« ElőzőTovább »
Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead.
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.
But thro' the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again. 0! how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eyes ; Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow; Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry.
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain ;
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. Variable passions throng her constant woe, As striving which should best become her grief ; All entertain'd, each passion labours so, That every present sorrow seemeth chief.
But none is best, then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice.
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
0, hard believing love ! how strange it seems
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.
She 'clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings
Imperial supreme of mortal things.
Then, gentle shadow, truth I must confess,
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 'Tis not my fault ; the boar provok'd my tongue : Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ! 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong, I did but act, he's author of thy slander.
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both without ten women's wit.
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories,
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.
For he, being dead, with him is beauty slain,
 Read suspect, i. e. suspicion.  To insinuate meant formerly to sooth, to flatter: To insinuate with was the phraseology of the poet's time. MALONE.
Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear,
Éven at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn.
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew.
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head,
Who like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their suggestions gives a deadly groan, Whereat each tributary subject quakes, As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes, Which with cold terrors dotk men's minds .confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprize,
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes,
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
18] Trench'd is cut. Trancher, Fr.
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth,
Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow,
Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.
Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes as fire,
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim,
But true sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him.
But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves to rob him of his fair. And therefore would he put his bonnet on, Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep ; The wind would blow it off, and being gone, Play with his locks, then would Adonis weep ;
And straight in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his tears.
(5) Fair was formerly used as a substantive in the sense of beauty. It ap. pears from the corresponding rhyme, and the jingle in the present line, that the word fear was pronounced in the time of Shakspeare, as if it were written fare. MALONE.
16 VOL. IX.
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,
And never fright the silly lamb that day.
Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries ;
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; Witness the entertainment that he gave,
If he did see his face, why then I know,
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so:
And nousling in his flank, the loving swine
With this she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo! two lamps burnt out in darkness lies. Two glasses where herself herself beheld A thousand times and now no more reflect ; Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, And every beauty robb’d of his effect.