William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (119 page)
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Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck.
He on her belly falls, she on her back.
Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter.
All is imaginary she doth prove.
He will not manage her, although he mount her,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter.
All is imaginary she doth prove.
He will not manage her, although he mount her,
That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy,
To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy.
Even so poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw;
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw;
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in him finds missing
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.
But all in vain, good queen ! It will not be.
She hath assayed as much as may be proved;
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee:
She’s Love; she loves; and yet she is not loved.
She hath assayed as much as may be proved;
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee:
She’s Love; she loves; and yet she is not loved.
‘Fie, fie,’ he says, ‘you crush me. Let me go.
You have no reason to withhold me so.’
‘Thou hadst been gone,’ quoth she, ‘sweet boy, ere
this,
But that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
O, be advised; thou know’st not what it is
With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore,
this,
But that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
O, be advised; thou know’st not what it is
With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes, never sheathed, he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.
‘On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of bristly pikes that ever threat his foes.
His eyes like glow-worms shine; when he doth fret
His snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes.
Of bristly pikes that ever threat his foes.
His eyes like glow-worms shine; when he doth fret
His snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes.
Being moved, he strikes, whate’er is in his way,
And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay.
‘His brawny sides with hairy bristles armed
Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter.
His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed.
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture.
Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter.
His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed.
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture.
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part; through whom he rushes.
‘Alas, he naught esteems that face of thine,
To which love’s eyes pays tributary gazes,
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
To which love’s eyes pays tributary gazes,
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
But having thee at vantage—wondrous dread!—
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.
‘O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still.
Beauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends.
Come not within his danger by thy will.
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
Beauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends.
Come not within his danger by thy will.
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
I feared thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.
‘Didst thou not mark my face? Was it not white?
Sawest thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?
Grew I not faint, and fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
Sawest thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?
Grew I not faint, and fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But like an earthquake shakes thee on my breast.
‘For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy
Doth call himself affection’s sentinel,
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry, “Kill, kill”,
Doth call himself affection’s sentinel,
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry, “Kill, kill”,
Distemp’ring gentle love in his desire,
As air and water do abate the fire.
‘This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up love’s tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,
This canker that eats up love’s tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear;
‘And, more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stained with gore,
The picture of an angry chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stained with gore,
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
Doth make them droop with grief, and hang the
head.
‘What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at th’imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And fear doth teach it divination.
That tremble at th’imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And fear doth teach it divination.
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow.
‘But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me:
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare.
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare.
Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,
And on thy well-breathed horse keep with thy
hounds.
‘And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles,
How he outruns the wind, and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles.
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles,
How he outruns the wind, and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles.
The many musits through the which he goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.
‘Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell;
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell;
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer.
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear.
‘For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled,
With much ado, the cold fault cleanly out.
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled,
With much ado, the cold fault cleanly out.
Then do they spend their mouths. Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.
‘By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear,
To hearken if his foes pursue him still.
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear,
Stands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear,
To hearken if his foes pursue him still.
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear,
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.
‘Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way.
Each envious brier his weary legs do scratch;
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay;
Turn, and return, indenting with the way.
Each envious brier his weary legs do scratch;
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay;
For misery is trodden on by many,
And, being low, never relieved by any.
‘Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise.
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar
Unlike myself thou hear’st me moralize,
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise.
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar
Unlike myself thou hear’st me moralize,
Applying this to that, and so to so,
For love can comment upon every woe.
‘Where did I leave?’ ‘No matter where,’ quoth he;
‘Leave me, and then the story aptly ends.
The night is spent.’ ‘Why what of that?’ quoth she.
‘I am,’ quoth he, ‘expected of my friends,
‘Leave me, and then the story aptly ends.
The night is spent.’ ‘Why what of that?’ quoth she.
‘I am,’ quoth he, ‘expected of my friends,
And now ‘tis dark, and going I shall fall.’
‘In night,’ quoth she, ‘desire sees best of all.
‘But if thou fall, O, then imagine this:
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn
Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn.
‘Now of this dark night I perceive the reason.
Cynthia, for shame, obscures her silver shine
Till forging nature be condemned of treason
For stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine,
Cynthia, for shame, obscures her silver shine
Till forging nature be condemned of treason
For stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine,
Wherein she framed thee, in high heaven’s despite,
To shame the sun by day and her by night.
‘And therefore hath she bribed the destinies
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery;
‘As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood;
Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood;
Surfeits, impostumes, grief, and damned despair
Swear nature’s death for framing thee so fair.
‘And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under.
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities,
Whereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder,
But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under.
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities,
Whereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden wasted, thawed, and done,
As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.
‘Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Be prodigal. The lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.
‘What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which, by the rights of time, thou needs must have
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which, by the rights of time, thou needs must have
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.
‘So in thyself thyself art made away,
A mischief worse than civil, home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher sire that reaves his son of life.
A mischief worse than civil, home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul cank‘ring rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.’
‘Nay, then,’ quoth Adon, ‘You will fall again
Into your idle, over-handled theme.
The kiss I gave you is bestowed in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
Into your idle, over-handled theme.
The kiss I gave you is bestowed in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
For, by this black-faced night, desire’s foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.
‘If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there,
‘Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast,
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barred of rest.
Into the quiet closure of my breast,
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barred of rest.
No, lady, no. My heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.
‘What have you urged that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
You do it for increase—O strange excuse,
When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse!
‘Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled
Since sweating lust on earth usurped his name,
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Since sweating lust on earth usurped his name,
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.
‘Love comforteth, like sunshine after rain,
But lust’s effect is tempest after sun.
Love’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain;
Lust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.
But lust’s effect is tempest after sun.
Love’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain;
Lust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.
Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies.
Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies.
‘More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore in sadness now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen.
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore in sadness now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen.
Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended
Do burn themselves for having so offended.’
With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace,
Leaves love upon her back, deeply distressed.
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace,
Leaves love upon her back, deeply distressed.
Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye,
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