A Collection of Poems

Front matter

A COLLECTION OF POEMS, VIZ.

I. Venus and Adonis. II. The Rape of Lucrece. III. The Passionate Pilgrim. IV. Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Musick.

By Mr. William Shakespeare.

Venus and Adonis

VENUS AND ADONIS.

Vilia miretur vulgus, mihi flavus Apollo Pocula Castaliâ plena ministret aquâ.

By William Shakespeare.

LONDON, Printed in the Year 1630.

To the Right Honourable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.

Right Honourable,

I Know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolisht Lines to your Lordship, nor how the World will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only if your Honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a Godfather, and never after ear so barren a Land for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your Honour to your hearts content; which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your Honours in all duty,

WILL. SHAKESPEARE.

VENUS

AND

ADONIS.

EVen as the Sun with purple coloured Face, Had ta'n his last Leave of the weeping Morn, Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase: Hunting he lov'd, but Love he laught to scorn: Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, And like a bold-fac'd Suter 'gins to woo him.

Thrice fairer than my self (thus she began) The Fields chief Flower, sweet above compare, Stain to all Nymphs, more lovely than a Man, More white and red than Doves or Roses are: Nature that made thee, with her self at Strife, Saith that the World hath ending with thy Life.

Vouchsafe, thou Wonder, to alight thy Steed, And rein his proud Head to the Saddle Bow. If thou wilt deign this Favour, for thy meed, A thousand hony Secrets shalt thou know:

Here come and sit, where Serpents never hisses, And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses.

And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, But rather famish them amid their Plenty, Making them red and pale with fresh Variety: Ten Kisses short as one, one long as twenty. A Summer's Day will seem an Hour but short, Being wasted in such time-beguiling Sport.

With this, she seizeth on his sweating palm, The President of pith and livelihood, And trembling in her Passion calls it balm, Earth's sovereign salve to do a Goddess good: Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force, Couragiously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty Coursers rein, Under her other was the tender Boy, Who blusht and powted in a dull disdain, With leaden appetite, unapt to toy, She red and hot, as coals of glowing fire: He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough, Nimbly she fastens, (O how quick is love!) The Steed is stalled up, and even now To tye the Rider she begins to prove: Backward she pusht him, as she would be thrust, And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along, as he was down, Each leaning on their elbows and their hips. Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips. And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.

He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears Doth quench the maiden-burning of his cheeks: Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs, To fan and blow them dry again she seeks. He says she is immodest, blames her miss, What follows more, she smothers with a kiss.

ArtofKissingp38-1Even as an empty Eagle sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, Till either gorge be stuft, or prey be gone: Even so she kist his brow, his cheek, his chin, And where she ends, she doth anew begin.

Forc'd to content, but never to obey, Panting he lies, and breathing 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 fastned 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 rank, Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she intreats, and prettily intreats: For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale: Still he is sullen, still he lowres and frets, 'Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashie pale; Being red she loves him best, and being white, Her breast is bettered with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot chuse 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 lookt on, ducks as quickly in: So offers he to give what she did crave, But when his Lips were ready for his pay, He winks and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in Summers heat More thirst for drink, then she for this good turn, Her help she sees, but help she cannot get, She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:

Oh pitty gan she cry, flint-hearted boy, 'Tis but a kiss I beg, why art thou coy?

I have been woo'd, as I intreat thee now, Even by the stern and direful God of War, Whose sinowy neck in battel ne'er did bow, Who conquers where he comes in every jar: Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, And beg'd for that which thou unaskt shalt have.

Over my Altars hath he hung his Launce, His battred Shield, his uncontrolled Crest, And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance, To coy, 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 over-sway'd, Leading him prisoner in a red Rose chain: Strong tempred steel his stronger strength obey'd, Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, For mastring her that foil'd the God of Fight.

Touch but my lips with those falr 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 where thy beauty lies, Then why not lips on lips, since eyes on 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 be but twain: Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight. These blew-vein'd Violets whereon we lean Never can blab, nor know they what we mean.

The tender Spring, upon thy tempting lip, Shews thee unripe; yet may'st thou well be tasted: Make use of time, let not advantage slip, Beauty within it self would not be wasted. Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime, Rot and consume themselves in little time.

Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled old, Ill-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, Ore-worn, despised, rheumatick and cold, Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juyce, 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, Mine eyes are gray, and bright, and quick in turning: My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, My flesh as 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 Fairie, trip upon the green,

Or like a Nymph, with long dishevel'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 lye, The 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. Is love so light, sweet Boy, and may it be That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee.

Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? Then wooe thy self, be of thy self rejected, Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. Narcissus so himself, himself forsook, And dyed 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 growths abuse, Seeds spring from seeds, & beauty breedeth beauty, Thou wert begot, to get it is thy duty.

Upon the Earths 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 thy self art dead:

And so in spight 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 tyred 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 spright, And with a heavy dark disliking eye, His lowring brows o'rewhelming his fair sight, Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky, Sowring his cheeks, cryes 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? I'le sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind Shall cool the heat of this descending Sun: I'le make a shadow for thee of my hairs, If they burn too, I'le quench them with my tears.

The Sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, And loe, 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 womans son, and canst not feel, What 'tis to love, how want of love tormenteth? O had thy mother born so bad a mind, She had not brought forth thee, but dyed unkind.

What am I, that thou should'st contemn me this? Or what great danger dwels 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'le give it thee again, And one for int'rest, 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 mans 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.

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 Lilly fingers one in one.

ArtofKissingp38-2Fondling, saith she, since I have hemm'd thee here, Within the circuit of this Ivory pale, I'le be the 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 rouz 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: Fore-knowing well if there he came to lie, Why there Love liv'd, and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round inchanting pits, Opened their mouths to swallow Venus liking: Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? Strook 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 with scorn!

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say? 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: Pitty she crys, some favour, some remorse: Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse:

But loe, from forth a Copp's that neighbours by, A breeding Jennet, lusty, young, and proud, Adonis trampling courser doth espy, And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud: The strong neckt Steed being tyed unto a tree Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds: And now his woven girts he breaks asunder, The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, Whose hollow womb resounds like heavens thunder: The Iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth, Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up prickt his braided hanging mane Upon his compast Crest now stands an end: His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, As from a Furnace vapours doth he lend, His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, Shews his hot courage, and his high desire.

Sometime he trots as if he told the steps, With gentle Majesty, and modest pride, Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps; As who should say, loe, thus my strength is tried, And thus I do to captivate the eye, Of the fair breeder that is standing by.

What recketh he his Riders angry stur, His flatt'ring Holla, or his Stand, I say? What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur, For rich caparisons, or trapping gay? He sees his Love, and nothing else he sees: Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look, when a Painter would surpass the life, In limning out a well proportion'd Steed, His Art, with Natures workmanship at strife, As if the dead the living should exceed: So did this horse excell a common one, In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone.

Round hooft, short joynted, fetlocks shag and long, Broad brest, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Look what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares; Anon he starts at stirring of a Feather:

To bid the wind abase he now prepares, And where he run, or flie, they know not whether, For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, Fanning the hairs, who have like feather'd wings.

He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her: She answers him, as if she knew his mind: Being proud, as Females are, to see him wooe her, She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, Spurnes at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy male-content, He vails his tail: that, like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttocks lent, He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume: His love perceiving how he is inrag'd, Grew kinder, and his fury was asswag'd.

His testy Master goeth about to take him, When loe, the unbackt breeder, full of fear, Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, With her the horse, and left Adonis there; As they were mad, unto the Wood they hie them: Out-stripping Crows that strive to over-flie them.

All swolne with chafing, down Adonis sits, Banning his boystrous and unruly Beast: And now the happy season once more fits, That love-sick Love, by pleading may be blest.

For Lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong, When it is bar'd the aidance of the tongue.

An Oven that is stopt, or River staid, Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: So of concealed sorrow may be said! Free vent of words loves fire doth asswage: But when the hearts Atturney once is mute, The Client breaks, as desperate in his sute.

He sees 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 she is so nigh, For all ascance he holds her in his eye.

O what a sight it was wistly to view, How she came stealing to the wayward Boy, To note the fighting conflict of her hiew, How white and red each other did destroy: But now her cheek was pale, and by and by It flasht forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat, And like a lowly lover down she kneels, With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: His tender cheeks receive her soft hands print, As apt as new fallen snow takes any dint.

Oh what a war of looks was then between them? Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, His eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them, Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'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 she takes him by the hand, A Lilly prison'd in a Jayl of Snow, Or Ivory in an Alabaster band, So white a friend ingirts so white a foe: This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Shew'd like to silver Doves that sit a billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began: O fairest 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 assure thee, Though nothing but my bodys bane would cure thee.

Give me my hand (saith he) why dost thou feel it? Give me my heart (saith she) and thou shalt have it. O give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it; And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it; Then love's deep groans I never shall regard, Because Adonis heart hath made mine hard.

For shame he crys let go, and let me go, My days delight is past, my horse is gone,

And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so, I pray you hence, and leave me here alone. For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, Is how to get my Palfrey from the Mare.

Thus she replies: thy Palfrey, as he should, Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire: Affection is a cole that must be cool'd; Else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire. The Sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none, Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

How like a Jade he stood, ty'd to the tree, Servilely mastred with a lethern rein? But when he saw his love, his youths fair fee, He held such petty bondage in disdain, Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

Who sees his true love in her naked bed, Teaching the sheets a whiter hiew than white, But when his glutton eye so full hath fed, His other agents aim at like delight: Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold, To touch the fire, the Weather being cold?

Let me excuse thy Courser, gentle boy, And learn of him I heartily beseech thee, To take advantage on presented Joy, Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.

O learn to love, the lesson is but plain, And once made perfect, never lost again.

I know not love (quoth he) nor will I know it, Unless it be a Boar, and then I chase 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 with a breath.

Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinisht? Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? If springing things be any jot diminisht, They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth: The Colt that's backt, and burthen'd being young Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.

You hurt my hand with wringing: let us part, And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat, Remove your siege from my unyielding heart, To loves alarm it will not ope the gate. Dismiss your vows, your fained tears, your flattry; For where a heart is hard, they make no battry.

What, canst thou talk (quoth she) hast thou a tong, O would thou had'st not, or I had no hearing, Thy Mermaids voice hath done me double wrong: I had my load before, now prest with bearing, Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding, Earths deep sweet musick, and hearts deep sore wounding.

Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love, That inward beauty, and invisible: Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move Each part in me that were but sensible. Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, And nothing but the very smell were left me, Yet would my love to thee be still as much, For from the Stillatory of thy face excelling, Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love by smelling.

But oh, what banquet wert thou to the tast, Being nurse and feeder of the other four? Would they not wish the feast might ever last, And bid suspition double lock the door; Lest jealousy that sowr unwelcome guest, Should by his stealing in disturb the feast.

Once more the ruby-colour'd Portal open'd, Which to his speech did hony passage yield: Like a red morn that ever yet betoken'd, Wrack to the Sea-man, tempest to the field, Sorrow to Shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gust and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh, Even as the wind is husht 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 struck her ere his words begun.

And at his look she flatly falleth down, For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth: A smile recures the wounding of a frown, But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth: The silly boy believing she is dead, Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red.

And in amaze brake off his late intent, For sharply he did think to reprehend her: Which cunning love did wittily prevent, Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her: For on the grass she lies as she were slain, 'Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks To mend the hurt that his unkindness mar'd, He kisses her, and she, by her good will, Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day, Her two blew windows faintly she up heaveth: Like the fair Sun, when in his fresh array, He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth:

And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, So is her face illumin'd with her eye.

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fixt, As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine: Were never four such lamps together mixt, Had not his clouded with his brows repine: But hers, which thro the Chrystal tears gave light, Shone like the Moon in water seen by night.

O where am I (quoth she) in earth or heaven, Or in the Ocean drencht, or in the fire? What hour is this, or morn, or weary even? Do I delight to die, or life desire? But now I liv'd, and life was deaths annoy: But now I dy'd, and death was lively joy.

O thou didst kill me, kill me once again, Thy eyes, shrew'd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain, That they have murdred this poor heart of mine; And these mine eyes, true leaders to their Queen, But for thy pitious lips no more had seen.

Long may they kiss each other for this cure: Oh never let their crimson liveries wear, And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year; That the Star-gazers having writ on death, May say, the plague is banisht by thy breath.

Pure lips, sweet seals, in my soft lips imprinted, What bargains may I make still to be sealing? To sell my self I can be well contented, So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing: Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips, Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

ArtofKissingp39A thousand kisses buyes my heart from me, And pay them at thy leasure one by one. What is ten hundred kisses unto thee? Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone? Say for non-payment that the debt should double, Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?

Fair Queen (quoth he) if any love you owe me, Measure my strangeness with my unripe years, Before I know my self, seek not to know me: No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears, The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, Or being early pluckt, is sowr to taste.

Look, the worlds comforter, with weary gate, His days hot task hath ended in the West, The Owle (nights Herald) shrieks, 'tis very late, The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest. The cole-black clouds that shadow heavens light, Do summon us to part, and bid good night.

Now let me say good night, and so say you: If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.

Good night (quoth she) and ere he says adieu, The hony fee of parting tendred is; Her arms do lend his neck a sweet imbrace, Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face.

Till breathless he dis-joyn'd, and backward drew The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, Whereon they surfet, yet complain on drouth, He with her plenty prest, she faint with dearth, Their lips together glew'd fall to the earth.

Now quick desire hath caught her yielding prey, And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth, Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; Whose vultur thought doth pitch the price so hie, That she will draw his lips rich treasure dry.

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, With blind-fold fury she begins to forrage, Her face doth reek and smoak, her bloud doth boyl, And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage: Planting oblivion, beating reason back, Forgetting shames pure blush, and honours wrack.

Hot, faint and weary, with her hard embracing, Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much handling, Or as the fleet-foot Roe, that's tir'd with chasing, Or like the froward Infant still'd with dandling.

He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

What wax so frozen, but dissolves with tempring, And yields at last to every light impression? Things out of hope are compast oft with ventring, Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: Affection faints not like a pale fac'd coward, But then woos best, when most his choice is froward.

When he did frown, O had she then gave over, Such Nectar from his lips she had not suckt: Foul words and frowns must not repel a Lover, What though the Rose have pricks? yet it is pluckt. Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.

For pitty now she can no more detain him; The poor fool prays her that he may depart: She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him; Bids him farewel, and look well to her heart, The which by Cupids bow she doth protest, He carries thence engaged in his brest.