Such lists were a common place of literature, dating back to the Georgics of Vergil. Also the tuft of hair growing from it, which seems to be the case here.
Look what - Whatever. Similar to Look when in the previous stanza.
- Civil War and Reconstruction in Alabama.
- Folger Consort.
- A Survey of Terrorism, Second Edition.
Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares; Anon he starts at stirring of a feather; To bid the wind a base he now prepares, And whe'er he run or fly they know not whether; For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, Fanning the hairs, who wave like feathered wings. Anon - Next, thereafter. The phrase was common, referring to a game in which participants could be chased when they left their specified base. Probably the meaning is 'whether' and the word is repeated at the end of the line.
FOLGER SHAKESPEARE LIBRARY
They the observers do not know which of the two he is doing, running, or flying. Fanning - Wafting and cooling; or, spreading out like a fan. He looks upon his love and neighs unto her; She answers him as if she knew his mind: A tactic to make him even more keen than he already is.
She is proud that he is wooing her, and she puts on strange airs in order to spur him on to woo her. Spurns at - Rejects. Originally it meant to kick. Then, like a melancholy malcontent, He vails his tail that, like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume. His love, perceiving how he is enraged, Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged. Grew kinder - after her previous unkindness, or unnaturalness.
Echoes also the kind embracements of l. As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. There may also be a suggestion of approaching the horse cautiously from the side so as not to alarm. There is also a hint at the failure of Adonis' horse to cover the mare. Forsake - Abandons, runs away from. As they were mad - As if they were mad. Compare from the Sonnets: A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air Sonn All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits, Banning his boisterous and unruly beast: And now the happy season once more fits, That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest; For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong When it is barred the aidance of the tongue.
Perhaps because firstly the lover has no opportunity to speak, secondly the beloved has no words of love to hear, and thirdly, the lover cannot hear the beloved's reply. But probably the three only implies that it is a great unhappiness, as in the Sonnets, where three seems to be a conventional term for many: A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed.
An oven that is stopped, or river stayed, Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: So of concealed sorrow may be said; Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage; But when the heart's attorney once is mute, The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. Burneth more hotly etc. Free vent of words - The ability to speak one's mind freely.
The client - the attorney's client, i. The costume is distinctly Elizabethan, rather than that of ancient Greece. He fears that she will again try to seduce him. There is also an implication that he is looking at her with scorn. O, what a sight it was, wistly to view How she came stealing to the wayward boy! To note the fighting conflict of her hue, How white and red each other did destroy! But now her cheek was pale, and by and by It flashed forth fire, as lightning from the sky. The legal metaphor which began flashed forth fire - hence it became red. His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print, As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.
But also lowly because she has lowered herself to the earth. As apt as - As readily as. O, what a war of looks was then between them! Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing; His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them; Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdained the wooing: And all this dumb play had his acts made plain With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. Her eyes petition his eyes to grant her suit request as if his eyes were some powerful judge or legal figure who could take decisions in court.
And all this dumb play etc. Full gently now she takes him by the hand, A lily prisoned in a gaol of snow, Or ivory in an alabaster band; So white a friend engirts so white a foe: This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Showed like two silver doves that sit a-billing.
Full gently - very gently. The imagery of skin and hands being white as snow, or lilies, or alabaster, is a commonplace of love poetry of the time. Compare the Sonnets The lily I condemned for thy hand, Sonn The hands are envisaged as reflecting the attitudes of their owners. Showed like - Appeared like. Doves are often described as billing and cooing. In fact, since Adonis refuses to kiss her, the description is not entirely apposite, unless one takes it as referring to the contact of their two hands. Once more the engine of her thoughts began: The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind.
Would thou wert - If only you could be. Implying that her own heart is a raw wound makes the image more vivid. For one sweet look - She now envisages how she would behave if she were the man, Adonis. In exchange for one sweet look she, as Adonis,would rush to give comfort to her lover Venus , even though the act led to her own destruction. O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, And being steeled, soft sighs can never grave it: Then love's deep groans I never shall regard, Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.
Give me my hand - Return my hand to me. Venus replies in the same vein 'Return to me my heart which you hold captive. Primarily they refer to Adonis' hand, which he can have back if he returns her heart to her. But it also refers to her heart which she implies will stay with him even if he returns it to her.
But with a suggestion also of stealing. I pray you hence, and leave me here alone; For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, Is how to get my palfrey from the mare. My day's delight - the hunting I intended to do and the delight to be gained from it. I pray you hence - I ask you to depart. Affection is a coal that must be cooled; Else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire: The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. Affection is a coal - Desire, sexual passion, is like a burning coal.
Else, suffered - otherwise, being allowed to burn. The sea hath bounds etc. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. As You Like It 4.
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee, He held such petty bondage in disdain; Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. Jade - A worthless horse. Venus continues her moralising, showing how right it was for the horse to follow the mare, just as Adonis ought to be fired up with passion for her.
Servilely mastered - Held in subjection, like a slave. The sentence spans four lines. His other agents - His other bodily parts and functions. His body now wants to enjoy her, after his eyes have been sated. To take advantage on - to make use of; to seize the opportunity.
Unless it be a boar - I. My love to love etc. Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? If springing things be any jot diminish'd, They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth: The colt that's backed and burdened being young Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong. Who - These are rhetorical questions intended to highlight how unsuitable her demands are. Who plucks the bud - Adonis implies that it is foolish to pluck a flower while still in bud and without any leaves showing on the plant. Things just starting to grow. Remove your siege from my unyielding heart; To love's alarms it will not ope the gate: Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery; For where a heart is hard they make no battery.
Remove your siege - Adonis starts to use military metaphors. In traditional love poetry the lover besieges the beloved until the citadel her heart falls. The vows, tears, flattery are like infantry. O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing! Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong; I had my load before, now pressed with bearing: O, would thou hadst not - She would rather he had no tongue than say the things he has just said.
Thy mermaid's voice - mermaids were thought to sing sailors to their ruin. Before he spoke, she could entertain hope. Now that he speaks, not only are the things he says unwelcome, but it is doubly unpleasant because such wondrous music as his voice is should only utter harmonious and welcome sounds. Thus your voice sorely wounds the depths of my heart, or it wounds the deep sore in my heart, or it deeply wounds the sore that is already in my heart.
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, Yet should I be in love by touching thee. Had I no eyes - Venus goes through the senses in descending order as it were, the most precious and refined one being sight. She deprives herself of each in turn. Each part in me etc. Yet should I be in love etc. Probably a term used in alchemy. Perhaps with a pun on exhaling. That breedeth love by smelling - the breath that you breath out, when it is smelt, causes love to be created in the one who smells it. Would they not wish the feast might ever last, And bid Suspicion double-lock the door, Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?
Or it may be that in the absence of the other four senses taste becomes the nurse and feeder of existence. Jealousy - Also personified. Once more the ruby-coloured portal opened, Which to his speech did honey passage yield; Like a red morn, that ever yet betokened Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
The opening of his lips allowed a passageway for his voice. Like a red morn - His mouth is like a red sunrise, which is a harbinger of bad weather. This ill presage advisedly she marketh: Even as the wind etc. In a general sense they show how one thing occurs before another, just as the meaning of his words strikes her before he even utters them. Whether the wolf actually does this before he barks I do not know.
Wolves were extinct in Shakespeare's England, so this observation must have been an item of folklore. And at his look she flatly falleth down, For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth; A smile recures the wounding of a frown; But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth! The silly boy, believing she is dead, Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;. It could mean suddenly; entirely; on her back; on her front. Traditionally the lover dies if he does not receive a kind look from his beloved.
Rosalind mocks the idea in As You Like It. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. There was probably a common belief, then as now, that becoming bankrupt could work to the banrupt person's advantage. In this and the next stanza but one he is rather comically administering first aid.
Part of the effect of this, as well as being descriptive of Venus's plight, is to show what foolish passes love can bring one to. Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her! For on the grass she lies as she were slain, Till his breath breatheth life in her again. Fair fall the wit - Good fortune attend such inventiveness. He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks To mend the hurt that his unkindness marred: He kisses her; and she, by her good will, Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.
Strictly speaking marred is superfluous, because the hurt has been done, and to mar a hurt is meaningless. However the construction is suggestive of extra damage done to Venus by Adonis' harsh treatment of her. The night of sorrow now is turned to day: Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth; And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, So is her face illumined with her eye;.
The night of sorrow - Compare: Sorrow is compared to night, joy to day. The former are the windows of the soul. She is still feeling faint. The word suggests great effort. The singular noun is presumably for the sake of rhyme. Whose beams upon his hairless face are fixed, As if from thence they borrowed all their shine. Whose beams - I. Eyes were thought to emanate a beam which allowed them to see things. Modern science now knows that this idea is false. There may also be a pun on heirless. What hour is this? Do I delight to die, or life desire? But now I lived, and life was death's annoy; But now I died, and death was lively joy.
But now I lived - Just a moment ago I was alive. She refers to the experience of being kissed by Adonis But now I died - I have just died seeing the angry look on his brow. Thou didst kill me - See above: The implication is perhaps that her eyes, in revealing Adonis' beauty to her, are true servants in directing that she should love him. O, never let their crimson liveries wear! And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year!
That the star-gazers, having writ on death, May say, the plague is banished by thy breath. Long may they kiss etc. Perhaps if his lips continue to kiss each other, he will not be able to utter harsh words, and by his silence she will thereby be offered a cure for his former harshness.
Venus now begins to attach a universal significance to his red lips. It is probably his breath which Venus sees as driving away the infection, rather than the verdure of his lips. Sonnet 14 gives an idea of what asrologers or astronomers as they were also called might predict. Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck; And yet methinks I have Astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well By oft predict that I in heaven find Sonn.
To sell myself I can be well contented, So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing; Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. This brings her to th imagery of a legal document being stamped with a seal which follows in the rest of the stanza. The word also meant counterfeit coins. Set thy seal-manual - Manually impress the seal. What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Venus and Adonis
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone? A thousand kisses - She pretends to bargain with him. O, what a war of looks was then between them! Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing; His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them; Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing: And all this dumb play had his acts made plain With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. There was a war of looks between the two of them. She looked into his eyes, pleading, begging. He looked into hers like he couldn't see them.
Her eyes flirted with him; his eyes rejected her flirting. Their silent looks gave way to an abundance of tears, which rained down from her eyes to explain her sadness.
Full gently now she takes him by the hand, A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, Or ivory in an alabaster band; So white a friend engirts so white a foe: This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing. She took him gently by the hand, encasing his white hand in her white one. It was like a lily covered in snow, or ivory wrapped in alabaster; that's how white their two hands were. This beautiful battle between her and him—the willing and the unwilling—was like two silver doves pecking at each other.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began: She started to speak again, saying, "you're the most handsome man that ever walked the earth! If you were a woman and I were a man, and you were the lovesick one instead of me, I'd help you out with an encouraging look, knowing nothing except that my body would cure you! O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it: Then love's deep groans I never shall regard, Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.
Oh, give it back to me, or your heart will harden mine! And once it's hardened, I'll never be able to fall in love again, not even for the sweetest lover, because Adonis' heart will have made mine hard. I pray you hence, and leave me here alone; For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, Is how to get my palfrey from the mare. I'm tired of this, my horse is gone, and it's your fault that I lost him.
Get out of here. Please leave me alone. All I can think about or care about right now is getting my horse back from that mare. Affection is a coal that must be cool'd; Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire: The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. She replied, "your horse is giving into the heat of love as he should. You have to give desire what it wants; otherwise, if you let it burn, it'll set your heart on fire.
The sea has limits, but deep desire knows no bounds. Don't be surprised your horse is gone. But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee, He held such petty bondage in disdain; Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. But when he saw the female horse, he fell in love with her. He didn't care about being tied up then. He threw off his burdens, freeing his head, mouth, back, and chest. Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold To touch the fire, the weather being cold? Don't other parts of your body want to be satisfied? Who's afraid to go after what they want when they want it?
You should learn from him. Putting what I've said aside, you can still learn from his actions. The lesson is simple and, once you learn it, you never forget it. All I care about is hunting boars. It sounds like a lot of work that I'm not willing to put in. All I can say about love is that I love to reject it. I've heard it doesn't last very long anyway, and that it makes you have mood swings so that you're laughing one minute and crying the next. Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd, They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth: The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong. Who picks a flower before a single leaf has sprouted? If you ruin something while it's still growing, you never get to see what it could have become. If you break a horse in and teach it to obey commands when it's young, it loses its spirit and never gets big and strong.
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart; To love's alarms it will not ope the gate: Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery; For where a heart is hard they make no battery. Forget all this useless chat. Stop trying to get me to fall in love with you; I'm not interested. Quit your promises, your fake tears, and your flattery. I'm not going to give in to you.
O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing! Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong; I had my load before, now press'd with bearing: Melodious discord, heavenly tune harshsounding, Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding. What are you saying? I wish you couldn't speak at all! I wish I were deaf! You've hurt me two times over: Your looks are like a sweet melody, but your words are harsh and dissonant.
Venus and Adonis | Folger Shakespeare Library
Seeing and hearing you at the same time is music to the ear, but a deep wound to the heart. Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, Yet should I be in love by touching thee. Or if I had no ears, then I'd fall head over heels in love with your external attractiveness. And if I didn't have eyes or ears and couldn't see or hear, I'd still fall in love with you through touch alone.
You see, the pores of your face produce a sweet smell that would make anyone fall in love with you just by smelling. Would they not wish the feast might ever last, And bid Suspicion double-lock the door, Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast? The taste of you alone would make up for all my other lost senses.
I'd never want the feast to end. I wouldn't mind giving up my other senses, in fact, because sight, hearing, touch, and smell might be jealous! If I had all my senses, it'd disturb the feast of taste! Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd, Which to his speech did honey passage yield; Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
He opened the red, gaping door of his mouth again as if to say something sweet. His mouth was like the red morning sun that tells sailors that storms are coming; farmers that the crops will be ruined; shepherds that they'll lose their flocks; birds that they'll have trouble flying; and cowboys and cows that they'll have strong winds to deal with. This ill presage advisedly she marketh: Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth, Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, His meaning struck her ere his words begun.
She took note of this bad omen. Like the way the wind blows before it rains; or the way a wolf grins before it barks; or the way a berry breaks before its juice leaks out; or the way a gun goes off before its deadly bullet strikes, she knew exactly what he was about to say even before he started. And at his look she flatly falleth down, For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth; A smile recures the wounding of a frown; But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth! The silly boy, believing she is dead, Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;. When she saw his face, she fell down flat.
Looks can kill when you're in love; and loving looks are the only thing that can set you right again. A smile cancels out all the harm that a frown does. But even when you have nothing to go on, you're blessed to be so in love! Thinking she was dead, the silly boy slapped her pale cheek until he made it red again. And all amazed brake off his late intent, For sharply he did think to reprehend her, Which cunning love did wittily prevent: Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain, Till his breath breatheth life in her again. He stopped what he'd been saying. He had intended to reject her once and for all, but her clever trick prevented him from doing so. She was pretty smart to think of that! She lay there in the grass as if she were dead until his breath brought her to life again. He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd: He kisses her; and she, by her good will, Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.
He pinched her nose, slapped her cheeks, bent her fingers, felt her pulse, brushed her lips—he tried a thousand different things to undo how he'd hurt her. Then he kissed her. As far a she was concerned, she would never get up as long as he would keep on kissing her. The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day: Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth; And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, So is her face illumined with her eye;.
All her sadness went away; she was happy now. She opened her two blue eyes, shining at him like the sun when it rises in the early morning, waking the earth. Her face brightened when her eyes opened, just like when the sun illuminates the sky. Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd, As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd, Had not his clouded with his brow's repine; But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light, Shone like the moon in water seen by night. Her eyes were fixed on his hairless face as if they got all their energy from him. Four such exceptional eyes have never been in the same place at the same time before or since. His eyes were overshadowed by his frowning eyebrows, but her eyes shone through her tears like the moon reflected in water at night.
What hour is this? Do I delight to die, or life desire? But now I lived, and life was death's annoy; But now I died, and death was lively joy. What time is it? Is it morning, or evening? Do I want to die, or live? Just a few seconds ago, I was alive and couldn't dream of dying, but then I died and I really enjoyed it. Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine; And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.
You're hard-hearted; you've been giving me rude, hateful, condescending looks. You've broken my poor heart. As for me—I can usually control myself. If I hadn't seen your luscious lips I wouldn't be in this mess. O, never let their crimson liveries wear! And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year! That the star-gazers, having writ on death, May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.
Never stop kissing me with your luscious red lips! As long as your fresh, young lips are around, the world will be free from disease all year round! Astronomers who foretold an epidemic will have to change their statements, saying the disease has been cured by your breath. To sell myself I can be well contented, So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing; Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. What deal do I have to make with you? I'd be happy to sell my soul—as long as you'd buy it and treat it nicely.
If you buy my soul, you'll have to mark me as yours by setting the seal of your lips on mine. What is ten hundred touches unto thee? Are they not quickly told and quickly gone? Say, for non-payment that the debt should double, Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble? You can pay at your leisure, one by one. What would a thousand kisses cost you? They're over and done with quickly. And, if you didn't pay me and your debt doubled, would two thousand kisses really be so much trouble?
Before I know myself, seek not to know me; No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears: The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste. Don't try to have sex with me before I'm a man. Fishermen don't reel in minnows. Unripe, green plums are sour-tasting when they're picked too early. You can tell it's nighttime because the owl is hooting, 'it's very late! The sky is growing dark. It's time to go our separate ways and say good night.
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face. If you say it, I'll give you a kiss. Before he said "goodbye," he kissed her sweetly. She threw her arms around his neck. They seemed to become one person, their faces pressed together.
Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth: He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. Breathless, he pulled back and drew his sweet, moist, pink mouth away—robbing her thirsty lips of their precious taste.
Even when she was kissing him, she complained she wasn't getting enough. When he gave her what she wanted, she pulled him to the ground, wanting more. Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry: Now she had her desired prey within her clutches.
She kissed him again and again, like a hungry person who's never full. Her lips were conquerors; his lips obeyed, giving her whatever she demanded. She set the price in kisses so high that she was bound to rob his lips of all they could give. And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, With blindfold fury she begins to forage; Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, Planting oblivion, beating reason back, Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.
Having glimpsed the treasure he had to offer, she furiously began to look for more. Her face grew hot, her blood boiled, and her strong desire made her bold. She pushed her better judgment aside, forgetting his innocence and the importance of preserving reputation. Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling, Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing, Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling, He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.
He was hot, weak, and tired from her aggressive fondling. He was like a wild bird tamed by a keeper; or a speedy deer that gets tired of being chased; or a whining baby that quiets down after being rocked. Now he obeyed her. He didn't resist anymore. She took everything she could, but not everything she wanted. What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering, And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing, Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward. Even frozen wax becomes soft when you melt it, and retains the shape of every object you press into it. We often try to achieve things that are impossible to get, especially in love. When we're in love, we aren't afraid to go the extra mile. We work the hardest for love when our lover plays hard to get.
When he did frown, O, had she then gave over, Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd: Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last. Even when he frowned, she kept going—she'd already tasted the sweetness of his lips and couldn't stop. Angry words and frowns can't stop a lover. We still pick roses even though they have thorns; in the same way, a lover pushes through all the obstacles that keep him from enjoying his beautiful lover. For pity now she can no more detain him; The poor fool prays her that he may depart: She is resolved no longer to restrain him; Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, He carries thence incaged in his breast.
She felt bad for him and didn't want to keep him any longer. The poor boy begged her to let him leave, and she decided not to hold him down anymore. She said goodbye, and asked him to be careful with her heart, which she swore he carried with him wherever he went. Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow? My darling, tell me: Will you meet me? She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck, He on her belly falls, she on her back. She trembled at his words and threw her arms around his neck. She sank down, still hanging onto his neck.
She fell on her back, and he fell on her stomach. 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; That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. She finally had him where she wanted, mounted on top of her and ready to get hot and heavy.
But she could only play it out in her mind: She was being tortured —what she wanted was right there, but she couldn't get it. Even as 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.
The warm effects which she in him finds missing She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. She was overcome with how much she wanted him, like a poor bird that thinks fake grapes are real and, seeing what looks like food, starves to death. She tried to get him aroused by kissing him over and over. But all in vain; good queen, it will not be: She hath assay'd as much as may be proved; Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee; She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved. But it was all in vain; for the poor goddess it was not meant to be.
She had tried as much as she could. She should have had better luck with him. She was the goddess of love, she was in love with him, and yet he didn't love her back. There's no reason for you to hold me like this. You don't know how awful and dangerous it is to stab a boar with a spear. Even after you stab him, he'll keep swinging his tusks, like an angry butcher on a mission to kill. His eyes shine like fireflies when he's angry. He digs deep holes with his snout wherever he goes. When he's riled up, he'll knock down anything in his way. He kills anything he touches with his tusks. The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.
It's difficult to cut his short, thick neck. When he's angry, he'll even fight a lion. Even the thorns, brambles, and thick bushes are afraid of him as he runs and crashes through them. He doesn't care about your soft hands, sweet lips, and sparkling eyes. He doesn't care that you're the most perfect boy in the entire world. Once he sets his sight on you, watch out! He'll destroy your beautiful body as easily as he tramples over the dirt. 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 fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. A beautiful boy like you shouldn't have anything to do with such disgusting creatures. Don't put yourself in danger on purpose; you'd do well to take my advice. No joke—when I heard you say 'boar,' I was afraid for you, and I started shaking. Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? Grew I not faint? 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. Didn't you see the fear in my eyes?
- 6 Reasons Why 'Venus And Adonis' By William Shakespeare Is One Of The Sexiest Poems Ever.
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- The Time Keeper.
Didn't I fall down? My heart is pounding in my chest—you can feel it. It's shaking you like an earthquake as you lay there on top of it. Jealousy makes us quick to panic, even when it's a false alarm. Even in low-stakes situations, our jealous hearts can make us go immediately to thinking, 'kill, kill! Jealousy gossips and causes conflict, sometimes bringing true news and sometimes fake news. Jealousy is what's making my heart pound. It's whispering in my ear telling me that, if I love you, I should be afraid of your death.
I can imagine that, underneath his sharp fangs, you're lying on your back, stained with blood. Your blood is falling onto the fresh flowers underneath, making them droop and hang their heads with grief. 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 to-morrow.
My own imagination is making me tremble. The thought of it is making my heart weak. Fear is making me see the future. If you hunt the boar tomorrow, I prophesy that you will die and that I will live, grieving for you. Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hounds. Pursue any of these easily-hunted animals, and stay put on your sturdy horse while your dogs do the work. The many musets through the which he goes Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear: Then he'll burrow down underground where the moles are, so that the dogs can't follow him. Then he'll hide with a herd of deer. Necessity is the mother of invention; danger forces us to be clever. Echo replies, As if another chase were in the skies. They stop barking until they can find the trail again—then they sound the alarm. Their barks echo, as if a second hunt were going on up in the sky.
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell. He stands up on his hind legs, straining his ears and trying to figure out if his enemies are still pursuing him. When he hears their loud alarms, he's as depressed as a sick man who hears the ringing of the death knell.
For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never relieved by any. The briars scratch his tired legs. He's afraid of every shadow and every sound. For you see, the miserable are victimized by many others, and the lowest of the low never receive help from anyone. 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.
No, don't fight me! Then I'll never let you up. It's unlike me to lecture like this, but I'm trying to convince you not to go hunting for boars. I'm putting this speech together because I'm in love with you and have a vested interest. The night is spent. End your story there.
The night is over. I need to go, even if I am going to die the way you say. 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. The promise of riches will make even an honest man a thief. In the same way, your lips would make a modest virgin fall in love with you to the point where she'd die just to get a single kiss from you.
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, Till forging Nature be condemn'd 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. The moon is covering her silvery face because she's embarrassed that you're more beautiful than she is. Mother Nature should be condemned for treason for making you so beautiful as to put the moon and the sun to shame.
That way, beauty eventually succumbs to ugliness, and pure perfection is always mixed with deformity. For that reason, the most beautiful people are subject to oppression, bad luck, and misery. Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair, Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair. These are the curses that counteract the fact that Mother Nature made you beautiful. Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder, Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done, As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.
Good looks, forms, colors, and qualities that might have impressed you one minute are gone the next. They're erased, vanishing as fast as mountain snow that melts in the midday sun. They're depriving the earth of daughters and sons that might have been born—they're wasting their fertility.
When a lamp burns at night, it uses up its oil to provide light. If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. Why would you prevent your children from being born? If you did, the world would hate you. You would have withheld a blessing from the world on account of your pride. Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, But gold that's put to use more gold begets.
Rust eats away at precious metals, but gold that's invested produces more gold after a while. The kiss I gave you is bestow'd 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. It was pointless for me to kiss you, and it's pointless for you to fight this uphill battle.
The way you're going on in the dark of night and trying to convince me to have sex with you is making me like you less and less. You have to understand that I'm not interested—nothing you can say is going to change my heart. No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan, But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. Otherwise, my little heart would have no peace; he wouldn't be able to sleep in his own bed, that is, my chest.
No ma'am, my heart's not interested in love. It prefers to sleep—and sleep alone. 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!
The road to hell is paved with good intentions. I don't hate love, I just hate the way you're going about it. I hate the way you're willing to sleep with any random stranger. You say you're doing it for posterity, but that's a strange excuse to justify your own lust! It's easy to call it 'love' when you just want to taste my fresh beauty and soil my reputation. You're happy to have sex and then leave me behind, like a leaf that's been munched by caterpillars.
But lust is the opposite—it's like a storm after the sun. Love is fresh and gentle like the spring; lust gets old quickly, like an early winter. You can never have too much love; lust is always excessive. Love is pure truth; lust is built on lies. 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. It's an old story and I'm too young to tell it. As you can tell by my face, I'm sad and ashamed, and my heart hurts.
My ears are burning from all the offensive things you've said to me today. 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 distress'd. Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky, So glides he in the night from Venus' eye. With that, he broke free of her arms, which had held him pinned to her chest. He ran homeward through the darkness, leaving Venus lying there, deeply distressed. He glided away from Venus in the night like a shooting star, streaking across the sky.
Which after him she darts, as one on shore Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend: So did the merciless and pitchy night Fold in the object that did feed her sight. She watched him go the way someone standing onshore watches a friend depart on a ship— keeping sight of him until the waves swallow him up, and the ship disappears on the horizon. So, too, did the merciless darkness of the night make it hard for her to see Adonis.
Whereat amazed, as one that unaware Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood, Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are, Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood, Even so confounded in the dark she lay, Having lost the fair discovery of her way. She was stunned, like someone who accidentally dropped a precious jewel in the water; or like a sleepwalker suddenly woken up in the woods, their candle blown out in the darkness.
She was lying there, confused, and didn't know which way to go. And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled, Make verbal repetition of her moans; Passion on passion deeply is redoubled: She pounded on her chest and groaned— the sound echoing for miles around as if the whole world were as upset as she was. Her passion was doubled as the echo repeated it. She said, "the tragedy, the tragedy" twenty times, and then twenty echoes followed. She marking them begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty; How love makes young men thrall and old men dote; How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty: Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so.
Noticing the echoes, she wailed and then started to sing an improvised, sad tune. She sang about how love holds young men captive and makes old men silly; she sang about how love is blind and foolish. She concluded her heavy song sadly, the choir of echoes continuing on. Her song was tedious and outwore the night, For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short: If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight In such-like circumstance, with suchlike sport: Their copious stories oftentimes begun End without audience and are never done.
Her song was long; it went on all night. Lovers lose track of time and don't realize how quickly the hours go by. Lovers assume that other people will be delighted by their own happiness, so they tend to tell long, boring stories that are never done—and no one listens. For who hath she to spend the night withal But idle sounds resembling parasites, Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call, Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
She says ''Tis so: The annoying sound of the echoes was her only company that night, shouting back to her like a bartender shouting down a rowdy group of customers. Whether she said, "that's the way it is," or "no, it isn't," the echoes would repeat it. Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet 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 burnish'd gold. A little bird who was tired of sleeping scurried out of his nest, which was damp with dew, and chirped to announce that morning had come.
The sun rose in its majesty, making the whole world—the treetops, the hills—look as if they were made of gold. Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: Venus saluted the sun-god and said good morning, continuing, "you bright god, you're the god of all light. Every candle and shining star has you to thank for the beautiful light that makes them bright. And yet, there's a man on earth who's brighter than you, if you can believe it!
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, Musing the morning is so much o'erworn, And yet she hears no tidings of her love: She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn: Anon she hears them chant it lustily, And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. Having said that, she ran over to a group of myrtle trees, thinking how late in the morning it was getting. And yet, she couldn't hear Adonis coming. She listened to see if she could hear his dogs or his hunting horn. Suddenly, she heard the loud trumpet and went as quickly as she could toward the sound.
And as she runs, the bushes in the way Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, Some twine about her thigh to make her stay: She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. As she ran, the bushes on the way grazed her neck, slashed at her face, and wrapped around her legs to try and stop her.
She wildly broke free of them, like a deer whose teats are full of milk, running away to feed her fawn, hidden in the grass. By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay; Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way, The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds Appals her senses and her spirit confounds. And then she heard the dogs coming closer. She was startled, like someone who spots a snake curled up in the grass and shakes and shudders in fear.
The dogs' barking frightened her, overcoming her senses and rendering her motionless. For now she knows it is no gentle chase, 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 curst, They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first. She then realized Adonis wasn't hunting something small; it was a strong boar, a rough bear, or a proud lion. She could tell because the shouts were coming from one place, as were the dogs' scared barks. Knowing they had cornered their enemy, all of them fought to see who could kill him first.
This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, Through which it enters to surprise 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 fly and dare not stay the field. The dogs' ominous barks rang in her ears and troubled her heart. Overcome by doubt and fear, each part of Venus' body started to go weak and numb; she couldn't feel anything. Her body parts were like cowardly soldiers that run away from the battlefield as soon as their captain surrenders.
Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy; Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd, She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy, And childish error, that they are afraid; Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more: She stood there trembling and out of her mind. But then she told herself she was being childish; that it was just her imagination; and that her senses were mistaken on account of her being afraid. She told her body to stop shaking and to not be afraid. And just then she spotted the hunted boar Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, Like milk and blood being mingled both together, A second fear through all her sinews spread, Which madly hurries her she knows not whither: This way runs, and now she will no further, But back retires to rate the boar for murther.
A second, terrified thought coursed through her entire body. She ran crazily; she didn't know where. She ran one way and then, when she couldn't go any further, went back again to charge the boar with murder. A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways; She treads the path that she untreads again; Her more than haste is mated with delays, Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting; In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.
She wanted to go every direction at once. She went down one path and then back again; she hurried, and then she lagged. She moved like a drunk person's brain, which thinks a hundred different thoughts but doesn't think through any one of them entirely; or that talks about acting but never makes a move. Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound, And asks the weary caitiff for his master, And there another licking of his wound, 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; And here she meets another sadly scowling, To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. She found a dog hiding in the bushes and asked the poor thing where his master was.
He licked his wound, the only way a dog knows how to heal a poisoned cut. Then she saw another dog scowling sadly. She spoke to him and he replied by howling. When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise, Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, Against the welkin volleys out his voice; Another and another answer him, Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.
When he had stopped making that horrible racket, a black, serious dog with a flappy mouth howled up to the sky. Another dog, and then another, answered him. They beat their tails on the ground and shook their scratched ears, bleeding the whole time. Look, how the world's poor people are amazed At apparitions, signs and prodigies, Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; So she at these sad signs draws up her breath And sighing it again, exclaims on Death. Poor people all over the world are impressed by omens, signs, and superstitions.
They love to talk about them and believe they're significant, as if they can tell the future. In the same way, Venus looked at all these sad signs and breathed in deeply. Breathing out again, she shouted out, cursing Death. She said to Death, "you misshapen, ugly, tiny, thin, hateful opposite of love. You skeletal ghost, you earthworm, what are doing? Why would you put an end to his beauty? Why would you stop him from breathing? When he was alive, his breath and his beauty could make a rose look prettier and a violet smell better.
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart. You couldn't have killed him, once you knew how beautiful he was! And yet, it can be, can't it? You have no eyes to see; you hatefully hit people at random. You aim for sick, old people, but sometimes you miss and kill a baby instead. The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke; They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower: Love's golden arrow at him should have fled, And not Death's ebon dart, to strike dead.
The Fates will curse you for killing him. They told you to kill an old person, but you killed a young one. He should be falling in love at his age, not falling down dead! What may a heavy 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 vigour, Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour. Is that why you're making me cry so much?
What do you want with a heavy groan? Why would you close his eyes forever, considering his eyes taught all other eyes how to see? There's nothing left for Mother Nature to be proud of in this world, now that you've shot down her best work. Here overcome, as one full of despair, She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt; But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, And with his strong course opens them again.
She was overwhelmed by despair at this point. She closed her eyes; her eyelids worked like a dam, stopping the tide of her tears from reaching her two, fair cheeks, and from dripping onto her breasts.
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But then the tears broke through the flood-gates, and she was forced to open them again. O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow! Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye; 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.
Her eyes and her tears were indistinguishable! Her eyes were filled with tears and tears were in her eyes. Her eyes and her tears were both like mirrors reflecting their sadness back at each other—a sadness that no amount of sighs could exhaust. It was like a stormy day: First tears made her cheeks wet, then sighs dried them again. Variable passions throng her constant woe, As striving who should best become her grief; All entertain'd, each passion labours so, That every present sorrow seemeth chief, But none is best: She felt many different kinds of grief at that moment, as if she weren't sure what to feel or how to express it.
Each kind of sadness felt the most pressing when she felt it, but no single one fully dominated. All her sadnesses joined together, then, like dark clouds overhead that make for bad weather. By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo; A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well: The dire imagination 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. Then she heard a hunter shouting from far away. She had never been so happy to hear something in her life.
The sound made her hopeful again, expelling her darkest imaginings. She was overjoyed now, thinking she'd heard Adonis' voice. Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass; Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass, To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. Her tears stopped falling. They were trapped in her eyes like pearls suspended in glass.
One tear trailed down her left cheek, where it disappeared on her flushed, red skin—as if her skin couldn't bear to allow the tears to the pass all the way down her face to make it wet all over. O hard-believing love, how strange it seems Not to believe, and yet too credulous! Thy weal 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.
Poor Venus, she couldn't believe he was dead, and yet she completely believed it! Her greatest hope and her greatest fear were two extremes. Her quick jumps from despair to hope made her ridiculous— the one thought made her happy though it was unlikely he was alive , and the other, more probable thought nearly killed her. Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought; Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame; It was not she that call'd him, all-to naught: Now she adds honours to his hateful name; She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings, Imperious supreme of all mortal things.
She convinced herself that she was wrong— that Adonis was alive and that Death was not to blame. She had no reason to call on Death; it was pointless. Then she praised Death's hateful name, calling him the king of graves and the grave for kings, the god who ruled over all mortal things.