Page 2287 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Coz’ning the pillow of a lawful kiss;
Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his bliss:

Between whose hills her head entombed is, [390]
Where like a virtuous monument she lies,
To be admir’d of lewd unhallowed eyes.

Without the bed her other fair hand was,

On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
Show’d like an April daisy on the grass, [395]
With pearly sweat resembling dew of night.
Her eyes like marigolds had sheath’d their light,
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,

Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair like golden threads play’d with hear breath: [400]
O modest wantons, wanton modesty!
Showing life’s triumph in the map of death,
And death’s dim look in life’s mortality.

Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,
As if between them twain there were no strife, [405]
But that life liv’d in death and death in life.

Her breasts like ivory globes circled with blue,

A pair of maiden worlds unconquered;
Save of their lord, no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured. [410]
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred;

Who like a foul usurper went about,
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.

What could he see but mightily he noted?
What did he note but strongly he desired? [415]
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,

And in his will his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired