The Illustrated Works of Shakespeare/Illustrated Works of Shakespeare, The (1990)(Animated Pixels)[!][CDTV-PC].iso/shakes/text/04/part-2

Text File | 1991-04-10 | 32KB | 778 lines

"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.    534

"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 tendered is:
        Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
        Incorporate then they seem-face grows to face;    540

Till breathless he disjoined, 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 pressed, she faint with dearth,
        Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.    546

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.    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,
        Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
        Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.    558

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 stilled 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 very light impression?
    Things out of hope are compassed oft with vent'ring,
    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.    570

When he did frown, O had she then gave over,
    Such nectar from his lips she had not sucked.
    Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover:
    What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis plucked.
        Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
        Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.    576

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 encagd in his breast.    582

"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 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;
        She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck;
        He on her belly falls, she on her back.    594

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.    600

Even so 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.    606

But all in vain, good queen, it will not be.
    She hath assayed 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."    612

"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.    618

"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 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 venter;
        The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
        As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.    630

"Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
    To which Love's eyes pays 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.    636

"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 feared thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.    642

"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.    648

"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!'
        Distemp'ring gentle Love in his desire,
        As air and water do abate the fire.    654

"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 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 stained with gore;
        Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
        Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.    666

"What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
    That tremble at th' 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 tomorrow.    672

"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-breathed horse keep with thy hounds.    678

"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 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;
        And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;
    - Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear-    690

"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 they do 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,
        And now his grief may be compard well
        To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.    702

"Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
    Turn and return, indenting with the way;
    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 relieved 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 moralise,
        Applying this to that, and so to so,
        For love can comment upon every woe.    714

"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.    720

"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.    726

"Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
    Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
    Till forging Nature be condemned 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.    732

"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;    738

"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 damned 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,
        Are on the sudden wasted, thawed, and done,
        As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.    750

"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.    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?
        If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
        Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.    762

"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 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 overhandled theme.
    The kiss I gave you is bestowed 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.    774

"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 armd 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 barred of rest.
        No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
        But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.    786

"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!    792

"Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled
    Since sweating Lust on earth usurped 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.    798

"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 forgd 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;
        Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended
        Do burn themselves for having so offended."    810

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 distressed.
        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 embarkd 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.    822

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
    Hath dropped a precious jewel in the flood,
    Or 'stonished as night-wand'rers 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:
        "Ay me!" she cries, and twenty times "Woe, woe!"
        And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.    834

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.    840

Her song was tedious, and outwore the night,
    For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
    If pleased themselves, others they think delight
    In suchlike circumstance, with suchlike sport.
        Their copious stories, oftentimes begun,
        End without audience, and are never done.    846

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".    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;
        Who doth the world so gloriously behold
        That cedar-tops and hills seem burnished gold.    858

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 sucked an earthly mother
        May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other."    864

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.    870

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.    876

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.    882

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 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-
        Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,
        They basely fly, and dare not stay the field.    894

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,
    Till cheering up her senses all dismayed,
    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:
        This way she runs, and now she will no further,
        And back retires, to rate the boar for murther.    906

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.    912

Here kennelled in a brake she finds a hound,
    And asks the weary caitiff for his master;
    And there another licking of his wound,
    'Gainst venomed sores the only sovereign plaster;
        And here she meets another sadly scowling,
        To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.    918

When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,
    Another flap-mouthed 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 scratched ears, bleeding as they go.    924

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.    930

"Hard-favoured 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.    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.
        Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart
        Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.    942

"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 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?
        Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
        Since her best work is ruined with thy rigour."    954

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
    She vailed her eyelids, who like sluices stopped
    The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
    In the sweet channel of her bosom dropped;
        But through the floodgates breaks the silver rain,
        And with his strong course opens them again.    960

O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
    Her eye seen in the tears, tears in her eye,
    Both crystals, where they viewed 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.    966

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
    As striving who should best become her grief;
    All entertained, 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.    972

By this, far off she hears some huntsman holloa-
    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.    978

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
    Being prisoned 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 drowned.    984

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.    990

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought:
    Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
    It was not she that called him all to nought.
    Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
        She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,
        Imperious supreme of all mortal things.    996

"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 railed on thee, fearing my love's decease.    1002

"'Tis not my fault-the boar provoked my tongue;
    Be wreaked 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."    1008

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.    1014

"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.    1020

"Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear
    As one with treasure laden, hemmed with thieves;
    Trifles unwitnessd 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.    1026

As falcons 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 murdered with the view,
        Like stars ashamed of day themselves withdrew;    1032

Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
    Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
    And there all smothered 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,    1038

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 perplexd in his throne,
        By their suggestion gives a deadly groan;    1044

Whereat each tributary subject quakes,
    As when the wind imprisoned 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;    1050

And being opened, threw unwilling light
    Upon the wide wound that the boar had trenched
    In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
    With purple tears that his wound wept was drenched.
        No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
        But stole his blood and seemed with him to bleed.    1056

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 stopped, her joints forget to bow;
        Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.    1062

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.    1068

"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 turned to fire, my heart to lead-
        Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire!
        So I shall die by drops of hot desire.    1074

"Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
    What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
    What tongue is music now? What canst thou boast
    Of things long since, or anything ensuing?
        The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
        But true sweet beauty lived and died with him.    1080

"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
        Lurked like two thieves to rob him of his fair;    1086

"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.    1092

"To see his face the lion walked 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.    1098

"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.    1104

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 killed him so.    1110

"'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.    1116

"Had I been toothed like him, I must confess
    With kissing him I should have killed 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 congeald blood.    1122

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:    1128

Two glasses where herself herself beheld
    A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
    Their virtue lost wherein they late excelled,
    And every beauty robbed of his effect.
        "Wonder of time," quoth she "this is my spite,
        That thou being dead, the day should yet be light.    1134

"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.    1140

"It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud;
    Bud and be blasted in a breathing while,
    The bottom poison, and the top o'erstrawed
    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.    1146

"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.    1152

"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.    1158

"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."    1164

By this, the boy that by her side lay killed
    Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
    And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled
    A purple flower sprung up, chequered with white,
        Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
        Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.    1170

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.    1176

"Poor flower," quoth she "this was thy father's 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.    1182

"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."    1188

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 conveyed,
        Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
        Means to immure herself, and not be seen.    1194