Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret, Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, Still is he sullen, still he lowers and frets, Being red, she loves him best; and being white, Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; Upon this promise did he raise his chin, Never did passenger in summer's heat pay, More thirst for drink, than she for this good turn: Her help she sees, but help she cannot get; 4 rank] i. e. abounding in water. She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn: "Oh, 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; "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 over-rul'd, I oversway'd, "Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain: "Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength "Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. [obey'd, "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, 66 (Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,) "The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine :"What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head; "Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies: "Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? "Art thou asham'd 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 "Make use of time, let not advantage slip; 66 Beauty within itself should not be wasted: "Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime, "Rot and consume themselves in little time. "Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, "Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, "O'er-worn, despised, rheumatick and cold, "Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, "Then might'st 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; "Mine eyes are grey," and bright, and quick in turning; 5 grey] i. e. blue. 66 "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, "Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. "Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie; "These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me; [sky, "Two strengthless doves will draw me through the "From morn to night, even where I list to sport me: "Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be "That thou should'st 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, 66 "Thou wast begot,-to get it is thy duty. "Upon the earth's increase why should'st thou feed, "Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? 66 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, And now Adonis, with a lazy spright, Souring his cheeks, cries, " Fie, no more of love! "The sun doth burn my face; I must remove." "Ab me." quoth Venus, "young, and so unkind! "What bare excuses mak'st thou to begone! 6 'tired] i. e. attired. |