The Sonnets and Other Poems (Modern Library Classics) Read online

  But idle sounds resembling parasites848,

  Like shrill-tongued tapsters849 answering every call,

  Soothing the humour850 of fantastic wits?

  She says ' 'Tis so'. They answer all ' 'Tis so',

  And would say after her, if she said 'No'.

  Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,

  From his moist cabinet854 mounts up on high

  And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast

  The sun ariseth in his majesty,

  Who doth the world so gloriously behold

  That cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold.

  Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow,

  'O thou clear860 god and patron of all light,

  From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow

  The beauteous influence862 that makes him bright,

  There lives a son863 that sucked an earthly mother

  May864 lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'

  This said, she hasteth to a myrtle865 grove,

  Musing the morning is so much o'erworn866,

  And yet she hears no tidings of her love.

  She hearkens868 for his hounds and for his horn:

  Anon she hears them chant it lustily,

  And all in haste she coasteth870 to the cry.

  And as she runs, the bushes in the way

  Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,

  Some twined about her thigh to make her stay.

  She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace

  Like a milch doe875, whose swelling dugs do ache,

  Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake876.

  By this she hears the hounds are at a bay877,

  Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder

  Wreathed up in fatal folds879 just in his way,

  The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder:

  Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds

  Appals882 her senses and her spirit confounds.

  For now she knows it is no gentle chase883,

  But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,

  Because the cry remaineth in one place,

  Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:

  Finding their enemy to be so curst887,

  They all strain court'sy888 who shall cope him first.

  This dismal889 cry rings sadly in her ear,

  Through which it enters to surprise890 her heart,

  Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,

  With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:

  Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,

  They basely fly894 and dare not stay the field.

  Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy895,

  Till, cheering up her senses all dismayed,

  She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy

  And childish error that they are afraid,

  Bids899 them leave quaking, bids them fear no more --

  And with that word she spied the hunted boar,

  Whose frothy901 mouth, bepainted all with red,

  Like milk and blood being mingled both together,

  A second fear through all her sinews903 spread,

  Which madly hurries her she knows not whither.

  This way runs and now she will no further,

  But back retires to rate906 the boar for murther.

  A thousand spleens907 bear her a thousand ways,

  She treads the path that she untreads again.

  Her more than haste is mated909 with delays,

  Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,

  Full of respects911, yet naught at all respecting,

  In hand912 with all things, naught at all effecting.

  Here kennelled in a brake she finds a hound

  And asks the weary caitiff914 for his master,

  And there another licking of his wound,

  Gainst venomed sores the only sovereign plaster916.

  And here she meets another, sadly scowling,

  To whom she speaks and he replies with howling.

  When he hath ceased his ill-resounding919 noise,

  Another flap-mouthed920 mourner, black and grim,

  Against the welkin921 volleys out his voice.

  Another and another answer him,

  Clapping923 their proud tails to the ground below,

  Shaking their scratched ears, bleeding as they go.

  Look, how the world's poor people are amazed

  At apparitions, signs and prodigies926,

  Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,

  Infusing928 them with dreadful prophecies:

  So she at these sad signs draws up929 her breath

  And, sighing it again, exclaims on930 death.

  'Hard-favoured931 tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,

  Hateful divorce932 of love' -- thus chides she Death --

  'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm933, what dost thou mean

  To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,

  Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set

  Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

  'If he be dead -- O no, it cannot be,

  Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it!

  O yes, it may! Thou hast no eyes939 to see,

  But hatefully at random dost thou hit:

  Thy mark941 is feeble age, but thy false dart

  Mistakes that aim and cleaves942 an infant's heart.

  'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had943 spoke,

  And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power --

  The destinies will curse thee for this stroke --

  They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:

  Love's golden arrow947 at him should have fled,

  And not death's ebon948 dart to strike him dead.

  'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weeping?

  What may a heavy950 groan advantage thee?

  Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping

  Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?

  Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour953,

  Since her best work is ruined with thy rigour954.'

  Here overcome as one full of despair,

  She vailed956 her eyelids who like sluices stopped

  The crystal tide957 that from her two cheeks fair

  In the sweet channel of her bosom dropped,

  But through the floodgates breaks the silver rain

  And with his strong course960 opens them again.

  O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow961:

  Her eye seen in the tears, tears in her eye,

  Both crystals963, where they viewed 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.

  Variable967 passions throng her constant woe

  As striving who should best become968 her grief:

  All entertained969, each passion labours so

  That every present sorrow seemeth chief,

  But none is best. Then join they all together

  Like many clouds consulting for972 foul weather.

  By this973, far off she hears some huntsman hollo.

  A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:

  The dire imagination975 she did follow

  This sound of hope doth labour to expel,

  For now reviving joy bids her rejoice

  And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.

  Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,

  Being prisoned in her eye like pearls in glass,

  Yet sometimes falls an orient981 drop beside,

  Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass

  To wash the foul983 face of the sluttish ground,

  Who is but drunken when she seemeth drowned.

  O hard-believing985 love, how strange it seems

&
nbsp; Not to believe and yet too credulous!

  Thy weal987 and woe are both of them extremes,

  Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:

  The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,

  In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

  Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought991:

  Adonis lives and Death is not to blame.

  It was not she that called him all to naught993,

  Now she adds honours to his hateful name:

  She clepes995 him king of graves and grave for kings,

  Imperious supreme996 of all mortal things.

  'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest,

  Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear

  Whenas999 I met the boar, that bloody beast,

  Which knows no pity, but is still severe1000:

  Then, gentle shadow1001 -- truth I must confess --

  I railed on1002 thee, fearing my love's decease.

  ' 'Tis not my fault, the boar provoked my tongue:

  Be wreaked1004 on him, invisible commander,

  'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong --

  I did but act1006, he's author of thy slander.

  Grief hath two tongues and never woman yet

  Could rule them both without ten women's wit.'

  Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,

  Her rash suspect1010 she doth extenuate,

  And that his beauty may the better thrive,

  With death she humbly doth insinuate1012,

  Tells him of trophies1013, statues, tombs and stories,

  His victories, his triumphs and his glories.

  'O Jove1015,' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I

  To be of such a weak and silly mind

  To wail his death who lives and must not die

  Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind1018!

  For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,

  And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

  'Fie, fie, fond1021 love, thou art as full of fear

  As one with treasure laden, hemmed with1022 thieves:

  Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,

  Thy coward heart with false bethinking1024 grieves.'

  Even at this word she hears a merry horn,

  Whereat she leaps that was but late1026 forlorn.

  As falcons to the lure1027, away she flies,

  The grass stoops not she treads on it so light,

  And in her haste unfortunately1029 spies

  The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight,

  Which seen, her eyes, are murdered with the view,

  Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew,

  Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,

  Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,

  And there, all smothered up, in shade doth sit,

  Long after fearing to creep forth again:

  So at his bloody view her eyes are fled

  Into the deep dark cabins1038 of her head,

  Where they resign their office1039 and their light

  To the disposing1040 of her troubled brain,

  Who bids them still1041 consort with ugly night

  And never wound the heart with looks again,

  Who1043, like a king perplexed in his throne,

  By their suggestion1044 gives a deadly groan,

  Whereat each tributary subject1045 quakes,

  As when the wind, imprisoned in the ground1046,

  Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,

  Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound1048.

  This mutiny each part doth so surprise1049

  That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes,

  And, being opened, threw unwilling light1051

  Upon the wide wound that the boar had trenched1052

  In his soft flank1053, whose wonted lily white

  With purple1054 tears, that his wound wept, had drenched.

  No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf or weed,

  But stole1056 his blood and seemed with him to bleed.

  This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth.

  Over one shoulder doth she hang her head,

  Dumbly she passions1059, franticly she doteth,

  She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:

  Her voice is stopped, her joints forget to bow1061,

  Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now1062.

  Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly

  That her sight dazzling1064 makes the wound seem three,

  And then she reprehends her mangling1065 eye

  That makes more gashes where no breach should be:

  His face seems twain, each several1067 limb is doubled,

  For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

  'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,

  And yet', quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead!

  My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,

  Mine eyes are turned to fire, my heart to lead.

  Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes' red fire!

  So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

  'Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!

  What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?

  Whose tongue is music now? What canst thou boast

  Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?

  The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim1079,

  But true sweet beauty lived and died with him.

  'Bonnet1081 nor veil henceforth no creature wear!

  Nor sun nor1082 wind will ever strive to kiss you,

  Having no fair1083 to lose, you need not fear:

  The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you,

  But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air

  Lurked like two thieves to rob him of his fair,

  'And therefore would he put his bonnet on,

  Under whose brim the gaudy1088 sun would peep.

  The wind would blow it off and, being gone,

  Play with his locks, then would Adonis weep,

  And straight1091, in pity of his tender years,

  They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

  'To see his face the lion walked along

  Behind some hedge because he would not fear1094 him.

  To recreate himself when he hath sung1095,

  The tiger would be tame and gently hear him.

  If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey

  And never fright the silly1098 lamb that day.

  'When he beheld his shadow1099 in the brook,

  The fishes spread on it their golden gills,

  When he was by1101, the birds such pleasure took

  That some would sing, some other in their bills

  Would bring him mulberries and ripe red cherries:

  He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

  'But this foul, grim1105 and urchin-snouted boar,

  Whose downward1106 eye still looketh for a grave,

  Ne'er saw the beauteous livery1107 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 killed him so.

  ' 'Tis true, 'tis true! Thus was Adonis slain:

  He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,

  Who did not whet1113 his teeth at him again

  But by a kiss thought to persuade him there1114,

  And, nuzzling1115 in his flank, the loving swine

  Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

  'Had I been toothed like him, I must confess,

  With kissing him I should have killed him first,

  But he is dead and never did he bless

  My youth with his1119 -- the more am I accurst.'

  With this, she falleth in the place she stood

  And stains her face with his congealed blood.

  She looks
upon his lips and they are pale,

  She takes him by the hand and that is cold

  She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,

  As if they heard the woeful words she told.

  She lifts the coffer1127-lids that close his eyes,

  Where, lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies:

  Two glasses1129, where herself herself beheld

  A thousand times and now no more reflect,

  Their virtue1131 lost wherein they late excelled,

  And every beauty robbed of his1132 effect.

  'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite,

  That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

  'Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy

  Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:

  It shall be waited on with jealousy,

  Find sweet beginning but unsavoury end,

  Ne'er settled equally, but high or low1139,

  That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.

  'It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,

  Bud and be blasted1142 in a breathing while,

  The bottom poison and the top o'erstrawed1143

  With sweets1144 that shall the truest sight beguile:

  The strongest body shall it make most weak,

  Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.

  'It shall be sparing1147 and too full of riot,

  Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures1148.

  The staring1149 ruffian shall it keep in quiet,

  Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures.

  It shall be raging mad and silly1151 mild,

  Make the young old, the old become a child.

  'It shall suspect where is1153 no cause of fear,

  It shall not fear where it should most mistrust,

  It shall be merciful and too severe,

  And most deceiving when it seems most just1156,

  Perverse1157 it shall be where it shows most toward,

  Put fear to1158 valour, courage to the coward.

  'It shall be cause of war and dire events

  And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire1160,