VENUS AND ADONIS. INTRODUCTION. THE HE story of the loves of Venus and Adonis, told by Ovid and by earlier writers, was modified in the middle ages· we know not exactly when or in whose hands - by making Adonis insensible to the transcendent charms of the Goddess of Love and Beauty. Shakespeare adopted this version of the myth, and, when he wrote the following poem, may possibly have been unacquainted with any other. Venus and Adonis was entered upon the Stationers' Register on the 18th of April, 1593, and published in the same year. How long before that date it was written, cannot be determined. In the dedication Shakespeare calls it "the first heir of his invention," which has been regarded as a designation of it as his earliest work. But such expressions must not be received in evidence implicitly. It would seem from the same dedication that this poem, as well as its successors, was the production of the author's "idle hours." He regarded his dramatic writing as professional business: it was only his leisure that he devoted to the Muse. Still, Venus and Adonis is plainly a youthful production, and may have been two or three years in hand before it was published. The text has come down to us in almost absolute purity. (5) TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. RIGHT HONOURABLE, I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden: only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful expectation. Your honour's in all duty, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. (6) VENUS AND ADONIS. VEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face EVEN Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase; Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn : Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, "Thrice fairer than myself," thus she began, "The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, More white and red than doves or roses are; Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, Saith, that the world hath ending with thy life. "Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, "And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm, Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, The studded bridle on a ragged bough To tie the rider she begins to prove : Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust, And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust. So soon was she along as he was down, And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, "If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open." He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone, Till either gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone; Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin, And when she ends she doth anew begin. Forc'd to content, but never to obey, Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret, Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, Still is he sullen, still he lowers and frets, Being red, she loves him best; and being white, Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; 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. |