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: 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-ruled, 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 eyeballs; 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 prime, Rot and consume themselves in little time.

Were I hard-favor'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, Ill-nurtured, 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;

1

Mine 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;
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.

'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?

What we now call blue eyes, were in Shakspeare's time called gray.

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 breedett 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.

For attired.

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

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.

I Without cauldron.