Venus and Adonis

 
     Statue contenting but the eye alone,
     Thing like a man, but of no woman bred:
       Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion,
       For men will kiss even by their own direction.'
 
 
     This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
     And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
     Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;
     Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause:
       And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
       And now her sobs do her intendments break.
 
 
     Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand;
     Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
     Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:
     She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
       And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
       She locks her lily fingers one in one.
 
 
     '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:
       Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,
       Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
 
 
     'Within this limit is relief enough,
     Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
     Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
     To shelter thee from tempest and from rain:
       Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
       No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.'
 
 
     At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
     That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
     Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
     He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
       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.
     Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
     Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
       Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
       To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!
 
 
     Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
     Her words are done, her woes the more increasing;
     The time is spent, her object will away,
     And from her twining arms doth urge releasing:
       'Pity,' she cries; 'some favour, some 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' tramping courier doth espy,
     And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
       The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
       Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
 
 
     Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
     And now his woven 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,
       Controlling what he was controlled with.
 
 
     His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
     Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
     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.
 
 
     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
       Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'
 
 
     What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
     His flattering 'Holla', or his 'Stand, I say'?
     What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?
     For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
       He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
       Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
 
 
     Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
     In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
     His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
     As if the dead the living should exceed;
       So did this horse excel a common one,
       In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.
 
 
     Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
     Broad breast, full 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.
 
 
     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 whe'r he run or fly they know not whether;
       For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
       Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.
 
 
     He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;
     She answers him as if she knew his mind;
     Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
     She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
       Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,
       Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
 
 
     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.
       His love, perceiving how he is enrag'd,
       Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd.
 
 
     His testy master goeth about to take him;
     When lo! the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
     Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
     With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
       As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
       Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them.
 
 
     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;
       For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
       When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
 
 
     An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
     Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
     So of concealed sorrow may be said;
     Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
       But when the heart's attorney once is mute
       The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.
 
 
     He sees her coming, and begins to glow, —
     Even as a dying coal revives with wind, —
     And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;
     Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
       Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
       For all askance he holds her in his eye.
 
 
     O! what a sight it was, wistly to view
     How she came stealing to the wayward boy;
     To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
     How white and red each other did destroy:
       But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
       It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.
 
 
     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:
       His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
       As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.
 
 
     O! what a war of looks was then between them;
     Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing;
     His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
     Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
       And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
       With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.
 
 
     Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
     A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
     Or ivory in an alabaster band;
     So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
       This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
       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,
     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:
       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 the 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 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;
       For I have heard it is a life in death,
       That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.
 
 
     'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?
     Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
     If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
     They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth;
       The colt that's back'd and 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 feigned tears, your flattery;
       For where a heart is hard they make no battery.'
 
 
     'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?
     O! 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,
       Ear'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 in me that were but sensible:
       Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
       Yet should I be in love by touching thee.
 
 
     'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
     And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
     And nothing but the very smell were left me,
     Yet would my love to thee be still as much;