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Even as the
sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last
leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied
him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he
laughed to scorn.
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain
unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo
him.
"Thrice fairer than myself," thus she began
"The fields chief flower, sweet above compare,
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.
"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.
Here come and sit where never serpent hisses,
And
being set, I'll smother thee with kisses.
"And
yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But
rather famish them amid their plenty,
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,
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
enraged, 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,
Who blushed and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden
appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of
glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she
fastens -O, how quick is love!
The steed is stalled
up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to
prove.
Backward she pushed him, as she would be
thrust,
And governed 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
And 'gins to
chide, but soon she stops his lips,
And, kissing,
speaks with lustful language broken:
"If thou wilt
chide, thy lips shall never open".
He burns with
bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the
maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy
sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again
she seeks.
He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.
Even
as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak
on feathers, flesh, and bone,
Shaking her wings,
devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuffed
or prey be gone;
Even so she kissed his brow, his
cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew
begin.
Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face;
She
feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it
heavenly moisture, air of grace,
Wishing her cheeks
were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dewed with
such distilling showers.
Look how a bird lies
tangled in a net,
So fastened in her arms Adonis
lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes.
Rain added
to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it
overflow the bank.
Still she entreats, and
prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her
tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale.
Being red,
she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is
bettered with a more delight.
Look how he can,
she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal
hand she swears
From his soft bosom never to remove
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which
long have rained, making her cheeks all wet;
And one
sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.
Upon
this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a
dive-dapper peering through a wave
Who, being looked
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.
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,
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art
thou coy?
"I have been wooed 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;
Yet hath he
been my captive and my slave,
And begged for that
which thou unasked shalt have.
"Over my altars
hath he hung his lance,
His battered shield, his
uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learned to
sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and
jest,
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
"Thus
he that overruled I overswayed,
Leading him prisoner
in a red-rose chain;
Strong-tempered steel his
stronger strength obeyed,
Yet was he servile to my
coy disdain.
O be not proud, nor brag not of thy
might,
For mast'ring her that foiled the god of
fight.
"Touch but my lips with those fair lips of
thine,
- Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red
-
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? Hold up thy head;
Look
in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not
lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
"Art thou
ashamed 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-veined violets whereon we
lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.
"The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows
thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted.
Make use
of time, let not advantage slip:
Beauty within itself
should not be wasted.
Fair flowers that are not
gathered in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in
little time.
"Were I hard-favoured, foul, or
wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh
in voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,
Then
mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;
But
having no defects, why dost abhor me?
"Thou canst
not see one wrinkle in my brow,
Mine eyes are grey
and bright and quick in turning,
My beauty as the
spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump,
my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with
thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve or seem to
melt.
"Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine
ear,
Or like a fairy trip upon the green,
Or like
a nymph, with long dishevelled hair,
Dance on the
sands, and yet no footing seen.
Love is a spirit all
compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and
will aspire.
"Witness this primrose bank whereon
I lie:
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees
support me;
Two strengthless doves 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 should 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.
Narcissus so himself
himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the
brook.
"Torches are made to light, jewels to
wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are 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?
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 lovesick queen began to sweat,
For
where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And
Titan, tired in the midday heat,
With burning eye did
hotly overlook them,
Wishing Adonis had his team to
guide,
So he were like him, and by Venus' side.
And now Adonis, with a lazy sprite,
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!
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.
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:
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.
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?
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 int'rest, if thou wilt have twain.
"Fie,
lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead,
Statue
contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but
of no woman bred!
Thou art no man, though of a man's
complexion,
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;
And now she weeps, and now she fain would
speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.
Sometime she shakes her head, and then his hand;
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometime
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.
"Fondling," she saith "since I have
hemmed 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;
Graze
on my lips, and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower,
where the pleasant fountains lie.
"Within this
limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass and high
delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes
obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and
from rain:
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark."
At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each
cheek appears a pretty dimple.
Love made those
hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in
a tomb so simple,
Foreknowing well, if there he came
to lie,
Why, there Love lived, and there he could not
die.
These lovely caves, these round enchanting
pits,
Opened their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck
dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor
queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a
cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!
Now which way
shall she turn? What shall she say?
Her words are
done, her woes the more increasing.
The time is
spent, her object will away,
And from her twining
arms doth urge releasing.
"Pity!" she cries "Some
favour, some remorse!"
Away he springs, and hasteth
to his horse.
But lo, from forth a copse that
neighbours by
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and
proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And
forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud.
The
strong-necked steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh
his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now
his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth
with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb
resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he
crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was
controlled with.
His ears up-pricked; his braided
hanging mane
Upon his compassed crest now stand on
end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send;
His eye,
which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot
courage and his high desire.
Sometime he trots,
as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and
modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and
leaps,
As who should say `Lo, thus my strength is
tried,
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the
fair breeder that is standing by.'
What recketh
he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering `Holla' or
his `Stand, I say'?
What cares he now for curb or
pricking spur,
For rich caparisons or trappings gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For
nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
Look
when a painter would surpass the life
In limning out
a well-proportioned steed,
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-hoofed, 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.
Sometime
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'er he run or fly they know not
whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind
sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feathered
wings.
He looks upon his love, and neighs unto
her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She
puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at
his love, and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his
kind embracements with her heels.
Then, like a
melancholy malcontent,
He vails his tail that, like a
falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock
lent;
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his
fume.
His love, perceiving how he was enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.
His testy
master goeth about to take him,
When, lo, the
unbacked breeder, full of fear,
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.
All swoll'n with chafing, down
Adonis sits,
Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits
That lovesick
Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say the
heart hath treble wrong
When it is barred the aidance
of the tongue.
An oven that is stopped, or river
stayed,
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,
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,
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,
How
white and red each other did destroy!
But now her
cheek was pale, and by-and-by
It flashed forth fire,
as lightning from the sky.
Now was she just
before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she
kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels.
His
tend'rer 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,
Her eyes petitioners
to his eyes suing!
His eyes saw her eyes as they had
not seen them;
Her eyes wooed still, his eyes
disdained the wooing;
And all this dumb-play had his
acts made plain
With tears which chorus-like her eyes
did rain.
Full gently now she takes him by the
hand,
A lily prisoned 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,
Showed like two silver doves that sit
a-billing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts
began:
"O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all
whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet
look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing 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
steeled, 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,
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,
Welcomes the warm approach of
sweet desire.
Affection is a coal that must be
cooled,
Else, suffered, it will set the heart on
fire.
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.
"How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,
Servilely
mastered 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,
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?
Who is so faint that
dares not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather
being cold?
"Let me excuse thy courser, gentle
boy;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To
take advantage on presented joy:
Though I were dumb,
yet his proceedings teach thee.
O learn to love: -the
lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, never
lost again."
"I know not love," quoth he "nor
will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I
chase it.
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it.
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I
have heard, it is a life in death,
That laughs and
weeps, and all but with a breath.
"Who wears a
garment shapeless and unfinished?
Who plucks the bud
before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any
jot diminished,
They wither in their prime, prove
nothing worth.
The colt that's backed and burdened
being young
Loseth his pride, and never waxeth
strong.
"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 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!
Thy mermaid's voice
hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now
pressed with bearing:
Melodious discord, heavenly
tune harsh-sounding,
Ears' 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
Each part in me that were but sensible.
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
Yet
should I be in love by touching thee.
"Say that
the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could
not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the
very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be
still as much;
For from the stillitory of thy face
excelling
Comes breath perfumed, that breedeth love
by smelling.
"But O what banquet wert thou to the
taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
And
bid Suspicion double-lock the door
Lest jealousy,
that sour unwelcome guest,
Should by his stealing-in
disturb the feast?"
Once more the ruby-coloured
portal opened,
Which to his speech did honey passage
yield,
Like a red morn that ever yet betokened
Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to
shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws
to herdmen and to herds.
This ill presage
advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hushed
before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he
barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning
struck her ere his words begun.
And at his look
she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love, and
love by looks reviveth:
A smile recures the wounding
of a frown.
But blessed bankrupt that by loss so
thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead,
Claps her pale cheek till clapping makes it red;
And all amazed brake off his late intent,
For sharply
did he think to reprehend her,
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,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He
chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the
hurt that his unkindness marred;
He kisses her, and
she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will
kiss her still.
The night of sorrow now is turned
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 earth relieveth;
And as the
bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face
illumined with her eye;
Whose beams upon his
hairless face are fixed,
As if from thence they
borrowed all their shine.
Were never four such lamps
together mixed
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.
"O where am I?" quoth she "In earth or
heaven,
Or in the ocean drenched, or in the fire?
What hour is this? -or morn, or weary even?
Do I
delight to die, or life desire?
But now I lived, 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,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such
disdain
That they have murdered 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!
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 banished by thy
breath.
"Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips
imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be
sealing?
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set
thy seal manual on my wax-red lips.
"A thousand
kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy
leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto
thee?
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is
twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?"
"Fair
queen," quoth he "if any love you owe me,
Measure my
strangeness with my unripe years;
Before I know
myself, seek not to know me:
No fisher but the
ungrown fry forbears;
The mellow plum doth fall, the
green sticks fast,
Or being early plucked is sour to
taste.
"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;
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."
"Good night" quoth she;
and ere he says adieu
The honey fee of parting
tendered is:
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet
embrace;
Incorporate then they seem -face grows to
face;
Till breathless he disjoined, 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 pressed, she faint with dearth,
Their lips
together glued, fall to the earth.
Now quick
desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And
glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips
are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the
insulter willeth,
Whose vulture thought doth pitch
the price so high
That she will draw his lips' rich
treasure dry.
And having felt the sweetness of
the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage,
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting
shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.
Hot,
faint, and weary with her hard embracing,
Like a wild
bird being tamed with too much handling,
Or as the
fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing,
Or like the
froward infant stilled 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 temp'ring,
And yields at last to very
light impression?
Things out of hope are compassed
oft with vent'ring,
Chiefly in love, whose leave
exceeds commission:
Affection faints not like a
pale-faced 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
sucked.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover:
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis plucked.
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love
breaks through, and picks them all at last.
For
pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool
prays her that he may depart.
She is resolved no
longer to restrain him;
Bids him farewell, and look
well to her heart,
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.
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.
"The
boar?" quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn
being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her
cheek. She trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her
yoking arms she throws;
She sinketh down, still
hanging by his neck;
He on her belly falls, she on
her back.
Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter.
All is
imaginary she doth prove;
He will not manage her,
although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is
her annoy,
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.
Even so poor birds deceived with painted grapes
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw;
Even so she
languisheth in her mishaps
As those poor birds that
helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in
him finds missing
She seeks to kindle with continual
kissing.
But all in vain, good queen, it will not
be.
She hath assayed as much as may be proved;
Her
pleading hath deserved a greater fee:
She's Love, she
loves, and yet she is not loved.
"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 advised, thou
know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a
churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheathed
he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher bent to
kill.
"On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of
bristly pikes that ever threat his foes;
His eyes
like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;
His snout
digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
Being moved, he
strikes whate'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes
his crooked tushes slay.
"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
venter;
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.
"Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which
Love's eyes pays tributary gazes;
Nor thy soft hands,
sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection
all the world amazes;
But having thee at vantage
-wondrous dread! -
Would root these beauties as he
roots the mead.
"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.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
I
feared 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?
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;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry `Kill, kill!'
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,
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;
"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
stained with gore;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers
being shed
Doth make them droop with grief and hang
the head.
"What should I do, seeing thee so
indeed,
That tremble at th' imagination?
The
thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And
fear doth teach it divination:
I prophesy thy death,
my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar
tomorrow.
"But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled
by me:
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at
the fox which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe which
no encounter dare;
Pursue these fearful creatures
o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breathed horse keep
with thy hounds.
"And when thou hast on foot the
purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his
troubles
How he outruns the wind, and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles.
The
many musits through the which he goes
Are like a
labyrinth to amaze his foes.
"Sometime he runs
among a flock of sheep,
To make the cunning hounds
mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving
conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell;
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;
- Danger
deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear -
"For there
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 they do spend
their mouths; Echo replies,
As if another chase were
in the skies.
"By this, poor Wat, far off upon a
hill,
Stands on his hinder-legs with list'ning ear,
To hearken if his foes pursue him still;
Anon their
loud alarums he doth hear,
And now his grief may be
compared well
To one sore sick that hears the
passing-bell.
"Then shalt thou see the
dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn and return, indenting with
the way;
Each envious briar his weary legs do
scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur
stay;
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being
low never relieved by any.
"Lie quietly, and hear
a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt
not rise.
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralise,
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.
The night is spent." "Why, what of that?" quoth
she.
"I am" quoth he "expected of my friends;
And
now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall."
"In night,"
quoth she "desire sees best of all.
"But if 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,
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 condemned of treason
For stealing moulds from
heaven that were divine,
Wherein she framed thee, in
high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day and
her by night.
"And therefore hath she bribed the
Destinies
To cross the curious workmanship of Nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities
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,
The marrow-eating
sickness whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of
the blood,
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damned
despair,
Swear Nature's death for framing thee so
fair.
"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,
Are on the sudden
wasted, thawed, and done,
As mountain snow melts with
the midday sun.
"Therefore, despite of fruitless
chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren
dearth of daughters and of sons,
Be prodigal: the
lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the
world his light.
"What is thy body but a
swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If
thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the
world will hold thee 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,
Or butcher sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul cank'ring 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
overhandled theme.
The kiss I gave you is bestowed in
vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
For by this black-faced 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,
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,
"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 barred of rest.
No, lady, no; my heart longs
not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps
alone.
"What have you urged 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.
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
usurped his name,
Under whose simple semblance he
hath fed
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;
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:
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."
With this, he breaketh from the sweet
embrace
Of those fair arms which bound him to her
breast,
And homeward through the dark land runs
apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distressed.
Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
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;
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.
Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
Hath dropped a
precious jewel in the flood,
Or 'stonished as
night-wand'rers 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.
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:
"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 -
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.
Her song was tedious, and
outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though
seeming short:
If pleased themselves, others they
think delight
In suchlike circumstance, with suchlike
sport.
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,
Like shrill-tongued 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".
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;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnished gold.
Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
"O thou
clear god and patron of all light,
From whom each
lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous
influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son
that sucked an earthly mother
May lend thee light, as
thou dost lend to other."
This said, she hasteth
to a myrtle grove,
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.
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,
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
Wreathed up in fatal
folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him
shake and shudder;
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,
Where
fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud.
Finding their enemy
to be so curst,
They all strain court'sy who shall
cope him first.
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 -
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 all dismayed,
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,
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,
And 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,
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting,
In
hand with all things, nought at all effecting.
Here kennelled in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks
the weary caitiff for his master;
And there another
licking of his wound,
'Gainst venomed sores the only
sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly
scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with
howling.
When he hath ceased his ill-resounding
noise,
Another flap-mouthed mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and
another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the
ground below,
Shaking their scratched ears, bleeding
as they go.
Look how the world's poor people are
amazed
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
So she at
these sad signs draws up her breath,
And, sighing it
again, exclaims on Death.
"Hard-favoured 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 lived, his breath and
beauty set
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.
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:
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?
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 ruined with thy
rigour."
Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vailed her eyelids, who like sluices stopped
The
crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the
sweet channel of her bosom dropped;
But through the
floodgates breaks the silver rain,
And with his
strong course opens them again.
O how her eyes
and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eye seen in the
tears, tears in her eye,
Both crystals, where they
viewed each other's sorrow,
Sorrow that friendly
sighs sought still to dry;
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;
All entertained, 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.
By this, far off she hears some
huntsman holloa -
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her
babe so well.
The dire imagination she did follow
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 prisoned in her eye like pearls in
glass;
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 drowned.
O
hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to
believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are
both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee
ridiculous:
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;
It was not she that called him all to nought.
Now she
adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king
of graves, and grave for kings,
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
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe.
Then,
gentle shadow -truth I must confess -
I railed on
thee, fearing my love's decease.
"'Tis not my
fault -the boar provoked my tongue;
Be wreaked on
him, invisible commander,
'Tis he, foul creature,
that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he's author
of thy 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;
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
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.
"Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear
As
one with treasure laden, hemmed with thieves;
Trifles
unwitnessed with eye or ear
Thy coward heart with
false bethinking grieves."
Even at this word she
hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but
late forlorn.
As falcons 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;
Which seen,
her eyes, as murdered with the view,
Like stars
ashamed of day themselves withdrew;
Or as the
snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward
in his shelly cave with pain,
And there all smothered
up in shade doth sit,
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;
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,
As when the wind
imprisoned 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;
And being opened, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trenched
In his
soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears
that his wound wept was drenched.
No flower was nigh,
no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
But stole his blood
and seemed 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.
Her voice is stopped, 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
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!
My sighs are blown away, my salt
tears gone,
Mine eyes are turned to fire, my heart to
lead -
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red
fire!
So I shall die by drops of hot desire.
"Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What
face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
What
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 lived and died with him.
"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 lived, sun and sharp
air
Lurked 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;
And straight, in pity of his
tender years,
They both would strive who first should
dry his tears.
"To see his face the lion walked
along
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.
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.
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,
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 killed him so.
"'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
Sheathed
unaware the tusk in his soft groin.
"Had I been
toothed like him, I must confess
With kissing him I
should have killed him first.
But he is dead, and
never did he bless
My youth with his; the more am I
accurst."
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,
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;
Their
virtue lost wherein they late excelled,
And every
beauty robbed of his effect.
"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.
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;
Bud and be blasted in a
breathing while,
The bottom poison, and the top
o'erstrawed
With sweets that shall the truest sight
beguile.
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.
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.
"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.
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;
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 loves shall not enjoy."
By this, the boy
that by her side lay killed
Was melted like a vapour
from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground
lay spilled
A purple flower sprung up, chequered with
white,
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;
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,
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;
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
Their mistress,
mounted, through the empty skies
In her light chariot
quickly is conveyed,
Holding their course to Paphos,
where their queen
Means to immure herself, and not be
seen.
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