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Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seise 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, tired1 in the midday heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him, and by Venus' side.

1 For attired.

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And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His lowering brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapors, when they blot the sky,

Souring his cheeks, cries. 'Fie, no more of love! The sun doth burn my tace; I must remove.'

'Ah 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;

If they burn too, I'll quench them with my


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.1

1 Without children.

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;

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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


And now her sobs do her intendments 1 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 hemm'd thee


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.'

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



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!

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Now which way shall she turn? what shall she


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.

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Pity!' she cries; some favor! some remorse!' i Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.

But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbors 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 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 thun..


The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd 2 crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapors doth he send:

I Remorse is here used for tenderness.
• Arched.

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