By this the love-fick queen began to fweat,
For, where they lay, the fhadow had forfook them;
And Titan, tir'd 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' fide.
And now Adonis with a lazy fpright,
And with a heavy, dark, difliking eye,
His low'ring brows, o'erwhelming his fair fight,
Like mifty vapours, when they blot the fky;
Souring his cheeks, cries, fie, no more of love,
The fun doth burn my face, I must remove.
Ah me! (quoth Venus) young, and fo unkind:
What bare excufes mak'ft thou to be gone?
I'll figh celeftial breath, whofe gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this defcending fun.
I'll make a fhadow for thee of my hairs,
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.
The fun that fhines from heaven fhines but warm,
And, lo, I lie between the fun 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 heav'nly and this earthly fun.
Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?
Nay more than flint, for ftone at rain relenteth:
Art thou a woman's fon, and canft not feel
What 'tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?
Oh! had thy mother born fo bad a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind,
What am I, that thou shouldft contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my fuit?
What were thy lips the worfe for one poor kifs?
Speak fair but fpeak fair words, or elfe be mute.
Give me one kifs, I'll give it thee again,
And one for int'reft, if thou wilt have twain.
Fie, lifelefs picture, cold and fenfelefs ftone,
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, tho' of a man's complection,
For men will kifs even by their own direction.
This faid, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And fwelling paffion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong,
Being judge in love, the cannot right her caufe.
And now the weeps, and now fhe fain would fpeak,
And now her fobs do her intendments break.
Sometimes fhe fhakes her head, and then his hand;
Now gazeth fhe 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 ftruggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.
Fondling, faith fhe, fince I have hem'd thee here,
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be the park, and thou fhalt be my deer,
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale.
Graze on my lips; and if thofe hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleafant fountains lic.
Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom grafs, and high delightful plain,
Round rifing hillocks, brakes obfcure and rough,
To fhelter thee from tempeft and from rain.
Then be my deer, fince I am fuch a park,
No dog fhall rouze thee, tho' a thousand bark.
At this Adonis fimiles, as in difdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple;
Love made thofe hollows, if himself were flain,
He might be buried in a tomb fo fimple:
Foreknowing well if there he came to lie,
Why there love liv'd, and there he cou'd not die.,
Thefe loving caves, these round enchanted pits, Open'd their mouths to fwallow Venus liking: Being mad before, how doth fhe now for wits? Struck dead at firit, what needs a fecond striking? Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, To love a cheek that fmiles at thee with scorn.
Now which way fhall fhe turn? What fhall fhe 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 releafing.
Pity, fhe cries, fome favour, fome remorfe
Away he springs, and hafteth to his horse.
But, lo from forth a cops that neighbours by,
A breeding jennet, lufty, young and proud,
Adonis' trampling courfer doth espy,
And forth fhe rushes, fnorts, and neighs aloud:
The ftrong-neck'd fteed, being ty'd unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her ftraight goes he,
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girts he breaks afunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whofe hollow womb refounds like heaven's thunder:
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 compafs'd creft, now ftands an end:
His noftrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he lend:
His eye, which glifters fcornfully like fire,
Shews his hot courage, and his high defire.
Sometimes he trots, as if he told the fteps,
With gentle majefty, and modeft pride :
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who fhould fay, lo! thus my ftrength is try'd:
And thus I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is ftanding by.
What recketh he his rider's angry ftir,
His flatt'ring holla, or his ftand, I fay?
What cares he now for curb, or pricking fpur?
For rich caparisons, or trappings gay?
He fees his love, and nothing elfe he fees,
For nothing elfe with his proud fight agrees.
Look when a painter wou'd furpafs the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art, with nature's workmanship at ftrife,
As if the dead the living fhould exceed :
So did his horfe excel a common one,
In fhape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.
Round-hooft, fhort-jointed, fetlocks fhag and long, Broad breaft, full eyes, fmall head, and noftril wide, High creft, fhört ears, ftrait legs, and paffing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide. Look, what a horse should have, he did not lack, Save a proud rider on fo proud a back.
Sometimes he fcuds far off, and there he ftares;
Anon he starts at ftirring of a feather:
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And where he run, or fly, they know not whither.
For thro' his mane and tail the high wind fings,
Fanning the hairs, which heave 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 fee him woo her,
She puts on outward ftrangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at his love, and fcorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy malecontent,
He veils his tail; that like a falling plume,
Cool fhadow to his melting buttocks lent;
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume:
His love perceiving how he is enrag'd,
Grew kinder, and his fury was affuag'd.
His teafty mafter goes about to take him,
When lo! the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, fwiftly doth forfake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there.
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-ftripping crows, that ftrive to over-fly them.
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