
Had not his clouded with his brow’s repine;
    But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light
    Shone like the moon in water seen by night.     492

“O where am I?” quoth she, “in earth or heaven?
Or in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?     496
    But now I liv’d, and life was death’s annoy;
    But now I died, and death was lively joy.

“O thou didst kill me; kill me once again:
Thy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,     500
Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain,
That they have murder’d this poor heart of mine;
    And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
    But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.     504

“Long may they kiss each other for this cure!
Oh never let their crimson liveries wear,
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year:     508
    That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
    May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath.

“Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?     512
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt 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.     516

“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?     520
    Say, for non-payment that 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:     524
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 pluck’d, is sour to taste.     528

“Look the world’s comforter, with weary gait
His day’s hot task hath ended in the west;
The owl, night’s herald, shrieks, ’tis very late;
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,     532
    And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light
    Do summon us to part, and bid good night.

“Now let me say good night, and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.”     536
“Good night,” quoth she; and ere he says adieu,
The honey fee of parting tender’d is:
    Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
    Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face.     540

Till breathless he disjoin’d, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth,     544
    He with her plenty press’d, 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;     548
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;
    Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,
    That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry.     552

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,     556
    Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
    Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honour’s wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tam’d with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing,     561
Or like the froward infant still’d with dandling:
    He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
    While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.     564

What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring,
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass’d oft with vent’ring,
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission:     568
    Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d 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 not suck’d.     572
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis pluck’d.
    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;     577
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is resolv’d no longer to restrain him,
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,     580
    The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest,
    He carries thence encaged in his breast.

“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow,
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.     584
Tell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?”
    He tells her no, tomorrow he intends
    To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.     588

“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.     592
    She sinketh down, still hanging by his 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:     596
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.     600

Even as poor birds, deceiv’d 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.     604
    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 assay’d as much as may be prov’d;     608
Her pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee;
She’s love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d.
    “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me; let me go;
    You have no reason to withhold me so.”     612

“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this,
But that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
Oh be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is,
With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore,     616
    Whose tushes never sheath’d 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;     620
His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;
His snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes;
    Being mov’d, he strikes whate’er is in his way,
    And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay.     624

“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed,
Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:     628
    The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
    As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

“Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine,
To which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes;     632
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 still,     637
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 fear’d thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

“Didst thou not mark my face, was it not white?
Saw’st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?     644
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     649
Doth call himself affection’s sentinel;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!”     652
    Distemp’ring 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 love’s tender spring,     656
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 death should fear.     660

“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 stain’d with gore;     664
    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 indeed,
That tremble at th’imagination?     668
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.     672

“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox which lives by subtilty,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare:     676
    Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,
    And on thy well-breath’d horse keep with thy hounds.

“And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles     680
How he outruns the wind, and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:
    The many musits through the which he goes
    Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.     684

“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,     688
    And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;
    Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear.

“For there his smell with others being mingled,     691
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.     696

“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear,
To hearken if his foes pursue him still.
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;     700
    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,     704
Each envious briar his weary legs do scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:
    For misery is trodden on by many,
    And being low never reliev’d by any.     708

“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 hear’st me moralize,     712
    Applying this to that, and so to so,
    For love can comment upon every woe.

“Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he
“Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:     716
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.”     720

But if 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.     723
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 for shame obscures her silver shine     728
Till forging nature be condemn’d of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine;
    Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite,
    To shame the sun by day and her by night.     732

“And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies,
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,     736
    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,     740
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood;
    Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair,
    Swear nature’s death, for framing thee so fair.     744

“And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities,
Whereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder,     748
    Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done,
    As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.

“Therefore despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,     752
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
    Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
    Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.     756

“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?     760
    If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
    Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

“So in thyself thyself art made away;
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,     764
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher sire that reeves his son of life.
    Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets,
    But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.”     768

“Nay then,” quoth Adon, “you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme;
The kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;     772
    For by this black-fac’d night, desire’s foul nurse,
    Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.

“If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,     776
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;
    For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
    And will not let a false sound enter there.     780

“Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast,
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr’d of rest.     784
    No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
    But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

“What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger;     790
I hate not love, but your device in love
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
    You do it for increase: O strange excuse!
    When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse.     792

“Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating lust on earth usurp’d his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;     796
    Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
    As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But lust’s effect is tempest after sun;     800
Love’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.
    Love surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies;
    Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies.     804

“More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen,     808
    Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended
    Do burn themselves for having so offended.”

With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace     811
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace;
Leaves love upon her back deeply distress’d.
    Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
    So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye.     816

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late embarked friend,
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:     820
    So did the merciless and pitchy night
    Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

Whereat amaz’d, as one that unaware
Hath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood,     824
Or ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood;
    Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
    Having lost the fair discovery of her way.     828

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:     832
    “Ay me!” she cries, and twenty times, “Woe, woe!”
    And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

She marking them, begins a wailing note,
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty;     836
How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote,
How love is wise in folly foolish witty:
    Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
    And still the choir of echoes answer so.     840

Her song was tedious, and outwore the night,
For lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short,
If pleas’d themselves, others they think, delight
In such like circumstance, with such like sport:     844
    Their copious stories oftentimes begun,
    End without audience, and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal,
But idle sounds resembling parasites;     848
Like shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
    She says, “’Tis so:” they answer all, “’Tis so;”
    And would say after her, if she said “No.”     852

Lo here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;     856
    Who doth the world so gloriously behold,
    That cedar tops and hills seem burnish’d gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good morrow:
“Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light,     860
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
    There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother,
    May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.”

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,     865
Musing the morning is so much o’erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love;
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn.     868
    Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
    And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,     872
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay:
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
    Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
    Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.     876

By this she hears the hounds are at a bay,
Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder
Wreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;     880
    Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
    Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,     884
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud,
    Finding their enemy to be so curst,
    They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part;     892
    Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield,
    They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,
Till cheering up her senses sore dismay’d,     896
She tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid;
    Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:
    And with that word, she spied the hunted boar.     900

Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:     904
    This way she runs, and now she will no further,
    But back retires, to rate the boar for murther.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,
She treads the path that she untreads again;     908
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
    Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting,
    In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.

Here kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound,     913
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
And there another licking of his wound,
’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster.     916
    And here she meets another sadly scowling,
    To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.

When he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim,     920
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and another answer him,
    Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
    Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go.

Look how the world’s poor people are amazed     925
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;     928
    So she at these sad signs draws up her breath,
    And sighing it again, exclaims on death.

“Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,     931
Hateful divorce of love,” thus chides she death,
“Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean?
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
    Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set
    Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet.     936

“If he be dead, O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it,
O yes, it may, thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.     940
    Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
    Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant’s heart.

“Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And hearing him, thy power had lost his power.     944
The destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower.
    Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled,
    And not death’s ebon dart to strike him dead.     948

“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?     952
    Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
    Since her best work is ruin’d with thy rigour.”

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail’d her eyelids, who like sluices stopp’d     956
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d
    But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
    And with his strong course opens them again.     960

O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow;
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crystals, where they view’d each other’s sorrow,
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry;     964
    But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
    Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief;     968
All entertain’d, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
    But none is best, then join they all together,
    Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.     972

By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;
A nurse’s song ne’er pleas’d her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;     976
    For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
    And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice.

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prison’d in her eye, like pearls in glass;     980
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass
    To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
    Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown’d.

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems     985
Not to believe, and yet too credulous;
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope make thee ridiculous,     988
    The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
    In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought,
Adonis lives, and death is not to blame;     992
It was not she that call’d him all to naught;
Now she adds honours to his hateful name.
    She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,
    Imperious supreme of all mortal things.     996

“No, no,” quoth she, “sweet death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear
Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe;     1000
    Then, gentle shadow,—truth I must confess—
    I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease.

“’Tis not my fault, the boar provok’d my tongue;
Be wreak’d on him, invisible commander;     1004
’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he’s author of my slander.
    Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet,
    Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit.”

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,     1009
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With death she humbly doth insinuate;     1012
    Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs and stories
    His victories, his triumphs and his glories.

“O love!” quoth she, “how much a fool was I,
To be of such a weak and silly mind,     1016
To wail his death who lives, and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind;
    For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
    And beauty dead, black Chaos comes again.     1020

“Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves,
Trifles unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.”     1024
    Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
    Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light,     1028
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;
    Which seen, her eyes, as murder’d with the view,
    Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew.

Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,     1033
Shrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain,
And there all smother’d up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again:     1036
    So at his bloody view her eyes are fled
    Into the deep dark cabins of her head.

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain,     1040
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
    Who like a king perplexed in his throne,
    By their suggestion gives a deadly groan.     1044

Whereat each tributary subject quakes,
As when the wind imprison’d in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men’s minds confound.
    This mutiny each part doth so surprise     1049
    That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes.

And being open’d, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench’d
In his soft flank, whose wonted lily white     1053
With purple tears that his wound wept, was drench’d.
    No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf or weed,
    But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed.

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth,     1057
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head,
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:     1060
    Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow,
    Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,     1065
That makes more gashes, where no breach should be:
    His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,
    For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

“My tongue cannot express my grief for one,     1069
And yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead:     1072
    Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire!
    So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

“Alas poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that’s worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or anything ensuing?     1078
    The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim,
    But true sweet beauty liv’d and died with him.

“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!     1081
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.
    But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air     1085
    Lurk’d like two thieves, to rob him of his fair.

“And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;     1088
The wind would blow it off, and being gone,
Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep;
    And straight, in pity of his tender years,
    They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

“To see his face the lion walk’d along     1093
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him.     1096
    If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,
    And never fright the silly lamb that day.

“When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;     1100
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
    Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries,
    He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,     1105
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave.     1108
    If he did see his face, why then I know
    He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so.

“’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,     1112
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
    And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
    Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin.     1116

“Had I been tooth’d like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill’d him first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.”     1120
    With this she falleth in the place she stood,
    And stains her face with his congealed blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold,     1124
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
As if they heard the woeful words she told;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies.

Two glasses where herself herself beheld     1129
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d,
And every beauty robb’d of his effect.     1132
    “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite,
    That thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

“Since thou art dead, lo here I prophesy,
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:     1136
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;
    Ne’er settled equally, but high or low,
    That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.

“It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,     1141
Bud, and be blasted in a breathing while;
The bottom poison, and the top o’erstraw’d
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile.     1144
    The strongest body shall it make most weak,
    Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.

“It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;     1148
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;
    It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,
    Make the young old, the old become a child.     1152

“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear,
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful, and too severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just;     1156
    Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward,
    Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

“It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension ’twixt the son and sire;     1160
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire,
    Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,
    They that love best their love shall not enjoy.”     1164

By this the boy that by her side lay kill’d
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white,     1168
    Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
    Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis’ breath;     1172
And says within her bosom it shall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death;
    She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
    Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

“Poor flower,” quoth she, “this was thy father’s guise,
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,
For every little grief to wet his eyes,
To grow unto himself was his desire,     1180
    And so ’tis thine; but know, it is as good
    To wither in my breast as in his blood.

“Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right:     1184
Lo in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
    There shall not be one minute in an hour
    Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.”

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,     1189
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies,
In her light chariot quickly is convey’d;     1192
    Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
    Means to immure herself and not be seen.

FINIS

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