To the Right Honourable
Henry Wriothefly,
Earl of SOUTHAMPTON,
Know not how I fall offend, in Dedicating my unpolished Lines to your Lordship; nor how the World will cenfure me, for chufing fo ftrong a Prop to Support fo weak a Burden: Only if your Honour feem but pleafed, I account my
Self highly praifed, 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 ball be forry it had fo noble a Godfather, and never after ear fo barren a Land, for fear it yield me still fo 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 Wifb, and the World's hopeful Expectation.
Your Honour's in all Duty,
VENUS and ADONIS
VEN as the Sun, with purple-colour'd Face,
Had ta'en his laft Leave of the weeping Morn,
Rofe-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the Chase:
Hunting he lov'd, but Love he laugh'd to fcorn.
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd Suitor 'gins to woo him.
Thrice fairer than my felf! (thus fhe began)
The Fields fweet Flower! fweet above compare!
Stain to all Nymphs! more lovely than a Man!
More white and red, than Doves or Rofes are!
Nature, that made thee, with her felf at ftrife,
Saith, that the World hath ending with thy Life.
Vouchfafe 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 fhalt thou know.
Here come and fit, where Serpent never hiffes,
And being fet, I'll fmother thee with Kiffes.
And yet not cloy thy Lips with loathed Satiety,
But rather famifh them amid their Plenty;
Making them red and pale with fresh Variety:
Ten Kiffes fhort as one, one long as twenty.
A Summer's Day will feem an Hour but fhort,
Being wafted in fuch Time-beguiling Sport.
With this the feizeth on his fweating Palm,
The Prefident of Pith and Livelihood,
And trembling in her Paffion calls its Balm;
Earth's Sovereign Salve to do a Goddess good.
Being fo enrag'd, Defire doth lend her Force,
Courageously to pluck him from his Horse.
Over one Arm the lufty Courfer's Rein,
Under the other was the tender Boy,
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 frofty in Defire.
The ftudded Bridle, on a ragged Bough,
Nimbly fhe faftens (O how quick is Love!)
The Steed is ftalled up, and even now
To tie the Rider fhe begins to prove.
Backward the pufh'd him, as the would be thruft,
And govern'd him in Strength, tho not in Luft.
So foon was the along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their Elbows and their Hips:
Now doth fhe stroke his Cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but foon fhe ftops his Lips:
And kiffing speaks, with luftful Language broken,
If thou wilt chide, thy Lips fhall never open.
He burns with bafhful Shame; fhe 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 fhe feeks.
He fays fhe is immodeft, blames her mifs;
What follows more, fhe fmothers with a Kifs.
Even as an empty Eagle, fharp by Fafte,
Tires with her Beak on Feathers, Flesh and Bone,
Shaking her Wings, devouring all in Haste,
Till either Gorge be ftuft, or Prey be gone:
Even fo fhe kist his Brow, his Cheek, his Chin,
And where the ends, fhe doth anew begin.
Forc'd to confent, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breathing in her Face:
She feedeth on the Steam, as on a Prey,
And calls it heav'nly Moisture! Air of Grace!
Wishing her Cheeks were Gardens full of Flowers,
So they were dew'd with fuch diftilling Showers.
Look how a Bird lies tangled in a Net,
So faften'd in her Arms Adonis lies:
Pure Shame and aw'd Refiftance 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 entreats, and prettily entreats :
For to a pretty Ear fhe tunes her Tale.
Still he is fullen, ftill he lowers and frets,
"Twixt crimson Shame, and Anger afhy Pale.
Being red the loves him beft, and being white,
Her Breast is better'd with a more Delight.
Look how he can, fhe cannot chufe but love,
And by her fair immortal Hand she fwears,
From his foft Bofom 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 fhall pay this countless Debt.
|