Love keeps his revels where there are but twain: Be bold to play; our sport is not in sight:
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: Beauty 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-favoured, foul, or wrinkled-old, Ill-natured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, O'er-worn, despised, 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; Miné 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.
'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear; Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green;
*What vaileth the flower
To stand still and wither;
If no man it savour
It serves only for sight,
And fadeth towards night.-WYATT.
+ What we now call blue eyes, says Malone, were in Shakspeare's time called grey eyes. Not always:
A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue eye, and sunken; which you have not.-As You Like it, iii. 2.
would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under those windows, white and azure, laced
With blue of heaven's own tinct.-Cymbeline, ii. 2.
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevelled hair, Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. * Love is a spirit all compact of fire;
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 to night, even where I list to sport me. Is love so light, sweet boy; and may it be, That thou shouldst 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,
Steal 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, Herbs 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, 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 dost survive, In that thy likeness still is left alive.'
By this, the love-sick queen began to sweat, For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them; And Titan, tirèdt in the midday heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
* And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune.-Tempest, v. 1. † Attired.
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, disliking eye, His lowering 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 that 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 heavenly and 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 hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, 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.
† Steevens proposes to read thus, which is obviously the sense.
'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 chokes 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: 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,' she saith, since I have hemmed thee here Within 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.
'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.'
* Frequently used for intentions, or designs :
Either you should stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into.-As You Like it, i. 1.
But fear the main intendment of the Scot.-Henry V. i. 2.
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 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? 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 in 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-necked steed, being tied unto a tree, Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously 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, Controlling what he was controlled with.
If so your heart were touched with that remorse As mine is to him.-Meas. for Meas. ii. 2.
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