All fwoln with chafing, down Adonis fits,
Banning his boift'rous and unruly beast.
And now the happy feafon once more fits,
That love-fick Love, by pleading may be bleft.
For lovers fay, the heart hath treble wrong,
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
An oven that is ftopp'd, or river ftaid,
Burneth more hotly, fwelleth with more rage:
So of concealed forrow may be faid;
Free vent of words love's fire doth affuage:
But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as defperate in his fuit.
He fees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind;
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow,
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind;
Taking no notice, that fhe is fo nigh,
For all afkance he holds her in his eye.
O! what a fight it was wiftly to view
How fhe came ftealing to the wayward boy;
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and red each other did destroy !
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.
Now was she just before him, as he fat,
And like a lowly lover down fhe kneels;
With one fair hand fhe heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheeks feels:
His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print,
As apt, as new-fallen fnow takes
any dint.
O! what a war of looks was then between them! Her eyes petitioners to his eyes fuing;
His eyes faw her eyes, as they had not feen them;
Her eyes woo'd ftill, his eyes difdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain,
With tears, which chorus-like, her eyes did rain.
Full gently now fhe takes him by the hand,
A lily prifon'd in a jail of fnow,
Or ivory in an alabafter band,
So white a friend ingirts fo white a foe!
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Shew'd like to filver doves, that fit a billing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
O faireft mover on this mortal round!
Would thou wert, as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole, as thine, thy heart my wound.
For one sweet look my help I would affure thee,
Tho' nothing but my body's bane would cure thee.
Give me my hand (faith he) why doft thou feel it?
Give me thy heart (faith fhe) and thou fhalt have it.
O give it me, left thy hard heart do steel it;
And being fteel'd, foft fighs can never grave it :
Then love's deep groans I never fhall regard,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.
For fhame, he cries, let go, and let me go,
My day's delight is paft, my horfe is gone,
And 'tis your fault, I am bereft him fo:
pray you hence, and leave me here alone. For all my mind, my thought, my bufy care, Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.
Thus fhe replies: Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet defire :
Affection is a coal, that must be cool'd;
Elfe, fuffer'd, it will fet the heart on fire.
The fea hath bounds, but deep defire hath none;
Therefore no marvel tho' thy horfe be gone.
How like a jade he flood, ty'd to a tree,
Servilely maftred with a leathern rein!
But when he faw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held fuch petty bondage in difdain;
Throwing the base thong from his bending creft,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breaft.
Who fees his true love in her naked bed,
Teaching the fheets a whiter hue than white,
But when his glutton eye fo full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?
Who is fo faint, that dare not be fo bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?
Let me excufe thy courfer, gentle boy,
And learn of him, I heartily be feech thee,
To take advantage on prefented joy;
Tho' I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.
O! learn to love, the leffon is but plain,
And once made perfect, never loft again.
I know not love (quoth he) nor will I know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chafe it;
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it,
My love to love, is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs, and weeps, and all but in a breath.
Who wears a garment fhapeless and unfinish'd?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If fpringing things be any jot diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth.
The colt that's back'd, and burden'd being young,
Lofeth his pride, and never waxeth ftrong.
You hurt my hand with wringing: let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootlefs chat;
Remove your fiege from my unyielding heart,
To love's alarm it will not ope the gate.
Difmifs your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt'ry;
For where a heart is hard, they make no batt'ry.
What! can't thou talk? (quoth fhe) haft thou a tongue?
O! would thou had'ft not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong!
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing.
Melodious difcord! heavenly tune harfh-founding!
Earth's deep fweet mufick! and heart's deep fore-
[wounding!
Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty, and invifible :
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part of me, that were but fenfible.
Tho' neither eyes, nor ears to hear nor fee,
Yet fhould I be in love, by touching thee.
Say, that the fense of reafon were bereft me,
And that I could not fee, nor hear, nor touch;
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be ftill as much:
For from the ftillatory of thy face excelling,
Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love by
fmelling.
But oh what banquet wert thou to the tafte,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wifh the feast should ever laft,
And bid fufpicion double-lock the door;
Left jealoufy, that four unwelcome gueft,
Should by his ftealing in disturb the feast.
Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd, Which to his fpeech did honey paffage yield; Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd, Wreck to the feamen, tempeft to the field, Sorrow to fhepherds, woe unto the birds, Guft and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
This ill prefage advifedly fhe marketh,
Even as the wind is hufh'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth;
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning ftruck her, ere his words begun.
And at his look fhe flatly falleth down;
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth:
A fmile recures the wounding of a frown,
But bleffed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The filly boy believing the is dead,
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red.
And in amaze brake off his late intent,
For fharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent,
Fair fall the wit, that can fo well defend her:
For on the grafs fhe lies, as fhe were flain,
Till his breath breathed life in her again.
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