Venus and Adonis

ISBN-13: 9781514896969 / Angielski / Miękka / 2015 / 30 str.

William Shakespeare

Opis

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1901 Excerpt: ...on her belly falls, she on her back. Now is she in the very lists of love, Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: All is imaginary she doth prove, He will not manage her, although he mount her; That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy. 600 Even so poor birds, deceived with painted grapes, Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw, Even so she languisheth in her mishaps As those poor birds that helpless berries saw. The warm effects which she in him finds missing She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. But all in vain; good aueen, it will not be: She hath assay'd as much as may be proved; Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee; She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved. 610 'Fie, fie, ' he says, 'you crush me; let me go; You have no reason to withhold me so.' 'Thou hadst been gone, ' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. O, be advised: thou know'st not what it is With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still, Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. 'On his bow-back he hath a battle set Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 620 His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret; His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes; Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way, And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed, Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter; His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed; Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part; through whom he rushes. 'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, 631 To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes; Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and cry