Venus and Adonis

VENVS AND ADONIS . EVEN as the sunne with purple-colourd face , Had tane his last leaue of the weeping morne , Rose-cheekt Adonis hied him to the chace , Hunting he lou'd , but loue he laught to scorne : Sick-thoughted Venus makes amaine vnto him , And like a bold fac'd suter ginnes to woo him . Thrise fairer then my selfe , ( thus she began ) The fields chiefe flower , sweet aboue compare , Staine to all Nimphs , more louely then a man , More white , and red , then doues , or roses are : Nature that made thee with her selfe at strife , Saith that the world hath ending with thy life . Vouchsafe thou wonder to alight thy steed , And raine his proud head to the saddle bow , If thou wilt daine this fauor , for thy meed A thousand honie secrets shalt thou know : Here come and sit , where neuer serpent hisses , And being set , I le smother thee with kisses . And yet not cloy thy lips with loth'd sacietie , But rather famish them amid their plentie , Making them red , and pale , with fresh varietie : Ten kisses short as one , one long as twentie : A sommers day will seeme an houre but short , Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport . With this she ceazeth on his sweating palme , The president of pith , and liuelyhood , And trembling in her passion , calls it balme , Earths soueraigne salue , to do a goddesse good , Being so enrag'd , desire doth lend her force , Couragiously to plucke him from his horse . Ouer one arme the lustie coursers raine , Vnder her other was the tender boy , Who blusht , and powted in a dull disdaine , With leaden appetite , vnapt to toy , She red , and hot , as coles of glowing fier , He red for shame , but frostie in desier . The studded bridle on a ragged bough , Nimbly she fastens , ( ô how quicke is loue ! ) The steed is stalled vp , and euen now , To tie the rider she begins to proue : Backward she pusht him , as she would be thrust , And gouernd him in strength though not in lust . So soone was she along , as he was downe , Each leaning on their elbowes and their hips : Now doth she stroke his cheek , now doth he frown , And gins to chide , but soone she stops his lips , And kissing speaks , with lustful language broken , If thou wilt chide , thy lips shall neuer open . He burnes with bashfull shame , she with her teares Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheekes , Then with her windie sighes , and golden heares , To fan , and blow them drie againe she seekes . He saith , she is immodest , blames her misse , What followes more , she murthers with a kisse . Euen as an emptie Eagle sharpe by fast , Tires with her beake on feathers , flesh , and bone , Shaking her wings , deuouring all in hast , Till either gorge be stuft , or pray be gone : Euen so she kist his brow , his cheeke , his chin , And where she ends , she doth anew begin . Forst to content , but neuer to obey , Panting he lies , and breatheth in her face . She feedeth on the steame , as on a pray , And calls it heauenly moisture , aire of grace , Wishing her cheeks were gardens ful of flowers , So they were dew'd with such distilling showers . Looke how a bird lyes tangled in a net , So fastned in her armes Adonis lyes , Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret , Which bred more beautie in his angrie eyes : Raine added to a riuer that is ranke , Perforce will force it ouerflow the banke . Still she intreats , and prettily intreats , For to a prettie eare she tunes her tale . Still is he sullein , still he lowres and frets , Twixt crimson shame , and anger ashie pale , Being red she loues him best , and being white , Her best is betterd with a more delight . Looke how he can , she cannot chuse but loue , And by her faire immortall hand she sweares , From his soft bosome neuer to remoue , Till he take truce with her contending teares , Which long haue raind , making her cheeks al wet , And one sweet kisse shal pay this comptlesse debt . Vpon this promise did he raise his chin , Like a diued apper peering through a waue , Who being lookt on , ducks as quickly in : So offers he to giue what she did craue , But when her lips were readie for his pay , He winks , and turnes his lips another way . Neuer did passenger in sommers heat , More thirst for drinke , then she for this good turne , Her helpe she sees , but helpe she cannot get , She bathes in water , yet her fire must burne : Oh pitie gan she crie , flint-hearted boy , T is but a kisse I begge , why art thou coy ? I haue bene wooed as I intreat thee now , Euen by the sterne , and direfull god of warre , Whose sinowie necke in battell nere did bow , Who conquers where he comes in euerie iarre , Yet hath he bene my captiue , and my slaue , And begd for that which thou vnaskt shalt haue . Ouer my Altars hath he hong his launce , His battred shield , his vncontrolled crest , And for my sake hath learnd to sport , and daunce , To toy , to wanton , dallie , smile , and iest , Scorning his churlish drumme , and ensigne red , Making my armes his field , his tent my bed . Thus he that ouer-ruld , I ouer-swayed , Leading him prisoner in a red rose chaine , Strong-temperd steele his stronger strength obayed . Yet was he seruile to my coy disdaine , Oh be not proud , nor brag not of thy might , For maistring her that foyld the god of fight . Touch but my lips with those faire lips of thine , Though mine be not so faire , yet are they red , The kisse shal be thine owne as well as mine , What seest thou in the ground ? hold vp thy head , Looke in mine ey-bals , there thy beautie lyes , Then why not lips on lips , since eyes in eyes ? Art thou asham'd to kisse ? then winke againe , And I will winke , so shall the day seeme night . Loue keepes his reuels where there are but twaine : Be bold to play , our sport is not in sight , These blew-veind violets whereon we leane , Neuer can blab , nor know not what we meane . The tender spring vpon thy tempting lip , Shewes thee vnripe ; yet maist thou well be tasted , Make vse of time , let not aduantage slip , Beautie within it selfe should not be wasted , Faire flowers that are not gathred in their prime , Rot , and consume them selues in litle time . Were I hard-fauourd , foule , or wrinckled old , Il-nurtur'd , crooked , churlish , harsh in voice , Ore-worne , despised , reumatique , and cold , Thick-sighted , barren , leane , and lacking iuyce ; Then mightst thou pause , for them I were not for thee , But hauing no defects , why doest abhor me ? Thou canst not see one wrinckle in my brow , Mine eyes are grey , and bright , & quicke in turning : My beautie as the spring doth yearelie grow , My flesh is soft , and plumpe , my marrow burning , My smooth moist hand , were it with thy hand felt , Would in thy palme dissolue , or seeme to melt . Bid me discourse , I will inchaunt thine eare , Or like a Fairie , trip vpon the greene , Or like a Nimph , with long disheueled heare , Daunce on the sands , and yet no footing seene . Loue is a spirit all compact of fire , Not grosse to sinke , but light , and will aspire . Witnesse this Primrose banke whereon I lie , These forcelesse flowers like sturdy trees support me : Two strengthles doues will draw me through the skie , From morne till night , euen where I list to sport me . Is loue so light sweet boy , and may it be , That thou should thinke it heauie vnto thee ? Is thine owne heart to thine owne face affected ? Can thy right hand ceaze loue vpon thy left ? Then woo thy selfe , be of thy selfe reiected : Steale thine own freedome , and complaine on theft . Narcissus so him selfe him selfe forsooke , And died to kisse his shadow in the brooke . Torches are made to light , iewels to weare , Dainties to tast , fresh beautie for the vse , Herbes for their smell , and sappie plants to beare . Things growing to them selues , are growths abuse , Seeds spring from seeds , & beauty breedeth beauty , Thou wast begot , to get it is thy duty . Vpon the earths increase why shouldst thou feed , Vnlesse the earth with thy increase be fed ? By law of nature thou art bound to breed , That thine may liue , when thou thy selfe art dead : And so in spite of death thou doest suruiue , In that thy likenesse still is left aliue . By this the loue-sicke Queene began to sweate , For where they lay the shadow had forsooke them , And Titan tired in the midday heate , With burning eye did hotly ouer-looke them , Wishing Adonis had his teame to guide , So he were like him , and by Venus side . And now Adonis with a lazie sprite , And with a heauie , darke , disliking eye , His lowring browes ore-whelming his faire sight , Like mistie vapors when they blot the skie , So wring his cheekes , cries , fie , no more of loue , The sunne doth burne my face I must remoue . Ay , me , ( quoth Venus ) young , and so vnkinde , What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gon ? I le sigh celestiall breath , whose gentle winde , Shall coole the heate of this descending sun : I le make a shadow for thee of my heares , If they burn too , I le quench them with my teares . The sun that shines from heauen , shines but warme , And lo I lye betweene that sunne , and thee : The heate I haue from thence doth litle harme , Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me , And were I not immortall , life were done , Betweene this heauenly , and earthly sunne . Art thou obdurate , flintie , hard as steele ? Nay more then flint , for stone at raine relenteth : Art thou a womans sonne and canst not feele What t is to loue , how want of loue tormenteth ? O had thy mother borne so hard a minde , She had not brought forth thee , but died vnkind . What am I that thou shouldst contemne me this ? Or what great danger , dwels vpon my sute ? What were thy lips the worse for one poore kis ? Speake faire , but speake faire words , or else be mute : Giue me one kisse , I le giue it thee againe , And one for intrest , if thou wilt haue twaine . Fie , liuelesse picture , cold , and sencelesse stone , Well painted idoll , image dull , and dead , Statüe contenting but the eye alone , Thing like a man , but of no woman bred : Thou art no man , though of a mans complexion , For men will kisse euen by their owne direction . This said , impatience chokes her pleading tongue , And swelling passion doth prouoke a pause , Red cheeks , and fierie eyes blaze forth her wrong : Being Iudge in loue , she cannot right her cause . And now she weeps , & now she faine would speake And now her sobs do her intendments breake . Sometime she shakes her head , and then his hand , Now gazeth she on him , now on the ground ; Sometime her armes infold him like a band , She would , he will not in her armes be bound : And when from thence he struggles to be gone , She locks her lillie fingers one in one . Fondling , she saith , since I haue hemd thee here Within the circuit of this iuorie pale , I le be a parke , and thou shalt be my deare : Feed where thou wilt , on mountaine , or in dale ; Graze on my lips , and if those hils be drie , Stray lower , where the pleasant fountains lie . Within this limit is reliefe inough , Sweet bottome grasse , and high delightfull plaine , Round rising hillocks , brakes obscure , and rough , To shelter thee from tempest , and from raine : Then be my deare , since I am such a parke , No dog shal rowze thee , though a thousand bark At this Adonis smiles as in disdaine , That in ech cheeke appeares a prettie dimple ; Loue made those hollowes , if him selfe were slaine , He might be buried in a tombe so simple , Foreknowing well , if there he came to lie , Why there loue liu'd , & there he could not die . These louely caues , these round inchanting pits , Opend their mouthes to swallow Venus liking : Being mad before , how doth she now for wits ? Strucke dead at first , what needs a second striking ? Poore Queene of loue , in thine own law forlorne , To loue a cheeke that smiles at thee in scorne . Now which way shall she turne ? what shall she say ? Her words are done , her woes the more increasing , The time is spent , her obiect will away , And from her twining armes doth vrge releasing : Pitie she cries , some fauour , some remorse , Away he springs , and hasteth to his horse . But lo from forth a copp's that neighbors by , A breeding Iennet , Iustie , young , and proud , Adonis trampling Courser doth espy : And forth she rushes , snorts , and neighs aloud . The strong-neckt steed being tied vnto a tree , Breaketh his raine , and to her straight goes hee . Imperiously he leaps , he neighs , he bounds , And now his wouen girthes he breaks asunder , The bearing earth with his hard hoofe he wounds , Whose hollow wombe resounds like heauens thunder , The yron bit he crusheth tweene his teeth , Controlling what he was controlled with . His eares vp prickt , his braided hanging mane Vpon his compast crest now stand on end , His nostrils drinke the aire , and forth againe As from a fornace , vapors doth he send : His eye which scornfully glisters like fire , Shewes his hote courage , and his high desire . Sometime he trots , as if he told the steps , With gentle maiestie , and modest pride , Anon he reres vpright , curuets , and leaps , As who should say , lo thus my strength is tride . And this I do , to captiuate the eye , Of the faire breeder that is standing by . What recketh he his riders angrie sturre , His flattering holla , or his stand , I say , What cares he now , for curbe , or pricking spurre , For rich caparisons , or trappings gay : He sees his loue , and nothing else he sees , For nothing else with his proud sight agrees . Looke when a Painter would surpasse the life , In limming out a well proportioned steed , His Art with Natures workmanship at strife , As if the dead the liuing should exceed : So did this Horse excell a common one , In shape , in courage , colour , pace and bone . Round hooft , short ioynted , fetlocks shag , and long , Broad breast , full eye , small head , and nostrill wide , High crest , short eares , straight legs , & passing strong , Thin mane , thicke taile , broad buttock , tender hide : Looke what a Horse should haue , he did not lack , Saue a proud rider on so proud a back . Sometime he scuds farre off , and there he stares , Anon he starts , at sturring of a feather : To bid the wind a base he now prepares , And where he runne , or flie , they know not whether : For through his mane , & taile , the high wind sings , Fanning the haires , who waue like feathred wings . He lookes vpon his loue , and neighes vnto her , She answers him , as if she knew his minde , Being proud as females are , to see him woo her , She puts on outward strangenesse , seemes vnkinde : Spurnes at his loue , and scorns the heat he feeles , Beating his kind imbracements with her heeles . Then like a melancholy malcontent , He vailes his taile that like a falling plume , Coole shadow to his melting buttocke lent , He stamps , and bites the poore flies in his fume : His loue perceiuing how he was inrag'd , Grew kinder , and his furie was asswag'd . His testie maister goeth about to take him , When lo the vnbackt breeder full of feare , Iealous of catching , swiftly doth forsake him , With her the Horse , and left Adonis there : As they were mad vnto the wood they hie them , Out stripping crowes , that striue to ouerfly them . All swolne with chafing , downe Adonis sits , Banning his boystrous , and vnruly beast ; And now the happie season once more sits That louesicke loue , by pleading may be blest : For louers say , the heart hath treble wrong , When it is bard the aydance of the tongue . An Ouen that is stopt , or riuer stayd , Burneth more hotly , swelleth with more rage : So of concealed sorow may be sayd , Free vent of words loues fier doth asswage , But when the hearts atturney once is mute , The client breakes , as desperat in his sute . He sees her comming , and begins to glow : Euen as a dying coale reuiues with winde , And with his bonnet hides his angrie brow , Lookes on the dull earth with disturbed minde : Taking no notice that she is so nye , 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 hew , How white and red , ech other did destroy : But now her cheeke was pale , and by and by It flasht forth fire , as lightning from the skie . Now was she iust before him as he sat , And like a lowly louer downe she kneeles , With one faire hand she heaueth vp his hat , Her other tender hand his faire cheeke feeles : His tendrer cheeke , receiues her soft hands print , As apt , as new falne snow takes any dint . Oh what a war of lookes was then betweene them , Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing , His eyes saw her eyes , as they had not seene them , Her eyes wooed still , his eyes disdaind the wooing : And all this dumbe 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 lillie prisond in a gaile of snow , Or Iuorie in an allablaster band , So white a friend , ingirts so white a fo : This beautious combat wilfull , and vnwilling , Showed like two siluer doues that sit a billing . Once more the engin of her thoughts began , O fairest mouer on this mortall round , Would thou wert as I am , and I a man , My heart all whole as thine , thy heart my wound , For one sweet looke thy helpe I would assure thee , Thogh nothing but my bodies bane wold cure thee Giue me my hand ( saith he , ) why dost thou feele it ? Giue me my heart ( saith she , ) and thou shalt haue it . O giue it me lest thy hard heart do steele it , And being steeld , soft sighes can neuer graue it . Then loues deepe grones , I neuer shall regard , Because Adonis heart hath made mine hard . For shame he cries , let go , and let me go , My dayes delight is past , my horse is gone , And t is your fault I am bereft him so , I pray you hence , and leaue me here alone , For all my mind , my thought , my busie care , Is how to get my palfrey from the mare . Thus she replies , thy palfrey as he should , Welcomes the warme approch of sweet desire , Affection is a coale that must be coold , Else sufferd it will set the heart on fire , The sea hath bounds , but deepe desire hath none , Therfore no maruell though thy horse be gone . How like a iade he stood tied to the tree , Seruilly maisterd with a leatherne raine , But when he saw his loue , his youths faire fee , He held such pettie bondage in disdaine : Throwing the base thong from his bending crest , Enfranchising his mouth , his backe , his brest . Who sees his true-loue in her naked bed , Teaching the sheets a whiter hew then white , But when his glutton eye so full hath fed , His other agents ayme at like delight ? Who is so faint that dares not be so bold , To touch the fier the weather being cold ? Let me excuse thy courser gentle boy , And learne of him I heartily beseech thee , To take aduantage on presented ioy , Though I were dumbe , yet his proceedings teach thee O learne to loue , the lesson is put plaine , And once made perfect , neuer lost againe . I knowe not loue ( quote he ) nor will not know it , Vnlesse it be a Boare , and then I chase it , T is much to borrow , and I will not owe it , My loue to loue , is loue , but to disgrace it , For I haue heard , it is a life in death , That laughs and weeps , and all but with a breath . Who weares a garment shapelesse and vnfinisht ? Who plucks the bud before one leafe put forth ? If springing things be anie iot diminisht , They wither in their prime , proue nothing worth , The colt that 's backt and burthend being yong , Loseth his pride , and neuer waxeth strong . You hurt my hand with wringing , let vs part , And leaue this idle theame , this bootlesse chat , Remoue your siege from my vnyeelding hart , To loues allarmes it will not ope the gate , Dismisse your vows , your fained tears , your flattry , For where a heart is hard they make no battry . What canst thou talke ( quoth she ) hast thou a tong ? O would thou hadst not , or I had no hearing , Thy marmaides voice hath done me double wrong , I had my lode before , now prest with bearing , Mellodious discord , heauenly tune harsh sounding , Eares deep sweet musik , & harts deep sore wounding Had I no eyes but eares , my eares would loue , That inward beautie and inuisible , Or were I deafe , thy outward parts would moue Ech part in me , that were but sensible , Though neither eyes , nor eares , to heare nor see , Yet should I be in loue , by touching thee . Say that the sence of feeling were bereft me , And that I could not see , nor heare , nor touch , And nothing but the verie smell were left me , Yet would my loue to thee be still as much , For from the stillitorie of thy face excelling , Coms breath perfumd , that breedeth loue by smelling . But oh what banquet wert thou to the tast , Being nourse , and feeder of the other foure , Would they not wish the feast might euer last , And bid suspition double locke the dore ; Lest iealousie that sower vnwelcome guest , Should by his stealing in disturbe the feast ? Once more the rubi-colourd portall opend , Which to his speech did honie passage yeeld , Like a red morne that euer yet betokend , Wracke to the sea-man , tempest to the field : Sorrow to shepherds , wo vnto the birds , Gusts , and foule flawes , to heardmen , & to herds . This ill presage aduisedly she marketh , Euen as the wind is husht before it raineth : Or as the wolfe doth grin before he barketh : Or as the berrie breakes before it staineth : Or like the deadly bullet of a gun : His meaning strucke her ere his words begun . And at his looke she flatly falleth downe , For lookes kill loue , and loue by lookes reuiueth , A smile recures the wounding of a frowne , But blessed bankrout that by loue so thriueth . The sillie boy beleeuing she is dead , Claps her pale cheeke , till clapping makes it red . And all amaz'd , brake off his late intent , For sharply he did thinke to reprehend her , Which cunning loue did wittily preuent , Faire-fall the wit that can so well defend her : For on the grasse she lyes as she were slaine , Till his breath breatheth life in her againe . He wrings her nose , he strikes her on the cheekes , He bends her fingers , holds her pulses hard , He chafes her lips , a thousand wayes he seekes , To mend the hurt , that his vnkindnesse mard , He kisses her , and she by her good will , Will neuer rise , so he will kisse her still . The night of sorrow now is turnd to day , Her two blew windowes faintly she vpheaueth , Like the faire sunne when in his fresh array , He cheeres the morne , and all the earth releeueth : And as the bright sunne glorifies the skie : So is her face illumind with her eye . Whose beames vpon his hairelesse face are fixt , As if from thence they borrowed all their shine , Were neuer foure such lamps , together mixt , Had not his clouded with his browes repine : But hers , which through the cristal tears gaue light , Shone like the Moone in water seene by night . O where am I ( quoth she , ) in earth or heauen , Or in the Ocean drencht , or in the fire : What houre is this , or morne , or wearie euen , Do I delight to die or life desire ? But how I liu'd , and life was deaths annoy , But now I dy'de , and death was liuely ioy . O thou didst kill me , kill me once againe , Thy eyes shr●wd tutor , that hard heart of thine , Hath taught them scornfull tricks , & such disdaine , That they haue murdred this poore heart of mine , And these mine eyes true leaders to their queene , But for thy piteous lips no more had seene . Long may they kisse ech other for this cure , Oh neuer let their crimson liueries weare , And as they last , their verdour still endure , To driue infection from the dangerous yeare : That the star-gazers hauing writ on death , May say , the plague is banisht by thy breath . Pure lips , sweet seales in my soft lips imprinted , What bargaines may I make still to be sealing ? To sell my selfe I can be well contented , So thou wilt buy , and pay , and vse good dealing , Which purchase if thou make , for feare of slips , Set thy seale manuell , on my wax-red lips . A thousand kisses buyes my heart from me , And pay them at thy leisure , one by one , What is ten hundred touches vnto thee , Are they not quickly told , and quickly gone ? Say for non paiment , that the debt should double , Is twentie hundred kisses such a trouble ? Faire Queene ( quoth he ) if anie loue you owe me , Measure my strangenesse with my vnripe yeares , Before I know my selfe , seeke not to know me , No fisher but the vngrowne frie forbeares , The mellow plum doth fall , the greene sticks fast , Or being early pluckt , is sower to tast . Looke the worlds comforter with wearie gate , His dayes hot taske hath ended in the west , The owle ( nights herald ) shreeks , t is verie late , The sheepe are gone to fold , birds to their nest , And cole-black clouds , that shadow heauens light , Do summon vs to part , and bid good night . Now let me say goodnight , and so say you , If you will say so , you shall haue a kis ; Goodnight ( quoth she ) and ere he sayes adue , The honie fee of parting tendred is , Her armes do lend his necke a sweet imbrace , Incorporate then they seeme , face growes to face . Till breathlesse he disioynd , and backward drew , The heauenly moisture that sweet corall mouth , Whose precious tast , her thirstie-lips well knew , Whereon they surfet , yet complaine on drouth , He with her plentie pr●st , she faint with dearth , Their lips together glewed , fall to the earth . Now quicke desire hath caught the yeelding pray , And gluttonlike she feeds , yet neuer filleth , Her lips are conquerers , his lips obay , Paying what ransome the insulter willeth : Whose vultur thought doth pitch the price so hie , That she will draw his lips rich treasure drie . And hauing felt the sweetnesse of the spoile , With blind fold furie she begins to forrage , Her face doth reeke , & smoke , her blood doth boile , And carelesse lust stirs vp a desperat courage , Planting obliuion , beating reason backe , Forgetting shames pure blush , & honors wracke . Hot , faint , and wearie , with her hard imbracing , Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much handling , Or as the fleet-foot Roe that 's tyr'd with chasing , Or like the froward infant stild with dandling : He now obayes , and now no more resisteth , While she takes all she can , not all she listeth . What waxe so frozen but dissolues with tempring , And yeelds at last to euerie light impression ? Things out of hope , are compast oft with ventring , Chiefly in loue , whose leaue exceeds commission : Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward , But then woes best , when most his choice is froward . When he did frowne , ô had she then gaue ouer , Such nectar from his lips she had not suckt , Foule wordes , and frownes , must not repell a louer , What though the rose haue prickles , yet t is pluckt ? Were beautie vnder twentie locks kept fast , Yet loue breaks through , & picks them all at last . For pittie now she can no more detaine him , The poore foole praies her that he may depart , She is resolu'd no longer to restraine him , Bids him farewell , and looke well to her hart , The which by Cupids bow she doth protest , He carries thence incaged in his brest . Sweet boy she saies , this night i le wast in sorrow , For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch , Tell me loues maister , shall we meete to morrow , Say , shall we , shall we , wilt thou make the match ? He tell 's her no , to morrow he intends , To hunt the boare with certaine of his frends . The boare ( quoth she ) whereat a suddain pale , Like lawne being spred vpon the blushing rose , Vsurpes her cheeke , she trembles at his tale , And on his neck her yoaking armes she throwes . She sincketh downe , still hanging by his necke , He on her belly fall's , she on her backe . Now is she in the verie lists of loue , Her champion mounted for the hot incounter , All is imaginarie she doth proue , He will not mannage her , although he mount her , That worse then Tantalus is her annoy , To clip Elizium , and to lacke her ioy . Euen so poore birds deceiu'd with painted grapes , Do surfet by the eye , and pine the maw : Euen so she languisheth in her mishaps , As those poore birds that helplesse berries saw , The warme effects which she in him finds missing , She seekes to kindle with continuall kissing . But all in vaine , good Queene , it will not bee , She hath assai'd as much as may be prou'd , Her pleading hath deseru'd a greater fee , She 's loue ; she loues , and yet she is not lou'd , Fie , fie , he saies , you crush me , let me go , You haue no reason to withhold me so . Thou hadst bin gone ( quoth she ) sweet boy ere this , But that thou toldst me , thou woldst hunt the boare , Oh be aduisd , thou know'st not what it is , With iauelings point a churlish swine to goare , Whose tushes neuer sheathd , he whetteth still , Like to a mortall butcher bent to kill . On his bow-backe , he hath a battell set , Of brisly pikes that euer threat his foes , His eyes like glow-wormes shine , when he doth fret His snout digs sepulchers where ere he goes , Being mou'd he strikes , what ere is in his way , And whom he strikes , his crooked tushes slay . His brawnie sides with hairie bristles armed , Are better proofe then thy speares point can enter , His short thick necke cannot be easily harmed , Being irefull , on the lyon he will venter , The thornie brambles , and imbracing bushes , As fearefull of him part , through whom he rushes . Alas , he naught esteem's that face of thine , To which loues eyes paies tributarie gazes , Nor thy soft handes , sweet lips , and christall eine , Whose full perfection all the world amazes , But hauing thee at vantage ( wondrous dread ! ) Wold roote these beauties , as he root 's the mead . Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still , Beautie hath naught to do with such foule fiends , Come not within his danger by thy will , They that thriue well , take counsell of their friends , When thou didst name the boare , not to dissemble , I feard thy fortune , and my ioynts did tremble . Didst thou not marke my face , was it not white ? Sawest thou not signes of feare lurke in mine eye ? Grew I not faint , and fell I not downe right ? Within my bosome whereon thou doest lye , My boding heart , pants , beats , and takes no rest , But like an earthquake , shakes thee on my brest . For where loue raignes , disturbing iealousie , Doth call him selfe affections centinell , Giues false alarmes , suggesteth mutinie , And in a peacefull houre doth crie , kill , kill , Distempring gentle loue in his desire , As aire , and water do abate the fire . This sower informer , this bate-breeding spie , This canker that eates vp loues tender spring , This carry-tale , dissentious iealousie , That somtime true newes , somtime false doth bring , Knocks at my heart , and whispers in mine eare , That if I loue thee , I thy death should feare . And more then so , presenteth to mine eye , The picture of an angrie chafing boare , Vnder whose sharpe fangs , on his backe doth lye , An image like thy selfe , all staynd with goare , Whose blood vpon the fresh flowers being shed , Doth make them droop with grief , & hang the hed . What should I do , seeing thee so indeed ? That tremble at th' imagination , The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed , And feare doth teach it diuination ; I prophecie thy death , my liuing sorrow , If thou incounter with the boare to morrow But if thou needs wilt hunt , be rul'd by me , Vncouple at the timerous flying hare , Or at the foxe which liues by subtiltie , Or at the Roe which no incounter dare : Persue these fearfull creatures o're the downes , And on thy wel breathd horse keep with thy hounds And when thou hast on foote the purblind hare , Marke the poore wretch to ouer-shut his troubles , How he outruns the wind , and with what care , He crankes and crosses with a thousand doubles , The many musits though the which he goes , Are like a laberinth to amaze his foes . Sometime he runnes among a flocke of sheepe , To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell , And sometime where earth-deluing Conies keepe , To stop the loud persuers in their yell : And sometime sorteth with a heard of deare , Danger deuiseth shifts , wit waites on feare . For there his smell with others being mingled , The hot sent-snuffing hounds are driuen to doubt , Ceasing their clamorous cry , till they haue singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out , Then do they spend their mouth 's , eccho replies , As if an other chase were in the skies . By this poore wat farre off vpon a hill , Stands on his hinder-legs with listning eare , To hearken if his foes pursue him still , Anon their loud alarums he doth heare , And now his griefe may be compared well , To one sore sicke , that heares the passing bell . Then shalt thou see the deaw-bedabbled wretch , Turne , and returne , indenting with the way , Ech enuious brier , his wearie legs do scratch , Ech shadow makes him stop , ech murmour stay , For miserie is troden on by manie , And being low , neuer releeu'd by anie . Lye quietly , and heare a litle more , Nay do not struggle , for thou shalt not rise , To make thee hate the hunting of the bore , Vnlike my selfe thou hear'st me moralize , Applying this to that , and so to so , For loue can comment vpon euerie wo. Where did I leaue ? no matter where ( quoth he ) Leaue me , and then the storie aptly ends , The night is spent ; why what of that ( quoth she ? ) I am ( quoth he ) expected of my friends , And now t is darke , and going I shall fall . In night ( quoth she ) desire sees best of all . But if thou fall , oh then imagine this , The earth in loue with thee , thy footing trips , And all is but to rob thee of a kis , Rich prayes make true-men theeues : so do thy lips Make modest Dyan , cloudie and forlorne , Lest she should steale a kisse and die forsworne . Now of this darke night I perceiue the reason , Cinthia for shame , obscures her siluer shine , Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason , For stealing moulds from heauen , that were diuine , Wherin she fram'd thee , in hie heauens despight , To shame the sunne by day , and her by night . And therefore hath she brib'd the destinies , To crosse the curious workmanship of nature , To mingle beautie with infirmities , And pure perfection with impure defeature , Making it subiect to the tyrannie , Of mad mischances , and much miserie . As burning feauers , agues pale , and faint , Life-poysoning pestilence , and frendzies wood , The marrow-eating sicknesse whose attaint , Disorder breeds by heating of the blood , Surfets , impostumes , griefe , and damnd dispaire , Sweare natures death , for framing thee so faire . And not the least of all these maladies , But in one minutes fight brings beautie vnder , Both fauour , sauour , hew , and qualities , Whereat the th' impartiall gazer late did wonder , Are on the sudden wasted , thawed , and donne , As mountain snow melts with the midday sonne . Therefore despight of fruitlesse chastitie , Loue-lacking vestals , and selfe-louing Nuns , That on the earth would breed a scarcitie , And barraine dearth of daughters , and of suns ; Be prodigall , the lampe that burnes by night , Dries vp his oyle , to lend the world his light . What is thy bodie but a swallowing graue , Seeming to burie that posteritie , Which by the rights of time thou needs must haue , If thou destroy them not in darke obscuritie ? If so the world will hold thee in disdaine , Sith in thy pride , so faire a hope is slaine . So in thy selfe , thy selfe art made away , A mischiefe worse then ciuill home-bred strife , Or theirs whose desperat hands them selues do slay , Or butcher sire , that reaues his sonne of life : Foule cankring rust , the hidden treasure frets , But gold that 's put to vse more gold begets . Nay then ( quoth Adon ) you will fall againe , Into your idle ouer-handled theame , The kisse I gaue you is bestow'd in vaine , And all in vaine you striue against the streame , For by this black-fac't night , desires foule nourse , Your treatise makes me like you , worse & worse . If loue haue lent you twentie thousand tongues , And euerie tongue more mouing then your owne , Bewitching like the wanton Marmaids songs , Yet from mine eare the tempting tune is blowne , For know my heart stands armed in mine eare , And will not let a false sound enter there . Lest the deceiuing harmonie should ronne , Into the quiet closure of my brest , And then my litle heart were quite vndone , In his bed-chamber to be bard of rest , No Ladie no , my heart longs not to grone , But soundly sleeps , while now it sleeps alone . What haue you vrg'd , that I can not reproue ? The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger , I hate not loue , but your deuise in loue , That lends imbracements vnto euery stranger , You do it for increase , ô straunge excuse ! When reason is the bawd to lusts abuse . Call it not loue , for loue to heauen is fled , Since sweating lust on earth vsurpt his name , Vnder whose simple semblance he hath fed , Vpon fresh beautie , blotting it with blame ; Which the hot tyrant staines , & soone bereaues : As Caterpillers do the tender leaues . Loue comforteth like sun-shine after raine , But lusts effect is tempest after sunne , Loues gentle spring doth alwayes fresh remaine , Lusts winter comes , ere sommer halfe be donne : Loue surfets not , lust like a glutton dies : Loue is all truth , lust full of forged lies . More I could tell , but more I dare not say , The text is old , the Orator too greene , Therefore in sadnesse , now I will away , My face is full of shame , my heart of teene , Mine eares that to your wanton talke attended , Do burne them selues , for hauing so offended . With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace , Of those faire armes which bound him to her brest , And homeward through the dark lawnd runs apace , Leaues loue vpon her backe , deeply distrest , Looke how a bright star shooteth from the skye ; So glides he in the night from Venus eye . Which after him she dartes , as one on shore Gazing vpon a late embarked friend , Till the wilde waues will haue him seene no more , Whose ridges with the meeting cloudes contend : So did the mercilesse , and pitchie night , Fold in the obiect that did feed her sight . Whereat amas'd as one that vnaware , Hath dropt a precious iewell in the flood , Or stonisht , as night wandrers often are , Their light blowne out in some mistrustfull wood ; Euen so confounded in the darke she lay , Hauing lost the faire discouerie of her way . And now she beates her heart , whereat it grones , That all the neighbour caues as seeming troubled , Make verball repetition of her mones , Passion on passion , deeply is redoubled , Ay me , she cries , and twentie times , wo , wo , And twentie ecchoes , twentie times crie so , She marking them , begins a wailing note , And sings extemporally a wofull dittie , How loue makes yong-men thrall , & old men dote , How loue is wise in follie , foolish wittie : Her heauie antheme still concludes in wo , And still the quier of ecchoes answer so . Her song was tedious , and out-wore the night , For louers houres are long , though seeming short , If pleasd themselues , others they thinke delight , In such like circumstance , with such like sport : Their copious stories oftentimes begunne , End without audience , and are neuer donne . For who hath she to spend the night withall , But idle sounds resembling parasits ? Like shrill-tongu'd Tapsters answering euerie call , Soothing the humor of fantastique wits , She sayes t is so , they answer all t is so , And would say after her , if she said no. Lo here the gentle larke wearie of rest , From his moyst cabinet mounts vp on hie , And wakes the morning , from whose siluer brest , The sunne ariseth in his maiestie , Who doth the world so gloriously behold , That Ceader tops and hils , seeme burnisht gold . Venus salutes him with this faire good morrow , Oh thou cleare god , and patron of all light , From whom ech lamp , and shining star doth borrow , The beautious influence that makes him bright , There liues a sonne that suckt an earthly mother , May lend thee light , as thou doest lend to other . This sayd , she hasteth to a mirtle groue , Musing the morning is so much ore-worne , And yet she heares no tidings of her loue ; She harkens for his hounds , and for his horne , Anon she heares them chaunt it lustily , And all in hast she coasteth to the cry . And as she runnes , the bushes in the way , Some catch her by the necke , some kisse her face , Some twin'd about her thigh to make her stay , She wildly breaketh from their strict imbrace , Like a milch Doe , whose swelling dugs do ake , Hasting to feed her fawne , hid in some brake , By this she heares the hounds are at a bay , Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder , Wreath'd vp in fatall folds iust in his way , The feare whereof doth make him shake , & shudder , Euen so the timerous yelping of the hounds , Appals her senses , and her spirit confounds . For now she knowes it is no gentle chase , But the blunt boare , rough beare , or lyon proud , Because the crie remaineth in one place , Where fearefully the dogs exclaime aloud , Finding their enemie to be so curst , They all straine curt'sie who shall cope him first . This dismall crie rings sadly in her eare , Through which it enters to surprise her hart , Who ouercome by doubt , and bloodlesse feare , With cold-pale weakenesse , nums ech feeling part , Like soldiers when their captain once doth yeeld , They basely flie , and dare not stay the field . Thus stands she in a trembling extasie , Till cheering vp her senses all dismayd , She tels them t is a causlesse fantasie , And childish error that they are affrayd , Bids then leaue quaking , bids them feare no more , And with that word , she spide the hunted boare . Whose frothie mouth bepainted all with red , Like milke , & blood , being mingled both togither , A second feare through all her sinewes spred , Which madly hurries her , she knowes not whither , This way she runs , and now she will no further , But backe retires , to rate the boare for murther . A thousand spleenes beare her a thousand wayes , She treads the path , that she vntreads againe ; Her more then hast , is mated with delayes , Like the proceedings of a drunken braine , Full of respects , yet naught at all respecting , In hand with all things , naught at all effecting . Here kenneld in a brake , she finds a hound , And askes the wearie caitiffe for his maister , And there another licking of his wound , Gainst venimd sores , the onely soueraigne plaister . And here she meets another , sadly skowling , To whom she speaks , & he replies with howling . When he hath ceast his ill resounding noise , Another flapmouthd mourner , blacke , and grim , Against the welkin , volies out his voyce , Another , and another , answer him , Clapping their proud tailes to the ground below , Shaking their scratcht-eares , bleeding as they go . Looke how , the worlds poore people are amazed , At apparitions , signes , and prodigies , Whereon with feareful eyes , they long haue gazed , Infusing them with dreadfull prophecies ; So she at these sad signes , drawes vp her breath , And sighing it againe , exclaimes on death . Hard fauourd tyrant , ougly , meagre , leane , Hatefull diuorce of loue , ( thus chides she death ) Grim-grinning ghost , earths-worme what dost thou meane ? To stifle beautie , and to steale his breath ? Who when he liu'd , his breath and beautie set Glosse on the rose , smell to the violet . If he be dead , ô no , it cannot be , Seeing his beautie , thou shouldst strike at it , Oh yes , it may , thou hast no eyes to see , But hatefully at randon doest thou hit , Thy marke is feeble age , but thy false dart , Mistakes that aime , and cleaues an infants hart . Hadst thou but bid beware , then he had spoke , And hearing him , thy power had lost his power , The destinies will curse thee for this stroke , They bid thee crop a weed , thou pluckst a flower , Loues golden arrow at him should haue fled , And not deaths ebon dart to strike him dead . Dost thou drink tears , that thou prouok'st such weeping , What may a heauie grone aduantage thee ? Why hast thou cast into eternall sleeping , Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ? Now nature cares not for thy mortall vigour , Since her best worke is ruin'd with thy rigour . Here ouercome as one full of dispaire , She vaild her eye-lids , who like sluces stopt The christall tide , that from her two cheeks faire , In the sweet channell of her bosome dropt . But through the floud gates breaks the siluer rain , And with his strong course opens them againe . O how her eyes , and teares , did lend , and borrow , Her eye seene in the teares , teares in her eye , Both christals , where they viewd ech others sorrow : Sorrow , that friendly sighs sought still to drye , But like a stormie day , now wind , now raine , Sighs drie her cheeks , tears make them wet againe . Variable passions throng her constant wo , As striuing who should best become her griefe , All entertaind , ech passion labours so , That euerie present sorrow seemeth chiefe , But none is best , then ioyne they all together , Like many clouds , consulting for foule weather . By this farre off , she heares some huntsman hallow , A nourses song nere pleasd her babe so well , The dyre imagination she did follow , This sound of hope doth labour to expell , For now reuiuing ioy bids her reioyce , And flatters her , it is Adonis voyce . Whereat her teares began to turne their tide , Being prisond in her eye : like pearles in glasse , Yet sometimes fals an orient drop beside , Which her cheeke melts , as scorning it should passe To wash the foule face of the sluttish ground , Who is but dronken when she seemeth drownd . O hard beleeuing loue how strange it seemes ! Not to beleeue , and yet too credulous : Thy weale , and wo , are both of them extreames , Despaire , and hope , makes thee ridiculous . The one doth flatter thee in thoughts vnlikely , In likely thoughts the other kils thee quickly . Now she vnweaues the web that she hath wrought , Adonis liues , and death is not to blame : It was not she that cald him all to nought ; Now she ads honours to his hatefull name . She clepes him king of graues , & graue for kings , Imperious supreme of all mortall things . No , no , quoth she , sweet death , I did but iest , Yet pardon me , I felt a kind of feare When as I met the boare , that bloodie beast , Which knowes no pitie but is still seuere , Then gentle shadow ( truth I must confesse ) I rayld on thee , fearing my loues decesse . T is not my fault , the Bore prouok't my tong , Be wreak't on him ( inuisible commaunder ) T' is he foule creature , that hath done thee wrong , I did but act , he 's author of thy slaunder . Greefe hath two tongues , and neuer woman yet , Could rule them both , without ten womens wit . Thus hoping that Adonis is aliue , Her rash suspect she doth extenuate , And that his beautie may the better thriue , With death she humbly doth insinuate . Tels him of trophies , statues , tombes , and stories , His victories , his triumphs , and his glories . O loue quote she , how much a foole was I , To be of such a weake and sillie mind , To waile his death who liues , and must not die , Till mutuall ouerthrow of mortall kind ? For he being dead , with him is beautie slaine , And beautie dead , blacke Chaos comes againe . Fy , fy , fond loue , thou art as full of feare , As one with treasure laden , hem'd with theeues , Trifles vnwitnessed with eye , or eare , Thy coward heart with false bethinking greeues . Euen at this word she heares a merry horne , Where at she leaps , that was but late forlorne . As Faulcons to the lure , away she flies , The grasse stoops not , she treads on it so light , And in her hast , vnfortunately spies , The foule boares conquest , on her faire delight , Which seene , her eyes are murdred with the view , Like stars asham'd of day , themselues withdrew . Or as the snaile , whose tender hornes being hit , Shrinks backward in his shellie caue with paine , And , there all smoothred vp , in shade doth sit , Long after fearing to creepe forth againe : So at his bloodie view her eyes are fled , Into the deep-darke cabbins of her head . Where they resigne their office , and their light , To the disposing of her troubled braine , Who bids them still consort with ougly night , And neuer wound the heart with lookes againe , Who like a king perplexed in his throne , By their suggestion , giues a deadly grone . Whereat ech tributarie subiect quakes , As when the wind imprisond in the ground , Struggling for passage , earths foundation shakes , which with cold terror , doth mens minds confound : This mutinie ech part doth so surprise , That from their dark beds once more leap her eies . And being opend , threw vnwilling light , Vpon the wide wound , that the boare had trencht In his soft flanke , whose wonted lillie white With purple tears that his wound wept , had drencht . No floure was nigh , no grasse , hearb , leaf , or weed , But stole his blood , and seemd with him to bleed . This solemne sympathie , poore Venus noteth , Ouer one shoulder doth she hang her head , Dumblie she passions , frantikely she doteth , She thinkes he could not die , he is not dead , Her voice is stopt , her ioynts forget to bow , Her eyes are mad , that they haue wept till now . Vpon his hurt she lookes so stedfastly , That her sight dazling , makes the wound seem three , And then she reprehends her mangling eye , That makes more gashes , where no breach shuld be : His face seems twain , ech seuerall lim is doubled , For oft the eye mistakes , the brain being troubled My tongue cannot expresse my griefe for one , And yet ( quoth she ) behold two Adons dead , My sighes are blowne away , my salt teares gone , Mine eyes are turn'd to fire , my heart to lead , Heauie hearts lead melt at mine eyes red fire , So shall I die by drops of hot desire . Alas poore world what treasure hast thou lost , What face remains aliue that 's worth the viewing ? Whose tongue is musick now ? what canst thou boast , Of things long since , or any thing insuing ? The flowers are sweet , their colours fresh , and trim , But true sweet beautie liu'd , and di'de with him Bonnet , nor vaile henceforth no creature weare , Nor sunne , nor wind will euer striue to kisse you , Hauing no faire to lose , you need not feare , The sun doth skorne you , & the wind doth hisse you , But when Adnois liu'de , sunne , and sharpe aire , Lurkt like two theeues , to rob him of his faire . And therefore would he put his bonnet on , Vnder whose brim the gaudie sunne would peepe , The wind would blow it off , and being gon , Play with his locks , then would Adonis weepe . And straight in pittie of his tender yeares , They both would striue who first should drie his teares . To see his face the Lion walkt along , Behind some hedge , because he would not fear him : To recreate himself when he hath song , The Tygre would be tame , and gently heare him . If he had spoke , the wolfe would leaue his praie , And neuer fright the sillie lambe that daie . When he beheld his shadow in the brooke , The fishes spread on it their golden gils , When he was by the birds such pleasure tooke , That some would sing , some other in their bils Would bring him mulberries & ripe-red cherries , He fed them with his sight , they him with berries . But this foule , grim , and vrchin-snowted Boare , Whose downeward eye still looketh for a graue : Ne're saw the beautious liuerie that he wore , Witnesse the intertainment that he gaue . If he did see his face , why then I know , He thought to kisse him , and hath kild him so . T is true , t is true , thus was Adnois slaine , He ran vpon the Boare with his sharpe speare , Who did not whet his teeth at him againe , But by a kisse thought to persuade him there . And nousling in his flanke the louing swine , Sheath'd vnaware the tuske in his soft groine . Had I bin tooth'd like him I must confesse , With kissing him I should haue kild him first , But he is dead , and neuer did he blesse My youth with his , the more am I accurst . With this she falleth in the place she stood , And staines her faice with his congealed bloud . She lookes vpon his lips , and they are pale , She takes him by the hand , and that is cold , She whispers in his eares a heauie tale , As if they heard the wofull words she told : She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes , Where lo , two lamps burnt out in darknesse lies . Two glasses where her selfe , her selfe beheld A thousand times , and now no more reflect , Their vertue lost , wherein they late exceld , And euerie beautie robd of his effect ; Wonder of time ( quoth she ) this is my spight , That thou being dead , the day shuld yet be light . Since thou art dead , lo here I prophecie , Sorrow on loue hereafter shall attend : It shall be wayted on with iealousie , Find sweet beginning , but vnsauorie end . Nere setled equally , but high or lo , That all loues pleasure shall not match his wo. It shall be fickle , false , and full of fraud , Bud , and be blasted , in a breathing while , The bottome poyson , and the top ore-strawd With sweets , that shall the truest sight beguile , The strongest bodie shall it make most weake , Strike the wise dumbe , & teach the foole to speake . It shall be sparing , and too full of ryot , Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures , The staring ruffian shall it keepe in quiet , Pluck down the rich , inrich the poore with treasures , It shall be raging mad , and sillie milde , Make the yoong old , the old become a childe . It shall suspect where is no cause of feare , It shall not feare where it should most mistrust , It shall be mercifull , and too seueare , And most deceiuing , when it seemes most iust , Peruerse it shall be , where it showes most toward , Put feare to valour , courage to the coward . It shall be cause of warre , and dire euents , And set dissention twixt the sonne , and sire , Subiect , and seruill to all discontents : As drie combustious matter is to fire , Sith in his prime , death doth my loue destroy , They that loue best , their loues shall not enioy . By this the boy that by her side laie kild , Was melted like a vapour from her sight , And in his blood that on the ground laie spild , A purple floure sproong vp , checkred with white , Resembling well his pale cheekes , and the blood , Which in round drops , vpon their whitenesse stood . She bowes her head , the new-sprong floure to smel , Comparing it to her Adonis breath , And saies within her bosome it shall dwell , Since he himselfe is reft from her by death ; She crop's the stalke , and in the breach appeares , Green-dropping sap , which she compares to teares . Poore floure ( quoth she ) this was thy fathers guise , Sweet issue of a more sweet smelling sire , For euerie little griefe to wet his eies , To grow vnto himselfe was his desire ; And so t is thine , but know it is as good , To wither in my brest , as in his blood . Here was thy fathers bed , here in my brest , Thou art the next of blood , and t is thy right . Lo in this hollow cradle take thy rest , My throbbing hart shall rock thee day and night ; There shall not be one minute in an houre , Wherein I wil not kisse my sweet loues floure . Thus weary of the world , away she hies , And yokes her siluer doues , by whose swift aide , Their mistresse mounted through the emptie skies , In her light chariot , quickly is conuaide , Holding their course to Paphos , where their queen , Meanes to immure her selfe , and not be seen . FINIS