Texts:Shakespeare/cw162344: Difference between revisions

[[Texts:Shakespeare|Links to Shakespeare's Works]]<h2>VENUS AND ADONIS</h2>

<blockquote><i>Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo<br/>Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.</i></blockquote>

<p>Right Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished

Rose-cheek'd Adonis tried him to the chase;

&amp;ldquo;Thrice fairer than myself,&amp;rdquo; thus she began,

Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,

More white and red than doves or roses are:

&amp;ldquo;Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,

If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed

&amp;ldquo;And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,

Making them red, and pale, with fresh variety:

Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,

And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,

Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;

The studded bridle on a ragged bough

The steed is stalled up, and even now

So soon was she along, as he was down,

Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,

And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,

He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears

Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,

Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,

Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone:

Forc'd to content, but never to obey,

She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,

Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret,

Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,

Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;

From his soft bosom never to remove,

Till he take truce with her contending tears,

Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,

Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;

Never did passenger in summer's heat

Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;

She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:

&amp;ldquo;I have been woo'd as I entreat thee now,

Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,

&amp;ldquo;Over my altars hath he hung his lance,

And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,

To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;

&amp;ldquo;Thus he that overrul'd I oversway'd,

Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd,

&amp;ldquo;Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,

The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:

What see'st thou in the ground? hold up thy head,

&amp;ldquo;Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again,

Love keeps his revels where there are but twain;

Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted,

Beauty within itself should not be wasted,

&amp;ldquo;Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled old,

O'erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,

Mine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning;

My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning,

&amp;ldquo;Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,

Or like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,

These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;

From morn till night, even where I list to sport me.

&amp;ldquo;Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?

Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,

&amp;ldquo;Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,

Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;

Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse,

&amp;ldquo;Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,

By law of nature thou art bound to breed,

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,

And Titan, tired in the midday heat,

With burning eye did hotly overlook them,

And now Adonis with a lazy spright,

His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,

&amp;ldquo;Ay me,&amp;rdquo; quoth Venus, &amp;ldquo;young, and so unkind!

I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind

Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:

&amp;ldquo;The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,

The heat I have from thence doth little harm,

&amp;ldquo;Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?

Art thou a woman's son and canst not feel

What 'tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?

&amp;ldquo;What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?

What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?

&amp;ldquo;Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,

Statue contenting but the eye alone,

Thing like a man, but of no woman bred:

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,

Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,

Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:

She would, he will not in her arms be bound;

&amp;ldquo;Fondling,&amp;rdquo; she saith, &amp;ldquo;since I have hemm'd thee here

I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;

&amp;ldquo;Within this limit is relief enough,

Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,

To shelter thee from tempest and from rain:

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,

Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,

Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?

Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?

The time is spent, her object will away,

But lo from forth a copse that neighbours by,

Adonis' tramping courser doth espy,

And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,

Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane

His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,

As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,

As who should say, &amp;ldquo;Lo thus my strength is tried;

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,

What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?

For rich caparisons or trappings gay?

Look when a painter would surpass the life,

His art with nature's workmanship at strife,

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,

Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:

Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;

To bid the wind a base he now prepares,

He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;

Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,

She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,

Then like a melancholy malcontent,

Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent:

His testy master goeth about to take him,

Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,

With her the horse, and left Adonis there:

All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,

And now the happy season once more fits

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,

So of concealed sorrow may be said,

Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,

And with his bonnet hides his angry brow,

O what a sight it was, wistly to view

To note the fighting conflict of her hue,

How white and red each other did destroy:

Now was she just before him as he sat,

With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,

Oh what a war of looks was then between them,

His eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them,

Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:

A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,

Or ivory in an alabaster band,

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:

Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,

My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound,

&amp;ldquo;Give me my hand,&amp;rdquo; saith he, &amp;ldquo;why dost thou feel it?&amp;rdquo;

O give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it,

&amp;ldquo;For shame,&amp;rdquo; he cries, &amp;ldquo;let go, and let me go,

And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so,

I pray you hence, and leave me here alone,

Thus she replies: &amp;ldquo;Thy palfrey as he should,

Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;

&amp;ldquo;How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,

But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,

He held such petty bondage in disdain;

&amp;ldquo;Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,

But when his glutton eye so full hath fed,

&amp;ldquo;Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy,

To take advantage on presented joy,

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.

&amp;ldquo;I know not love,&amp;rdquo; quoth he, &amp;ldquo;nor will not know it,

'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;

&amp;ldquo;Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?

If springing things be any jot diminish'd,

They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth;

&amp;ldquo;You hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part,

Remove your siege from my unyielding heart,

&amp;ldquo;What! canst thou talk?&amp;rdquo; quoth she, &amp;ldquo;hast thou a tongue?

Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;

I had my load before, now press'd with bearing:

That inward beauty and invisible;

Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move

&amp;ldquo;Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,

And nothing but the very smell were left me,

Yet would my love to thee be still as much;

Being nurse and feeder of the other four;

And bid suspicion double-lock the door,

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,

Like a red morn that ever yet betoken'd

Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:

Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,

And at his look she flatly falleth down

A smile recures the wounding of a frown;

But blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth!

And all amaz'd brake off his late intent,

Which cunning love did wittily prevent:

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,

He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks

To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd:

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:

Like the fair sun when in his fresh array

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,

Were never four such lamps together mix'd,

Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;

&amp;ldquo;O where am I?&amp;rdquo; quoth she, &amp;ldquo;in earth or heaven?

What hour is this? or morn or weary even?

&amp;ldquo;O thou didst kill me; kill me once again:

Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain,

That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;

&amp;ldquo;Long may they kiss each other for this cure!

And as they last, their verdure still endure,

&amp;ldquo;Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,

To sell myself I can be well contented,

So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;

&amp;ldquo;A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;

What is ten hundred touches unto thee?

&amp;ldquo;Fair queen,&amp;rdquo; quoth he, &amp;ldquo;if any love you owe me,

Before I know myself, seek not to know me;

No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:

&amp;ldquo;Look the world's comforter, with weary gait

The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis very late;

&amp;ldquo;Now let me say good night, and so say you;

&amp;ldquo;Good night,&amp;rdquo; quoth she; and ere he says adieu,

The honey fee of parting tender'd is:

Till breathless he disjoin'd, and backward drew

Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,

Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,

Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,

Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,

Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much handling,

Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling:

What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp'ring,

Things out of hope are compass'd oft with vent'ring,

When he did frown, O had she then gave over,

Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;

What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd.

The poor fool prays her that he may depart:

She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him,

&amp;ldquo;Sweet boy,&amp;rdquo; she says, &amp;ldquo;this night I'll waste in sorrow,

Tell me, love's master, shall we meet tomorrow

Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?&amp;rdquo;

&amp;ldquo;The boar!&amp;rdquo; quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,

Usurps her cheek, she trembles at his tale,

Now is she in the very lists of love,

All is imaginary she doth prove,

He will not manage her, although he mount her;

Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes,

Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,

But all in vain, good queen, it will not be,

Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee;

She's love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd.

&amp;ldquo;Thou hadst been gone,&amp;rdquo; quoth she, &amp;ldquo;sweet boy, ere this,

Oh be advis'd; thou know'st not what it is,

&amp;ldquo;On his bow-back he hath a battle set

His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;

His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;