Part 224

“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. 148 Love is a spirit all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: 151 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? 156

“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. 160 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, 164 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. 168

“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; 172 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, 176 And Titan, tired in the midday heat, With burning eye did hotly overlook them, Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, So he were like him and by Venus’ side. 180

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, 184 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 mak’st thou to be gone! 188 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. 192

“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; 196 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: 200 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. 204

“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: 208 Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again, And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain.

“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, 212 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.” 216

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. 220 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; 224 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. 228

“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: 232 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, 236 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, 239 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; 244 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. 248 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! 252

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: 256 “Pity,” she cries; “some favour, some remorse!” Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.

But lo from forth a copse that neighbours by, A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 260 Adonis’ tramping 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. 264

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, 269 Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane Upon his compass’d crest now stand on end; 272 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. 276

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 281 Of the fair breeder that is standing by.”

What recketh he his rider’s angry stir, His flattering “Holla”, or his “Stand, I say”? 284 What cares he now for curb or pricking spur? For rich caparisons or trappings gay? He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 288

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: 292 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. 300

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 where he run or fly they know not whether; 304 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, 308 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. 312

Then like a melancholy malcontent, He vails his tail that like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 316 His love, perceiving how he was 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, 320 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, Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them. 324

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; 328 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: 332 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. 336

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, 340 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, 344 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. 348

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: 352 His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print, As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.

Oh what a war of looks was then between them, Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, 356 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, 361 A lily prison’d in a gaol of snow, Or ivory in an alabaster band, So white a friend engirts so white a foe: 364 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, 368 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. 376 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, 380 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.” 384

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, 388 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! 392 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. 396

“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? 400 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, 404 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.” 408

“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; 412 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? 416 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. 420

“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: 424 Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt’ry; For where a heart is hard they make no batt’ry.”

“What! canst thou talk?” quoth she, “hast thou a tongue? O would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; 428 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, Ear’s deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding.

“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 433 That inward beauty and invisible; Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move Each part in me that were but sensible: 436 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, 440 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 perfum’d, that breedeth love by smelling.

“But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste, 445 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?” 448

Once more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d, Which to his speech did honey passage yield, 452 Like a red morn that ever yet betoken’d Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 456

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, 460 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; 464 A smile recures the wounding of a frown; But blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth! The silly boy, believing she is dead, Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red. 468

And all amaz’d 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! 472 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, 476 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. 480

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: 484 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. 488 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. 492

“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? 496 But now I liv’d, 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, 500 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. 504

“Long may they kiss each other for this cure! Oh never let their crimson liveries wear, And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year: 508 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? 512 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. 516

“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? 520 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: 524 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. 528

“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, 532 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.” 536 “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. 540

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, 544 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; 548 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. 552

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, 556 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 tam’d with too much handling, Or as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing, 561 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. 564

What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring, And yields at last to every light impression? Things out of hope are compass’d oft with vent’ring, Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: 568 Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d 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. 572 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; 577 The poor fool prays her that he may depart: She is resolv’d no longer to restrain him, Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580 The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest, He carries thence encaged in his breast.

“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow, For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 584 Tell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?” He tells her no, tomorrow he intends To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 588

“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. 592 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: 596 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. 600

Even as poor birds, deceiv’d 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. 604 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 prov’d; 608 Her pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee; She’s love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d. “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me; let me go; You have no reason to withhold me so.” 612

“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. Oh be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is, With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, 616 Whose tushes never sheath’d 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; 620 His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret; His snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes; Being mov’d, he strikes whate’er is in his way, And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 624

“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed, Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter; His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed; Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: 628 The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

“Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine, To which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; 632 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.