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But, lo from forth a copse that neighbours by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,

And forth he rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being ty'd unto a tree,
Breaketh his reign, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girts he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder:
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick'd, his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest, now stands on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send;

His eye, which glisters scornfully like fire,
Shews his hot courage, and his high desire.

Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who would say, Lo! thus my strength is try'd,
And thus I do to captivate the eye,

Of the fair breeder that is standing by.

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering holla or his stand, I say ?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons or trappings gay?

He sees his love and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees:

Like when a painter who'd surpass the life,
In limning out a well proportion'd steed,
His art, with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed :

So did this horse exceed a common one,
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

(Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostrils wide,

High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide. Look, what a horse should have, he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares,
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind abase he now prepares,

And where he run, or fly, they know not whither,
For thro' his main and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, which heave like feather'd wings.

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her,
She answers him, as if she knew his mind;
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy malcontent,
He vails his tail, that like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttocks lent;
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love perceiving how he is enrag'd,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd.

His testy master goes about to take him,
When, lo! the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there.

As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows, that strive to over-fly them.

All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast,
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest.
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river staid,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said,

Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;

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But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind;
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow,
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.

O! what a sight it was wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy;
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and red each other did destroy!
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheeks feels;
His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fallen snow takes any dint.

O! what a war of looks was then between them!
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing,

His eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them,
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing;
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain,
With tears, which chorus-like her eyes did rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a jail of snow,

Or ivory in an alabaster hand,

So white a friend ingirts so white a foe!

This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Shew'd like to silver doves that sit a billing.

Once more the engine of our thoughts began ;
O fairest mover on this mortal round!
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look my help I would assure thee,
Tho' nothing but my body's bane would cure thee.

Give me my hand (saith he) why dost thou feel it?
Give me my heart (saith she) and thou shalt have it.
O! give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it?
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it;
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis' heart had made mine hard.

For shame! he cries, let go and let me go,
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so:
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone;
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.

Thus she replies: Thy palfrey as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire;
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;

Else suffer'd it will set the heart on fire.

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none,
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

How like a jade he stood ty'd to a tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;

Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

Who sees his true love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?

Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy,
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy ;

Tho' I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee;
O! learn to love, the lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, never lost again.

I know not love (quoth he) nor will I know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it ;

'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it, My love to love is love but to disgrace it; For I have heard it is a life in death,

That laughs, and weeps, and all but in a breath.

Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth.
The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young,
Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.

You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat;
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart,
To love's alarm it will not ope the gate.

Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt'ry,
For where a heart is hard, they make no batt❜ry.

What! canst thou talk? (quoth she) hast thou a tongue?
O! would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong!
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing.
Melodious discord! heavenly tune harsh-sounding!
Earth's deep sweet musick! and heart's deep sore-

Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty, and invisible;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part of me, that were but sensible.

Tho' neither eyes nor ears to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

Say that the sense of reason were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;

For from the stillatory of thy face excelling,
Comes breath perfum'd that breedeth love by smelling.

But, oh! what banquet wert thou to the taste,

Being nurse and feeder of the other four.

Would they not wish the feast should ever last,
And bid suspicion double lock the door;

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