Epigraph: 'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus ApolloPocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'
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Epigraph: "Let idiots admire worthless things. Golden Apollo, lead me to the abundant spring of poetic inspiration."
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Dedication: TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.RIGHT HONORABLE, I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to supportso weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased,I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation. Your honour's in all duty,WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
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Dedication: To the Right Honorable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton and Baron of Tichfield.
Dear sir,
I'm not sure if I'll offend you by dedicating my less-than-perfect poetry to you, sir, or if the world will criticize me for choosing someone as powerful as you to validate my pathetic creation. But if you're happy, sir, I'll feel like I've been successful—and I'll promise to use all my free time working until I can write a more serious poem to dedicate to you. But if my first-ever poem turns out to be bad, I'll regret dedicating it to you and won't try again, since I'll be afraid of producing another embarrassing poem. I leave it to up to your judgment. You can decide if it's worthy of you or not. Of course, I hope that the poem fulfills your heart's desires and that it can live up to the world's hopeful expectations.
Your faithful servant, William Shakespeare
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EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase; Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn; Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
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The sun was purple on that rainy morning. Just as it disappeared behind a cloud, rosy-cheeked Adonis went out hunting. He loved hunting, but he laughed in the face of love. Lovesick over him, Venus followed him as fast as she could. She started talking sweetly to him, and as boldly as a lover would.
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'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began, 'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, More white and red than doves or roses are; Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
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"You're three times as pretty as I am," she began, "the prettiest flower in the field, and sweeter than anything in the world. You put fairies to shame. You're lovelier than any man alive. Your skin is whiter than a dove's, and your blushing cheeks are redder than roses. You're the most perfect creature Mother Nature ever made, and she'll never make another one like you.
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'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow; If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know: Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses, And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;
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"Hey, handsome, would you be so kind as to get down off your horse and tie his reins to the horn of the saddle? If you'll do as I ask, I'll reward you by telling you a thousand secrets as sweet as honey. Come here and sit by me, where snakes can never bite you. Once you're here, I'll cover you with kisses.
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'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety, But rather famish them amid their plenty, Making them red and pale with fresh variety, Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty: A summer's day will seem an hour but short, Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
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"But I won't overload your lips with too much kissing. I'll make you long for more even as we kiss. I'll change it up—first your lips will be red, and then pale again. I'll give you ten quick kisses—all together as long as one normal kiss. Then I'll give you one long kiss as long as twenty quick kisses. When you have such a fun way to pass the time, a summer's day seems to go by in an hour."
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With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, The precedent of pith and livelihood, And trembling in her passion, calls it balm, Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good: Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
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As she said that, she grabbed his sweating hand. It pulsed with all the life in his body. Trembling and passionate, she said his hand was sweet medicine, the best medicine on Earth that a goddess could ask for. As she got more aroused, she worked up the courage to pull him down from his horse.
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Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, Under her other was the tender boy, Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain, With leaden appetite, unapt to toy; She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
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She threw the horse's reins over one arm and held the young boy under the other. He blushed and pouted disapprovingly. He wasn't aroused at all—he didn't want to play. She was red-hot with passion; he was red because he was embarrassed, but he didn't desire her at all.
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The studded bridle on a ragged bough Nimbly she fastens:—O, how quick is love!— The steed is stalled up, and even now To tie the rider she begins to prove: Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust, And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
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She nimbly fastened the horse to a tree branch. Love moves quickly! Now that the horse was tied, she attempted to tie the rider, too. She pushed him backward just the way she hoped he would thrust into her. Her strength made it easy to throw him around physically, but she couldn't make him want her.
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So soon was she along as he was down, Each leaning on their elbows and their hips: Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips; And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, 'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
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She laid down beside him. Each of them leaned on their elbows and hips. When she stroked his cheek, he frowned. He started to say something, but she kissed his lips to stop him. As they kissed, she said, between kisses, "if you're going to argue with me, you'll never open your lips again."
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He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks; Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs To fan and blow them dry again she seeks: He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss; What follows more she murders with a kiss.
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He blushed, embarrassed. As she started to cry, her tears fell on his burning, innocent face. Then she dried his tears with a deep sigh and a toss of her blonde hair. He said she was being too forward, and that what she was doing was wrong. She shut him up again by kissing him.
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