nus and adonis(维纳斯和阿多尼斯)-第8节
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shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy; Find sweet beginning; but
unsavoury end; Ne'er settled equally; but high or low; That all love's
pleasure shall not match his woe。
'It shall be fickle; false; and full of fraud;
Bud and be blastod in a breathing…while; The bottom poison; and the
top o'erstraw'd With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak; Strike the wise dumb
and teach the fool to speak。
'It shall be sparing and too full of riot; Teaching decrepit age to tread
the measures;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet; Pluck down the rich; enrich
the poor with treasures; It shall be raging mad; and silly mild; Make the
young old; the old become a child。
'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear; It shall not fear where it
should most mistrust; It shall be merciful; and too severe; And most
deceiving when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be; where it shows most toward; Put fear to velour;
courage to the coward。
'It shall be cause of war and dire events; And set dissension 'twixt the
son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents; As dry combustious matter is to
fire: Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy; They that love best
their love shall not enjoy。'
By this; the boy that by her side lay kill'd Was melted like a vapour
from her sight; And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd; A purple
flower sprung up; chequer'd with white;
Resembling well his pale cheeks; and the blood Which in round drops
upon their whiteness stood。
She bows her head; the new…sprung flower to smell; Comparing it to
her Adonis' breath;
And says within her bosom it shall dwell; Since he himself is reft
from her by death: She drops the stalk; and in the breach appears Green
dropping sap; which she compares to tears。
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'Poor flower;' quoth she; 'this was thy father's guise; Sweet issue of a
more sweet…smelling sire; For every little grief to wet his eyes: To grow
unto himself was his desire;
And so 'tis shine; but know; it is as good To wither in my breast as in
his blood。
'Here was thy father's bed; here in my breast; Thou art the next of
blood; and 'tis thy right:
Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest; My throbbing heart shall rock
thee day and night: There shall not be one minute in an hour Wherein I
will not kiss my sweet love's flower。'
Thus weary of the world; away she hies;
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress;
mounted; through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
Holding their course to Paphos; where their queen Means to immure
herself and not be seen。
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