Forc'd to content', but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace,
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.
Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank3,
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale';
Still is he sullen, still he lowers and frets,
"Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashy-pale;
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.
Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.
Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who being look'd on ducks as quickly in ;
So offers he to give what she did crave,
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.
Never did passenger in summer's heat,
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
2 Fore'd to content,] i. e. Forc'd to be content, or compell❜d to acquiescence.
3 a river that is RANK,] "A river that is rank" is a river that is already
full. See Vol. vii. p. 49. Drayton, in his "Barons' Wars," b. i. has
"Fetching full tides, luxurious, high and rank."
For to a pretty EAR she tunes her tale ;] So all the old copies; but pos
sibly "car" was originally a misprint for air.
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;
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 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 red,
The 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 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:
- yet HER fire must burn:] This is the reading of the editions of 1593, 1594, and 1596: that of 1600, and the Edinburgh impression, have "yet in fire must burn."
To TOY,] So the editions of 1593 and 1594: those of 1596, 1600, and Edinburgh, 1627, have coy. To coy may be right, as in " Midsummer Night's Dream," Vol. ii. p. 443, we have it used in the sense of to caress :
"While I thy amiable cheeks do coy."
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 may'st 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 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, rheumatic, 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;
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,
Or like a nymph with long dishevelled hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit, all compact of fire3,
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 till night', even where I list to sport me:
7 - nor know not WHAT we mean.] The word "what" is omitted in Malone's Shakespeare by Boswell, vol. xx. p. 17. It is merely an error of the press, as "what" is found in all the early editions.
all COMPACT of fire,] "Compact" is made up or composed. "The Frenchman (says Nash) is wholly compact of deceivable courtship."-" Pierce Penniless," printed by the Shakespeare Society, p. 25. See also Vol. iii. p. 39. In "Skialetheia," 1598, we read, “Thou must have words compact of fire, and rage." ? From morn TILL night,] So every old edition; but Malone and all modern editors read corruptly, "From morn to night."
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;
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?
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, '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 sprite,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His lowering brows o'er-whelming 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!
SOURING his cheeks,] "So wring his cheeks," in the edition of 1593; but corrected in that of 1594, and in the later impressions.
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 should'st 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.
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.
contemn me THIS?] Steevens would read "contemn me thus," in opposition to all the old copies, but that printed at Edinburgh in 1627. He was not, however, aware of this feeble support.
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