Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/25

Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?
Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth,
Art thou a womans son, and canst not feel,
What 'tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?
O had thy mother born so bad a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but dyed unkind.

What am I, that thou should'st contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwels upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss!
Speak Fair: but speak fair words or else be mute.
Give me one kiss, I'le give it thee again,
And one for int'rest, if thou wilt have twain.

Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well painted Idol, Image dull and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone:
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred,
Thou art no man though of a mans complexion,
For men will kiss even by their own direction.

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause,
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong,
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause;
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand;
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground:

Some-