Oth. Are there no stones in heaven, But what serve for the thunder?-Precious villain! Gra. The woman falls! sure, he has kill'd his wife. Emil. Ay, ay: 0, lay me by my mistress' side! Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

Mon. "Tis a notorious villain. Take you this

weapon,

Which I have here recover'd from the Moor: Come, guard the door without; let him not pass, But kill him rather; I'll after that same villain, For 'tis a damned slave.

[Exeunt MONTANO and GRATIANO. Oth. I am not valiant neither, But every puny whipster gets my sword :But why should honor outlive honesty? Let it go all. Emil. What did thy song bode, lady? Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan, And die in music;-Willow, willow, willow.Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor; So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; So speaking as I think, I die,-I die.

[Dies.

Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber, It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper;5 O, here it is:-Uncle, I must come forth.

Gra. [Within.] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;

Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.
Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me,
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.
Re-enter GRATIANO.

Gra. What is the matter?
Oth.
Behold! I have a weapon;
A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day,
That, with this little arm, and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop:-But, O vain boast!

Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now.-
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Do you go back dismay'd? 'tis a lost fear;
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires;-Where should Othello go?-
Now, how dost thou look now! O ill-starr'd

wench!

Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?
Even like thy chastity.-

O cursed, cursed slave!-Whip me, ye devils,
From the possession of this heavenly sight!
Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!-
O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead?
Dead? O! O! O!

Enter LODOVICO, MONTANO, CASSIO carried in a
Chair, and Officers, with IAGO prisoner.
Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate
man?

Oth. That's he, that was Othello; here I am.
Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain forth.
Oth. I look down towards his feet;-but that's a
fable:

If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. [OTHELLO Wounds IAGO. Lod. Wrench his sword from him. lago. I bleed, sir; but not kill'd. Oth. I am not sorry neither; I'd have thee live; For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.

Lod. O thou Othello, that was once so good,

Fall'n in the practices of a cursed slave,
What shall be said to thee?

Oth.

Why, any thing:
An honorable murderer, if you will;
For naught I did in hate, but all in honor.
Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his villany:
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?
Oth. Ay.

Cas. Dear general, I never gave you cause.
Steel is hardened by being put red-hot into very cold

water.

• Account. To see if his feet be cloven. Stratagem.

O fool! fool! fool!

Cus. There is besides, in Roderigo's letter,-
How he upbraids lago, that he made him
That I was cast: And even but now he spake,
Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came
After long seeming dead,-Iago hurt him,
Iago set him on.

Lod. You must forsake this room and go with us
Your power and your command is taken off,
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,-
If there be any cunning cruelty,

That can torment him much, and hold him long,
It shall be his: You shall close prisoner rest,
Till that the nature of your fault be known.
To the Venetian state: Come, bring away.

Oth. Soft you; a word or two before you go.
No more of that:-I pray you, in your letters,
I have done the state some service,and they know it;
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Nor set down aught in malice: then must you

speak

Of one, that lov'd not wisely, but too well;
Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hand,
Like the base Júdean, threw a pearl away,
Richer than all his tribe; of one, whose subdued
eyes,

Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum: Set you down this:
And say, besides,-That in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduced the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him-thus.

Lod. O bloody period!
Gra.

[Stabs himself.

All, that's spoke, is marr'd. Oth. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd thee;-No way but this, [Falling upon DESDEMONA. Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies. Cus. This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon: For he was great of heart.

Lod. O Spartan dog, More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea! Look on the tragic loading of this bed; [To IAGO. This is thy work: the object poisons sight;Let it be hid.-Gratiano, keep the house, And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, For they succeed to you.-To you, lord governor, Remains the censure of this hellish villain; The time, the place, the torture,-O enforce it! Myself will straight abroad; and, to the state, This heavy act with heavy heart relate. [Exeunt

RIGHT HONORABLE,

Your Honor's in all duty,

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

ADONIS.

EVEN as the sun with purple-color'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him."
Thrice fairer than myself, (thus she began,)
The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And reign his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favor, for thy meed
A thousand honey-secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where serpent never hisses,
And, being sct, I'll smother thee with kisses:
And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.
With this, she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;

She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded birdle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens; (O how quick is love!)
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:

Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;

And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
"If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks:
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs,
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:

He saith, she is immodest, blames her 'miss; What follows more, she smothers with a kiss. Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, Till either gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone; Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin, And where she ends, she doth anew begin. Forced to content, but never to obey, Panting he lies, and breathing in her face; She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, So they were dew'd with such distilling showers. Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies; Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret, Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: Rain added to a river that is rank, Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger, ashy pale;
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.
Look how he can, she cannot choose br: love;
And by her fair immortal hand she sw.rs
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all
wet;

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.
Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;

But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink, than she for this good turn:
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:

"Oh pity," 'gan she cry, "flint-hearted boy;
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?
I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes, in every jar,

Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.

Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learned to sport and dance,
To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;
Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
Thus he that overrul'd, I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.

O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mast ring her that foil'd the god of fight!
Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,
(Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,)
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:-
What see'st thou in the ground? hold up thy head;
Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies:
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink, so shall the day seem night:
Love keeps his revels where there are but twain,
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:

These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean,
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted;
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime,

Rot and consume themselves in little time.
Were I hard-favor'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,
Then might'st thou pause, for then I were not
for thee;

But having no defects, why dost abhor me? Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow; Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in turning; My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning; My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green, Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair, Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:

1 Grey is said to be here used as blue. We have subsequently

"Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth."

Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?
Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?

Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft.
Narcissus so, himself himself forsook,

And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.
Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth
beauty,

Thou wast begot-to get it is thy duty.

Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of Nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead,
And so in spite of death thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.”

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, 'tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him, and by Venus' side.
And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His low'ring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapors when they blot the sky,

Souring his cheeks, cries, "Fie! no more of love;
The sun doth burn my face; I must remove."
"Ah me," quoth Venus, "young, and so unkind!
What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun;

I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs:
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.
The sun that shines from heaven, shines but warm,
And lo, I lie between that sun and thee;
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me:
And were I not immortal, life were done,
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love how want of love tormenteth!
O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair, but speak words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.
Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well painted idol, image dull and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred;

Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion,
For men will kiss even by their own direction."
This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause;
And now she weeps, and now she fain would

speak,

And now her sobs do her intendments break. Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand, Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground; Sometimes her arms infold him like a band She would, he will not in her arms be bound:

[here,

And when from thence he struggles to be gone, She locks her lily fingers one in one. "Fondling," she saith, "since I have hemm'd thee Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale; Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. Within this limit is relief enough,

Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain, Round rising hillocks, brake obscure and rough, To shelter thee from tempest and from rain;

Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark."
At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,

That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;

Fore-knowing well if there he came to lie,
Why there Love liv'd and there he could not die.
These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking:
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!
Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing,
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing:
"Pity," she cries, "some favor-some remorse-'
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.
But lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud:

The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder,
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thun-
der;

The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapors doth he send:

His eye, which glisters scornfully like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.
Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty, and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps,
As who would say, lo! thus my strength is tried;
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.
What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering "holla," or his "Stand, I say ?”
What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons, or trapping gay?

He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;

So did this horse excel a common one,
In shape, in courage, color, pace, and bone.
Round-hoofd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, fuil eyes,small head, and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing
strong,

Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Look what a horse should have, he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back. Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares; Anon he starts at stirring of a feather; To bid the wind a base2 he now prepares, And whe'r he run, or fly, they knew not whether; 2 In the game of base, or prison base, one runs and challenges another to pursue. "To bid the wind a base," is therefore to challenge the wind to speed.

For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,

Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings. He looks upon his love and neighs unto her; She answers him as if she knew his mind: Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind; Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, Beating his kind embracements with her heels. Then, like a melancholy malecontent, He vails his tail, that, like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent; He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume: His love, perceiving how he is enraged, Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged. His testy master goeth about to take him; When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him; With her the horse, and left Adonis there:

As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-ily them'
All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong,
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
But when the heart's attorney3 once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.
He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind;
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askaunce 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 hue!
How white and red each other did destroy!

But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.
Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heav eth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:

His tender cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fallen snow takes any dint.

O what a war of looks was then between them!
Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them,
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing;
And all this dump 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 lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:

This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a billing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
"O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Tho' nothing but my body's bane would cure
thee."

"Give me my hand," saith he, "why dost thou feel it ?"

"Give me my heart," saith she, "and thou shalt have it;

O give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never 'grave it.
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.'
"For shame," he cries, "let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,

And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so;
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone:
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'
Thus she replies: "Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire,
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none,
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.
How like a jade he stood, tied to a tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

Who sees his true love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But, when his glutton eye sc full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?

Who is so faint that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy;

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hushed before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning struck her ere his words begun:
And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth:
A smile recures the wounding of a frown,
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth
The silly boy believing she is dead,

Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red
And all amaz'd brake off his late intent.
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her.
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.
He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard;
He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd;
He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

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

thee.

O learn to love; the lesson is but plain,
And, once made perfect, never lost again."

"I know not love," quoth he, "nor will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,

That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath. Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd? Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? If springing things be any jot diminish'd, They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth: The colt that's back'd and burthen'd being young, Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part, And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat; Remove your siege from my unyielding heart; To love's alarm it will not ope the gate. Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery;

For where a heart is hard, they make no battery." "What! canst thou talk," quoth she, "hast thou a tongue?

O would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing:
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sound-
ing,

Earth's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.

Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible:
Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible:

Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth:
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumin'd with her eye,
Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded with his brows' repine;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave
light,

Shone like the moon in water seen by night.
"O where am I," quoth she, "in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn, or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?

But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy; But now I died, and death was lively joy. O thou didst kill me :-kill me once again; Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;

And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, But for thy piteous lips no more had seen." Long may they kiss each other, for this cure! Oh never let their crimson liveries wear! And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year! That the star-gazers, having writ on death, May say the plague is banish'd by thy breath. Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, What bargains may I make, still to be sealing? To sell myself I can be well contented,

So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips,
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?”

smelling.

But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, Being nurse and feeder of the other four! Would they not wish the feast might ever last, And bid Suspicion double-lock the door?

Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast." Once more the ruby-color'd portal open'd, Which to his speech did honey passage yield; Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to shepherds, woc unto the birds, Gust and foul flaws to herdsmen and to herds.

Measure my strangeness with my unripe years;
Before I know myself seek not to know me;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.
Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the west:
The owl, night's herald, shrieks-'iis very late;
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest;
The coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light
Do summon us to part, and bid good night.
Now let me say, good night, and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss."