VENUS AND ADONIS

VENUS AND ADONIS

by William Shakespeare

Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo

Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY WRIOTHESLEY,

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON

OF TITCHFIELD

Right Honourable,

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to

your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so

strong a prop to support so weak a burden: only, if your honour seem

but pleased, I account my self highly praised, and vow to take

advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver

labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I

shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so

barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it

to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content;

which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's

hopeful expectations.

Your honour's in all duty,

William Shakespeare

Even as the sun with purple-coloured face

Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,

Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;

Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.

Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,

And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.

'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,

'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,

Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,

More white and red than doves or roses are;

Nature that made thee with herself at strife

Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,

And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;

If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed

A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know.

Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,

And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed saiety,

But rather famish them amid their plenty,

Making them red and pale with fresh variety;

Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.

A summer's day will seem an hour but short,

Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,

The precedent of pith and livelihood,

And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,

Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good.

Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force

Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,

Under her other was the tender boy,

Who blushed and pouted in a dull disdain,

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;

She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,

He red for shame, but frosty in desire.