Texts:Shakespeare/cw162341: Difference between revisions

<h2>THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM</h2>

<h5>I.</h5>

<p>Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,<br/>

'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,<br/>

Persuade my heart to this false perjury?<br/>

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.<br/>

A woman I forswore; but I will prove,<br/>

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:<br/>

My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;<br/>

Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.<br/>

My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;<br/>

Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,<br/>

Exhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:<br/>

If broken, then it is no fault of mine.<br/>

   If by me broke, what fool is not so wise<br/>

   To break an oath, to win a paradise?<br/>

</p>

<p>Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook<br/>

With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,<br/>

Did court the lad with many a lovely look,<br/>

Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.<br/>

She told him stories to delight his ear;<br/>

She show'd him favours to allure his eye;<br/>

To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there:<br/>

Touches so soft still conquer chastity.<br/>

But whether unripe years did want conceit,<br/>

Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,<br/>

The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,<br/>

But smile and jest at every gentle offer:<br/>

   Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;<br/>

   He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!<br/>

</p>

<p>If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?<br/>

O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:<br/>

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;<br/>

Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.<br/>

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,<br/>

Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.<br/>

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;<br/>

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;<br/>

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;<br/>

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:<br/>

Thy eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,<br/>

Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.<br/>

   Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,<br/>

   To sing heavens' praise with such an earthly tongue.<br/>

</p>

<p>Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,<br/>

And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,<br/>

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,<br/>

A longing tarriance for Adonis made,<br/>

Under an osier growing by a brook,<br/>

A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.<br/>

Hot was the day; she hotter that did look<br/>

For his approach, that often there had been.<br/>

Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,<br/>

And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim;<br/>

The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,<br/>

Yet not so wistly as this queen on him:<br/>

   He, spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood;<br/>

   O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood?<br/>

</p>

<p>Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;<br/>

Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;<br/>

Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;<br/>

Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:<br/>

   A lily pale, with damask die to grace her,<br/>

   None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.<br/>

</p>

<p>Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd,<br/>

Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!<br/>

How many tales to please me hath she coin'd,<br/>

Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!<br/>

   Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,<br/>

   Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.<br/>

</p>

<p>She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth;<br/>

She burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth;<br/>

She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing;<br/>

She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.<br/>

   Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?<br/>

   Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.<br/>

</p>

<p>If music and sweet poetry agree,<br/>

As they must needs, the sister and the brother,<br/>

Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,<br/>

Because thou lovest the one, and I the other.<br/>

Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch<br/>

Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;<br/>

Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such<br/>

As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.<br/>

Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound<br/>

That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;<br/>

And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd<br/>

Whenas himself to singing he betakes.<br/>

   One god is god of both, as poets feign;<br/>

   One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.<br/>

</p>

<p>Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love,<br/>

     *    *    *    *    *    *<br/>

Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,<br/>

For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;<br/>

Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:<br/>

Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;<br/>

She, silly queen, with more than love's good will,<br/>

Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;<br/>

Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth<br/>

Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,<br/>

Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!<br/>

See, in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore.<br/>

   She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,<br/>

   And blushing fled, and left her all alone.<br/>

</p>

<p>Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,<br/>

Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring!<br/>

Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded!<br/>

Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!<br/>

   Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,<br/>

   And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.<br/>

</p>

<p>I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;<br/>

For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will:<br/>

And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;<br/>

For why? I craved nothing of thee still:<br/>

   O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,<br/>

   Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.<br/>

</p>

<p>Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her,<br/>

Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:<br/>

She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,<br/>

And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.<br/>

Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd me,<br/>

And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;<br/>

Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlaced me;<br/>

As if the boy should use like loving charms;<br/>

Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips,<br/>

And with her lips on his did act the seizure;<br/>

And as she fetched breath, away he skips,<br/>

And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.<br/>

   Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,<br/>

   To kiss and clip me till I run away!<br/>

</p>

<p>  Crabbed age and youth<br/>

     Cannot live together<br/>

   Youth is full of pleasance,<br/>

     Age is full of care;<br/>

   Youth like summer morn,<br/>

     Age like winter weather;<br/>

   Youth like summer brave,<br/>

     Age like winter bare;<br/>

   Youth is full of sport,<br/>

   Age's breath is short;<br/>

     Youth is nimble, age is lame;<br/>

   Youth is hot and bold,<br/>

   Age is weak and cold;<br/>

     Youth is wild, and age is tame.<br/>

   Age, I do abhor thee;<br/>

   Youth, I do adore thee;<br/>

     O, my love, my love is young!<br/>

   Age, I do defy thee;<br/>

   O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,<br/>

   For methinks thou stay'st too long.<br/>

</p>

<p>Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,<br/>

A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;<br/>

A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud;<br/>

A brittle glass, that's broken presently:<br/>

   A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,<br/>

   Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.<br/>

</p>

<p>And as goods lost are seld or never found,<br/>

As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,<br/>

As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,<br/>

As broken glass no cement can redress,<br/>

   So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost,<br/>

   In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.<br/>

</p>

<p>Good night, good rest.  Ah! neither be my share:<br/>

She bade good night that kept my rest away;<br/>

And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,<br/>

To descant on the doubts of my decay.<br/>

  Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow:<br/>

  Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow;<br/>

</p>

<p>Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,<br/>

In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:<br/>

'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,<br/>

'T may be, again to make me wander thither:<br/>

   'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,<br/>

   As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.<br/>

</p>

<p>Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!<br/>

My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise<br/>

Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.<br/>

Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,<br/>

   While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,<br/>

   And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;<br/>

</p>

<p>For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,<br/>

And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:<br/>

The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;<br/>

Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;<br/>

   Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;<br/>

   For why, she sigh'd and bade me come tomorrow.<br/>

</p>

<p>Were I with her, the night would post too soon;<br/>

But now are minutes added to the hours;<br/>

To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;<br/>

Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!<br/>

   Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:<br/>

   Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.<br/>

</p>