Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Variations of Shakespeare
Venus and Adonis
Even as the sun with crimson face took leave of the weeping morn, rose'cheeked Adonis beat it to the chase. Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn. Nevertheless, the love'sick light of Venus shined strong upon him, and like a bold faced suitor, she began to woo him
"So fairer than myself, she began, is he. Only with a flower from heaven would I compare his beauty, for his surpasses the fairest maid, the finest man. More white than a dove, more red than a rose! He was made as though he was the last. Nothing could possibly surpass
"Mount your stead!..and reign its proud head!..but if you accept my offer instead, a thousand sweet secrets you'll know. Come and sit here with me where the serpent does not hiss, and you will receive a sweet kiss
"Do not insult your lips by a common maid's gaiety!! Rather..famish them, their plenty. And having become red and hungered for variety, ten kisses will be short as one..one, long as twenty. This summer day will seem but an hour short, being passed in such a time'ending sport
With this, she seized his sweating palm. Her trembling sought some return, some affection for the object of her passion, some carnal salve to do a goddess good. Being so aroused, and with desire adding force to force, she deftly plucked him from his horse
Over one arm did the lusty suitor rein, under her other was the tender boy, who blushed and pouted in dull disdain, with appetite off and desire to play, the same. She was red and hot as coals of a glowing fire. He red, but for shame and frosty desire
The studded bridle on a rugged bough she nimbly fastens. O, how quick is love! The steed is stalled, and even now to sting the rider she begins to prove. Backward she pushed him with a heavy thrust, governing him more with strength than with lust
As soon as her thrust was fully extended, he was down. And no sooner does each recline does she begin to stroke his cheek, does he frown and begin to chide. But she stops his lips, and as kissing speaks with lusted language broken, "If you chide, your heart shall never open"
He burns with bashful shame. Her tears quenches his brooding. And with her windy sighs and chestnut hair fanning his flaming mood, he retorts, "Madam, you are immodest and shameless!" What follows more, she murders with a kiss
Like an eagle preying, sharpened by a fast, tears down her beak, on feathers, flesh, and bone, shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, till gorged and stuffed and prey be gone...so, she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin, and where she ends, a'new she begins
Forced to endure, but never obey, panting he lays breathing in her face. She feeds on the steam as on a prey, calls it heavenly dew full of grace..wishing her cheeks were flower gardens made full by their rising heat
Like a floundering bird laying tangled in a net, so fastened in her arms Adonis struggles in a fit. Pure shame and fear made him fret, which bred more beauty in his angry eyes...rain added to a river already full, surely perforce will force it to overflow
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, for to a darling ear she tunes her wit. Still, is he sullen..still he twists and frets, between crimson shame and anger ashy'pale. Being red, she loves him best. Being white, her best is bettered with more delight
Contorted with anger as he was, she cannot choose but love. By her fair immortal hand she swears from his soft bosom, never to remove till he sees the wisdom of her contending tears, which long have rained...her cheeks all wet, only one sweet kiss would pay his heavy debt
With this promise did he raise his chin, like a King'fisher peering through a wave..who, being looked upon, boldly offers to give what she crave, to quickly bring this sorted thing to an end. But when her lips parted for his pay, he winced and turned his another way
Never did a pilgrim in summer's heat thirst more for drink than she for this good turn. Help she needs, but cannot get. She bathes in lust, her fire must burn. "O, for pity's sake flint'hearted boy! Tis but a kiss I beg...why?!..so coy"
"I've been wooed as I do you now. Even by a stern and mighty god of war, whose sinewy neck in battle never did bow, who conquered in every fight. Yet, he was my captive and my slave, and begged for what you now have
"Over my altars did he hang his lance, his battered shield, and metal hat. And for my sake he learned to sport and dance his best..to toy, to tease, dally, smile and jest. Scorning his marching drum and ensign red..making his field, my arms..his tent, my bed
"Thus he that overruled, I over'swayed, leading him prisoner in a red'rose chain. Strong tempered steel, his stronger strength obeyed. Yet was he servile to my disdain. So be not proud!..nor brag not of your might to a master who foiled a god of fight
"Touch your fair lips to mine. Though mine be not so fair as yours, yet are they red. The kiss shall be your own as well as mine. What do you see there..in the ground!? Raise your pensive head. Look into my eyes. There your beauty lays. Why not?..lips to lips..eyes to eyes
"Are you embarrassed to kiss? Then wink and stay. I will wink and hold so the day will seem as night. Love revels only where there are but two. Be bold and play! Our sport is out of sight. These velvet violets whereupon we lean..can never tell, nor know what we mean
"The tender peach fuzz above your tempting lips shows you unripe, yet may you taste divine! Make use of time. Let no advantage slip. Beauty should not be wasted. Fair flowers ungather'd become beauty untasted
"Were I infamous, foul, or wrinkled old..ill'nurtured, crooked, peevish, harsh in voice, rude..or overworn, unfavored, rheumatic, or cold..or myopic, barren, lean, and lacking juice, then might you pause. This I can see. But having no defects, why?!..do you abhor me
"You cannot see a wrinkle in my brow. My eyes are bright, and brightly turn. My beauty like waxing spring does yearly grow. My flesh is soft and ample..hot does my marrow burn. My supple hand...were it with your hand felt, would in your palm dissolve, or seem to melt
"Permit me to speak. I will enchant your ear like a sweet fairy in the green, a nymph with long disheveled hair, dance on sand yet no footing seen. Love is spirit a'fire..not heavy and sinking, but light!..and inspiring
"Observe these primroses on the bank upon which we lay..these wilting flowers yet supporting me, or two frail doves who effortlessly convey me into the sky from morning to night, even as I list and toy. Is love so light, sweet boy?..and may it be, you think it too heavy?..for you and me
"Is your heart to your face lovingly affected? Can your right hand caress with love your left? Then woo yourself!..and be, by yourself, rejected! Steal your own freedom, and complain of the theft. Narcissus himself, himself forsook, and died to kiss his shadow in the brook
"Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, pastries to taste, beauty to muse..berbs for their enchanting aroma, and flowering trees for fruit and bees. Things growing to themselves become tumors and abuse. Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breeds beauty. You was begot..now to get, is your duty
"From the Earth, why should you feed unless the earth with your increase be fed? By law of nature you are bound to breed, that your seed may live on. And so in spite of death, you may survive, in that your likeness is left alive
By now the lovesick queen began to sweat, for where they lay, shadows were overtaking her opportunity of the day. And Sol, tired in the midday heat, with burning eye did hotly overlook them..wishing Adonis had his horses occupied, so that he, Sol, could be in his place, and by Venus' side
And now Adonis with lazy spirit, and with a heavy, dark, disliking eye..his lowering brows overshadowing his sight, work like misty vapors blotting out the sky..his souring cheeks, his cry, "Enough! No more of love! The sun burns. I must move"
"O'ey me!" said Venus, "Young and so unkind. What lame excuse you make to go! I'll sigh a celestial breath whose gentle wind shall cool the heat of this descending sun. I'll make shade for you with my hair. If it burns too, I'll cool it with a tear
"The sun that shines from heaven shines warm as I lay between that sun and you. Its heat does little harm, but from your eyes bursts forth a fire that burns. And were I not immortal, life would be done, between this heavenly and earthly sun
"Are you stubborn, stony..hard as steel? Nay! More than stone, I say, for stone from rain wears away. Are you a woman's son and cannot feel what it is to love?...how want of love torments? Or had your mother, born so hard of mind, did not endear you, and died unkind
"What am I, that you should have contempt for me? Or what great peril faces you by pursuing me? Would your lips be the worse for but one poor kiss? Speak lovely one!..but speak fair words or be mute. Give me one kiss. I'll return one to you, and one more for interest, if you wish to profit
"Damn! Lifeless picture. Cold and senseless stone! Painted idol, image dull and dead. Statue content, but eye alone. Think like a man! For no woman were you bred! You are no man, though of a man's complexion, for a man will kiss on his own volition"
This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue as swelling passion seems wasted, in vain. Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her pain. Though being a judge in matters of love, she cannot right her cause. And now she weeps when she would rather speak. Now, by her sobs, does her campaign pause
She shakes her head, and then his hand. She gazes upon him, now upon the ground. Her arms infold him, but he will not let her arms bind him. As he struggles to be free, she locks together her lily fingers..evermore firmly
"You little fool," she says, "Since I have you within my ivory fence, I'll be a park..and you be my deer. Feed where you will, on mountain or in dale. Graze upon my lips, and if my valleys seem barren, stray higher upon lush mountains
"Within this park is relief enough, sweet grass in the dale, high delightful plain..round rising hillocks..thickets obscure and dense to shelter you from wind and rain. So be my deer within such an endearing park. No beast shall roust you, though a thousand bark"
At this Adonis smiles, but in serious refrain. In each cheek appears a dimple. To Venus, love made those hollows, so if he were slain, he would be buried simply, facing the sky..foreknowing well, why their love lived, and there, he could not die
Her lovely dales, her round enchanting mountains..all sweet, supple, and warm with ready desire. Being maddened before, how is she now for wit? Struck dead at first, what needs another? Poor queen of love, in her own realm forlorn..to love a cheek that smiles at her in scorn
Now which way will she turn? What will she say? Her words are spent..her woes increasing. Time is gone, her campaign, woebegone..and against her ivory fence does Adonis push. "Pity," she cries, "Some favor, some mercy!" Away he springs, and hastens to his horse
But from the stable of a nearby neighbor did a breeding mare happen by. Lusty, young, and proud, Adonis' stallion she espy. And rushing forth, snorts and neighs a'loud. The strong'necked steed being tied to a tree, breaks his reign, and to her, straight goes he
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, until he breaks his woven girth under..when bearing upon the Earth, with his hard hoofs he wounds, whose womb resounds like heaven's thunder. The iron bit he grips between his teeth, controlling what had previously controlled him
With his ears perked, straight and alert, the braided main upon his arched neck stands on end. His nostrils drink the air, again and again. From a furnace, thick vapors does he send. His eyes, which blaze like fire, show his lust..his hot desire
Sometimes he trots as if he counted the steps, with gentle majesty and modest pride. He rears up, he prances, hops, and leaps, as to say, "My strength is proved, and this I do to captivate the eye of a fair maiden standing by"
What deadens Adonis' angry stir..his calming, "Holla!" or "Stand, I say!" What care is there now for reign or spur..a hand of oates, or stall of soft hay. The stead sees his love, and nothing else he sees..nothing else does his lusty sight allow him to see
Just as a painter exaggerates life, drawing a supernatural steed, as art with nature's workmanship is always at odds..being far beyond life, expresses itself in terms greater than life..so did this steed excel a common one..in shape, courage..pace and bone
Round'hoofed, short'jointed, fetlocks shag and long..broad chest, full eyes, small head, and nostrils wide...high crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong..then mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide...whatever a stallion should have he did not lack..save a proud rider on so proud a back
The proud steed sprints to a distance knoll, where from there he stares. Then he scuffs the ground at a bare stirring of the wind, to challenge the wind to a chase, and to where he runs or flies we know not, nor why..for through his mane and tail, the high wind sings..his mane and tail like feathered wings
He looks upon his love and neighs unto her. She answered him, as if she knew his mind. Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, she displays indifference and seems unkind. She spurns his love and scorns the passion he feels, beating his kind embracements with her heels
Then like a melancholy malcontent, his proud plumage lowers, for his overwhelming passion, a cool shadow was lent. He stamps and bites at the poor flies in his anger, and his love, perceiving how he was enraged, grew ever kinder
His testy master moves to take him when the wild breeder mare, full of fear that her steed may be caught, bolted first..hesitation naught. And with her the stallion left, and left Adonis there..as they, with the same madness, hastened to the wood, leaving everyone far behind everyone, as they should
All swollen with rage, down Adonis sits, cursing his boist'rous and unruly beast, as lovers' season once more proves, that lovesick love by civil pleading may be best..even though lovers say the heart compounds hurt and wrong, when it is bared with the aid of the tongue
An oven that is stopped, or a river stayed, burns more hotly, or swells greater, enraged. So of concealed sorrow it may be said..with a free vent of words is love's sorrow soothed. When the heart's attorney is mute, the client becomes desperate, and questions of love..moot
He sees her coming and she begins to glow like a dying coal revived by the wind, and as his hat hides his angry brow, Adonis looks upon dull Earth, disturbed and miffed, showing no sign that she is close approaching, yet turned aside..she, he holds in his eye
What a sight it was! How she came a'stealing her way towards a wayward boy. Observing her campaign turn dark and blue..how his white, her red, each other destroy! Her cheek was pale, but with chance opportunity and a glint in her eye, it flashed fire as from lightning from the sky
What a war of looks was then between them. Her eyes, petitioners. His suing! His eyes sees her's, but gazes straight through them. Her eyes wooed still, he still disdained, and with all this charade, its acts made plain, a chorus of tears from her eyes did rain
She stood before him as he sat, and with hope against hope down she kneels. With one fair hand she turns up his hat. With the other, his fair cheek she feels. His tender cheek receives her soft hand print, as readily as new fallen snow receives an imprint
Full and gently she takes his hand, a lily imprisoned in a jail of snow, or ivory in an alabaster band. So white a friend surrounds so white a foe. This beauteous combat, willing and unwilling, showed like two doves, but with the female pursuing
Once more the attorney of her heart began: "O'fairest, my handsome young man! Were only you as I am, and I, masculine, where my heart is as yours and yours wounded as mine. With one sweet look, I would assure you, though nothing but my body could cure you"
"Give me my hand!" said he, "Why do you covet it?" "Give me my heart," said she, "and you shall have it. Give my heart back to me lest yours steels it. Yours, being so hardened, soft sighs can never be engraved on it. Then love's plea, I can not regard, because your heart has made mine hard"
"For shame!" he cries. "Let go, and let me go! My day's fun is past, my horse is gone, and it's your fault that I lost him. I pray you leave, and leave me alone. All my mind, my thought, and undivided attention, is for how to retrieve my stallion from the mare"
Venus replies, "Your stallion, as he should, welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire. Passion is a coal that must be cooled. If suffered, it will set the heart on fire. The sea has bounds, but passion none. Do not be surprised that your horse be gone
"How like a jaded chump he stood, tied to a tree..mastered with a leather rein. But when he saw his love, youth's reward and destiny..such petty bondage could not cause refrain, throwing his thong from his ascending crest, setting free his mouth, his back, his breast
"Who sees his true love in her naked bed, sees its sheets impart a whiter hue than white, and after his gluttonous eye so full has fed, his other appetites follow in like delight. And who is so faint?..that dares not to be bold..to touch the fire, with the weather being cold
"Let me excuse your mentor, gentle boy. Learn from him, I heartly encourage. Reap wisdom's reward..even if I were dull and his teachings fills you full. But with it, learn to love! The lessons are plain, and once made perfect..never lost again"
"I know not love," says he, "nor will I ever know it..unless it be a boar. Only then will I chase it. Tis much to borrow, and I will not become so deep in debt. My love to love is love to ignore it..for I have heard it said, it's a living death..a'laughing and weeping, all in the same breath
"Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinished? Who plucks a bud before it blossoms? If anything new sprung be diminished, they wither in their prime, and prove nothing of worth. The young colt bronked and burdened in youth, loses his steam having lost his self esteem
"You hurt my hand with your steely grip. Let us part, and leave this idle theme, this useless chat. Remove your siege from my unyielding heart! Your love charms will not open the gate. Withdraw your unsolicited vows, your feigned tears, and all you flatter. Where the heart is hard, love does not matter"
"What! You can talk!" says she. "You have a tongue! I thought you had none, or I, no hearing. And your strong voice has made me double wrong. My previous burden is now heavy bearing from melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding..ear's deep'sweet music, and heart's deep'sore wounding
"Had I but ears I would love your music. Had I but eyes, each part of your image would move each sense in me still sensible. Though neither eyes nor ears by which to see or hear you, yet would I be in love by touching you
"Say that my sense of feeling left me, and I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, and only to smell were left...yet would my love for you be swelling, because from your volatile youth comes an aphrodisiac by smelling
"But what a banquet would you be to the taste, being nurse and feeder to the other four! And would they not wish the feast to ever last, and bid discretion to double'lock the door, lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, should by his return from the forest?..disturb the fest"
Once more the ruby colored portal opened, which to his speech did honey passage yield. Like a red morn that reckons wreck to a seaman, tempest to the field, sorrow to the reaper, woe to the birds..wailing gusts and hell'raising winds to shepherds and herds
An impending ill'omen wisely she senses. Even as the stillness before the storm, or as the wolf snarls before his bite, or as the berry breaks before it stains..like a deadly bullet of a gun, his meaning struck her before his words begun
At his look she flatly fell, for looks can kill, and love by looks revive. And a smile can heal the wounding of a frown..but blessed bankrupt by which love so thrives! The innocent boy, fearing she's dead, slaps her pale cheek until slapping makes it pink
And we are caught off balance with his turn of intent. Just before did he think to reprehend her, which love did wittily prevent. Prosperity shall be given to the wit that saves her..for on the grass she lies, as she were slain..till mouth to mouth, breath to breath brings her back again
He twists her nose. He slaps her cheeks. He bends her fingers, and probing deep, a pulse he sought. He chafed her lips with his fingertips..a thousand ways he seeks to reverse the hurt his rudeness brought. He kisses her, and she by cunning Will, does not rise, so he will kiss her still
The night of sorrow has returned to day. Her blue windows faintly uplifted, like fair sun in fresh display. He cheers her morning with great relief, as brightening sun glorifies the skies, as her face is brightened by her eyes, whose beams upon his hairless face are fixed, as if from then on, they borrowed his shine. Four beams of light would have mixed, had not his were clouded with brows vexed..and hers, through which crystalline tears gave light, shone like the moon in water seen by night
"Where am I?" says she, "on Earth or in heaven..or drenched in ocean, or scorched by fire? What is the hour? Morn or weary evening? Do I delight in death or life desire? But now I live and cheated death's reaping scythe..yet, I died from thunderous fright and a deep'sorrowed sigh
"You killed me once. Kill me once again! Your eyes, a harsh tutor..that hard heart of yours taught them scorn and such disdain that they murdered this heart of mine. And my eyes, clear windows into a garden unseen, except for your piteous lips no more was seen
"But long they may kiss for a cure! And never let their crimson desires wear. And as they last, their verdure endures..even to drive infections from a dangerous year, that the stargazers with their forecast writ of death, may say a plague is banished by love's panting breath
"Pure lips!..for sweet seals upon my soft lips imprint, what bargain may I make to be impressed again? For myself to be sold, I would be content, and so you buy, and pay, and have good dealing, with the purchase you make, a receipt...set your signet upon my wax'ruby lips
"A thousand kisses buys my heart, and they can be paid at your leisure, one by one. One long may be counted as ten. What is ten hundred lips to lips to you? Are they not easily installed and counted, and quickly gone? Say for nonpayment, the debt will double...is twenty hundred?..so much trouble"
"Fair queen," say he, "for any love you bear for me, measure your unrequited burden with my unripe years. Before I know myself, why would you seek to know me? No fish but the young are returned. Only ripened plums can be sucked, and green sticks fast their form. Being early plucked is sour to the taste
"Look at the world's overlord with weary gate. His day's hot task ends in the west. The owl, night's herald, hoots 'tis very late.' The sheep are folded, birds are nested, and coal'black clouds that shadow heaven's light, summon as to part, and bid good night. Now let me say good night, and so say you. If you so say, you shall have a kiss"
"Good night," says she, and he says, "Adieu"
The honey feel of parting tendered is..her arms lends to his neck a sweet embrace..body to body, face to face
Breathless he disjoined, and backward drew, yet, the heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, whose precious taste her thirsty lips knew, whereon they surfeit, yet complain of drought. He with her plenty compressed, she faint with dearth, their lips glued..renewed, both fall to Earth
How quick desire has caught the yielding prey? Gluttonlike she feeds, yet never fills. Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, paying what ransom the conqueror Wills, whose vulture thought does pitch the price so high that she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry
And having felt the sweetness of spoil, with blind fury she begins to forage. Her face steams and smokes. Her blood boils, and careless lust arouses desperate courage. Panting oblivion, reason beatened back..forgetting shame's pure blush and honor's wrack
Hot, faint, and weary from her hard embracing, like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling, or like a fast'footed roe tired with chasing, or like a silent infant from too much dandling, he now obeys and no more resists, while she ravenously feeds, unable to take all she needs
What ruby wax is so frozen that it would not dissolve with warm lips moisten, and eventually yield to every light impression? Things beyond hope are compassed with rapture..as in love, whose leave often exceeds permission, for passion is not faintly like a pale'faced coward, and woos best when its choice is obsession
When he frowned, how valiant she gave over, to suck the nectar from his lips. Foul words and frowns will not repel a lover. And though the rose has thorns, its blossom beckons with nectar. Were beauty blocked with twenty locks, love would break each and seek its treasure
For pity sake she could no more detain him. He begs to be excused. She no longer restrains him, and bids him farewell, and for him to look well into her heart, which by Cupid's bow she does protest, he carried in his breast
"Sweet boy," she says, "this night I'll waste in sorrow. My sick heart commands. My heart, restless. My eyes, sleepless. Please tell me...shall we meet tomorrow? Shall we? Shall we? He tells her no. Tomorrow he intends, to hunt boar with friends
"The boar!" says she, where like a sudden draw of blood from a blushing rose, she trembles at his excuse, and around his neck her yoking arms she throws. She sinks to the ground clinging, and he onto her belly falling
She is now into the ardent throws of passion...her champion mounted for the hot encounter. Yet, all is imagination, illusion..because though mounted, he will not ride. And worse than a baby boy not suckling when he should, is her lack of joy from his lack of manhood
Even so..poor birds with stage'prop grapes, though hollow the stomach, will satiate the eye. She languishes in her mishap as those hapless birds and the stage'prop they saw, for the warm effects, which she in him finds missing..she seeks to kindle with continuous kissing
But all is in vain. Good queen, it will not be! She has given as much as may be tried. Her offering deserves greater appreciation, it seems. She is love, she loves, and yet is not loved. "Ugh! Stop!" he says, "you crush me. Let me go! You have no reason to hold me so"
"You did leave!" says she, "Sweet boy, because you said you would hunt the boar. Do you know what it is to put a javelin's point to a beastly swine and gore?...whose razor tusks never sheathed, wetted and ever ready, like a deadly butcher..bent to kill
"His arched back is battle'ready with bristly pikes that ever threaten his foes. His eyes like muddy glow worms shine when he is angered. His keen snout can ferret a foe wherever he goes, and once angered, he strikes whatever is in his way. And whom he strikes, his crooked tucks slay
"His brawny sides with hairy bristles armed, are stronger than what your spear's point can enter. His thick neck is difficult to wound, and once angered, a charge to a bull he would venture. Even the thorny brambles and bushes, through whom he rushes, fear as much!..as you should
"Alas! the brutish swine does not esteem your face as I, for which Love's eyes pays tribute..nor your soft hands, sweet lips, and crystalline eyes..whose full protection all the world amazes, but the beast...seeing in you only a repast to later make ready, would bury you as readily as he would dig for honey
"Let him keep his sty! Beauty has nothing to do with such foul fiends. Do not willingly enter into its reach. Take the counsel of a good friend. When you mentioned the boar...truthfully, my bones trembled dread
"Didn't you notice my face? Was it not white? Did you not see the fear in the whites of my eyes? Didn't I look faint and fell downright? My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest..at the thought of you engaging that beast
"Where Love reigns, Jealousy calls itself Love's sentinel. It has been known to give false alarms, incite mutiny, and in a peaceful hour cry, "Kill, kill!"..which in effect, distempers gentle Love's desire, as well as water quenches fire
"This sour informer, this strife'creating spy..this canker that consumes Love's tender bud, this carry'tale, dissentious Jealousy that true and false news it bring, knocks at my heart and speaks into my ear..'if I love you, your death I should fear'
"And more than this was presented to my eye..that of a picture of an angry'chafing boar, whose sharp tusks pointing to his razor back do not lie...an image of you, gored and stained red, whose blood upon fresh flowers caused them to shed, and droop with grief, and wilt the head
"What should I do, seeing you so vividly..that I tremble at the imagination? The thought of it makes my fainting heart bleed, until fear rises to the fear of the great divination. I see your death and my living sorrow, if you encounter the boar tomorrow
"But if you must hunt, follow me! Lose your hounds to a timorous hare, or to a subtle fox, or roe who no encounters dare. Pursue these over hill and down, and on your fresh horse, keep life, limb, and hound
"And when you have in the air, an earnest hare, observe its countenance as it deals with it troubles...how it outruns the wind, and with what care it turns, flanks, or back doubles. The many portals in the wood through which it goes, are like a maize to amaze its foe. Sometimes it runs among a flock of sheep to cause the hounds to mistake its scent, and sometimes a quest of its earth'tunneling cousins dwelling quaint, it rests and listens to the battle cry of its predators grow faint. Or sometimes consorts with a herd of deer since danger engages wit and wit waits for fear. And with this added wit, its scent with others commingles, and the scent'snuffing hounds are again driven to doubt. Ceasing their clamorous cry, each becomes singled with cold scent dead. Then do they yelp and wine at their echo reply, as if another chase is in the sky
By this, poor hare far off upon a hill, stands on his hind legs with a listening ear, to learn if his foes pursue him still. Soon, their loud sirens does he hear, and now his grief may be compared well, to one sorely sick hearing a funeral bell
"Then shall you see the dew'drenched wretch turn, tail turning this way and that. Each malicious briar, his weary legs are scratched. Each shadow makes him stop..each whisper, stay. For misery is trodden on by many, and even when low, never relieved by any
"Lay quietly and hear a bit more. Nay..do not fidget, for you shall not rise...to make you hate the hunting of the boar. Unlike me, you hear me moralize..applying this to that, and so to so, for love can moralize upon every woe
"Where do I leave?" "No matter where," says he, "Leave me, and this story aptly ends. The night is spent." "Why..what of that?" says she. "I am," say he, "expected by my friends. And now tis dark, and going, I shall fall." "But in night," says she, "does desire see best of all
"But if you fall, then imagine this...the Earth, in love with you, your foot trips, and all is but to rob you of a kiss. Rich booty makes true men thieves. So do your lips make a modest maiden gloomy and lovelorn..lest she steals a kiss and willingly dies compromised
"Now..in this dark night I perceive..the moon for shame obscures its silver shine, so that rogue Nature be condemned of treason for stealing the divine light offered you from heaven...wherein the moon framed you, despite high heaven, to shame the sun by day, and the moon by night
"And therefore has the moon bribed destines to thwart the intricate workmanship of Nature, co'mingling beauty with infirmaries, fairness with disfigure, making the unwitted a subject to mad happenstance and mischance misery..as burning fevers make flesh pale and faint, life'poisoning pestilence..and as madness would, the brain'eating pathogen whose disorder breeds by heating the blood and surfeiting abscesses...grief and damned despair! I swear Nature's death for making you so fair
"And not the least of these maladies is from one minute's fight makes beauty umber in favor, savor, and hue..and cause an impartial on'looker to wonder...'Is all suddenly wasted after thawed, and done?..as a great mountain of snow melts from the midday sun
"Therefore, despite fruitless chastity, love'lacking vestals, and self'loving nuns who on Earth would breed a dearth of daughters and sons..and prodigal at that....the lamp that burns by night, burns the lover's oil to lend the world a lover's light
"What is your body but a swallowing grave, seeming to bury that posterity, which by the rights of time your needs must have..lest they become destroyed in dark obscurity. If so, the world will hold you in disdain, because in your pride so fair, a hope for love is slain
"So in yourself, your self art made away, with a mischief worse than civil disobedience, or their's whose desperate hands themselves do slay, or a butcher who enslaves his son..foul cank'ring rusts, hidden treasure rusts..but if it's gold that's put to use, more gold is made to use"
"Nay then! says Adonis, "You fall again into your idle beaten'to'death theme. The kiss I gave you was bestowed in vain, and in vain you forge against the stream, for by this black'faced night, desire's foul curse, your monologue makes my feel for you, worse and worse
"If love lent you twenty'thousand tongues, and every tongue more agile than your own, each bewitching as a mermaid's song, and each to my ear a seductive tune is piped..know that my heart stands armed in my ear, and will not let a false sound enter there
"Lest a deceiving melody should overrun, and enter a quiet chamber in my breast, and my heart became undone, and in my bedchamber, I'm barred from rest...No, lady, no! My heart longs not to groan, but to soundly sleep, and sleep alone
"What you have argued that I cannot refute? The path is smooth that leads to danger. I hate not love, but your deception for love, which inspires embracements for every appealing stranger. You do it for pleasure's increase. Strange excuse, when reason is the bawde to lust's abuse
"Tis not love, for heaven's love flees when love serves the hot tyrant, Lust, disguised as love, under whose simple semblance has fed upon beauty fresh, blotting it with shame, which the hot tyrant stains and spoils like a drought on soil
"Love comforts like sunshine after rain, but Lust's effect is tempest after the sun. Love's gentle spring always fresh remains. With Lust, winter comes before summer is half done. Love lusts not. Lust like a glutton dies. Love is all truth...Lust, full of calculated lies
"More I could tell, but more I dare not say. The story is old, the orator too green. In sadness I am now gone. My face is full of shame, my heart of sorrow, my ears that to your wantonness attended, are burned for having been so offended"
With this Adonis breaks from the sweet embrace of those fair arms which bound him to her breast, and homeward through the dark wood he runs, leaving Venus upon her back, deeply distressed. Just as a bright star shot from the sky, so glides he into the night from Venus's eye..which after him she darts, as one on a shore gazing upon a late'embarked friend, until the wild waves will have him seen no more, whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend..so did the merciless and pitchy night consumed the object that fed Venus's sight
Whereas amazed, as one that unaware has dropped a precious jewel in a flood, or as startled as night'wanderers often are, their light blown out in the dark of the wood..so confounded in the night she lay, having lost the fair discovery by her way
And now she beats her heart as it groans, and all the walls the canyon caves nearby became wailing walls repeating her moans. Her wry weep is redoubled, "O'ey me!" she cries, and twenty times, "Woe, woe!" And twenty echoes times twenty cry so
She, counting each, begins a wailing note, and sings impromptly a woeful ditty...how love makes young men captive, and old men dote. How love is wise folly, foolish but witty. Her anthem droll continues in woe, and the choir by the wailing walls answers so
Her song was tedious and outwore the night, for passion hours are long, though seeming short. If not pleased themselves, other delight in the same circumstances and sport. Their copious stories oftentimes begin and end without audience, and are never done..for who has she to spend the night but with idle sounds, shrill'tongued tapsters answering every call, soothing the humor of awkward wits? She says, "Tis so." They answer all, "Tis, so"...and would say after her, "No!"..if she said so
Here, the gentle lark, weary of rest from his nest mounts up high and wakes the morning, from whose silver breast the sun rises in its majesty. What does the world so gloriously behold?..but cedar tops and hills burnished gold
Venus salutes him with this fair good'bye..."God and patron of all light from whom each lamp and shining star borrows the source that makes him so bright, there lives a son that sucked an earthly mother, who can lend you light!..as you lend to another"
This said, she hurried to a Myrtle grove, musing the morning is so much overworn, and still she hears no tidings of her love. She listens for his hounds and for his horn, then suddenly, her lusty ears hears them chant the chase, and in all haste, she runs to its cry
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 breaks from its tight embrace, like a milching doe whose swelling bags strain, hastening to feed her fawn hid in a ravine
By this she heard the hounds a'baying, toward which she homes, like one that has espied a rattling snake all coiled up, a'shaking and shuddering, threatening a venomous death, the yelping of the hounds
Now she knows it's no friendly chase...the blunt of a boar, a rough bear, or cougar proud, because the bay remains in one place, where excited, the hounds sound aloud finding the source of their scent to be so savage. They all strain wary towards their game. Who shall attack first?..and ravage
Their bay turned dismal, rings sadly in her ear, through which it enters to surprise her heart, which, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, with cold'pale weakness numbing each feeling part..like soldiers once their general yields, blindly flee and dare not stay the field
So stands she a trembling catatonic, until cheering up her senses all dismayed, she tells them it's useless to be frantic, and a childish error that they are afraid. She bids them to leave quaking and fear no more. And with that word, she saw the hunted boar, whose frothy mouth, covered all with red, like milk and blood mingling..and a second fear through her spread, which madly hurries her..she knows not whither. This way, that way, and now no further, and back she retracks to confront the boar for murder
A thousand impulses bear her a thousand ways. She treads the path, she untreads again. Her more than haste is made less with delays, like the proceedings of a drunken sot, full of respects, not respecting..occupied with all things, yet none effecting
Kneeled under a bush she finds a hound, and asks the weary wretch for his master, and there..another licking his wound against venomed sores, his tongue the only plaster. Here she meets another sadly scowling, to whom she speaks, and he replies with howling
When he ceased his ill'resounding noise, another flap'mouthed bayer, black and grim, against the sky volleys his voice. Another and another answers him, wagging their proud tails, shaking their scratched ears, bleeding as they go
Look how the world's poor people are perplexed at apparitions, signs, and prodigies, whereon with fearful eyes they have long gazed infusing them with dreadful vistas...so it is with she at these sad signs, she draws up her breath, and sighing again, envisions death
"Hard'favored tyrant...ugly, meager, lean! Hateful destroyer of love!" says Venus chiding Death, "Grim'grinning ghost, Earth's worm...what do you mean?..to stifle beauty by stealing his breath..who, when he lived, set gloss on a rose, and fragrance to violet
"If he be dead...oh no, it cannot be! Seeing his beauty, you strike it?! It may be for you that you have no eyes to see, and hatefully, at random you hit. Your target is a man, but your lethal dart mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart
"If only you were aware, for upon hearing him, your power would have lost its potent measure. The Destinies will curse you for this stroke. They bid you to crop a weed rather than pluck a flower! Love's golden arrow at him should have flown instead...not Death's ebony dart strike him dead
"Do you drink tears to provoke weeping? What does a crying groan profit you? Why have you cast into eternal sleeping those eyes that taught all other eyes to see? Nature cares not for your deadly vigor, since her best work is ruined with your rigor"
Overcome from despair, she lowered her eyes, which like floodgates stopped the clear water wells that from her two cheeks fair, in the sweet channel of her bosom dropped...but from the wells and through the gate breaks the rain, and with its strong course falls again and again
How her eyes and tears lend and borrow. Her eye seen in the tears, tears in the eye, both mirror each other's sorrow..sorrow that friendly sighs would seek to dry. But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again
So many passions throng her constant woe, as if competing which should best become her grief. Each passion labored so..each seemed to need equal relief..but each with equal belief, all join together, like many clouds plotting foul weather
Under these dark clouds passing, far off she hears a huntsman. A nurse's song could never please a babe as well. The dark visions her tears labored to expel, this sound of hope readily dispel, for now reviving joy causes her to rejoice, and fate flattering her, she recognizes her fair love's voice
And the tide of her tears began to ebb, being imprisoned in her eye like jewels in a glass with an occasional bright pearl spilling out, which her cheek melts as to scorn that it should pass and enrich the foulish stage upon which its inhabitants could care less, when by tears she was nearly drowned
O'love! How strange it seems, 'not to believe, and yet to credulous!' Your weal and woe are extremes. Despair and hope make you ridiculous...one flatters you in thoughts unlikely, and in likely thoughts, the other kills you quickly
Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought. Adonis lives, and Death should not be prosecuted. It was not she that called him worthless. Now she adds honors to his hateful name. She praises him 'king of graves, and grave for kings...imperious supreme of all mortal beings'
"No, no," says she, "Sweet Death, I did but jest. Pardon me. I became ruled by fear when that bloody beast knowing no pity is still so savage. So, gentle shadow, who by divine light is cast onto Earth, I railed on you only because I feared my love's death
"Tis not my fault the boar provoked my tongue. Take revenge on him, divine reaper! Tis he, foul creature, that done you wrong. I did but react. He's the author of your slander. Grief has two tongues, and never a woman yet could rule them both without ten women's wit"
Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, her rash desire she animates. And to ensure that his beauty may better thrive, with Death she humbly ingratiates herself, telling him of statues, tombs, and trophies...his victories, his triumphs and glories
"By Jove!" says she, "How much a fool was I to be such a weak and silly mind, to wail his death who lives and must not die unless a natural end of mortal kind. For he being dead, with him is beauty slain..and beauty dead, black chaos rules again
"Confounding love! You are as full of fear as one with treasure laden and surrounded by thieves. Trifles, unperceived by eye or ear, your coward heart with false thinking grieves"
At this word she hears a merry horn when she leaps to what was but late forlorn. As a falcon to a prey, away she flies. The grass stoops from her speedy flight. And in her haste unfortunately sees the foul boar's conquest on her fair delight. Upon seeing, her eyes, murdered with the view, like stars conquered by day themselves withdrew..or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, shrinks backward in his cave with pain, and there, all smothered up in shade does sit, fearing to creep again. From his bloody body, her eyes fled into the deep caverns of her head where they resign their office and their light for the deliberations of her troubled head, still consorting with the ugly sight to not wound the heart again. Her eyes, like a king perplexed on his throne, haunted by a death mask gives a deadly groan..wherefrom each tributary subject quakes, as when a swell from stormy sea passes through ground, struggling for passage, the earth's foundation shakes..which, with cold terror does men's minds confound. This mutiny each part surprises, that from its dark, once more leaps into her eyes
And, being opened, received unwanted light cast upon the wide gore the boar made in his soft flank, upon whose lily white surface, purple tears pooled and dripped. No flowers were near, nor grass, herb, leaf, or weed. Did they take his blood?..and with him bleed
With this solemn sympathy, poor Venus mourned. Over one shoulder she hung her head. Quietly, she grieves, frantically she dotes. She thinks 'How could he die? How can he be dead?' Her voice is stopped, her limbs forget to bend, her eyes are dead because they have wept before
Upon his hurt she looks steadfastly. Her wounded eye makes the wound seem three. And then she reprehends her mangling eye, that makes more where no breach should be. Yet, his face seems twain..his body, doubled
"My tongue cannot express my grief for one, and yet," says she, "Behold two Adonis dead! My sighs have blown away, my tears are gone, my eyes have turned to fire, my heart to lead. Heavy heart's lead is melting from my eye's a'fire! So shall I die by dripping hot desire
"Alas, poor world! What treasure have you lost! What face remains alive that's worth seeing! Whose lips make music now! What can you praise of things long since, or any thing ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim, but true beauty lived and died with him
"No bonnet nor veil can any suitor wear for him..nor sun, or wind will ever kiss him again. Having no beauty to lose, you need not fear. The sun scorns him, and the wind whispers over him. When he lived, sun and wind lurked like two thieves, to rob him of his beauty so fair
"Surely, as a child, when he put on his hat, under the brim the gaudy sun would peep. The wind would blow it off, and being gone, play with his locks, then would Adonis weep. And straight away in pity of his tender years, they both would vie...who first should dry his tears
"To see his face the cougar walked along..behind some hedge, because he would not frighten him. To amuse himself, Adonis would sing. The boar became tame by hearing him. If he spoke, the wolf would unstalk his prey, and leave the lamb in peace that day
"When he saw his shadow in a brook, the fish flared their golden gills. When he walked by, the birds with such pleasure took, that some would sing, and others in their bills would bring him mulberries and ripe'red cherries. He fed them a beauteous sight, they him with berries
"But this foul, grim, and urchin'snouted boar, whose downward eye still looks for a grave, never saw his fairness, nor witness the entertainment he gave. If the boar did see Adonis face..why then, he must have sought to kiss him..and, unwittingly killed him
"Tis true and true! Adonis was slain. He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, who did not wet his teeth for him again, but by a kiss thought to persuade him, and nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine unawares sheathed his tusk in Adonis' groin
"Had I been tusked like a boar, I must confess, kissing him, I would have killed him first. But he is dead, and never did he bless my youth with his. For this am I accurst"
With this, Venus fell in the place she stood, and stains her face with his purpled blood. She looks upon his lips, and they are pale and blue. She takes him by the hand which is cold. She whispers in his ear, tenderly and true, as if it could hear the woeful words she told. She lifts the treasure box lids that block each eye, and sees two lamps burnt out under a dark sky
Two lamps of glass wherein herself she saw a thousand times, but now no more reflect. Their virtue lost wherein they had excelled, and every beauty robbed of its effect
"Wonder of time!" she says, "This is my grief that you being dead, this day for me, as yet to be lit
"Since you are dead, here do I prophesy...sorrow on love hereafter shall attend. It shall be waited on with jealousy, find sweet beginning, but unsavory end..never settled equally, but always opposed...one high, the other low, that all love's pleasure shall not match its woe
"It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud. Bud and blasted in a single breath. The bottom poison, and the top with sweets that can seduce the truest sight. The strongest body it makes weak...strike the wise dumb..and teach a fool to speak
"It shall be sparing and full of riot, inspiring decrepit age to dance. The mad'dogging ruffian, it shall keep restrained..impoverishing the rich, enriching the poor with treasure..it shall be raging mad..silly and mild, make the young old, the old..a child
"It shall suspect where there is no cause to fear. It shall not fear where it should most. It shall be too merciful, and too severe, and most deceiving when it seems most just. Perverse it be where it appears most common...put hesitation to valor, and courage to a coward
"It shall cause war and dire events, and set discord between son and sire..subject and servile to all discontents as dry combustious matter is to fire. Since in his prime, did Death destroy my love, they that love most, their love shall endure least"
After this, the boy, that by her side lay killed, disappeared like dissipating vapor from her sight, and in his blood, that on the ground lay spilled, a purple flower sprung..spotted with white, resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood..which, in tear'shaped drops, upon their whiteness stood
She bows her head for the new'sprung flower to smell, comparing it to her Adonis' breath, and says 'Within her bosom it shall dwell,' since he was taken from her by Death. She crops the stalk, and in the break appears, a purple'dropping sap which she compares to tears
"Poor flower," says she, "This was your father's desire...sweet issue of a more sweet'smelling sire, for every little grief to wet his eyes..for his son to grow strong, did he aspire. And so it was with Adonis...it is as good to wither in my breast, as in his blood
"Here was your father's bed, here in my breast. You are the next blood, and tis your right, in this cradle to take your rest. My throbbing heart would rock you day and night. There would not be one minute in an hour, wherein I would not kiss my sweet love's flower"
Now weary of the world, she prepares to rise, and yokes her silver doves, by whose swift aid their mistress mounted, and through the empty skies, her light chariot is quickly conveyed, holding their course to a distant isle, where the queen means to immure herself, and remain unseen