Garrick Plays.
No. XII.
[From the “Brazen Age,” an Historical Play, by Thomas Heywood, 1613.]
Venus courts Adonis.
Venus. Why doth Adonis fly the Queen of Love,
And shun this ivory girdle of my arms?
To be thus scarf’d the dreadful God of War
Would give me conquer’d kingdoms. For a kiss,
But half like this, I could command the Sun
Rise ’fore his hour, to bed before his time;
And, being love-sick, change his golden beams,
And make his face pale as his sister Moon.
Look on me, Adon, with a stedfast eye,
That in these chrystal glasses I may see
My beauty that charms Gods, makes Men amazed
And stown’d with wonder. Doth this roseat pillow
Offend my Love?
With my white fingers will I clap thy cheek;
Whisper a thousand pleasures in thy ear.
Adonis. Madam, you are not modest. I affect
The unseen beauty that adorns the mind:
This looseness makes you foul in Adon’s eye.
If you will tempt me, let me in your face
Read blusfulness and fear; a modest fear
Would make your cheek seem much more beautiful.
Venus. ———wert thou made of stone,
I have heat to melt thee; I am Queen of Love.
There is no practive art of dalliance
Of which I am not mistress, and can use.
I have kisses that can murder unkind words,
And strangle hatred that the gall sends forth;
Touches to raise thee, were thy spirits half dead;
Words that can pour affection down thy ears.
Love me! thou can’st not chuse; thou shalt not chuse.
Adonis. Madam, you woo not well. Men covet not
These proffer’d pleasures, but love sweets denied.
These prostituted pleasures surfeit still;
Where’s fear, or doubt, men sue with best good will.
Venus. Thou canst instruct the Queen of Love in love.
Thou shalt not, Adon, take me by the hand;
Yet, if thou needs will force me, take my palm.
I’ll frown on him: alas! my brow’s so smooth,
It will not bear a wrinkle.—Hie thee hence
Unto the chace, and leave me; but not yet:
I’ll sleep this night upon Endymion’s bank,
On which the Swain was courted by the Moon.
Dare not to come; thou art in our disgrace:
Yet, if thou come, I can afford thee place!
Phœbus jeers Vulcan.
Vul. Good morrow, Phœbus; what’s the news abroad?—
For thou see’st all things in the world are done,
Men act by day-light, or the sight of sun.
Phœb. Sometime I cast my eye upon the sea,
To see the tumbling seal or porpoise play.
There see I merchants trading, and their sails
Big-bellied with the wind; sea fights sometimes
Rise with their smoke-thick clouds to dark my beams
Sometimes I fix my face upon the earth,
With my warm fervour to give metals, trees,
Herbs, plants and flowers, life. Here in gardens walk
Loose Ladies with their Lovers arm in arm.
Yonder the laboring Plowman drives his team.
Further I may behold main battles pitcht;
And whom I favour most (by the wind’s help)
I can assist with my transparent rays.
Here spy I cattle feeding; forests there
Stored with wild beasts; here shepherds with their lasses,
Piping beneath the trees while their flocks graze.
In cities I see trading, walking, bargaining,
Buying and selling, goodness, badness, all things—
And shine alike on all.
Vul. Thrice happy Phœbus,
That, whilst poor Vulcan is confin’d to Lemnos,
Hast every day these pleasures. What news else?
Phœb. No Emperor walks forth, but I see his state;
Nor sports, but I his pastimes can behold.
I see all coronations, funerals,
Marts, fairs, assemblies, pageants, sights and shows.
No hunting, but I better see the chace
Than they that rouse the game. What see I not?
There’s not a window, but my beams break in;
No chink or cranny, but my rays pierce through;
And there I see, O Vulcan, wondrous things:
Things that thyself, nor any God besides,
Would give belief to.
And, shall I tell thee, Vulcan, ’tother day
What I beheld?—I saw the great God Mars—
Vul. God Mars—
Phœb. As I was peeping through a cranny, a-bed—
Vul. Abed! with whom?—some pretty Wench, I warrant.
Phœb. She was a pretty Wench.
Vul. Tell me, good Phœbus,
That, when I meet him, I may flout God Mars;
Tell me, but tell me truly, on thy life.
Phœb. Not to dissemble, Vulcan, ’twas thy Wife!