"Ay me," quoth Venus, "young, and so unkind!
What bare excuses makest 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 't is 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 fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.
204 unkind] without family, childless. Cf. All's Well, IV, ii, 8-10: "you are cold and stern; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got."
205 contemn me this] contemptuously refuse me this favour.
has the force of "thus," which is read by the Tenth Quarto.
"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;
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 here 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:
222 intendments] intentions (of utterance).
Cf. As you like it, I, i, 119:
"you might stay him from his intendment."
230 this ivory pale] this enclosure of ivory skin. Cf. Com. of Errors, II, i, 100-101 (of an incensed husband): "too unruly deer he breaks the pale, And feeds from home."
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, brakes 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;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why, there Love lived, 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;
236 bottom-grass] luxuriant grass in the depths of a valley.
240 rouse] a hunting term technically employed in the chase of the hart. See Wyndham's edition of Shakespeare's Poems, p. 213.
243 if himself] so that if he himself.
251 in thine own law forlorn] lost or ruined by the force of thine own law.
The time is spent, her object will away
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
"Pity," she cries, "some favour, some remorse!"
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.
But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbours 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 thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.
His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters 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;
257 remorse] compassion.
260 jennet] a small Spanish mare, a nag.
272 compass'd] rounded, arched. Cf. Troil. and Cress., I, ii, 106: "the compassed window," i. e., bow window.
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say "Lo, thus my strength is tried; 280 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 trappings 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, colour, pace and bone.
Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, 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.
284 "Holla"] Stop! Cf. As you like it, III, ii, 229-230: "Cry 'holla' to thy tongue,... it curvets unseasonably." According to Cotgrave, Fr.-Engl. Dict., "Holla" meant "Enough; soft, soft; no more of that, if you love me."
291 His art at strife] Cf. line 11, supra, and note.
|