'Good night,' quoth she; and, ere he says 'Adieu,' Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; 91 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: He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, (Their lips together glued), fall to the earth. 92 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. 93 And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, 94 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, 95 What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering, And yields at last to every light impression? Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing, Chiefly in love, whose leave1 exceeds commission: Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, But then woos best, when most his choice is froward. 96 When he did frown, oh, had she then gave over, The 97 For pity now she can no more detain him; 98 'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow, To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 99 The boar!' quoth she; whereat a sudden pale, And on his neck her yoking arms she throws: Leave:' licence. 100 Now is she in the very lists of love, Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: He will not manage her, although he mount her; To clip1 Elysium, and to lack her joy. 101 Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes, As those poor birds that helpless berries saw: 102 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 withhold me so." 103 "Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told'st me thou would'st hunt the boar, Oh be advised! thou know'st not what it is With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, 104 On his bow-back he hath a battle set Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 105 His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd, Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: 106 Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, To which Love's eyes pay 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. 107 'Oh, let him keep his loathsome cabin still! Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends; They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends. 108 Didst thou not mark my face? Was it not white? My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, 109 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!" 110 This sour informer, this 1bate-breeding spy, This canker that eats up love's tender spring,2 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 : 111 'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye 112 'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, That tremble at the imagination? The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, And fear doth teach it divination : I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, 113 'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me; Or at the roe, which no encounter dare: 114 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 : ''Bate:' strife. Spring:' young shoot.-Cranks :' winds. |