Venus and Adonis

Folger Shakespeare Library

http://www.folgerdigitaltexts.org


From the Director of the Folger Shakespeare Library

It is hard to imagine a world without Shakespeare. Since their composition more than four hundred years ago, Shakespeare’s plays and poems have traveled the globe, inviting those who see and read his works to make them their own.

Readers of the New Folger Editions are part of this ongoing process of “taking up Shakespeare,” finding our own thoughts and feelings in language that strikes us as old or unusual and, for that very reason, new. We still struggle to keep up with a writer who could think a mile a minute, whose words paint pictures that shift like clouds. These expertly edited texts are presented to the public as a resource for study, artistic adaptation, and enjoyment. By making the classic texts of the New Folger Editions available in electronic form as Folger Digital Texts, we place a trusted resource in the hands of anyone who wants them.

The New Folger Editions of Shakespeare’s plays, which are the basis for the texts realized here in digital form, are special because of their origin. The Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC, is the single greatest documentary source of Shakespeare’s works. An unparalleled collection of early modern books, manuscripts, and artwork connected to Shakespeare, the Folger’s holdings have been consulted extensively in the preparation of these texts. The Editions also reflect the expertise gained through the regular performance of Shakespeare’s works in the Folger’s Elizabethan Theater.

I want to express my deep thanks to editors Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine for creating these indispensable editions of Shakespeare’s works, which incorporate the best of textual scholarship with a richness of commentary that is both inspired and engaging. Readers who want to know more about Shakespeare and his plays can follow the paths these distinguished scholars have tread by visiting the Folger either in-person or online, where a range of physical and digital resources exists to supplement the material in these texts. I commend to you these words, and hope that they inspire.

Michael Witmore
Director, Folger Shakespeare Library



Textual Introduction
By Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine

Until now, with the release of the Folger Digital Texts, readers in search of a free online text of Shakespeare’s plays and poems had to be content primarily with using the Moby™ Text, which reproduces a late-nineteenth century version of the plays and poems. What is the difference? Many ordinary readers assume that there is a single text of all these works: what Shakespeare wrote. But Shakespeare’s plays were not published the way modern novels or plays are published today: as a single, authoritative text. In some cases, the plays have come down to us in multiple published versions, represented by various Quartos (Qq) and by the great collection put together by his colleagues in 1623, called the First Folio (F). There are, for example, three very different versions of Hamlet, two of King Lear, Henry V, Romeo and Juliet, and others. Editors choose which version to use as their base text, and then amend that text with words, lines or speech prefixes from the other versions that, in their judgment, make for a better or more accurate text.

Other editorial decisions involve choices about whether an unfamiliar word could be understood in light of other writings of the period or whether it should be changed; decisions about words that made it into Shakespeare’s text by accident through four hundred years of printings and misprinting; and even decisions based on cultural preference and taste. When the Moby™ Text was created, for example, it was deemed “improper” and “indecent” for Miranda to chastise Caliban for having attempted to rape her. (See The Tempest, 1.2: “Abhorred slave,/Which any print of goodness wilt not take,/Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee…”). All Shakespeare editors at the time took the speech away from her and gave it to her father, Prospero.

The editors of the Moby™ Shakespeare produced their text long before scholars fully understood the proper grounds on which to make the thousands of decisions that Shakespeare editors face. The Folger Library Shakespeare Editions, on which the Folger Digital Texts depend, make this editorial process as nearly transparent as is possible, in contrast to older texts, like the Moby™, which hide editorial interventions. The reader of the Folger Shakespeare knows where the text has been altered because editorial interventions are signaled by square brackets (for example, from Othello: “square bracketIf she in chains of magic were not bound,square bracket”), half-square brackets (for example, from Henry V: “With half-square bracketbloodhalf-square bracket and sword and fire to win your right,”), or angle brackets (for example, from Hamlet: “O farewell, honest angle bracketsoldier.angle bracket Who hath relieved/you?”). At any point in the text, you can hover your cursor over a bracket for more information.

Because the Folger Digital Texts are edited in accord with twenty-first century knowledge about Shakespeare’s texts, the Folger here provides them to readers, scholars, teachers, actors, directors, and students, free of charge, confident of their quality as texts of the plays and pleased to be able to make this contribution to the study and enjoyment of Shakespeare.


Vilia miretur vulgus: mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.


TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE
Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton,
and Baron of Titchfield.




Right Honorable,


I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to
your Lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so
strong a prop to support so weak a burden; only if your Honor seem
but pleased, I account myself highly praised and vow to take advantage
of all idle hours till I have honored you with some graver labor.
But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it
had so noble a godfather and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it
yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honorable survey, and
your Honor to your heart’s content, which I wish may always answer
your own wish and the world’s hopeful expectation.


Your Honor’s in all duty,
William Shakespeare.





Venus and Adonis


Even as the sun with purple-colored face
Had ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase.
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
5 Sick-thoughtèd 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,
10More 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 rein his proud head to the saddlebow.
15If thou wilt deign this favor, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know.
 Here come and sit where never serpent hisses,
 And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses,

“And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
20But 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.”

25With 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
30 Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser’s rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blushed and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy—
35 She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
 He red for shame but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens. O, how quick is love!
The steed is stallèd up, and even now
40To tie the rider she begins to prove.
 Backward she pushed him as she would be thrust,
 And governed him in strength though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips.
45Now 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
50Doth 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 murders with a kiss.

55Even 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 stuffed or prey be gone,
 Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
60 And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Forced to content but never to obey,
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face.
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace,
65 Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
 So they were dewed with such distilling showers.

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fastened in her arms Adonis lies.
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
70Which 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.
75Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale;
 Being red, she loves him best, and being white,
 Her best is bettered with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love,
80And by her fair immortal hand she swears
From his soft bosom never to remove
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
 Which long have rained, making her cheeks all wet,
 And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

85Upon this promise did he raise his chin
Like a divedapper peering through a wave,
Who, being looked on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave,
 But when her lips were ready for his pay,
90 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.
95 “O, pity,” gan she cry, “flint-hearted boy!
 ’Tis but a kiss I beg. Why art thou coy?

“I have been wooed, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,
100Who conquers where he comes in every jar,
 Yet hath he been my captive and my slave
 And begged for that which thou unasked shalt have.

“Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His battered shield, his uncontrollèd crest,
105And for my sake hath learned to sport and dance,
To toy, 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 overruled I overswayed,
110Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain;
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obeyed,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
 O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might
 For mastering her that foiled the god of fight!

115“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 seest thou in the ground? Hold up thy head.
 Look in mine eyeballs; there thy beauty lies.
120 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.
125 These blue-veined 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;
130Beauty within itself should not be wasted.
 Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime
 Rot and consume themselves in little time.

“Were I hard-favored, foul, or wrinkled old,
Ill-nurtured, crookèd, churlish, harsh in voice,
135O’erworn, despisèd, rheumatic, and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,
 Then mightst 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;
140Mine eyes are gray, 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.

145“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or like a fairy trip upon the green,
Or like a nymph, with long disheveled hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen.
 Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
150 Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me.
155 Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
 That thou should 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;
160Steal thine own freedom, and complain on 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,
165Herbs 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,
170Unless 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.”

175By this the lovesick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the midday heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them,
 Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
180 So he were like him and by Venus’ side.

And now Adonis, with a lazy sprite
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapors when they blot the sky,
185 Souring his cheeks, cries, “Fie, no more of love!
 The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.”

“Ay, me,” quoth Venus, “young and so unkind,
What bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone!
I’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
190Shall 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.
195The 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?
200Nay, 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.

205“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,
210 And one for interest if thou wilt have twain.

“Fie, liveless 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!
215 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.
220Being 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;
225Sometimes her arms enfold 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 hemmed thee here
230Within 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.

235“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;
240 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,
245 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,
Opened their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
250Struck 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;
255The 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,
260A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud,
Adonis’ trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud.
 The strong-necked steed, being tied unto a tree,
 Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

265Imperiously 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,
270 Controlling what he was controllèd with.

His ears up-pricked, his braided hanging mane
Upon his compassed crest now stand on end.
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapors doth he send.
275 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.
Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps,
280As who should 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”?
285What 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
290In limning out a well-proportioned 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.

295Round-hoofed, 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,
300 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 base he now prepares,
And whe’er he run or fly, they know not whether,
305 For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
 Fanning the hairs, who wave like feathered 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,
310She 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 malcontent,
He vails his tail that like a falling plume
315Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent.
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.
 His love, perceiving how he was enraged,
 Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.

His testy master goeth about to take him
320When, lo, the unbacked 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,
 Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them.

325All swollen with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits
That lovesick Love by pleading may be blessed;
 For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong
330 When it is barred the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopped, or river stayed,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage;
So of concealèd sorrow may be said,
Free vent of words love’s fire doth assuage,
335 But when the heart’s attorney 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,
340Looks on the dull earth with disturbèd mind,
 Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
 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,
345To 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 flashed forth fire as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
350And like a lowly lover down she kneels.
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat;
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels.
 His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print
 As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.

355O, 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 wooed still, his eyes disdained the wooing;
 And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
360 With tears which, choruslike, her eyes did rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prisoned in a jail of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band,
So white a friend engirts so white a foe.
365 This beauteous combat, willful and unwilling,
 Showed 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,
370My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound!
 For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
 Though 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.
375O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steeled, 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.
380My 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.”

385Thus she replies: “Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire.
Affection is a coal that must be cooled;
Else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire.
 The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
390 Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

“How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,
Servilely mastered with a leathern rein;
But when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain,
395 Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
 Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

“Who sees his truelove in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
400His other agents aim at like delight?
 Who is so faint that dares 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,
405To take advantage on presented joy;
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach 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,
410Unless 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.

415“Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinished?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminished,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth.
 The colt that’s backed and burdened being young
420 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 alarms it will not ope the gate.
425 Dismiss your vows, your feignèd tears, your flatt’ry,
 For where a heart is hard, they make no batt’ry.”

“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;
430I had my load before, now pressed with bearing:
 Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding,
 Ears’ deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding.

“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible.
435Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible.
 Though neither eyes, nor ears, to hear nor see,
 Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

“Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
440And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much,
 For from the stillatory of thy face excelling
 Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by smelling.

445“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,
450 Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?”

Once more the ruby-colored portal opened,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield,
Like a red morn, that ever yet betokened
Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,
455 Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
 Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh.
Even as the wind is hushed before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
460Or 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;
465A smile recures the wounding of a frown.
But blessèd bankrout, that by love so thriveth!
 The silly boy, believing she is dead,
 Claps her pale cheek till clapping makes it red,

And, all amazed, brake off his late intent;
470For 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.

475He 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 marred.
 He kisses her, and she, by her good will,
480 Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turned to day.
Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth
Like the fair sun when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth;
485 And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
 So is her face illumined with her eye,

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fixed
As if from thence they borrowed all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mixed,
490Had not his clouded with his brow’s 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 drenched, or in the fire?
495What hour is this? Or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die or life desire?
 But now I lived, and life was death’s annoy;
 But now I died, and death was lively joy.

“O, thou didst kill me; kill me once again.
500Thy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain
That they have murdered this poor heart of mine,
 And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
 But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.

505“Long may they kiss each other for this cure!
O, 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,
510 May say the plague is banished 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;
515 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?
520Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
 Say for non-payment that the debt should double,
 Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?”

“Fair queen,” quoth he, “if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years.
525Before 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 plucked, is sour to taste.

“Look the world’s comforter with weary gait
530His day’s hot task hath ended in the west.
The owl, night’s herald, shrieks; ’tis very late.
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,
 And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light
 Do summon us to part and bid good night.

535“Now let me say goodnight, and so say you.
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.”
“Good night,” quoth she, and ere he says “Adieu,”
The honey fee of parting tendered is.
 Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
540 Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face,

Till, breathless, he disjoined and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth.
545 He with her plenty pressed, she faint with dearth,
 Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And gluttonlike she feeds yet never filleth.
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
550Paying what ransom the insulter willeth,
 Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high
 That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry.

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage.
555Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage,
 Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
 Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honor’s wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary with her hard embracing,
560Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe that’s tired with chasing,
Or like the froward infant stilled with dandling,
 He now obeys and now no more resisteth,
 While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

565What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compassed oft with vent’ring,
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission.
 Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward
570 But then woos best when most his choice is froward.

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not sucked.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover.
What though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis plucked.
575 Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
 Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him.
The poor fool prays her that he may depart.
She is resolved no longer to restrain him,
580Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,
 The which, by Cupid’s bow she doth protest,
 He carries thence encagèd in his breast.

“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow,
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
585Tell me, Love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow?
Say, shall we, shall we? Wilt thou make the match?”
 He tells her no, tomorrow he intends
 To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

“The boar!” quoth she, whereat a sudden pale,
590Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheek. She trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws.
 She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck;
 He on her belly falls, she on her back.

595Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter.
All is imaginary she doth prove;
He will not manage her, although he mount her,
 That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy,
600 To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.

Even so poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw;
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
605 The warm effects which she in him finds missing
 She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain; good queen, it will not be.
She hath assayed as much as may be proved.
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee.
610She’s Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved.
 “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me. Let me go.
 You have no reason to withhold me so.”

“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this,
But that thou toldst me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
615O, be advised! Thou know’st not what it is
With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore,
 Whose tushes, never sheathed, he whetteth still
 Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.

“On his bow-back he hath a battle set
620Of bristly pikes that ever threat his foes.
His eyes like glowworms shine when he doth fret.
His snout digs sepulchers where’er he goes.
 Being moved, he strikes whate’er is in his way,
 And whom he strikes his crookèd tushes slay.

625“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed,
Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter.
His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed.
Being ireful, on the lion he will venter.
 The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
630 As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

“Alas, he naught esteems that face of thine,
To which Love’s eyes pays tributary gazes,
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
635 But having thee at vantage—wondrous dread!—
 Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

“O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still!
Beauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends.
Come not within his danger by thy will.
640They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
 When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
 I feared thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

“Didst thou not mark my face? Was it not white?
Sawest thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?
645Grew I not faint, and fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
 My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
 But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.

“For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy
650Doth call himself Affection’s sentinel,
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry ‘Kill, kill!’
 Distemp’ring gentle Love in his desire
 As air and water do abate the fire.

655“This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love’s tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometimes true news, sometimes false doth bring,
 Knocks at my heart and whispers in mine ear
660 That if I love thee, I thy death should fear;

“And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stained with gore,
665 Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
 Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.

“What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at th’ imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
670And fear doth teach it divination.
 I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
 If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow.

“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me.
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
675Or at the fox, which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe, which no encounter dare.
 Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,
 And on thy well-breathed horse keep with thy hounds,

“And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
680Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles
How he outruns the wind and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles.
 The many musets through the which he goes
 Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

685“Sometimes he runs among a flock of sheep
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometimes where earth-delving conies keep
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,
 And sometimes sorteth with a herd of deer.
690 Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear.

“For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out.
695 Then do they spend their mouths; echo replies
 As if another chase were in the skies.

“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear
To hearken if his foes pursue him still.
700Anon their loud alarums he doth hear,
 And now his grief may be comparèd well
 To one sore sick that hears the passing bell.

“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn and return, indenting with the way.
705Each envious brier his weary legs do scratch;
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay,
 For misery is trodden on by many
 And, being low, never relieved by any.

“Lie quietly, and hear a little more.
710Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise.
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear’st me moralize,
 Applying this to that, and so to so,
 For love can comment upon every woe.

715“Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he;
“Leave me, and then the story aptly ends.
The night is spent.” “Why, what of that?” quoth she.
“I am,” quoth he, “expected of my friends,
 And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.”
720 “In night,” quoth she, “desire sees best of all.

“But if thou fall, O, then imagine this:
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
725 Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
 Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.

“Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine
Till forging Nature be condemned of treason
730For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine,
 Wherein she framed thee, in high heaven’s despite,
 To shame the sun by day and her by night.

“And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies
To cross the curious workmanship of Nature,
735To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,
 Making it subject to the tyranny
 Of mad mischances and much misery,

“As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
740Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood;
 Surfeits, impostumes, grief, and damned despair
 Swear Nature’s death for framing thee so fair.

745“And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under.
Both favor, savor, hew, and qualities,
Whereat th’ impartial gazer late did wonder,
 Are on the sudden wasted, thawed, and done,
750 As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.

“Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the Earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
755 Be prodigal. The lamp that burns by night
 Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.

“What is thy body but a swallowing grave
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have
760If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
 If so, the world will hold thee in disdain
 Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

“So in thyself thyself art made away,
A mischief worse than civil homebred strife,
765Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher sire that reaves his son of life.
 Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets,
 But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.”

“Nay, then,” quoth Adon, “you will fall again
770Into your idle over-handled theme.
The kiss I gave you is bestowed in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream,
 For, by this black-faced night, desire’s foul nurse,
 Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.

775“If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaids’ songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;
 For know my heart stands armèd in mine ear
780 And will not let a false sound enter there,

“Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast,
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bed-chamber to be barred of rest.
785 No, lady, no, my heart longs not to groan
 But soundly sleeps while now it sleeps alone.

“What have you urged that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
I hate not love, but your device in love,
790That lends embracements unto every stranger.
 You do it for increase. O strange excuse,
 When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse!

“Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled
Since sweating Lust on Earth usurped his name,
795Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame,
 Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
 As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
800But Lust’s effect is tempest after sun.
Love’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain;
Lust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.
 Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies.
 Love is all truth, Lust full of forgèd lies.

805“More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore in sadness now I will away.
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen.
 Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,
810 Do burn themselves for having so offended.”

With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace,
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distressed.
815 Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
 So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye,

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarkèd friend
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
820Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend;
 So did the merciless and pitchy night
 Fold in the object that did feed her sight;

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
Hath dropped a precious jewel in the flood,
825Or stonished, as night wand’rers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,
 Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
 Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
830That all the neighbor caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans.
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled.
 “Ay me!” she cries, and twenty times, “Woe, woe!”
 And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

835She marking them begins a wailing note
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty
How love makes young men thrall and old men dote,
How love is wise in folly, foolish witty.
 Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
840 And still the choir of echoes answer so.

Her song was tedious and outwore the night,
For lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short.
If pleased themselves, others they think delight
In suchlike circumstance with suchlike sport.
845 Their copious stories, oftentimes begun,
 End without audience and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal
But idle sounds resembling parasits,
Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call,
850Soothing the humor of fantastic wits?
 She says, “’Tis so,” they answer all, “’Tis so,”
 And would say after her if she said “No.”

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high
855And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty,
 Who doth the world so gloriously behold
 That cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good morrow:
860“O thou clear god and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
 There lives a son that sucked an earthly mother
 May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.”

865This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o’erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love;
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn.
 Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
870 And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twined about her thigh to make her stay.
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
875 Like a milch doe whose swelling dugs do ache,
 Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.

By this she hears the hounds are at a bay,
Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way,
880The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;
 Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
 Appalls her senses and her spirit confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
885Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud.
 Finding their enemy to be so curst,
 They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
890Through which it enters to surprise her heart,
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part.
 Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield,
 They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

895Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,
Till, cheering up her senses all dismayed,
She tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy
And childish error that they are afraid,
 Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more—
900 And with that word she spied the hunted boar,

Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither;
905 This way she runs, and now she will no further
 But back retires to rate the boar for murder.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
She treads the path that she untreads again;
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
910Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
 Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting,
 In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.

Here kenneled in a brake she finds a hound
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
915And there another licking of his wound,
’Gainst venomed sores the only sovereign plaster,
 And here she meets another, sadly scowling,
 To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.

When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,
920Another flapmouthed mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and another answer him,
 Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
 Shaking their scratched ears, bleeding as they go.

925Look how the world’s poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
 So she at these sad signs draws up her breath
930 And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death.

“Hard-favored tyrant, ugly, meager, lean,
Hateful divorce of love!”—thus chides she Death—
“Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
935 Who, when he lived, his breath and beauty set
 Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

“If he be dead—O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it!
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
940But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
 Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
 Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant’s heart.

“Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
945The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower.
 Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled,
 And not Death’s ebon dart to strike him dead.

“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping?
950What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
 Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigor
 Since her best work is ruined with thy rigor.”

955Here overcome as one full of despair,
She vailed her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopped
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropped;
 But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
960 And with his strong course opens them again.

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eye seen in the tears, tears in her eye,
Both crystals, where they viewed each other’s sorrow,
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
965 But, like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
 Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe
As striving who should best become her grief;
All entertained, each passion labors so
970That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
 But none is best; then join they all together
 Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

By this, far off she hears some huntsman hallow;
A nurse’s song ne’er pleased her babe so well.
975The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labor to expel,
 For now reviving joy bids her rejoice
 And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice,

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
980Being prisoned in her eye like pearls in glass,
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts as scorning it should pass
 To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
 Who is but drunken when she seemeth drowned.

985O hard-believing Love, how strange it seems
Not to believe and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes.
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:
 The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely;
990 In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that called him all to naught;
Now she adds honors to his hateful name.
995 She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,
 Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

“No, no,” quoth she, “sweet Death, I did but jest.
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear
Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,
1000Which knows no pity but is still severe.
 Then, gentle shadow—truth I must confess—
 I railed on thee, fearing my love’s decease.

“’Tis not my fault; the boar provoked my tongue.
Be wreaked on him, invisible commander.
1005’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he’s author of thy slander.
 Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
 Could rule them both without ten women’s wit.”

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
1010Her rash suspect she doth extenuate,
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate,
 Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories,
 His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.

1015“O Jove,” quoth she, “how much a fool was I
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
 For, he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
1020 And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

“Fie, fie, fond Love, thou art as full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemmed with thieves;
Trifles unwitnessèd with eye or ear
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.”
1025 Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
 Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn.

As falcons to the lure, away she flies—
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light—
And in her haste unfortunately spies
1030The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight,
 Which seen, her eyes, as murdered with the view,
 Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew;

Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain
1035And there, all smothered up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
 So at his bloody view her eyes are fled
 Into the deep-dark cabins of her head,

Where they resign their office and their light
1040To the disposing of her troubled brain,
Who bids them still consort with ugly night
And never wound the heart with looks again—
 Who, like a king perplexèd in his throne,
 By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,

1045Whereat each tributary subject quakes,
As when the wind imprisoned in the ground,
Struggling for passage, Earth’s foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men’s minds confound.
 This mutiny each part doth so surprise
1050 That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes

And, being opened, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trenched
In his soft flank, whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, had drenched.
1055 No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
 But stole his blood and seemed with him to bleed.

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth.
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head.
Dumbly she passions, frantically she doteth.
1060She thinks he could not die, he is not dead.
 Her voice is stopped, her joints forget to bow,
 Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly
That her sight, dazzling, makes the wound seem three,
1065And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be.
 His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,
 For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

“My tongue cannot express my grief for one
1070And yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead.
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone;
Mine eyes are turned to fire, my heart to lead.
 Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire!
 So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

1075“Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that’s worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? What canst thou boast
Of things long since, or anything ensuing?
 The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim,
1080 But true sweet beauty lived and died with him.

“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear;
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you.
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.
1085 But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air
 Lurked like two thieves to rob him of his fair.

“And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
The wind would blow it off and, being gone,
1090Play with his locks. Then would Adonis weep;
 And straight in pity of his tender years,
 They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

“To see his face the lion walked along
Behind some hedge because he would not fear him.
1095To recreate himself when he hath song,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him.
 If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey
 And never fright the silly lamb that day.

“When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
1100The fishes spread on it their golden gills.
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took
That some would sing, some other in their bills
 Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries;
 He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

1105“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave.
 If he did see his face, why then I know
1110 He thought to kiss him and hath killed him so.

“’Tis true, ’tis true. Thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there,
1115 And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
 Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

“Had I been toothed like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have killed him first,
But he is dead, and never did he bless
1120My youth with his. The more am I accursed!”
 With this, she falleth in the place she stood
 And stains her face with his congealèd blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale.
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold.
1125She whispers in his ears a heavy tale
As if they heard the woeful words she told.
 She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
 Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies.

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
1130A thousand times, and now no more reflect,
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excelled,
And every beauty robbed of his effect.
 “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite,
 That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

1135“Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend;
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning but unsavory end,
 Ne’er settled equally, but high or low,
1140 That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.

“It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud,
Bud and be blasted in a breathing while,
The bottom poison and the top o’erstrawed
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile;
1145 The strongest body shall it make most weak,
 Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.

“It shall be sparing and, too, full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
1150Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures.
 It shall be raging mad and silly mild,
 Make the young old, the old become a child.

“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust.
1155It shall be merciful and, too, severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just.
 Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,
 Put fear to valor, courage to the coward.

“It shall be cause of war and dire events,
1160And set dissension ’twixt the son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire.
 Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,
 They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.”

1165By this the boy that by her side lay killed
Was melted like a vapor from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled
A purple flower sprung up, checkered with white,
 Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood
1170 Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head the new-sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis’ breath,
And says within her bosom it shall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death.
1175 She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
 Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

“Poor flower,” quoth she, “this was thy father’s guise—
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire—
For every little grief to wet his eyes;
1180To grow unto himself was his desire,
 And so ’tis thine, but know it is as good
 To wither in my breast as in his blood.

“Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right.
1185Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest;
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night.
 There shall not be one minute in an hour
 Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.”

Thus, weary of the world, away she hies
1190And yokes her silver doves, by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is conveyed,
 Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
 Means to immure herself and not be seen.

FINIS