The Passionate Pilgrim | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by the PG Shakespeare Team,
a team of
about twenty Project Gutenberg volunteers.
THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM
by William Shakespeare
I.
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world
could not hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore;
but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My
vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gain'd cures
all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;

Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour
vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
If by me
broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise?
II.
Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
With young Adonis, lovely, fresh,
and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as
none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories to delight his
ear;
She show'd him favours to allure his eye;
To win his heart, she
touch'd him here and there:
Touches so soft still conquer chastity.

But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refus'd to take her
figur'd proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But
smile and jest at every gentle offer:
Then fell she on her back, fair
queen, and toward;
He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!
III.
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
O never faith
could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:
Though to myself forsworn, to

thee I'll constant prove;
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like
osiers bow'd. Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,

Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.
If knowledge
be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue
that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee
without wonder;
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:

Thy eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,
Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou
art, O do not love that wrong,
To sing heavens' praise with such an
earthly tongue.
IV.
Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone
to the hedge for shade,
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A
longing tarriance for Adonis made,
Under an osier growing by a
brook,
A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.
Hot was the
day; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had
been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark
naked on the brook's green brim;
The sun look'd on the world with
glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him:
He, spying her,
bounc'd in, whereas he stood;
O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a
flood?
V.
Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither
true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;

Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A lily pale, with damask die
to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd,
Between each kiss her
oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me hath she
coin'd,
Dreading my love, the