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; |
|
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, |
5 |
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, |
|
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, |
|
More white and red than doves or roses are; |
10 |
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, |
|
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. |
|
|
‘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 |
15 |
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know: |
|
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.’ |
|
|
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, |
25 |
The precedent of pith and livelihood, |
|
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm, |
|
Earth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good: |
|
Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force |
|
Courageously to pluck him from his horse. |
30 |
|
Over one arm the lusty courser’s rein, |
|
Under her other was the tender boy, |
|
Who blush’d and pouted in a dull disdain, |
|
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy; |
|
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, |
35 |
He red for shame, but frosty in desire. |
|
|
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: |
|
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, |
45 |
And ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips; |
|
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, |
|
‘If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.’ |
|
|
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears |
|
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks; |
50 |
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs |
|
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks: |
|
He saith she is immodest, blames her miss; |
|
What follows more she murders with a kiss. |
|
|
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, |
55 |
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, |
|
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; |
|
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, |
65 |
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; |
|
Pure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret, |
|
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: |
70 |
Rain added to a river that is rank |
|
Perforce will force it overflow the bank. |
|
|
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, |
|
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale; |
|
Still is he sullen, still he lowers and frets, |
75 |
’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale; |
|
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; |
|
But when her lips were ready for his pay, |
|
He winks, and turns his lips another way. |
90 |
|
Never did passenger in summer’s heat |
|
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. |
|
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get; |
|
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn: |
|
‘O! pity,’ ’gan she cry, ‘flint-hearted boy: |
95 |
’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? |
|
|
‘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, |
|
And for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance, |
105 |
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; |
|
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red, |
|
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. |
|
|
‘Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d, |
|
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain: |
110 |
Strong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d, |
|
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. |
|
O! be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, |
|
For mastering her that foil’d the god of fight. |
|
|
‘Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,— |
115 |
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,— |
|
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine: |
|
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head: |
|
Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies; |
|
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? |
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: |
|
These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean |
125 |
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. |
|
|
‘The tender spring upon thy tempting lip |
|
Shows thee unripe, yet mayst thou well be tasted. |
|
Make use of time, let not advantage slip; |
|
Beauty within itself should not be wasted: |
130 |
Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime |
|
Rot and consume themselves in little time. |
|
|
‘Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled-old, |
|
Ill-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, |
|
O’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold, |
135 |
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, |
|
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee; |
|
But having no defects, why dost abhor me? |
|
|
‘Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow; |
|
Mine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning; |
140 |
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow; |
|
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning; |
|
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, |
|
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. |
|
|
‘Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, |
145 |
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: |
|
Love is a spirit all compact of fire, |
|
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. |
150 |
|
‘Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie; |
|
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 |
155 |
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? |
|
|
‘Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? |
|
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? |
|
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, |
|
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, |
|
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; |
165 |
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. |
|
|
‘Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed, |
|
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? |
170 |
By law of nature thou art bound to breed, |
|
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead; |
|
And so in spite of death thou dost survive, |
|
In that thy likeness still is left alive.’ |
|
|
By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, |
175 |
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them, |
|
And Titan, tired in the mid-day 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, |
|
Souring his cheeks, cries, ‘Fie! no more of love: |
185 |
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; |
|
I ’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind |
|
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun: |
190 |
I ’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs; |
|
If they burn too, I ’ll quench them with my tears. |
|
|
‘The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, |
|
And lo! I lie between that sun and thee: |
|
The heat I have from thence doth little harm, |
195 |
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; |
|
And were I not immortal, life were done |
|
Between this heavenly and earthly sun. |
|
|
‘Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel? |
|
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth. |
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. |
|
|
‘What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this? |
205 |
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? |
|
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? |
|
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: |
|
Give me one kiss, I ’ll give it thee again, |
|
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. |
210 |
|
‘Fie! lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, |
|
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, |
|
Statue contenting but the eye alone, |
|
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred: |
|
Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion, |
215 |
For men will kiss even by their own direction.’ |
|
|
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; |
|
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band: |
225 |
She would, he will not in her arms be bound; |
|
And when from thence he struggles to be gone, |
|
She locks her lily fingers one in one. |
|
|
‘Fondling,’ she saith, ‘since I have hemm’d thee here |
|
Within the circuit of this ivory pale, |
230 |
I ’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; |
|
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: |
|
Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, |
|
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. |
|
|
‘Within this limit is relief enough, |
235 |
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain, |
|
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, |
|
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain: |
|
Then be my deer, since I am such a park; |
|
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.’ |
240 |
|
At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, |
|
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple: |
|
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, |
|
He might be buried in a tomb so simple; |
|
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie, |
245 |
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. |
|
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? |
|
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking? |
250 |
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, |
|
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! |
|
|
Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say? |
|
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing; |
|
The time is spent, her object will away, |
255 |
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing: |
|
‘Pity,’ she cries; ‘some favour, some remorse!’ |
|
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. |
|
|
But, lo! from forth a copse that neighbours by, |
|
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, |
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. |
|
|
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, |
265 |
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 crushes ’tween his teeth, |
|
Controlling what he was controlled with. |
270 |
|
His ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane |
|
Upon his compass’d crest now stand on end; |
|
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, |
|
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send: |
|
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, |
275 |
Shows his hot courage and his high desire. |
|
|
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; |
280 |
And this I do to captivate the eye |
|
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.’ |
|
|
What recketh he his rider’s angry stir, |
|
His flattering ‘Holla,’ or his ‘Stand, I say?’ |
|
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur? |
285 |
For rich caparisons or trapping gay? |
|
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, |
|
Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. |
|
|
Look, when a painter would surpass the life, |
|
In limning out a well-proportion’d steed, |
290 |
His art with nature’s workmanship at strife, |
|
As if the dead the living should exceed; |
|
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, |
295 |
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 whe’r he run or fly they know not whether; |
|
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, |
305 |
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; |
|
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, |
|
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, |
310 |
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels, |
|
Beating his kind embracements with her heels. |
|
|
Then, like a melancholy malcontent, |
|
He vails his tail that, like a falling plume |
|
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: |
315 |
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. |
|
His love, perceiving how he is 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, |
|
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. |
|
|
All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits, |
325 |
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast: |
|
And now the happy season once more fits, |
|
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest; |
|
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong |
|
When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue. |
330 |
|
An oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d, |
|
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: |
|
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, |
335 |
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. |
|
|
He sees her coming, and begins to glow,— |
|
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,— |
|
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow; |
|
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, |
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; |
|
To note the fighting conflict of her hue, |
345 |
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. |
|
|
Now was she just before him as he sat, |
|
And like a lowly lover down she kneels; |
350 |
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, |
|
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: |
|
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand’s print, |
|
As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint. |
|
|
O! what a war of looks was then between them; |
355 |
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing; |
|
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. |
360 |
|
Full gently now she takes him by the hand, |
|
A lily prison’d in a gaol of snow, |
|
Or ivory in an alabaster band; |
|
So white a friend engirts so white a foe: |
|
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, |
365 |
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, |
|
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, |
|
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound; |
370 |
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, |
375 |
And being steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it: |
|
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.’ |
|
|
Thus she replies: ‘Thy palfrey, as he should, |
385 |
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: |
|
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; |
|
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. |
390 |
|
‘How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree, |
|
Servilely master’d with a leathern rein! |
|
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, |
395 |
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. |
|
|
‘Who sees his true-love in her naked bed, |
|
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, |
|
But, when his glutton eye so full hath 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, |
|
To take advantage on presented joy; |
405 |
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.’ |
|
|
‘I know not love,’ quoth he, ‘nor will not know it, |
|
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it; |
410 |
’Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it; |
|
My love to love is love but to disgrace it; |
|
For I have heard it is a life in death, |
|
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath. |
|
|
‘Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d? |
415 |
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? |
|
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: |
|
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery; |
425 |
For where a heart is hard, they make no battery.’ |
|
|
‘What! canst thou talk?’ quoth she, ‘hast thou a tongue? |
|
O! would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; |
|
Thy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong; |
|
I had my load before, now press’d with bearing: |
430 |
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 |
|
That inward beauty and invisible; |
|
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move |
435 |
Each part in me that were but sensible: |
|
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, |
|
Yet should I be in love by touching thee. |
|
|
‘Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, |
|
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, |
440 |
And nothing but the very smell were left me, |
|
Yet would my love to thee be still as much; |
|
For from the still’tory of thy face excelling |
|
Comes breath perfum’d that breedeth love by smelling. |
|
|
‘But O! 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?’ |
450 |
|
Once more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d, |
|
Which to his speech did honey passage yield; |
|
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken’d |
|
Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field, |
|
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, |
455 |
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. |
|
|
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; |
|
A smile recures the wounding of a frown; |
465 |
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth! |
|
The silly boy, believing she is dead, |
|
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red; |
|
|
And all-amaz’d brake off his late intent, |
|
For sharply he did think to reprehend her, |
470 |
Which cunning love did wittily prevent: |
|
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her! |
|
For on the grass she lies as she were slain, |
|
Till his breath breatheth life in her again. |
|
|
He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, |
475 |
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, |
|
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: |
|
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, |
485 |
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. |
|
Were never four such lamps together mix’d, |
|
Had not his clouded with his brows’ repine; |
490 |
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light, |
|
Shone like the moon in water seen by night. |
|
|
‘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? |
495 |
Do I delight to die, or life desire? |
|
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. |
|
|
‘Long may they kiss each other for this cure! |
505 |
O! never let their crimson liveries wear; |
|
And as they last, their verdure still endure, |
|
To drive infection from the dangerous year: |
|
That the star-gazers, having writ on death, |
|
May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath. |
510 |
|
‘Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, |
|
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing? |
|
To sell myself I can be well contented, |
|
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing; |
|
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips |
515 |
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. |
|
|
‘A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; |
|
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. |
|
What is ten hundred touches unto thee? |
|
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone? |
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: |
|
Before I know myself, seek not to know me; |
525 |
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. |
|
|
‘Look! the world’s comforter, with weary gait, |
|
His day’s hot task hath ended in the west; |
530 |
The owl, night’s herald, shrieks, ’tis very late; |
|
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, |
|
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; |
535 |
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.’ |
|
‘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: |
|
He with her plenty press’d, she faint with dearth, |
545 |
Their lips together glu’d, fall to the earth. |
|
|
Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, |
|
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; |
|
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, |
|
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; |
550 |
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, |
|
That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry. |
|
|
And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, |
|
With blindfold fury she begins to forage; |
|
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, |
555 |
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage; |
|
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, |
560 |
Or as the fleet-foot roe that ’s tir’d with chasing, |
|
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. |
|
|
What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering, |
565 |
And yields at last to every light impression? |
|
Things out of hope are compass’d oft with venturing, |
|
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: |
|
Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d coward, |
|
But then woos best when most his choice is froward. |
570 |
|
When he did frown, O! had she then gave over, |
|
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck’d. |
|
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, |
575 |
Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last. |
|
|
For pity now she can no more detain him; |
|
The poor fool prays her that he may depart: |
|
She is 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 incaged in his breast. |
|
|
‘Sweet boy,’ she says, ‘this night I ’ll waste in sorrow, |
|
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. |
|
Tell me, Love’s master, shall we meet to-morrow? |
585 |
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?’ |
|
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends |
|
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. |
|
|
‘The boar!’ quoth she; whereat a sudden pale, |
|
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, |
590 |
Usurps her cheeks, she trembles at his tale, |
|
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws: |
|
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, |
595 |
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: |
|
All is imaginary she doth prove, |
|
He will not manage her, although he mount her; |
|
That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy, |
|
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. |
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. |
|
The warm effects which she in him finds missing, |
605 |
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; |
|
Her pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee; |
|
She ’s Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d. |
610 |
‘Fie, fie!’ he says, ‘you crush me; let me go; |
|
You have no reason to withhold me so.’ |
|
|
‘Thou hadst been gone,’ quoth she, ‘sweet boy, ere this, |
|
But that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. |
|
O! be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is |
615 |
With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, |
|
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. |
|
|
‘His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm’d, |
625 |
Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter; |
|
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm’d; |
|
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: |
|
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, |
|
As fearful of him part, through whom he rushes. |
630 |
|
‘Alas! he nought esteems that face of thine, |
|
To which Love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; |
|
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, |
|
Whose full perfection all the world amazes; |
|
But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread! |
635 |
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. |
|
|
‘O! let him keep his loathsome cabin still; |
|
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends: |
|
Come not within his danger by thy will; |
|
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. |
640 |
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? |
|
Grew I not faint? And fell I not downright? |
645 |
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, |
|
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, |
|
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast. |
|
|
‘For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy |
|
Doth call himself Affection’s sentinel; |
650 |
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, |
|
And in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” |
|
Distempering gentle Love in his desire, |
|
As air and water do abate the fire. |
|
|
‘This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, |
655 |
This canker that eats up Love’s tender spring, |
|
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy, |
|
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring, |
|
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear |
|
That if I love thee, I thy 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; |
|
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed |
665 |
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head. |
|
|
‘What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, |
|
That tremble at the imagination? |
|
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, |
|
And fear doth teach it divination: |
670 |
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, |
|
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. |
|
|
‘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, |
675 |
Or at the roe which no encounter dare: |
|
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 winds, 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. |
|
|
‘Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, |
685 |
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, |
|
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, |
|
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, |
|
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer; |
|
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear: |
690 |
|
‘For there his smell with others being mingled, |
|
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, |
|
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled |
|
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; |
|
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, |
695 |
As if another chase were in the skies. |
|
|
‘By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, |
|
Stands on his hinder legs with listening 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; |
|
Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, |
705 |
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: |
|
For misery is trodden on by many, |
|
And being low never reliev’d by any. |
|
|
‘Lie quietly, and hear a little more; |
|
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: |
710 |
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, |
|
Unlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, |
|
Applying this to that, and so to so; |
|
For love can comment upon every woe. |
|
|
‘Where did I leave?’ ‘No matter where,’ quoth he; |
715 |
‘Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: |
|
The night is spent,’ ‘Why, what of that?’ quoth she. |
|
‘I am,’ quoth he, ‘expected of my friends; |
|
And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.’ |
|
‘In night,’ quoth she, ‘desire sees best of all.’ |
720 |
|
‘But if thou fall, O! then imagine this, |
|
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, |
|
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. |
|
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips |
|
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, |
725 |
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, |
|
Till forging Nature be condemn’d of treason, |
|
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine; |
730 |
Wherein she fram’d thee in high heaven’s despite, |
|
To shame the sun by day and her by night. |
|
|
‘And therefore hath she brib’d the Destinies, |
|
To cross the curious workmanship of nature, |
|
To mingle beauty with infirmities, |
735 |
And pure perfection with impure defeature; |
|
Making it subject to the tyranny |
|
Of mad mischances and much misery; |
|
|
‘As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, |
|
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, |
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. |
|
|
‘And not the least of all these maladies |
745 |
But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under: |
|
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities, |
|
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder, |
|
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done, |
|
As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun. |
750 |
|
‘Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, |
|
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, |
|
That on the earth would breed a scarcity |
|
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, |
|
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night |
755 |
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. |
|
|
‘What is thy body but a swallowing grave, |
|
Seeming to bury that posterity |
|
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, |
|
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? |
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, |
|
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay, |
765 |
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life. |
|
Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, |
|
But gold that ’s put to use more gold begets.’ |
|
|
‘Nay then,’ quoth Adon, ‘you will fall again |
|
Into your idle over-handled theme; |
770 |
The kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain, |
|
And all in vain you strive against the stream; |
|
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, |
775 |
And every tongue more moving than your own, |
|
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. |
|
No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan, |
785 |
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; |
|
I hate not love, but your device in love, |
|
That lends embracements unto every stranger. |
790 |
You do it for increase: O strange excuse! |
|
When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse. |
|
|
‘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 |
795 |
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; |
|
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. |
|
|
‘More I could tell, but more I dare not say; |
805 |
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: |
|
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended, |
|
Do burn themselves for having so offended.’ |
810 |
|
With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace |
|
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, |
815 |
So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye; |
|
|
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, |
|
Or ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are, |
825 |
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood; |
|
Even so confounded in the dark she lay, |
|
Having lost the fair discovery of her way. |
|
|
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, |
|
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled, |
830 |
Make verbal repetition of her moans; |
|
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled: |
|
‘Ay me!’ she cries, and twenty times, ‘Woe, woe!’ |
|
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. |
|
|
She marking them, begins a wailing note, |
835 |
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty; |
|
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: |
|
Their copious stories, oftentimes begun, |
845 |
End without audience, and are never done. |
|
|
For who hath she to spend the night withal, |
|
But idle sounds resembling parasites; |
|
Like shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call, |
|
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits? |
850 |
She says, ‘’Tis so:’ they answer all, ‘’Tis so;’ |
|
And would say after her, if she said ‘No.’ |
|
|
Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, |
|
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, |
|
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast |
855 |
The sun ariseth in his majesty; |
|
Who doth the world so gloriously behold, |
|
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish’d gold. |
|
|
Venus salutes him with this fair good morrow: |
|
‘O 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: |
|
Anon she hears them chant it lustily, |
|
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. |
870 |
|
And as she runs, the bushes in the way |
|
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, |
|
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, |
875 |
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. |
|
|
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, |
|
Because the cry remaineth in one place, |
885 |
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud: |
|
Finding their enemy to be so curst, |
|
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first. |
|
|
This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, |
|
Through which it enters to surprise her heart; |
890 |
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, |
|
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part; |
|
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, |
|
They basely fly and dare not stay the field. |
|
|
Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy, |
895 |
Till, cheering up her senses sore dismay’d, |
|
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: |
|
This way she runs, and now she will no further, |
905 |
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; |
|
Her more than haste is mated with delays, |
|
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, |
910 |
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting, |
|
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. |
|
|
Here kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, |
|
And asks the weary caitiff for his master, |
|
And there another licking of his wound, |
915 |
’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster; |
|
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 amaz’d |
925 |
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies, |
|
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz’d, |
|
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; |
|
So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath, |
|
And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death. |
930 |
|
‘Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, |
|
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 |
935 |
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet? |
|
|
‘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. |
|
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke; |
945 |
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. |
|
|
‘Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping? |
|
What may a heavy groan advantage thee? |
950 |
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping |
|
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see? |
|
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, |
955 |
She vail’d her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopp’d |
|
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; |
|
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, |
965 |
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. |
|
|
Variable passions throng her constant woe, |
|
As striving who should best become her grief; |
|
All entertain’d, each passion labours so, |
|
That every present sorrow seemeth chief, |
970 |
But none is best; then join they all together, |
|
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. |
|
|
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 |
975 |
This sound of hope doth labour to expel; |
|
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: |
|
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, |
|
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. |
990 |
|
Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought, |
|
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame; |
|
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, |
995 |
Imperious supreme of all mortal things. |
|
|
‘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; |
|
’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; |
1005 |
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, |
|
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate; |
1010 |
And that his beauty may the better thrive, |
|
With Death she humbly doth insinuate; |
|
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories |
|
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. |
|
|
‘O Jove!’ quoth she, ‘how much a fool was I, |
1015 |
To be of such a weak and silly mind |
|
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 so 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.’ |
|
Even at this word she hears a merry horn |
1025 |
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; |
|
And in her haste unfortunately spies |
|
The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight; |
1030 |
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, |
|
Shrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain, |
|
And there, all smother’d up, in shade doth sit, |
1035 |
Long after fearing to creep forth again; |
|
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, |
|
|
Whereat each tributary subject quakes; |
1045 |
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 |
|
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes; |
1050 |
|
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 |
|
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench’d: |
|
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, |
1055 |
But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed. |
|
|
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth, |
|
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, |
|
And yet,’ quoth she, ‘behold two Adons dead! |
1070 |
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, |
|
Mine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead: |
|
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? |
1075 |
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? |
|
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; |
|
But true-sweet beauty liv’d and died with him. |
1080 |
|
‘Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! |
|
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; |
|
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone, |
|
Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep; |
1090 |
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 |
|
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him; |
|
To recreate himself when he hath sung, |
1095 |
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him; |
|
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: |
|
If he did see his face, why then I know |
|
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so. |
1110 |
|
‘’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain: |
|
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, |
|
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 |
1115 |
Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin. |
|
|
‘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; |
|
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale, |
1125 |
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 |
|
A thousand times, and now no more reflect; |
1130 |
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d, |
|
And every beauty robb’d of his effect: |
|
‘Wonder of time,’ quoth she, ‘this is my spite, |
|
That, you being dead, the day should yet be light. |
|
|
‘Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy, |
1135 |
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend: |
|
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. |
1140 |
|
‘It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud, |
|
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: |
|
The strongest body shall it make most weak, |
1145 |
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; |
|
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, |
|
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures; |
1150 |
It shall be raging mad, and silly mild, |
|
Make the young old, the old become a child. |
|
|
‘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, |
1155 |
And most deceiving when it seems most just; |
|
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.’ |
|
|
By this, the boy that by her side lay kill’d |
1165 |
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; |
|
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood |
|
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. |
1170 |
|
She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, |
|
Comparing it to her Adonis’ breath; |
|
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 |
1175 |
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: |
|
Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, |
1185 |
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, |
|
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid |
1190 |
Their mistress, mounted, through the empty skies |
|
In her light chariot quickly is convey’d; |
|
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen |
|
Means to immure herself and not be seen. |
|