Chapter 2
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.
“Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, 637 Beauty hath naught 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? 644 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 649 Doth call himself affection’s sentinel; Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, And in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” 652 Distemp’ring 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, 656 This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy, That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring, Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 660
“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; 664 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 th’imagination? 668 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 tomorrow. 672
“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Or at the fox which lives by subtilty, Or at the roe which no encounter dare: 676 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 680 How he outruns the wind, and with what care He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles: The many musits through the which he goes Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 684
“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, 688 And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer; Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear.
“For there his smell with others being mingled, 691 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. 696
“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still. Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700 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, 704 Each envious briar his weary legs do scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never reliev’d by any. 708
“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, 712 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: 716 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. 720
But if thou fall, oh then imagine this, The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 723 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 728 Till forging nature be condemn’d of treason, For stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine; Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite, To shame the sun by day and her by night. 732
“And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies, To cross the curious workmanship of nature, To mingle beauty with infirmities, And pure perfection with impure defeature, 736 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, 740 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. 744
“And not the least of all these maladies But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under: Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, Whereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder, 748 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, 752 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. 756
“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? 760 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, 764 Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay, Or butcher sire that reeves his son of life. Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets, But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.” 768
“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; 772 For by this black-fac’d 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, 776 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. 780
“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. 784 No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan, But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.
“What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove? The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; 790 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. 792
“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; 796 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; 800 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. 804
“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, 808 Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended Do burn themselves for having so offended.”
With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 811 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. 816
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: 820 So did the merciless and pitchy night Fold in the object that did feed her sight.
Whereat amaz’d, as one that unaware Hath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood, 824 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. 828
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: 832 “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; 836 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. 840
Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, For lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short, If pleas’d themselves, others they think, delight In such like circumstance, with such like sport: 844 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; 848 Like shrill-tongu’d 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.” 852
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; 856 Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That cedar tops and hills seem burnish’d gold.
Venus salutes him with this fair good morrow: “Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light, 860 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, 865 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. 868 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, 872 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. 876
By this she hears the hounds are at a bay, Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder Wreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way, The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880 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, 884 Because the cry remaineth in one place, Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud, Finding their enemy to be so curst, They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888
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; 892 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 sore dismay’d, 896 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. 900
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: 904 This way she 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; 908 Her more than haste is mated with delays, Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting, In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.
Here kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, 913 And asks the weary caitiff for his master, And there another licking of his wound, ’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster. 916 And here she meets another sadly scowling, To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.
When he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise, Another flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, 920 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 925 At apparitions, signs, and prodigies, Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; 928 So she at these sad signs draws up her breath, And sighing it again, exclaims on death.
“Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931 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 liv’d, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet. 936
“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. 940 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. 944 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 him dead. 948
“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st 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? 952 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 stopp’d 956 The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, And with his strong course opens them again. 960
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; 964 But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.