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Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes, What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at the imagination ?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, As those poor birds that helpless berries saw: And fear doth teach it divination : The warm cffects which she in him finds missing, I prophesy thy death, my liviog sorrow, She seeks to kindle with continual kissing :
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be : But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul'd by me.
She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Her pleading hath deserv'd a greaier fee;
Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty,
Or at the roe, which no encounter dare:
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hom.ds.
Mark the poor wretch, to over:hut his troubles, O, be advised: thou know'st not what it is
How he out-runs the wind, and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, Whose tushes never-sheath'd, he whetteth still,
The many musits through the which he goes, Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, Of bristlı pikes, that ever threat his foes ;
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell; His eyes, like giow-worms, shine when he doth fret; and sometime where earth-delving conies keep, His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell; Being mov'd, he strikes what e'er is in his way,
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer; And whom he strikes, bis cruel tushes slay.
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear: His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm’d,
For there bis smell with others being mingled, Are better proof than thy spear's point can eater ; Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt; His short thick neck cannot be easily harm’d; Reiog ireful, on the lion he will venture:
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, As fearful of bim, part; through whom he rushes.
As if another chase were in the skies. Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes ;
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, To hearken if his foes pursue him still;
Whose full perfection all the world amazes; Anon their loud alarums ho doth hear; But having thee at vantage, (wondrous dread!) And now his grief may be compared weil Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. To one sore sick, that hears the passing bell 0, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;
Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends: Turn, and return, indenting with the way; Come not within his danger by thy will;
Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, They that thrive well, take counselof their friends: Each shadow makes bim stop, each murmur slav When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, For misery is trodden on by many, I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. And being low, never reliev'd by any. Didst thou not mark my face! Was it not white ? Lie quietly, and hcar a little more;
Saw'st thou uot signs of fear lurk in mine eye ? Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise Grew I not faint? And fell I not downright? To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
Uulike myself thou hear'st me moralize,
Where did I leave ?-No matter where, quoth be, Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
Leave me, and then the story aptly ends : And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill ;
The night is spent. Why, what of that, quoth she. Distemp'ring gentle love in his desire,
I am, quoth he, expected of my friends; As air and water do abate the fire.
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, That sometime true news, sometime false doth And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. bring,
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear,
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, That if I love thee, I thy death should fear :
Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn. And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
Now, of this dark night I perceive the reason : The picture of an angry chafing boar,
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore; For stealing moulds from heaven that were dirine, Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed, Wherein she fram'd thee, in high heaven's despite, Dort make them droop with grief, and hang the head. To shame the sun by - y, and her by night.
And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies, Love comforteth, like sunshine after rain,
To cross the curious workmanship of nature; But lust's effect is tempest after sun; To mingle beauty with infirmities,
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, And pure perfection with impure defeature; Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. Making it subject to the tyranny
Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies : Oi nad mischances, and much misery;
Love is all truth ; lust full of forged lies.
More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen : Surfeits, imposthumnes, grief, and damn’d despair, Minc cars, that to your wartou talk attended, Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair. Do burn themselves for having so offended. And not the least of all these maladies,
With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace But in one ininute's fight brings beauty under:
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breat, both favour, savoui, hue, and qualities,
And homeward through the dark lawn runs apace Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done,
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky, As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun.
So glides be in the night from Venus' eye;
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, That on the earth would breed a scarcity, And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.
Whereat amaz’d, as one that unaware Seeming to bury that posterity,
Hath dropp'a precious jewel in the flood, Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are, If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity ?
Their light blown out in sonie mistrustful wood;
Even so confounded in the dark she lay, If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way. Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, So in thyself thyse.f art made away;
That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled, A mischie: worse than civil home-bred strife,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
An me! she cries, and twenty times, woe, woe! Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, But gold that's put to use, more gold begets.
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.
She marking them, begins a wailing note,
And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty;
How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote And all in vain you strive against the stream;
How love is rise in folly, foolish-witty :
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.
Her song was tedious, and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeining short And every tongue more moving than your own, Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight
in such like circumstance, with such like sport: Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown ; For know, my heart stands armed in mine car,
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; And then my little heart were quite undone,
Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering every cail, In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits ? No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
She says, 'lis so: they answer all, 'tis so; But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.
And would say after her, if she said no. What have you urg'd, that I cannot reprove ?
Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger;
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, hate not lore, but your device in love,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast That lends embracements unto every stranger.
The Sun ariseth in his majesty ; You do it for increase, O strange excuse !
Who doth the world so gloriously behold, When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse.
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. Call it not love, for Love to heaven is filed, Venus salutes bim with this fair good-morrow:
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name ; O, thou clear god, and patron of all light, Under whose simple semblance he hath fed From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; The beauteous influence that makes him bright. Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother Ar interpillars do the tender leaves.
May lend thee light, as hou dost lend lo other.
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, Musing the morning is so much o'er-worn; Hateful divorce of love, (thus cbides she death, And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou She hearkens for his bounds, and for his horn: To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath, (mean, Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily,
Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set And all in hastc she coasteth to the cry.
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ? And as she runs, the bushes in the way
li he be dead,-0 no, it cannot be, Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, Seeing his beauty, thou should'st strike at it;Some twin'd about her thigh to make her stay; O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, But hatefully at random dost thou hit. Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ake, Thy mark is feeble age; but tay false cart Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infani's heart. By this she hears the hounds are at a bay,
Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder And hearing him, thy power had lost his power, Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way, (der; The destinies will curse thee for this stroke; The fear whereof doth make him shake and shud.
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled, Appals her senses, and her spright confounds,
And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such Feep But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
What may a heavy groan advantage thee: ing! Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Why bast thou cast into eternal sleeping Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud :
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ? Finding their enemy to be so curst,
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, They all strain court'sy, who shall cope him first. Since ber best work is ruin'd with thy rigour. This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Here overcome, as one full of despair, Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
She rail'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
In the sweet charmel of her bosom dropp'd; Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain They basely fly, and dare not stay the field.
And with his strong course opens them again. Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,
O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow! Till, cheering up her senses sore-dismay'd, Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye; (rew; She tells them, 'tis a causeless fantasy,
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's for And childish error that they are afraid;
Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry; Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more;- But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, And with that word she spy'd the hunted boar; Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, Variable passions throng her constant woe,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together, As striving who should best become her grief: A second fear through all her sinews spread, All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither : That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
She treads the path that she untreads again; A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so weli" Her more than haste is mated with delays,
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;
Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ; And there another licking of his wound,
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should раи And here she meets another sadly scowling, To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, To whom she speaks; and he replies with howling. Who is but drunken, when she seemeth drown'd. When he hath ceas'd his ill-resounding noise,
O bard-believing love, how strange it seems Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! Against the welkin vollies out his voice ;
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes; Another and another answer him;
Despair and hope make thee ridiculous: Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd Now she unweares the web that she hath wrought; At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Adonis lives, and death is not to blame; Vhereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz'd, It was not she that call'd him all to nought; Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
Now she adds honours to his hateful name; So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath, She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings; ini, sighing it again, exclaims on death
Imperious supremo of all mortal things.
No, no, quoth she, sweet Death, I did but jest; Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling makes the wound scem Wheu as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
three; Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye, [be l'hen, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess) That makes raore gashes where no breach should I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. • His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. 'Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander; My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; And yet, quoth she, behold two Adons dead!
I did but act, he's author of thy slander: My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, Giief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead: Could rule them both, without ten womea's wit. Heavy heart's lead, melt at inine eyes' red fire !
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.
Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost ! And that his beauty may the better thrive,
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing ? With death she humbly doth insinuate :
Whose tongue is music now? what can'st thou boast Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories,
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing ? His victories, his triumphs, and his glories..
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and .rim,
But true-sweet beauty liv'd and died with him. O Jove, quoth she, how much a fool was I, To be of such a weak and silly mind,
Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! To wail his death, who lives, and must not die,
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind !
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear; For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you Aud, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.
But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair : Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear,
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves; And therefore would he put his bonnet on, Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep, Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. The wind would blow it off, and, being gone. E:un' at this word she hears a merry horn,
Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep. Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlern.
And straight in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his tears As falcon to the lure, away she flies ; The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
To see his face, the lion walk'd along And in her baste unfortunately spies
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him; The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;
To recreate himself when he hath sung, Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him; Like stars asham'd of day, toemselves withdrew.
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,
And never fright the silly lamb that day.
When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills ; Long after fearing to creep forth again;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
That some would sing some other in their bills Into the deep dark cabins of her head :
Would bring him mulberries, and ripe-red cherries
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. Where they resign their office and their light To the disposing of her troubled brain;
But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, And never wound the heart with looks again,
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore: Who, like a king perplexed in his throne,
Witness the entertainment that he gave : By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,
If he did see his face, why then I know,
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. Whereat each tributary subject quakes; As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
'Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slaiu : Struggling for passage, carth’s foundation shakes, He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound: Who did not whet his teeth at him again, This mutiny each part doth so surprise,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there; That, from their dark beds, once more leap her eyes; Sheath'd, unaware, the tusk in his soft groin.
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess, In his soft flank: whose wonted lily white
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first, With purple tears, that his wound wept, was But he is dead, and never did he bless drench'd :
My youth with his; the more am I accurst. No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, With this she falleth in the place she stood, But stole his blond, and seem'd with him to bleed. And stains her face with his congealed blood. This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head; She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; Dumbly she passions, frantickly she doteth ; She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
She thiaks he could not die, he is not dead: As if they heard the woeful words she told Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow; She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now. Where, lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies
I'wo glasses, where herself herself beheld
It shall be cause of war, and dire events, A thousand times, and now no more reflect; And set dissention 'twixt the son and sire ; Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, Subject and servile to all discontents, And every beauty robb’d of his effect:
As dry combustious matter is to fire; Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite, Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy, That, you being dead, the day should yet be light. They that love best, their loves shall not enjoy. Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy,
By this the boy ihat by her side lay kill'd, Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend :
Was melted like a vapour from her sight, It shall be waited on with jealousy,
And in his blood, that on the ground lay spill'd, Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end; A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white Ne'er settled equally, but high or low;
Resembling well his pale
cheeks, and the blood That all love's pleasure sball not match his woe Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud;
She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
Comparing it to her Adonis breath;
With sweets, that shall the truest sight beguile : Since he himself is reft from her by death :
Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise, Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ; (Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,) The staring ruffiaa shail it keep in quiet,
For every little grief to wet his eyes : Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures : To grow unto himself was his desire, It shall be raging-mad, and silly-mild,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good Make the young old, the old become a child. To wither in my breast, as in his blood. It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear; Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust; Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right: It shall be merciful, and too severe,
Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, And most deceiving, when it seems most just; My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night Perverse it shall be, where it shews most toward ; There shall not be one minute in an hour, Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid,
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;