“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160 Narcissus so himself himself forsook, And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. “Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 164 Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; Things growing to themselves are growth’s abuse, Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty; Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty. 168 “Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed, Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? By law of nature thou art bound to breed, That thine may live when thou thyself art dead; 172 And so in spite of death thou dost survive, In that thy likeness still is left alive.” By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, For where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 176 And Titan, tired in the midday heat, With burning eye did hotly overlook them, Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, So he were like him and by Venus’ side. 180 And now Adonis with a lazy spright, And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, His louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight, Like misty vapours when they blot the sky, 184 Souring his cheeks, cries, “Fie, no more of love: The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.” “Ay me,” quoth Venus, “young, and so unkind! What bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone! 188 I’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind Shall cool the heat of this descending sun: I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs; If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears. 192 “The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, And lo I lie between that sun and thee: The heat I have from thence doth little harm, Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; 196 And were I not immortal, life were done, Between this heavenly and earthly sun. “Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel? Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: 200 Art thou a woman’s son and canst not feel What ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth? O had thy mother borne so hard a mind, She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 204 “What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this? Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 208 Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again, And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain. “Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, 212 Statue contenting but the eye alone, Thing like a man, but of no woman bred: Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion, For men will kiss even by their own direction.” 216