Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:

O, pity,' 'gan she cry, flint-hearted boy! 'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, Even by the stern and direful god of war, Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, Who conquers where he comes in every jar: ICO Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.

'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,

Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

"Thus he that overruled I oversway'd, Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain: Strong tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd,

Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.

O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight! "Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,Though mine be not so fair, yet are they redThe kiss shall be thine own as well as mine. What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:

Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies, Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?

'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again, And I will wink; so shall the day seem night: Love keeps his revels where there are but twain: Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:

These blue-vein'd 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 gather'd in their price
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

731

But having no defects, why dost abhor me!

Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow; Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick i turning;

14

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow turning.
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy habi
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,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd 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. 15 '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 till 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,
IE:
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.

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, tired 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, disliking eye,
His louring 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.'

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses makest 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;

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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.

'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,

209

And one for interest, 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 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.

221

Then be my deer, since I am such a park; 239 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 lived and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round enchanting 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 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, 260
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:

The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:

His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.
Sometime 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 tried,
And this 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 trapping gay?

281

He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.