Look how the peevish[335] Papists crouch and kneel
To some dumb idol with their offering, 80
As if a senseless carvèd stone could feel
The ardour of his bootless chattering,
So fond he was, and earnest in his suit
To his remorseless image, dumb and mute.
He oft doth wish his soul might part in sunder
So that one half in her had residence;
Oft he exclaims, “O beauty’s only wonder!
Sweet model of delight, fair excellence,
Be gracious unto him that formèd thee,
Compassionate his true love’s ardency.” 90
She with her silence seems to grant his suit;
Then he all jocund, like a wanton lover,
With amorous embracements doth salute
Her slender waist, presuming to discover
The vale of Love, where Cupid doth delight
To sport and dally all the sable night.
His eyes her eyes kindly encounterèd;
His breast her breast oft joinèd close unto;
His arms’ embracements oft she sufferèd;
Hands, arms, eyes, tongue, lips, and all parts did woo; 100
His thigh with hers, his knee play’d with her knee,—
A happy consort when all parts agree!
But when he saw, poor soul, he was deceivèd
(Yet scarce he could believe his sense had failed[336]),
Yet when he found all hope from him bereavèd,
And saw how fondly all his thoughts had erred,
Then did he like to poor Ixion seem,
That clipt a cloud instead of Heaven’s Queen.
I oft have smiled to see the foolery
Of some sweet youths, who seriously protest 110
That love respects not actual luxury,
But only joys to dally, sport, and jest;
Love is a child, contented with a toy;
A busk-point[337] or some favour stills the boy.
Mark my Pygmalion, whose affections’ ardour
May be a mirror to posterity;
Yet viewing, touching, kissing (common favour),
Could never satiate his love’s ardency:
And therefore, ladies, think that they ne’er love you,
Who do not unto more than kissing move you. 120
For Pygmalion kiss’d, view’d, and embraced,
And yet exclaims, “Why were these women made,
O sacred gods, and with such beauties graced!
Have they not power as well to cool and shade,
As for to heat men’s hearts? Or is there none,
Or are they all, like mine, relentless stone?”