Imatges de pàgina
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Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not fee, 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 ftill'tory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfum'd, 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 should ever last,
And bid fufpicion double-lock the door?

Left jealousy, that four unwelcome guest,
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast.

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his fpeech did honey paffage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the fea-man, tempeft to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Guft and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill prefage 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,

Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning ftruck her ere his words begun.

And at his look fhe flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth.
A fmile recures the wounding of a frown,
But blessed bankrupt, that by love fo thriveth!
The filly boy believing fhe is dead,

Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And in amaze brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent :
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grafs fhe lies as fhe were flain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nofe, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulfes hard;
He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he feeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd;
He kiffes her; and fhe, by her good will,
Will never rife, fo he will kifs her ftill.

The night of forrow now is turn'd to day :
Her two blue windows faintly fhe up-heaveth,
Like the fair fun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth :
And as the bright fun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumin'd with her eye,

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four fuch lamps together mix'd,

Had not his clouded with his brows' repine;

But hers, which through the cryftal tears gave light, Shone like the moon, in water seen by night.

O, where am I, quoth fhe? in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life defire?

But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy;
But now I dy'd, and death was lively joy.

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O thou didst kill me ;-kill me once again :
Thy eyes' fhrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
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 kifs each other, for this cure!
Oh never let their crimson liveries wear!
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year!
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.

Pure lips, sweet seals in my foft lips imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be fealing?
To fell myself I can be well contented,

So thou wilt buy, and pay, and ufe good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of flips,
Set thy feal-manual on my wax-red lips.

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A thousand kiffes buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred kiffes unto thee?

Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone ?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kiffes fuch a trouble?

Fair queen, quoth he, if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years;
Before I know myself, feek not to know me ;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:

The mellow plumb doth fall, the green sticks fast,
Or being early pluck'd, is four to taste.

Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the Weft:
The owl, night's herald, fhrieks, 'tis very late
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their neft;
The coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light,
Do fummon us to part, and bid good night.

Now let me fay good night, and so say you ;

If

you will fay fo, you shall have a kiss.

Good night, quoth fhe; and, ere he says adieu,
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:

Her arms do lend his neck a fweet embrace;
Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.

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 furfeit, yet complain on drought:
He with her plenty prefs'd, fhe faint with dearth,
(Their lips together glew'd) fall to the earth.

Now quick Defire hath caught her yielding prey,
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the infulter willeth ;

Whofe vulture thought doth pitch the price fo high,

That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry.

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blind-fold fury she begins to forage;

Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless luft ftirs up a desperate courage;
Planting oblivion, beating reafon back,

Forgetting fhame's pure blush, and honour's wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe, that's tir'd with chafing,
Or like the froward infant, ftill'd with dandling,
He now obeys, and now no more refifteth,
While the takes all fhe can, not all fhe lifteth.

What wax fo frozen but diffolves with temp'ring,
And yields at last to every light impreffion?
Things out of hope are compafs'd oft with vent'ring,
Chiefly in love, whofe leave exceeds commiffion:

Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward,

But then woos beft, when most his choice is froward.

When he did frown, O had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not fuck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have pricks? yet is it pluck'd:
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,

Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is refolv'd no longer to restrain him;
Bids him farewel, and look well to her heart,
The which, by Cupid's bow fhe doth proteft,
He carries thence incaged in his breast.

Sweet boy, she says, this night I'll waste in forrow,
For my fick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, love's master, fhall we meet to-morrow?
Say, fhall we? fhall we? wilt thou make the match?
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends

To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

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