Хилари Мантел - Год Шекспира

Villa miretur vulgus; mihi
flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret
aqua.

Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase.
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor ’gins to woo him.

ʼThrice fairer than my self’, thus she began,
ʼThe 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.

ʼVouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow.
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses,

ʼAnd yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red, and pale, with fresh variety:
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.
A summer’s day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.’

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth’s sovereign salve, to do a goddess good.
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser’s rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blushed and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red, and hot, as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough,
Nimbly she fastens (O how quick is love!);
The steed is stallèd up, and even now,
To tie the rider she begins to prove.
Backward she pushed him, as she would be thrust,
And governed him in strength though not in lust.

So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips.
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken:
ʼIf thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.’

He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs,
To fan, and blow them dry again she seeks.
He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;
What follows more, she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuffed, or prey be gone:
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends, she doth anew begin.

Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace,
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dewd with such distilling showers.

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies.
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain, added to a river that is rank,
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale.
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
ʼTwixt crimson shame, and anger ashy-pale,
Being red she loves him best, and being white,
Her best is bettered with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rained, making her cheeks all wet,
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who being looked on, ducks as quickly in:
So offers he to give what she did crave,
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.