THE POEMS OF SHAKSPEARE. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, RIGHT HONOURABLE, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Titchfield. 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 burthen: 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 godfather, 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, VENUS AND ADONIS. Vilia miretur vulgus mihi flavus Apollo EVEN as the sun with purple colour'd face Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, Here come and sit, where serpent never hisses, And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm, She red and liot, as coals of glowing fire, Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips; He says, she is immodest, blames her 'miss; Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin. Rain added to a river that is rank, Which long have rain 'd, making her cheeks all wet; But when her lips were ready for his pay, Never did passenger in summer's heat "Oh pity, 'gan she cry, flint hearted boy; 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 learned to sport and dance, To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; Scoring his churlish drum, and ensign red, Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. Thus him that over-rul'd, I oversway'd, Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd, Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, What see'st thou in the ground? hold up thy head; These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean, 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 natur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic and cold, Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, Then might'st 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 sinooth 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? 's 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 of theft. Souring his cheeks, cries, "Fie! no more of love; 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 e 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 bad a mind, She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. What am I, that thou should'st 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. Well painted idol, image, dull and dead, Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, 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. 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 arr's be bound; And when from thence he struggles to be goue, She locks her lily fiugers, one in one. Fondling, she saith, since I have hemm'd thee here, | Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be the park, and thou shalt be my deer; Sweet bottom grass, and high delightful plain, 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; Fore-knowing 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 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 remorseAway 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-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, Whose hollow womb resounds 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 nostrils drink the air, and forth again, As from a furnace, vapours doth he send : His eye, which glisters scornfully like fire, Shews his hot courage and his high desire. Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps, With gentle majesty, and modest pride; Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps, Look what a horse should have, he did not lack; Save a proud rider on so proud a back. Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares, Anon he starts at stirring of a feather; To bid the wind a base he now prepares, And whêr he run, or fly, they knew 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 embracement with her heels. Then, like a melancholy male content, He vails his tail, that like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttocks lent; He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume His love perceiving how he is enrag'd, Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd. His testy master goeth about to take him ; When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 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 chasing, 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 askaunce 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. As who would says, lo! thus my strength is try'd; Now was she just before him as he sat, And thus I do to captivate the eye What recketh he his rider's angry stir, He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, So did this horse excel a common one, And like a lowly lover down she kneels ; His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print. 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 ly 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, Shew'd like to 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, Tho' 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 iny 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 a 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 I 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 burthen'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 alarm it will not ope the gate. [tery; Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatFor where a heart is hard, they make no battery." "What! canst thou talk (quoth she), hast thou a O would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing! [tongue! Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong; I had my load before, now press'd with bearing: Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding, Earth's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love Oi, 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, But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds His meaning struck her ere his words begun : Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red; For on the grass she lies as she were slain. He kisses her; and she, by her good will, 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 liv'd, and life was death's ann ; And these mine eyes, true feaders to their queen Long inay they kiss each other, for this cure! The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, What though the rose have pricks? yet is it pluck'd: He will not manage her, although he mount her; Whose tushes never-sheath'd he whetteth still. Being mov d, he strikes whate'er is in his way, The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, But having thee at vantage (wond'rous dread!) |