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- # VENVS AND ADONIS.
Thou canst not see one wrinckle in my brow,
Mine eyes are grey, and bright, & quick in turning;
My beautie as the spring doth yearelie grow,
My flesh is soft, and plumpe, my marrow burning,
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
V Vould in thy palme dislolue, or seeme to melt.
Bid me discourse, I will inchaunt thine eare,
Or like a Fairie, trip vpon the greene,
Or like a Nimph, with long ditheueled heare,
Daunce on the sands, and yet no footing seene.
Loue is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not grosse to sinke, but light, and will aspire.
V V itnese this Primrose banke whereon I lie,
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me:
Two stregthles dunes will draw me through the skie,
From moine till night, euen where I list to sport me.
Is loue so light sweet boy, and may it be,
That thou should thinke it heauie vnto thea?
Is thine owne heart to thine owne face affected?
Can thy right hand ceaze loue vpon thy left?
Then woo thy selse, be of thy selse reiected:
Steale thine own freedome, and complaine on theft.
Narcissus fo him selse him selse forsooke,
And died to kisse his shadow in the brooke.
II. 139—162
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