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His low'ring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
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.

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 the 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 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 son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?
O had thy mother borne so bad a mind,

She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.
What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this ?2
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'rest, if thou wilt have twain.

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 choaks 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:

T2] Contemptuously refuse me this favour. MALONE.

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, saith she, since I have hemm'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 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 liv'd, and there he could 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, 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 ty'd unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously 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 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 send;
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 would 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 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 who'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 exceed a common one,

In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostrils wide,

[3] Compass'd is arch'd. A compass'd ceiling is a phrase yet in use.

MALONE.

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.

Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares,
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;

To bid the wind abase he now prepares, 4

And where he run, or fly, they know not whither,
For thro' his main and tail the high wind sings,
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 see him woo her,
She 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,
Cool shadow 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 assuag'd.

His testy master goes about to take him,
When lo! the unback'd 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,
Out-stripping crows, that strive to over-fly them.
All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast.
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest.
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river staid,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said,

Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;

[4] Base is a rustic game, properly prison-bars. MALONE.

[5] Banning, cursing. So in Richard III. “Fell banning hag." STEEV.

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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,
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed 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;
To 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 flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.
Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels ;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheeks feels;

His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fallen snow takes any dint.

O! 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 woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing;
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain,6
With tears, which chorus-like her eyes did rain.
Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a jail of snow,

Or ivory in an alabaster hand,

So white a friend ingirts so white a foe!

This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Shew'd like to silver doves that sit a billing.

Once more the engine of our thoughts began ;
fairest mover on this mortal round!

Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look my help I would assure thee,
Tho' nothing but my body's bane would cure thee:

[6] From the present passage, I think it probable that this first production of our author's muse was not composed till after he had left Stratford, and became acquainted with the theatre. MALONE.

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