William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (120 page)
Read William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition Online
Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarkèd friend
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend.
Gazing upon a late-embarkèd 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.
Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
Hath dropped a precious jewel in the flood,
Or stonished, as night wand’rers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood:
Hath dropped a precious jewel in the flood,
Or stonished, as night wand’rers 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.
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.
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled.
‘Ay me,’ she cries, and twenty times ‘Woe, woe!’
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.
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.
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.
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 such-like sport.
For lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short.
If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight
In such-like circumstance, with such-like sport.
Their copious stories oftentimes begun
End without audience, and are never done.
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?
But idle sounds resembling parasites,
Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
She says ‘’Tis so’; they answer all ‘’Tis so’,
And would say after her, if she said ‘No’.
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,
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 burnished gold.
Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
‘O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright:
‘O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright:
There lives a son that sucked an earthly mother
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.’
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.
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.
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,
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.
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;
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.
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.
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 court’sy who shall cope 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;
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.
Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,
Till, cheering up her senses all dismayed,
She tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy
And childish error that they are afraid;
Till, cheering up her senses all dismayed,
She tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy
And childish error that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more;
And with that word she spied 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.
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 she runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the boar for 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,
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 naught at all respecting;
In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.
Here kennelled in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master;
And there another licking of his wound,
’Gainst venomed sores the only sovereign plaster.
And asks the weary caitiff for his master;
And there another licking of his wound,
’Gainst venomed sores the only sovereign plaster.
And here she meets another, sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks; and he replies with howling.
When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouthed mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice.
Another, and another, answer him,
Another flap-mouthed 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 scratched ears, bleeding as they go.
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:
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.
‘Hard-favoured tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love’—thus chides she death;
‘Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm: what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath
Hateful divorce of love’—thus chides she death;
‘Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm: what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath
Who, when he lived, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?
‘If he be dead—O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it.
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully, at random dost thou hit.
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it.
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully, at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant’s heart.
‘Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The destinies will curse thee for this stroke.
They bid thee crop a weed; thou pluck’st a flower.
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
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 him dead.
‘Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
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 ruined with thy rigour.’
Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vailed her eyelids, who like sluices stopped
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropped.
She vailed her eyelids, who like sluices stopped
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropped.
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.
O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eye seen in the tears, tears in her eye,
Both crystals, where they viewed each other’s sorrow:
Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry,
Her eye seen in the tears, tears in her eye,
Both crystals, where they viewed 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.
Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief.
All entertained, each passion labours so
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
As striving who should best become her grief.
All entertained, each passion labours so
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
But none is best. Then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul 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;
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.
Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prisoned in her eye like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass
Being prisoned 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 drowned.
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.
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.
Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought.
Adonis lives, and death is not to blame.
It was not she that called him all to naught.
Now she adds honours to his hateful name.
Adonis lives, and death is not to blame.
It was not she that called 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.
‘No, no,’ quoth she, ‘sweet death, I did but jest.
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear
Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe.
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear
Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe.
Then, gentle shadow—truth I must confess—
I railed on thee, fearing my love’s decease.
“Tis not my fault; the boar provoked my tongue.
Be wreaked on him, invisible commander.
’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong.
I did but act; he’s author of thy slander.
Be wreaked on him, invisible commander.
’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong.
I did but act; he’s author of thy slander.
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit.’
Thus, hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate,
And, that his beauty may the better thrive,
With death she humbly doth insinuate;
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate,
And, that his beauty may the better thrive,
With death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.
‘O Jove,’ quoth she, ‘how much a fool was I
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives, and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives, and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And beauty dead, black chaos comes again.
‘Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemmed with thieves.
Trifles unwitnessèd with eye or ear
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.’
As one with treasure laden, hemmed with thieves.
Trifles unwitnessèd with eye or ear
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.’
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn.
As falcons to the lure, away she flies.
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murdered with the view,
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew.
Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smothered up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smothered up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So at his bloody view her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head,
Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain,
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again,
To the disposing of her troubled brain,
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again,
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