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data/examples/dgrep/data/shakespeare/poetry/venusandadonis

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+	VENUS AND ADONIS
+
+
+
+'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
+Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'
+
+TO THE
+RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
+EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.
+RIGHT HONORABLE,
+
+I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my
+unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will
+censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a
+burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account
+myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle
+hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if
+the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be
+sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so
+barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest.
+I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your
+heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish
+and the world's hopeful expectation.
+
+Your honour's in all duty,
+WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
+
+
+
+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 loved, but love he laugh'd 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 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;
+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 blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
+With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
+She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
+He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
+
+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 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,
+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 stuff'd 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 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 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 better'd 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 rain'd, 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 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.
+
+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 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;
+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,
+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 oversway'd,
+Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
+Strong-tempered 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,--
+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 eye-balls, 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 they are but twain;
+Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
+These blue-vein'd 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 gather'd in their prime
+Rot and consume themselves in little time.
+
+'Were I hard-favour'd, 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 gray 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 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.
+
+'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 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.
+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 love-sick queen began to sweat,
+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.
+
+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!
+The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.'
+
+'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
+What bare excuses makest 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 interest, if thou wilt have twain.
+
+'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
+Well-painted idol, image dun 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 he 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.
+
+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:
+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,
+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,
+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?
+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 are 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 neighbors by,
+A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud,
+Adonis' trampling 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,
+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-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,
+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 trapping 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-proportion'd 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-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
+Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
+High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
+Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
+Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
+Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
+
+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 whether he run or fly they know not whether;
+For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
+Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.
+
+He looks upon his love and neighs unto her;
+She answers him as if she knew his mind:
+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 veils 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 is enraged,
+Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.
+
+His testy master goeth about to take him;
+When, lo, the unback'd 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,
+Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.
+
+All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,
+Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:
+And now the happy season once more fits,
+That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
+For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
+When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
+
+An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
+Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
+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 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;
+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!
+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.
+
+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,
+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;
+For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
+Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee!
+
+'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?'
+'Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thou shalt have it:
+O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
+And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
+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 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.
+
+'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,
+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 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;
+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 unfinish'd?
+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.
+
+'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;
+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:
+Melodious discord, heavenly tune harshsounding,
+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
+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-colour'd portal open'd,
+Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
+Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
+Wreck 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 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 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 love 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 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 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 marr'd:
+He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
+Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.
+
+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 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 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 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 drench'd, 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 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!
+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.
+
+'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 pluck'd 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 tender'd is:
+Her arms do lend his neck a sweet 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 surfeit, yet complain on drouth:
+He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth
+Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.
+
+Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,
+And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
+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 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,
+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-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 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,
+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 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?
+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,
+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 as 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 assay'd 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 cruel tushes slay.
+
+'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
+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.
+
+'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!--
+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 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?
+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!'
+Distempering 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 heat 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 stain'd 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 the 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 to-morrow.
+
+'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-breath'd 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 musets 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 do they 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 listening ear,
+To harken 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 brier his weary legs doth 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 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,
+'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 condemn'd 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 damn'd 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 the impartial gazer late did wonder,
+Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
+As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.
+
+'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
+Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
+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-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:
+The kiss I gave you is bestow'd 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 barr'd 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 usurp'd 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 laund runs apace;
+Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
+Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
+So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.
+
+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 dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
+Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
+Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,
+Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
+Having lost the fair discovery of her way.
+
+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 such-like 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 burnish'd 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 suck'd 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 courtesy 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 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,
+
+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 runs, and now she will no further,
+But back retires to rate the boar for murther.
+
+A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
+She treads the path that she untreads again;
+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 kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound,
+And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
+And there another licking of his wound,
+'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 ceased his ill-resounding noise,
+Another flap-mouth'd 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 scratch'd 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-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 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 dead.
+
+'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest 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 ruin'd with thy rigour.'
+
+Here overcome, as one full of despair,
+She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt
+The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
+In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt;
+But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
+And with his strong course opens them again.
+
+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,
+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,
+But none is best: then join they all together,
+Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.
+
+By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo;
+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 prison'd 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 drown'd.
+
+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 call'd him, all-to naught:
+Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
+She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,
+Imperious supreme of all mortal things.
+
+'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 rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.
+
+''Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue;
+Be wreak'd 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 so full of fear
+As one with treasure laden, hemm'd 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 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;
+Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd 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 smother'd 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, 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;
+
+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,
+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:
+Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow;
+Her eyes are mad that they have wept til 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 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!
+What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
+Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast
+Of things long since, or any thing 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
+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;
+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,
+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 kill'd 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 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.'
+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 excell'd,
+And every beauty robb'd 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'erstraw'd
+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 kill'd
+Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
+And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
+A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,
+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 fathers 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 convey'd;
+Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
+Means to immure herself and not be seen.