His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps, As who should say, Lo! thus my strength is tried; And this I do to captivate the eye Of the fair breeder that is standing by. What recketh he his rider's angry stir, He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, Look, when a painter would surpass the life, So did this horse excel a common one, Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide : Look, what a horse should have, he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back. Sometime he scuds far off, and there he stares; To bid the wind a base 1 he now prepares, And whe'r he run or fly, they know not whether; For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings. He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her; Then, like a melancholy malecontent, He vails his tail, that, like a falling plume, His testy master goeth about to take him; 1 i. e. to challenge the wind to a contest for superiority. Base is a rustic game, sometimes termed prison-base, or prison-bars. 2 Lowers. As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them ; Outstripping crows, that strive to overfly them. All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits, An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, But when the heart's attorney 2 once is mute, He sees her coming, and begins to glow, O, what a sight it was, wistly 3 to view 1 Cursing. 2 i. e. the tongue. To note the fighting conflict of her hue! Now was she just before him as he sat, His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print, O, what a war of looks was then between them! Full gently now she takes him by the hand, Or ivory in an alabaster band; So white a friend engirts so white a foe: This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Once more the engine of her thoughts began:'O fairest mover on this mortal round, i Its. Would thou wert as I am, and I a man ; My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound; 1 For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee.' Give me my hand,' saith he: 'why dost thou feel it?' Give me my heart,' saith she, and thou shalt have it: O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, For shame,' he cries: let go, and let me go: I pray you, hence, and leave me here alone: For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.' Thus she replies:-' Thy palfrey, as he should, The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; Thy heart wounded as mine is. |