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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 fands, and yet no footing seen-.
Love i» a. spirit all compact of sire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
Witness this primrose-bank, whereon I lie,
The forceless flowers, like sturdy trees, support met
Two strsngdiless 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 should st think it heavy unto thee?
Is thine own heart to thine own face afsected?
Can thy right hand (ei2e love upon thy left?
Then wooe thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom, and complain os theft.
Narcissus fo himself, himself forfook,
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. s.beauty;
Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou seed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be sed i
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead;
And fo, in spite of death, thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.
By this the Iove-sick 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' side.
And now Adonis with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, difliking eye,
His low'ring brows, o'erwhelming his fair sight,.
Like misty vapours, when they blot the flcy; £
Souring his cheeks, cries, sie, no more of love,.
The sun doth burn my face, I must remove.
Ah me! (quoth Venus) young, .and fo 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 queacb them with my teaFS.^
The fun that shines from heaven shines but warm,.
And, lo, I lie between the sun and xhee!
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the sire that buwieth me,
And, were I not immortal, .lise were done,.
Between this heav'nly and this earthly sun..
Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?
Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth ::
Art thou a woman's fon, and canst not seel
What'tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?
Oh! had thy mother born fo bad a mind,
She bad not brought forth tbee, 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-.
Fie, liseless 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 b'red<:
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 passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and siery eyes blaze forth her wrongs
Being judge in love, slie cannot right her 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 insold him like a band;
She would, he will notinherarms be bound:
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her Jily singers one in one.
Fondling, faith she, since 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 hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleafant fountains lieu
Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom grass, and high delightsul 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 thoufand bark-
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 sirst, 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 fay?
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 favour, fome remorse!
Away he springs, and hafieth to-his horse.
But, lo! from forth a cops that neightours 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 ty'd unto a treci, ,
Bteaketh his rein, and to her straight goes. ha.
Imperioufly he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,.
And now his woven girts he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb refounds like heaven's thunder
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.
His ears up-prickM, his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest, now stands an end:
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again
As from a surnace, vapours doth he lend:
His eye, which glisters scornsully like sire,
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 fay, lo! thus my strength is try'd;.
And thus I do to captivate the eye
Os the fair breeder that is standing by.
What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flatt'ring holla, or his stand, I fay?
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 wouM surpass the lise,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art, with nature's workmanship at strise,
As if the dead the living should exceed:
So did hi* horse excel a common one,
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.