Imatges de pàgina
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Thou canst not fee 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 foft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moift hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm diffolve, or seem to melt.

Bid me difcourfe, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell❜d hair,
Dance on the fands, and yet no footing feen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,

Not grofs to fink, but light, and will afpire.

Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie ;
Thefe forceless flowers like fturdy trees fupport me;
Two ftrengthlefs doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till night, even where I lift to sport me:

Is love fo light, fweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand feize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyfelf, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft.
Narciffus fo, himself himself forfook,

And dy'd to kifs 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 fappy plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds fpring from feeds, and beauty breedeth beauty,
Thou wert begot,-to get it is thy duty.

Upon the earth's increase why should'st 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 fo in spite of death thou do'st survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive."

By this, the love-fick queen began to sweat,
For, where they lay, the shadow had forfook 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' fide.

And now Adonis, with a lazy fpright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,

His low'ring brows o'er-whelming his fair fight,
Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky,

Souring his cheeks, cries, " Fie, no more of love;
The fun doth burn my face; I must remove."

Ah me (quoth Venus) young, and fo unkind!
What bare excuses mak'ft thou to be gone
I'll figh celeftial breath, whofe gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this defcending fun;
I'll make a fhadow for thee of my hairs ;

If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.

The fun that shines from heaven, shines but warm,
And lo, I lie between that fun 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 fun.

Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's fon, and canft not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
O had thy mother borne fo bad a mind,

She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

What am I, that thou should'ft contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my fuit?
What were thy lips the worfe 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.

Fie, lifeless picture, cold and fenfeless 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 faid, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And fwelling paffion 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 the fain would speak,
And now her fobs do her intendments break.

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,
Now gazeth fhe on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band;
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he ftruggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers, one in one.

இப

Fondling, fhe faith, fince I have hemm'd thee here, Within the circuit of this ivory pale,

I'll be the park, and thou fhalt 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-grafs, and high delightful plain,
Round rifing hillocks, brakes obfcure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempeft and from rain;
Then be my deer, fince I am fuch a park ;
No dog fhall rouze thee, though a thousand bark.”

At this Adonis fmiles, as in difdain,

That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple :
Love made thofe hollows, if himself were flain,
He might be buried in a tomb fo fimple;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why there love liv'd, and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking:
Being mad before, how doth fhe 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 fmiles at thee in fcorn!

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-(fhe cries) fome favour-fome remorfe-”
Away he springs, and hafteth to his horse.

But lo, from forth a copfe that neighbours by,
A breeding jennet, lufty, young, and proud,
Adonis' trampling courfer doth espy,

And forth she rushes, fnorts, and neighs aloud:
The ftrong-neck'd 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 girts he breaks asunder,
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whofe hollow womb refounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end;
His noftrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he fend:
His eye, which scornfully glifters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high defire.

Sometimes he trots as if he told the fteps,
With gentle majesty, and modeft pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who would fay, lo! thus my strength is try'd;
And thus 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 fpur?
For rich caparifons, or trappings gay?

He fees his love, and nothing else he fees,
For nothing else with his proud fight agrees.

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