"Now let me say good night; and so say you; If you will say so, you shall have a kiss." "Good night," quoth she; and, ere he says Adieu, The honey-fee of parting tender'd is: Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. Till breathless he disjoin'd, and backward drew ( He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, Planting oblivion, beating reason back, Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's wrack. Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering, But then woos best, when most his choice is froward. When he did frown, O, had she then gave over, Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last. For pity now she can no more detain him; "Sweet boy," she says, "this night I'll waste in sorrow, To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. "The boar!" quoth she; whereat a sudden pale, Now is she in the very lists of love, Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: He will not manage her, although he mount her; To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy. Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes, 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 queen, it will not be : "Thou had'st been gone," quoth she, "sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told'st me thou would'st hunt the boar. "On his bow-back he hath a battle set Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret; Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way, "His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed, The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part; through whom he rushes. "Alas, he naught esteems that face of thine, But having thee at vantage, (wondrous dread!) "O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still; When thou did'st name the boar, not to dissemble, "Did'st thou not mark my face? Was it not white? My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, "For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy Doth call himself affection's sentinel; Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill;' As air and water do abate the fire. "This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, This canker that eats up love's tender spring, This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy, That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring, Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, That if I love thee, I thy death should fear: "And more than so, presenteth to mine eye Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed, "What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, Than tremble at the imagination? The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, And fear doth teach it divination : I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. "But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul'd by me; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Or at the fox, which lives by subtlety, Or at the roe, which no encounter dare: Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, "And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, |