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Bid me discourse, I will inchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green ;
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevel'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen.
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to lirik, but light, and will aspire.
Witness this priinrose-bank, whereon I lie,
The forceless flowers, like sturdy trees, support me:
Two streng bless loves will draw me thro' the sky
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me.
Is love fo light, sweet boy, and may it be,
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?
Is thine own heart to thine own face affe&ted ?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left ?
Then wooe thyfelf, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft.
Narcissus so himself, himself forsook,
And dy'd 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 fappy plants to bear ;
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse :
Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth
Thou wert begot, to get it is thy duty. [beauty;
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 doft survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.
By this the love-fick queen began to sweat,
For, where they lay, the shadow 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' lide..
And now Adonis with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, dilliking eye,
His low'ring brows, o'erwhelming his fair fight,,
Like misty vapours, 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.
l'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs,
If they burn too, I'll queach them with my tears..
The fun that shines from heaven shines but warm,,
And, lo, I lie between the sun and thee!
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
darts forth the fire that bumeth me, And, were I not immortal, life were done, Between this heav'nly and this earthly sun.
Art thou obdurate, fiinty, hard as steel?
Nay more than flint, for stone atrain relenteth :::
Art thou a woman's fon, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love, how want of love tormenteth ?:
Oh! had thy mother born. so bad a mind,
She bad not brought forth thee, but died unkind..
What am I, that thou shouldlt 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 int'reft, if thou wilt have twairr.
Fie, lifeless pidure, cold and senseless sone;
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 kiss even by their own direction.
This faid, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling pallion doth provoke a pause ;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;
Being judge in love, the cannot right iver cause.
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,.
And now her fobs 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, faith fhe, fince I have hem'd thee here,
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be the park, and thou shalt be my deer,
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale,
Graze on my lips, and if those bills 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 rouze thee, tho'a thousand barker
At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple ;
Love made those hollows, if himself were flain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple:
Foreknowing well if there he came to lie,
Why there love liv'd, and there. he cou'd not die: -
These loving caves, these round enchanted 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 with scorn.
Now which way shall she turn? What shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing:
The time is spent, ber object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
Pity, she cries, some favour, fome remorse!
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 courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud :
The strong-neck'd steed, being ty'd unto a treening
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girts he breaks alunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds 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 compass’d crest, now stands an end :
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again
As from a furnace, vapours doth he lend :
His eye, which glisters scornfully like fire,
Shews 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 should say, lo! thus my strength is try'd;
And thus I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.
What reckech he his rider's angry stir,
His fatt'ring 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 fight agrees.
Look when a painter wou'd 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 his horse excel a common one,
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.