FullReads

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, . .56
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone;
Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin. . . . . .60

Forc’d to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace; . . .64
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers
So they were dewd with such distilling showers.

Look! how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; . . . . . .68
Pure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank. . . . 72

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
‘Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale; . . . . 76
Being red she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better’d with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears, . . . . 80
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin . . . . .85
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave; . . . . 88
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer’s heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. . 92
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:
‘O! pity,’ ‘gan she cry, ‘flint-hearted boy:
‘Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? . . . .96

‘I have been woo’d, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes m every jar; . . . . 100
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have.

‘Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest, . . .104
And for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. . . .108

‘Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. . . . . . 112
O! be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil’d the god of fight.

Touch but my lips with those falr lips of thine,–
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,– . .116
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? . 120