VENUS and ADONIS.
17
To bid the wind abase he now prepares,
And where he run, or flie, they know not whether,
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who have like feather'd wings.
And where he run, or flie, they know not whether,
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who have 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 wooe her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurnes at his love, and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
She answers him, as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as Females are, to see him wooe her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurnes at his love, and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy male-content,
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 inrag'd,
Grew kinder, and his fury was asswag'd.
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 inrag'd,
Grew kinder, and his fury was asswag'd.
His testy Master goeth about to take him,
When loe, the unbackt 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-flie them.
When loe, the unbackt 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-flie them.
All swolne with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boystrous and unruly Beast:
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love, by pleading may be blest.
Banning his boystrous and unruly Beast:
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love, by pleading may be blest.
For
