VENUS AND ADONIS.

Vilia miretur vulgus, mihi flavus Apollo Pocula Castalia plena ministret aquâ.

Ovid. Amor. 1. i. El. 15.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY WRIOTHESLY, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tickfield.

RIGHT HONOURABLE,

I know not how I shall offend, in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship; nor how the world will censure me, for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden: only if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till i have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your Honour's in all duty,

WILL. SHAKSPEARE.

EVEN as the sun, with purple-colour'd face, Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chace: Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn. Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, And like a bold-faced snitor 'gins to woo him. 'Thrice fairer than myself! thus she began, The field's chief flower! sweet above compare! Stain to all nymphs! more lovely than a man! More white and red, than doves or roses are! Nature, that made thee with herself at strife, Saith, that the world hath ending with thy life. Vouchsafe, thou wonder! to alight thy steed, And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;

If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed,
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know.
Here come and sit, where serpent never hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses.
And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty;
Making them red and pale with fresh variety:
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The president of pith and livelihood,

And trembling in her passion calls it balm;
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good.
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force,
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under the other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy.

She red and hot, as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle, on a ragged bough,
Nimbly she fastens (O how quick is love!)
The steed is stall'd up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove.

Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he
frown,

And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips:
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.
He burns with bashful shame; she, with her
tears,

Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks:
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs,
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks.
He says she is immodest, blames her miss;
What follows more, she smothers with a kiss.
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone:
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends, she doth anew begin.
Forced to consent, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breathing in her face:
And calls it, heavenly moisture! air of grace!
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.
Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,

So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies:
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret;
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes.

Rain added to a river, that is rank,
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats;
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale:

Still he is sullen, still he lowers and frets, 'Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashy pale. Being red, she loves him best; and being white, Her breast is better'd with a more delight. Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; And by her fair immortal hand she swears, From his soft bosom never to remove, Till he take truce with her contending tears; Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet,

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt,
Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in:
So offers he to give what she did crave:
But when his lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.
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 learn'd to sport and dance, To coy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest;

Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
Thus he, that over-ruled, I over-sway'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.

Oh 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 fatr lips of thine, (Though mine be not so fair, yet they are red) The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine) What seest thou on 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 ashamed 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 prine, Rot and consume themselves in little time. Were I hard favour'd, foul, or wrinkled old, Ill-natured, 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 turn

ing;

My beauty, as the spring, doth yearly grow; My flesh as soft and plump, my marrow burning; My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,

Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

Bid me discourse, I will inchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green;
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevel'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?

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 of theft.
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,

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 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.' Ali me quoth Venus, young, and so unkind: What bare excuses makest thou to be gone?

I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind Shall cool the heat of this descending san. I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs, If they burn too, l'll quench them with my

tears.

'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,

And, lo, I tie between the sun and thee!

The heat I have from thence doth little harm, Thine eyes dart forth the fire that burneth me, And, were I not inmortal, life were done, Between this heav'nly and this earthly sun. 'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel? Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel What 'tis to love, how want of love tormenteth? Oh! had thy mother born so bad a mind, She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me thus ? 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 int'rest, if thou wilt have twain. Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, Well-painted idol, image dull and dead; 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 tobs do her intendments break.
Sometimes she shakes her head, and then

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 arms be bound: And when from thence he struggles to be gone, She locks her lily fingers one in one. 'Fondling,' saith she,' since I have hemm'd thee here,

Within the circuit of this ivory pale,

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 rouze 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: Foreknowing well if there he came to lie, Why there love lived, and there he could not die. These loving caves, these round enchanted 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 with 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 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,
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 rem, 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 thun-
der.

The tron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears ap-priek'd, his braided hanging mane Upon his compass'd crest, now stands an end; His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, As from a furnace, vapours doth he send : His eye, which glistens 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, As who should say, lo! thus my strength is tried: And thus I to captivate the eye

Of the fair breeder that is standing by.

What recketh he his rider's angry stir, His flatt'ring 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 his house excel a common one,

In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and Jong,

Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide,

it ?'

strong,

Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide. Look, what a horse should have, he did not Jack,

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 abase he now prepares, And where he run, or fly, they know not whither. For through his mane and tail the high wind

sing,

Fanning the hairs, which heave 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 embracements with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy malecontent,
He veils 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 enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.
His teasty master goes 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 boist'rous 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 staid,
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 askance he holds her in his eye.
O! what a sight it was wistfully 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.

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 my 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 in 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 burden'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 alarms it will not ope the gate.

Dismiss your vows, your feign'd tears, your flat

tery;

For where a heart is hard, they make no battery.

"What? canst thou talk ? quoth she, 'Hast thou a tongue 1

Of would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing ! 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:

Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move Each part of 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 stillatory of thy face excelling, Comes breath perfumed, that breedeth love by smelling.

But oh! 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 seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gust and foul flaws to herdmen 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 he 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 breathed 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, Would 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-beaveth; 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 illumined 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 lived, 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 Has 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.

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! 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? To sell myself, I can be well contented, So thou wilt buy and pay, and the good dealing: Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips, Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips. 'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me, And pay them at thy leisure one by one. What is ten hundred kisses unto thee? Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone? 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, Before I know myself, seek not to know me. No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears; The mellow plumb doth fall, the green sticks fast, Or being early pluck'd, is sour to taste.

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: The 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.

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. 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 drowth: He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. Now quick desire hath caught her yielding prey, And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; Paying what ransome the insulter willeth: Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,

Whose vulture thought doth pitch the prize so high

That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry.
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.

Hot, faint, and weary with her hard embracing, Like a wild bird being tamed with too much hand.

ling,

Or as the fleet-foot roe, that's tired with chasing, Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling; He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, Whiles she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 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 ven

t'ring,

Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission. Affection faints not, like a pale-faced coward, But then wooes 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:

Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; What though the rose have pricks? yet it is 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; 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 encaged in his breast.

He tells her no: to-morrow he intends

To hunt the boar, with certain of his friends.
'The boar!' quoth she, whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheeks; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
She sinketh down, still hanging on 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:
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.

Even as 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, But all in vain, good queen, it will not be, She hath assay'd 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 with-hold me so.'

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 sheath'd, he wetteth still, Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. 'On his bow-back he hath a battel 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.
His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof, than thy spear's point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd ;
Being ireful on the lion he will venture.

The thorny brambles, and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.
Alas! he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which love's eye pays tributary gazes;

Nor thy soft hand, 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.

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 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? Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright f 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 Doth call himself affection's centinel; Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill: Distemp'ring gentle love with his desire," As air and water doth abate the fire.

This sour informer, this bate breeding spy, This canker, that eats up love's tender spring, This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy,

That sometimes true news, sometimes false doth

bring;

Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, That if I love thee I thy death should fear.

And more than so, presenteth to mine eye The picture of an angry chasing boar, Under whose sharp fangs, on his back doth lie An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore; Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,

Doth make 'em drop with grief, and hang the head.

'What should I do? seeing thee so indeed? That trembling at the imagination,

The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, And fear doth teach it divination.

I prophecy thy death, my living sorrow, If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. But if thou needs will hunt, be ruled by me, Uncouple at the timorous flying hare;

Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty; 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.

And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch; to overshut his troubles, How he out-runs 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 t' amaze his foes. 'Sometimes he runs among the 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. '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 do they spend their months; echo replies,
As if another chace were in the skies.
"By this poor Wat far off, upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,
To hearken if his focs pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear,

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:

Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay. For misery is trodden on by many; And being low, never relieved by any. Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: 'Lie quietly and hear a little more, To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Unlike myself, thou hear'st me moralize, 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: 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.'

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 rich 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, Till forging nature is condemn'd of treason, For stealing molds from heaven, that were di vine,

Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite,

To shame the sun by day, and her by night.

'Ard 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 sad mischances and much misery.