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 in fire must burn:

"Oh 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 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,
For mast'ring 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 see'st thou in the ground? hold up thy head;
Look in mine eye balls where thy beauty lies:
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes on eyes?
Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink, so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where there be 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 they what we mean.
The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shews thee unripe; yet may'st 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 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.
Narcissus so, himself himself forsook,
And dy'd 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:
Seels spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beau
Thou wert 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 low'ring 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."
"Ah 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 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.

I'll be the 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;

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.

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 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-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 eyes, smail head, and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs, & passing strong,

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 tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print.
As apt as new fallen 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 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
That inward beauty and invisible;

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,
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 still '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 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 sea-man, tempest to the field.

Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds
Gust and foul flaw to herdsmen 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 it 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 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 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 world relieveth:
And as the bright sun 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 such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded with his brows' 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 liv'd, and life was death's ann ;
But now I dy'd, 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 feaders to their queen
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.