Page 2237 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Love keeps his revels where there are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight.
These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean [125]
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

«The tender spring upon thy tempting lip

Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted.
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted. [130]

Fair flower that are not gather’d in their prime
Rot, and consume themselves in little time.

«Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old,
Ill-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O’erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold, [135]

Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,
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,
Mine eyes are grey and bright and quick in turning. [140]

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.

«Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, [145]

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.
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,

Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. [150]

«Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie:
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.