Venus and Adonis

Part 1

VENUS AND ADONIS

by William Shakespeare

Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON,

and Baron of Titchfield.

Right Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished 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 heart’s content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful expectation.

Your honour’s in all duty,

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

VENUS AND ADONIS

Even as the sun with purple-colour’d face Had ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn, Rose-cheek’d Adonis hied him to the chase; Hunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn; 4 Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, And like a bold-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him.

“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began, “The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare, 8 Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, More white and red than doves or roses are: Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 12

“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 honey secrets shalt thou know: 16 Here come and sit, where never serpent 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, 20 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.” 24

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, The precedent of pith and livelihood, And trembling in her passion, calls it balm, Earth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 28 Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser’s rein, Under her other was the tender boy, 32 Who blush’d and pouted 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. 36

The studded bridle on a ragged bough Nimbly she fastens;—O! how quick is love!— The steed is stalled up, and even now To tie the rider she begins to prove: 40 Backward she push’d 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: 44 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.” 48

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. 52 He saith she is immodest, blames her miss; What follows more, she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 56 Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, Till either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone: Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin, And where she ends she doth anew begin. 60

Forc’d to content, but never to obey, Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face. She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 64 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 fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; 68 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. 72

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale. Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets, ’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale; 76 Being red she loves him best, and being white, Her best is better’d with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; And by her fair immortal hand she swears, 80 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, 85 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, 88 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. 92 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? 96

“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; 100 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, 104 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. 108

Part 2

“Thus he that overrul’d 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. 112 Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, For mast’ring 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, 116 The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine: What see’st 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? 120

“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 are but twain; Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight, 124 These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 127 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. 132

“Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old, Ill-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, O’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold, Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 136 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, 139 Mine eyes are grey 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. 144

“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. 148 Love is a spirit all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: 151 These 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? 156

“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160 Narcissus so himself himself forsook, And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

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