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- # VENVS AND ADONIS.
Ay, me, (quoth Venus) young, and so vnkinde,
V Vhat bare excuses mak’st thou to be gon?
Ile sigh celeftiall breath, whose gentle winde,
Shall coole the heate of this descending sun:
Ile make a shadow for thee of my heares,
If they burn too, Ile quench them with my teares.
The sun that shines from heaven, shines but warme,
And lo I lye betweene that sunne, and thee:
The heate I haue from thence doth litle harme,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me,
And were I not immortall, life were done,
Betweene this heavenly, and earthly sunne.
Art thou obdurate, stintie, hard as stēile?
Nay more then stint, for stone at raine relenteth:
Art thou a womans sonne and canst not seele
V Vhat tis to loue, how want of loue tormenteth?
O had thy mother borne so hard a minde,
She had not brought forth thee, but died vnkind.
V Vhat am I that thou shouldst contemne me this?
Or what great danger, dwels vpon my sute?
V Vhat were thy lips the worse for one poore kis?
Speake faire, but speake faire words, or else be mute:
Giue me one kisse, Ile giue it thee againe,
And one for intrest, if thou wilt hane twaine.
C
II. 187—210
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