Page 2251 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

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, [575]
Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart.

She is resolv’d no longer to restrain him,
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, [580]
The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest
He carries thence encaged in his breast.

«Sweet boy», she says, «this night I’ll waste in sorrow,

For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow? [585]
Say, shall we, shall we? wilt thou make the match?»
He tells her no, tomorrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

«The boar», quoth she: whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, [590]
Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws.

She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck;
He on her belly falls, she on her back.

Now is she in the very lists of love, [595]
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 Elizium and to lack her joy. [600]

Even so poor birds deceiv’d with painted grapes
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw: