Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis(1593)

Prepared by Raghu, ​Master's and Bachelor's degrees from Dr. Rammanohar Lohia Avadh University, Ayodhya 

Shakespeare's first published poem is a witty, sensual and finally tragic retelling of an Ovidian myth. Below you will find the complete original text, arranged by stanza and grouped into scenes, followed by a literary reflection and a guide to its poetic devices.

The Poem

How to read this post:
Rose-bordered serif text = Shakespeare's original poem lines (left column).
Blue text = scene summaries and the modern-English rendering (right column), both written for this post; they are not part of the poem.
Everything after "Literary Reflection" is commentary.

Epigraph (from Ovid, Amores I.15):
Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.

Dedication
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.

RIGHT HONOURABLE,
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 support so 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 godfather, 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.

Part I — The Wooing Begins

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)Adonis rides out to hunt, but Venus intercepts him. She praises his beauty, pulls him off his horse, pins him down and smothers him with kisses like a hungry eagle. He sulks and blushes, promises her a kiss, then turns his lips away.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
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-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him.	At sunrise, when the sun with his glowing face was leaving the dewy morning behind, rosy-cheeked Adonis hurried off to hunt. He loved hunting and mocked love. Lovesick Venus rushed after him and began courting him as boldly as any suitor.
‘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.	"You are three times lovelier than I am," she began. "You are the finest flower of the field, putting nymphs and men alike in the shade, redder and whiter than roses and doves. Nature herself, who made you, says the world will end when you die.
‘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;	"Please, wonderful boy, get down from your horse and tie him up. If you do me this favor, I'll tell you a thousand sweet secrets. Come sit here where no snake hisses, and once you're seated I'll smother you in kisses.
‘And yet not cloy thy lips with loath’d 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.’	"But I won't tire your lips with too much of a good thing. I'll leave them hungry in the middle of plenty, turning them red, then pale, with endless variety: ten quick kisses like one, one long kiss like twenty. A whole summer day will feel like an hour spent on such a pastime."
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 enrag’d, desire doth lend her force Courageously to pluck him from his horse.	With that she grabbed his sweaty hand, a sign of his vigor and youth, and, trembling with desire, called it medicine, the best healing balm on earth for a goddess. Driven by passion, she found the strength to drag him off his horse.
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.	She looped the stallion's reins over one arm and held the boy under the other. He blushed and sulked in sullen contempt, with no appetite for games. She was red and hot as burning coals; he was red with shame but cold with desire.
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.	She quickly tied the horse's bridle to a rough branch (love moves fast!). With the horse secured, she now tried to pin the rider, pushing him backward as if she were the one being pushed, overpowering him with strength but not with desire.
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.’	No sooner was he down than she was beside him, both propped on elbows and hips. She stroked his cheek, and he frowned and started to scold her, but she stopped his mouth with her own. Between kisses she told him that if he scolded, his lips would never get to open.
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.	He burned with embarrassment, and she cooled his hot cheeks with her tears, then tried to dry them with sighs and her golden hair. He called her shameless and blamed her for going too far; whatever he said next, she silenced with a kiss.
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, Till either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone; Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin, And where she ends she doth anew begin.	Like a starving eagle that tears at feathers, flesh and bone and flaps her wings in a greedy rush until she is full or the prey is gone, she kissed his forehead, cheek and chin, and wherever she finished, she began again.
Forc’d to content, but never to obey, Panting he lies and breatheth in her face; She feedeth on the steam as on a prey, And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace; Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, So they were dew’d with such distilling showers.	He submitted under pressure but never agreed. He lay panting and breathing in her face, and she fed on his breath like prey, calling it heavenly air. She wished her cheeks were gardens so his breath could fall on them like rain.
Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net, So fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; Pure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret, Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: Rain added to a river that is rank Perforce will force it overflow the bank.	Look at him tangled in her arms like a bird in a net. Shame and reluctant resistance made him fret, and the anger in his eyes only made him lovelier, the way rain pushes an already swollen river over its banks.
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale; Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets, ’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale; Being red, she loves him best; and being white, Her best is better’d with a more delight.	She kept pleading, and pleading sweetly, tuning her words for an ear that would not listen. He stayed sullen and scowling, swinging between red embarrassment and pale anger. She loved him best when red and better still when white.
Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; And by her fair immortal hand she swears, From his soft bosom never to remove, Till he take truce with her contending tears, Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet; And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.	However he looked, she couldn't help loving him. She swore by her immortal hand never to let go of his chest until he made peace with her tears, which had been falling for ages, and paid this endless debt with one sweet kiss.
Upon this promise did he raise his chin, Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave, Who, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in; So offers he to give what she did crave; But when her lips were ready for his pay, He winks, and turns his lips another way.	At that promise he lifted his chin like a diving bird peeking above the waves, ducking back when watched. He seemed ready to give her what she wanted, but when her lips were ready to be paid, he winked and turned his own away.
Never did passenger in summer’s heat More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. Her help she sees, but help she cannot get; She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn: ‘O, pity,’ ’gan she cry, ‘flint-hearted boy! ’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?	A traveler in summer heat never longed for water as she longed for this favor. She saw the cure but couldn't reach it: she was bathed in tears, yet her fire burned on. "Pity me, stone-hearted boy!" she cried. "It's only a kiss I want. Why so shy?

Part II — The Goddess Pleads

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)Venus boasts that she even tamed Mars, the god of war. She urges Adonis to seize the day, argues that beauty must be passed on through children, and warns him not to fall in love with himself like Narcissus.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
‘I have been woo’d, as I entreat thee now, Even by the stern and direful god of war, Whose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow, Who conquers where he comes in every jar; Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have.	"The stern and terrifying god of war once courted me the way I'm courting you. He has never bowed in battle and conquers everywhere he goes, yet I made him my captive and slave, and he begged for what I'll give you unasked.
‘Over my altars hath he hung his lance, His batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest, And for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance, To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest, Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red, Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.	"He hung his spear, battered shield and unbeaten helmet on my altar. For my sake he learned to play and dance, to flirt, joke and smile, scorning his rough drum and red banner, making my arms his battlefield and my bed his tent.
‘Thus he that overruled I oversway’d, Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain: Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obey’d, Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, For mastering her that foil’d the god of fight!	"So I conquered the one who conquered everyone, leading him prisoner in a chain of roses. Steel-strong as he was, he obeyed my teasing coldness. Don't be proud, then, or boast of your strength, since you're snubbing the woman who beat the god of war!
‘Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,— Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red— The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine: What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head: Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies; Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?	"Just touch my lips with your lovely ones. Mine may be less fair, but they're red, and the kiss will be yours as much as mine. Why are you staring at the ground? Lift up your head and look into my eyes, where your own beauty is reflected. Why not lips on lips, since it's already eyes on eyes?
‘Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again, And I will wink; so shall the day seem night; Love keeps his revels where they are but twain; Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight: These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.	"Are you too shy to kiss? Then close your eyes, and I'll close mine, and we'll make day seem like night. Lovers hold their feasts when it's just the two of them. Be bold, since nobody sees our game. These violets we're lying on will never tell and don't know what we mean.
‘The tender spring upon thy tempting lip Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted: Make use of time, let not advantage slip; Beauty within itself should not be wasted: Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time.	"The soft down on your tempting lip says you're not yet ripe, but you're ready to be tasted. Use your time and don't let the chance slip. Beauty shouldn't be wasted on itself. Fair flowers that are not picked in their prime rot and wither in no time.
‘Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled-old, Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, O’erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold, Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice, Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee; But having no defects, why dost abhor me?	"If I were ugly, foul or wrinkled, ill-bred, twisted, rough-voiced, worn out, hated, rheumatic and cold, half-blind, barren, thin and dried up, you'd have reason to hesitate, because I wouldn't suit you. But I have no flaws, so why do you hate me?
‘Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow; Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning: My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning; My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.	"You can't find a single wrinkle on my brow. My eyes are gray, bright and quick. My beauty grows each year like spring, my flesh is soft and plump, my blood is warm. If you took my smooth, damp hand in yours, it would seem to melt in your palm.
‘Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green, Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair, Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen: Love is a spirit all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.	"Ask me to talk and I'll enchant your ear. Or I'll dance like a fairy on the grass, or like a nymph with long loose hair on the sand, leaving no footprints. Love is a spirit made of fire, too light to sink, and made to rise.
‘Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie; These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me; Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky, From morn till night, even where I list to sport me: Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?	"Look at this primrose bank I'm lying on: these weightless flowers hold me up like sturdy trees. Two feeble doves can carry me through the sky wherever I like, all day and night. Love is that light, sweet boy. Why would you think it heavy?
‘Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft. Narcissus so himself himself forsook, And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.	"Are you in love with your own face? Can your right hand make love to your left? Then court yourself, and get rejected by yourself, stealing your own freedom and then complaining of the theft. That is how Narcissus rejected himself and died trying to kiss his reflection in a stream.
‘Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; Things growing to themselves are growth’s abuse: Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty; Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.	"Torches are for lighting, jewels for wearing, delicacies for tasting, flowers for smelling, plants for bearing fruit. Things that keep their growth to themselves abuse it. Seeds come from seeds and beauty breeds beauty. You were fathered, so it is your duty to father in turn.
‘Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed, Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? By law of nature thou art bound to breed, That thine may live when thou thyself art dead; And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive, In that thy likeness still is left alive.’	"Why take food from the earth unless you feed the earth in return? By nature's law you are bound to have children, so that your line can live on after your death. That way, in spite of dying, you survive in your own likeness."

Part III — Noon, Scorn, and the Park of Love

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)At midday heat Adonis wants to leave. Venus calls him cold as stone, offers her body as a 'park' for him to roam, and weeps as he smiles his dimpled, scornful smile.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, For where they lay the shadow had forsook them, And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat, With burning eye did hotly overlook them; Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, So he were like him and by Venus’ side.	By now the lovesick goddess was sweating, because the shade had left them and the sun, tired in the midday heat, was glaring down. The sun-god wished Adonis could drive his chariot, so that he could lie beside Venus instead.
And now Adonis, with a lazy sprite, And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, His louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight, Like misty vapours when they blot the sky, Souring his cheeks, cries ‘Fie, no more of love! The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.’	Adonis grew listless, with a heavy, dark and resentful look, his scowling brows clouding his eyes like mist clouding the sky. Sour-faced, he cried, "Enough of love! The sun is burning my face. I have to go."
‘Ay me,’ quoth Venus, ‘young, and so unkind? What bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone! I’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind Shall cool the heat of this descending sun: I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs; If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears.	"Oh dear," said Venus. "So young, and so cruel? What flimsy excuses to leave! I'll breathe heavenly sighs to cool the setting sun's heat and shade you with my hair. If that burns too, I'll put it out with my tears.
‘The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee: The heat I have from thence doth little harm, Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; And were I not immortal, life were done Between this heavenly and earthly sun.	"The sun in the sky only gives a little warmth, and look, I'm lying between it and you. Its heat barely touches me, but your eyes shoot fire that burns me. If I weren't immortal I'd be dead, caught between this sun of heaven and the one on earth.
‘Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel, Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth? Art thou a woman’s son, and canst not feel What ’tis to love? how want of love tormenteth? O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind, She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.	"Are you made of steel? No, harder than flint, since even stone wears away in the rain. You're a woman's son, yet don't know how love's absence torments? If your mother had been this hard, she wouldn't have borne you but died unloving.
‘What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this? Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again, And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.	"Who am I, that you should despise me? What danger lies in my request? How would your lips suffer from one poor kiss? Speak kindly, or say nothing. Give me one kiss and I'll return it, plus another as interest if you like.
‘Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, Statue contenting but the eye alone, Thing like a man, but of no woman bred! Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion, For men will kiss even by their own direction.’	"Shame on you, lifeless statue, cold senseless stone, well-painted idol, lovely only to look at, a thing shaped like a man but not born of woman! You aren't a man, whatever you look like, because men kiss even without being asked."
This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, And swelling passion doth provoke a pause; Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong; Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause: And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, And now her sobs do her intendments break.	Her pleading tongue tied up in impatience. Passion made her pause, with red cheeks and blazing eyes showing her hurt. Though she was love's own judge, she couldn't win her case. She wept, then tried to speak, and her sobs broke up her words.
Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand, Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground; Sometimes her arms infold him like a band: She would, he will not in her arms be bound; And when from thence he struggles to be gone, She locks her lily fingers one in one.	At times she shook her head, then his hand; she looked at him, then at the ground; sometimes she wrapped her arms around him like a belt. Though she wanted to hold him and he refused, when he tried to get free she locked her white fingers together.
‘Fondling,’ she saith, ‘since I have hemm’d thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.	"Darling," she said, "since I've fenced you in with these ivory arms, I'll be a park and you'll be my deer. Graze wherever you like, on mountain or in valley. Feed on my lips, and if those hills are dry, wander lower where the sweet springs are.
‘Within this limit is relief enough, Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain, Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, To shelter thee from tempest and from rain: Then be my deer, since I am such a park; No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.’	"This enclosure has all you need: soft grass, high pleasant plains, rounded hills and thick, rough thickets to shelter you from storm and rain. So be my deer, since I'm such a park, and no hound will chase you out, though a thousand bark."
At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple; Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, He might be buried in a tomb so simple; Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie, Why, there Love lived and there he could not die.	Adonis smiled scornfully at this, and a dimple appeared in each cheek. Love made those hollows so that, if he were killed, he might be buried in a simple tomb, knowing that in such a grave Love would live and could not die.
These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits, Open’d their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking. Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking? Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!	Those pretty hollows, those round bewitching pits, opened their mouths to swallow Venus's love. She was already mad with desire, so how can she cope now? Already struck dead, what need of a second blow? Poor queen of love, betrayed by her own law, in love with a cheek that smiles at her in scorn!
Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say? Her words are done, her woes the more increasing; The time is spent, her object will away, And from her twining arms doth urge releasing: ‘Pity,’ she cries, ‘some favour, some remorse!’ Away he springs and hasteth to his horse.	Which way could she turn? What could she say? Her words were spent, her sorrow increasing; time was running out and her beloved was trying to leave, pulling to loosen her arms. "Have pity," she cried, "show some kindness!" But he sprang away and rushed to his horse.

Part IV — The Courser and the Jennet

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)Adonis's stallion breaks free and chases a young mare. The poet pauses for a long, loving description of the horse, and the two animals gallop off, leaving Adonis furious.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by, A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud, Adonis’ trampling courser doth espy, And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud: The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree, Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.	But look: from a nearby thicket a young, eager and proud mare spotted Adonis's stamping horse and rushed out, snorting and neighing loudly. The strong-necked stallion, still tied to a tree, snapped his rein and went straight to her.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, And now his woven girths he breaks asunder; The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder; The iron bit he crusheth ’tween his teeth, Controlling what he was controlled with.	He leaped, neighed and bounded grandly, snapping his leather girths. The earth shuddered under his hard hooves, which boomed like thunder. He crushed the iron bit between his teeth, mastering the very thing meant to master him.
His ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane Upon his compass’d crest now stand on end; His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, As from a furnace, vapours doth he send: His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, Shows his hot courage and his high desire.	His ears stood up and his braided mane bristled along his arched neck. His nostrils drank the air and puffed it out again like furnace smoke. His eye glittered like fire, showing his fierce courage and burning desire.
Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps, With gentle majesty and modest pride; Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps, 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.’	Sometimes he trotted as if counting his steps, with gentle majesty and modest pride. Then he reared up and pranced as if to say, "Look how strong I am, and all this is to impress the lovely mare who's watching."
What recketh he his rider’s angry stir, His flattering ‘Holla,’ or his ‘Stand, I say’? What cares he now for curb or pricking spur? For rich caparisons or trapping gay? He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.	What does he care now about his rider's angry shouts, his "Whoa" and "Stand still"? What are bit and spur to him, or fancy harness and gaudy trappings? He sees only his love and nothing else, because nothing else matches his proud gaze.
Look, when a painter would surpass the life, In limning out a well-proportion’d steed, His art with nature’s workmanship at strife, As if the dead the living should exceed; So did this horse excel a common one In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.	Think of a painter trying to outdo life by drawing a perfectly proportioned horse, his art competing with nature itself, as if a painting could beat the living animal. That's how this horse surpassed ordinary ones in shape, courage, color, speed and strength.
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.	Round hooves, short pasterns, long shaggy fetlocks, broad chest, bright eyes, small head, wide nostrils, high crest, short ears, straight legs, great strength, thin mane, thick tail, broad rump, fine skin: he lacked nothing a horse should have, except a rider worthy of so proud a back.
Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares; Anon he starts at stirring of a feather; To bid the wind a base he now prepares, And whether 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.	Sometimes he galloped far off and stood staring. Then he'd start at the stir of a feather, ready to race the wind, so that nobody could tell whether he ran or flew, since the wind sang through his mane and tail, fanning the hairs like feathered wings.
He looks upon his love and neighs unto her; She answers him as if she knew his mind; Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels, Beating his kind embracements with her heels.	He looked at his love and neighed to her, and she answered as if reading his mind. Proud, as females are, to be wooed, she acted aloof and unfriendly, kicking at his affection and answering his warm advances with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy malcontent, He vails his tail that, like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume. His love, perceiving how he is enrag’d, Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d.	Then, like a sulking malcontent, he lowered his tail, which hung like a drooping plume and shaded his hot flanks, and stamped and bit at the flies in his rage. His love, seeing how furious he was, softened, and his anger died down.
His testy master goeth about to take him; When, lo, the unback’d breeder, full of fear, Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, With her the horse, and left Adonis there: As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.	His irritable master went to catch him, but the unbroken mare, frightened and wary of being caught, quickly bolted with the horse, leaving Adonis behind. Like mad things they dashed into the woods, outrunning the crows that tried to fly past them.

Part V — Words, Kisses and Refusals

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)Adonis sulks while Venus kneels and takes his hand. He insists he knows nothing of love and prefers hunting boars. She answers by arguing from all five senses that she would love him anyway.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits, Banning his boisterous and unruly beast: And now the happy season once more fits, That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest; For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue.	Swollen with fury, Adonis sat down, cursing his wild, unruly horse. Now was a good moment for lovesick Venus to try again, since lovers say the heart suffers three times as much when the tongue is barred from helping it.
An oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d, Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: So of concealed sorrow may be said; Free vent of words love’s fire doth assuage; But when the heart’s attorney once is mute, The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.	Like a blocked oven or a dammed river, which burns hotter or swells higher, hidden sorrow worsens when it can't speak. Words release love's fire, but when the heart's lawyer falls silent, the client breaks out in desperation.
He sees her coming, and begins to glow, Even as a dying coal revives with wind, And with his bonnet hides his angry brow, Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, Taking no notice that she is so nigh, For all askance he holds her in his eye.	He saw her coming and began to glow with anger, like a dying coal revived by wind. He pulled his hat over his scowl and stared at the dull ground, pretending not to notice her, though out of the corner of his eye he kept her in view.
O, what a sight it was, wistly to view How she came stealing to the wayward boy! To note the fighting conflict of her hue, How white and red each other did destroy! But now her cheek was pale, and by and by It flash’d forth fire, as lightning from the sky.	Oh, what a sight it was to see her creep up to the sulking boy and watch the struggle in her complexion, white and red wrecking each other! One moment her cheek was pale; the next it flared with color, like lightning flashing across the sky.
Now was she just before him as he sat, And like a lowly lover down she kneels; With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand’s print, As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.	Now she was right in front of him as he sat, and she knelt like a humble lover. With one lovely hand she lifted his hat, and with the other she touched his soft cheek, which took her fingerprints as easily as fresh snow takes a footprint.
O, what a war of looks was then between them! Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing; His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them; Her eyes woo’d still, his eyes disdain’d the wooing: And all this dumb play had his acts made plain With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.	Oh, what a battle of looks between them! Her eyes begged his eyes; his eyes looked at hers as if he'd never seen them; her eyes kept wooing and his eyes kept refusing. All this silent show was explained, like a chorus, by the tears her eyes rained.
Full gently now she takes him by the hand, A lily prison’d in a gaol of snow, Or ivory in an alabaster band; So white a friend engirts so white a foe: This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Show’d like two silver doves that sit a-billing.	Very gently she took his hand, a lily locked in a prison of snow, or ivory in an alabaster band: so white a friend embracing so white an enemy. Their beautiful struggle, willing against unwilling, looked like two silver doves billing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began: ‘O fairest mover on this mortal round, Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound; For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, Though nothing but my body’s bane would cure thee.’	Once again her mind set to work. "O fairest being on earth," she said, "I wish you were as I am and I were a man. Your heart would be whole like mine and mine wounded like yours; for one kind look I'd cure you, though only my own death would cure you."
‘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, And being steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it: Then love’s deep groans I never shall regard, Because Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard.’	"Give me back my hand," he said. "Why are you holding it?" "Give me my heart," she said, "and you can have it. Give it to me, or your hard heart will turn mine to steel, and then soft sighs can never carve a mark on it, and I'll never feel love's deep groans, because Adonis's heart has hardened mine."
‘For shame,’ he cries, ‘let go, and let me go; My day’s delight is past, my horse is gone, And ’tis your fault I am bereft him so: 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.’	"For shame," he cried. "Let go and let me go! The day's fun is over, my horse has run off, and it's your fault I've lost him. Please leave me alone, because all I think and care about is how to get my horse back from that mare."
Thus she replies: ‘Thy palfrey, as he should, Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire: Affection is a coal that must be cool’d; Else, suffer’d, it will set the heart on fire: The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.	She answered, "Your horse is right to welcome the warm approach of desire. Passion is a coal that must be cooled or it will set the heart on fire. The sea has limits but deep desire has none, so no wonder your horse has gone.
‘How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree, Servilely master’d with a leathern rein! But when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee, He held such petty bondage in disdain; Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.	"How like a worn-out nag he stood, tied to a tree and meekly held by a leather rein! But when he saw his love, the prize of his youth, he scorned that petty bondage and threw off the strap, freeing his mouth, his back and his chest.
‘Who sees his true-love in her naked bed, Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed, His other agents aim at like delight? Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold To touch the fire, the weather being cold?	"Who sees his true love lying naked in bed, making the sheets look whiter than white, and is satisfied with looking, while his other senses want the same delight? Who is so timid that he won't touch fire when the weather is cold?
‘Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy; And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, To take advantage on presented joy; Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee. O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain, And once made perfect, never lost again.’	"Let me defend your horse, gentle boy, and I beg you to learn from him: seize the joy before you. Even if I said nothing, his example would teach you. Oh, learn to love; the lesson is simple, and once learned it's never forgotten."
‘I know not love,’ quoth he, ‘nor will not know it, Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it; ’Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it; My love to love is love but to disgrace it; For I have heard it is a life in death, That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.	"I don't know love," he said, "and I don't want to. Unless it's a boar, I don't chase it. It's costly to borrow and I won't be in debt. My only love of love is to mock it, because I've heard it's a living death that laughs and weeps in a single breath.
‘Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d? Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? If springing things be any jot diminish’d, They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth: The colt that’s back’d and burden’d being young Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong.	"Who wears a half-made shirt? Who picks a bud before a leaf has come? If young things are cut short, they wither in their prime and amount to nothing. A colt that's saddled and loaded while young loses his spirit and never grows strong.
‘You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part, And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat: Remove your siege from my unyielding heart; To love’s alarms it will not ope the gate: Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery; For where a heart is hard they make no battery.’	"You're hurting my hand, so let go. Drop this pointless talk. Stop besieging my heart, which won't open its gate to love's attacks. Stop your promises, fake tears and flattery, for where a heart is hard, battering does nothing."
‘What! canst thou talk?’ quoth she, ‘hast thou a tongue? O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing! Thy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong; I had my load before, now press’d with bearing: Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh-sounding, Ear’s deep-sweet music, and heart’s deep-sore wounding.	"What! You can talk?" she said. "Have you really got a tongue? Oh, I wish you hadn't, or that I couldn't hear! Your siren voice has wronged me twice: I was already burdened and now I'm weighed down more. A discord that sounds like music, a sweet sound that is a deep wound.
‘Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love That inward beauty and invisible; Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move Each part in me that were but sensible: Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, Yet should I be in love by touching thee.	"If I had ears but no eyes, I'd love your inner, unseen beauty. If I were deaf, your outer beauty would stir everything in me that could feel. Without eyes or ears, I'd still fall for you by touch.
‘Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, And nothing but the very smell were left me, Yet would my love to thee be still as much; For from the stillitory of thy face excelling Comes breath perfum’d that breedeth love by smelling.	"If I lost even the sense of touch and had only smell left, I'd still love you just as much, since from the distillery of your face comes perfumed breath that makes love by scent.
‘But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, Being nurse and feeder of the other four! Would they not wish the feast might ever last, And bid Suspicion double-lock the door, Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?’	"But oh, what a feast you'd be to taste, the nurse and feeder of the other four senses! They'd all wish the banquet would last forever and bid Suspicion lock the door twice, so that sour Jealousy couldn't creep in and spoil the feast."
Once more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d, Which to his speech did honey passage yield; Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken’d Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.	Once more the red doorway of his mouth opened, letting honeyed speech pass, but like a red dawn that always warns of shipwreck for sailors, storms for the fields, grief for shepherds, trouble for birds, and gales for herdsmen and cattle.
This ill presage advisedly she marketh: Even as the wind is hush’d before it raineth, Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, His meaning struck her ere his words begun.	She noticed this bad omen carefully. As the wind goes quiet before rain, as a wolf snarls before barking, as a berry bursts before staining, or like the flash of a gun before the bullet, his meaning struck her before his words began.

Part VI — The Swoon and the Kiss of Life

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)His angry look makes Venus faint; he panics and revives her with kisses. He says he is too young and it is late, they kiss goodnight, and she overpowers him again with passion.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
And at his look she flatly falleth down, For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth; A smile recures the wounding of a frown; But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth! The silly boy, believing she is dead, Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;	She dropped flat at his look, because looks can kill love and looks can revive it, a smile heals a frown's wound, and she was happily ruined by loving. The foolish boy, thinking her dead, slapped her pale cheek until it turned red.
And all amaz’d brake off his late intent, For sharply he did think to reprehend her, Which cunning love did wittily prevent: Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her! For on the grass she lies as she were slain, Till his breath breatheth life in her again.	Astonished, he dropped his plan to scold her, which her clever love cleverly prevented. Bless the wit that defends her so well! She lay on the grass as if killed, until his breath breathed life into her again.
He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d: He kisses her; and she, by her good will, Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.	He pinched her nose, slapped her cheeks, bent her fingers, pressed her pulse, rubbed her lips, trying a thousand ways to undo the harm his unkindness had done. Then he kissed her, and she, if she had her way, would never get up as long as he kept kissing.
The night of sorrow now is turn’d to day: Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth; And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, So is her face illumin’d with her eye;	Her night of sorrow turned to day. She slowly lifted her two blue eyes like windows, like the sun rising in new splendor, cheering the morning and refreshing the earth, and as the sun brightens the sky, so her eyes lit up her face.
Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d, As if from thence they borrow’d all their shine. Were never four such lamps together mix’d, Had not his clouded with his brow’s repine; But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light, Shone like the moon in water seen by night.	Her gaze fixed on his smooth, beardless face as if she borrowed all her light from it. Four such lamps together had never shone, if his had not been dimmed by his frowning; but hers, shining through crystal tears, looked like the moon seen in water at night.
‘O, where am I?’ quoth she, ‘in earth or heaven, Or in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire? What hour is this? or morn or weary even? Do I delight to die, or life desire? But now I lived, and life was death’s annoy; But now I died, and death was lively joy.	"Oh, where am I?" she said. "On earth or in heaven, or drowned in the sea or burning in fire? What hour is it, morning or evening? Do I want to die or live? A moment ago I lived and life was misery; just now I died, and death was joyful life.
‘O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again: Thy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain That they have murder’d this poor heart of mine; And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.	"Oh, you killed me; kill me again! Your eyes have a cruel tutor in your hard heart, who taught them scorn and disdain until they murdered my poor heart; and these eyes of mine, loyal guides to their queen, would have seen nothing but for your merciful lips.
‘Long may they kiss each other, for this cure! O, never let their crimson liveries wear! And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year! That the star-gazers, having writ on death, May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath.	"Long may your lips kiss mine, for this cure! May their crimson never fade, and may their freshness last, to drive the plague from the dangerous year, so that astrologers who predicted death can say that your breath has banished the pestilence.
‘Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, What bargains may I make, still to be sealing? To sell myself I can be well contented, So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing; Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.	"Pure lips, sweet seals stamped on mine, what deals can I make, always being sealed? I'd gladly sell myself if you'd buy and pay and deal fairly, and to be safe against mistakes, set your seal on my wax-red lips.
‘A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. What is ten hundred touches unto thee? Are they not quickly told and quickly gone? Say, for non-payment that the debt should double, Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?’	"A thousand kisses will buy my heart, and you can pay them at your leisure, one by one. What are a thousand touches to you? Aren't they soon counted and gone? And if the debt doubled for non-payment, would two thousand kisses be such a burden?"
‘Fair queen,’ quoth he, ‘if any love you owe me, Measure my strangeness with my unripe years: Before I know myself, seek not to know me; No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears: The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, Or being early pluck’d is sour to taste.	"Fair queen," he said, "if you love me, make allowances for my youth. Don't try to know me before I know myself. Only the ungrown minnows are left alone by fishermen. A ripe plum falls, a green one clings, and if picked early it tastes sour.
‘Look, the world’s comforter, with weary gait, His day’s hot task hath ended in the west; The owl, night’s herald, shrieks, “’Tis very late;” The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light Do summon us to part and bid good night.	"Look, the sun, the world's comforter, has finished his hot day's work in the west. The owl, night's herald, shrieks that it's very late, the sheep are in their fold and the birds in their nests, and black clouds darken the sky, telling us to part and say good night.
‘Now let me say “Good night,” and so say you; If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.’ ‘Good night,’ quoth she, and, ere he says “Adieu,” The honey fee of parting tender’d is: Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.	"Now let me say 'Good night,' and you say it too, and you shall have a kiss." "Good night," she said, and before he could say "Farewell," she paid the honey fee of parting: her arms wound round his neck and their faces seemed to merge into one.
Till, breathless, he disjoin’d, and backward drew The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth: He with her plenty press’d, she faint with dearth, Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.	Breathless, he pulled back from that heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, whose taste her thirsty lips knew well and, glutted, still cried for more. With his lips full and hers starved, they fell, mouths locked, to the ground.
Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry:	Now desire had caught her willing prey, and like a glutton she feasted without ever being full. Her lips conquered, his obeyed, paying whatever ransom the victor named, and she set the price so high that she would drain the rich treasure from his lips.
And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, With blindfold fury she begins to forage; Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, Planting oblivion, beating reason back, Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honour’s wrack.	Having tasted the sweetness of her plunder, she began to forage blindly. Her face steamed, her blood boiled, and reckless lust stirred up a desperate boldness that buried common sense, beat back reason and forgot shame's blush and honor's ruin.
Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling, Or as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing, Or like the froward infant still’d with dandling, He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.	Hot, faint and weary from her tight embrace, he was like a wild bird tamed by too much handling, or a tired deer, or a fretful baby quieted by dandling. He no longer resisted, while she took all she could, though not all she wanted.
What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering, And yields at last to every light impression? Things out of hope are compass’d oft with venturing, Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward.	What wax is so cold that it won't soften when warmed and take any light impression? Even seemingly hopeless things are won by daring, above all in love, which goes beyond its orders. Love never faints like a pale coward, but woos best when the beloved is most stubborn.
When he did frown, O, had she then gave over, Such nectar from his lips she had not suck’d. Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; What though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis pluck’d: Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.	When he frowned, if she had given up then, she would never have drawn such nectar from his lips. Harsh words and frowns must not drive off a lover. A rose has thorns, but it is still picked, and beauty under twenty locks still yields to love at last.

Part VII — The Boar Foretold

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)Venus asks to meet tomorrow, but Adonis plans to hunt the boar. She faints, then describes the boar's dangers, speaks of jealousy and foreboding, advises hunting hares instead, and argues against chastity.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
For pity now she can no more detain him; The poor fool prays her that he may depart: She is resolv’d no longer to restrain him, Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, The which, by Cupid’s bow she doth protest, He carries thence incaged in his breast.	Out of pity she could no longer hold him back. The poor fool begged to leave, and she decided to stop restraining him. She said goodbye and told him to take care of her heart, which, she swore by Cupid's bow, he carried off caged inside his chest.
‘Sweet boy,’ she says, ‘this night I’ll waste in sorrow, For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. Tell me, Love’s master, shall we meet to-morrow? Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?’ He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.	"Sweet boy," she said, "I'll spend tonight in sorrow, since my sick heart keeps my eyes awake. Tell me, master of love, will we meet tomorrow? Say we will, will you make this date?" He said no; tomorrow he meant to hunt the boar with some friends.
‘The boar!’ quoth she; whereat a sudden pale, Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale, And on his neck her yoking arms she throws: She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck, He on her belly falls, she on her back.	"The boar!" she cried, and a sudden pallor, like fine linen spread over a blushing rose, took over her cheek. She trembled at his words and flung her arms around his neck. She sank down, still clinging to him, he falling on his stomach and she on her back.
Now is she in the very lists of love, Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: All is imaginary she doth prove, He will not manage her, although he mount her; That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy, To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.	Now she was in the very lists of love, her champion mounted for the clash, but it was all imaginary: he wouldn't take her though he lay on top of her. Her torment was worse than Tantalus's, to embrace paradise and still lack joy.
Even as poor birds, deceiv’d with painted grapes, Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw, Even so she languisheth in her mishaps, As those poor birds that helpless berries saw. The warm effects which she in him finds missing She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.	Like poor birds fooled by painted grapes who feast with their eyes while their bellies starve, she pined in her troubles like those birds who saw berries they could not have. She tried to kindle his missing warmth with endless kisses.
But all in vain; good queen, it will not be: She hath assay’d as much as may be prov’d; Her pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee; She’s Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d. ‘Fie, fie,’ he says, ‘you crush me; let me go; You have no reason to withhold me so.’	But it was all in vain. Poor queen, it wasn't meant to be. She had tried everything possible and deserved better. She is Love, she loves, and yet is unloved. "Stop it," he said, "you're crushing me. Let me go. You've no reason to hold me like this."
‘Thou hadst been gone,’ quoth she, ‘sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. O, be advis’d! thou know’st not what it is With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, Whose tushes never sheath’d he whetteth still, Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.	"You'd have gone by now, sweet boy," she said, "if you hadn't said you'd hunt the boar. Oh, be careful! You don't know what it is to attack a savage swine with a spear. His never-sheathed tusks are always sharpened, like a butcher bent on killing.
‘On his bow-back he hath a battle set Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret; His snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes; Being mov’d, he strikes what’er is in his way, And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay.	"On his arched back he carries a battle line of bristling spikes that threaten his enemies. His eyes glow like glow-worms when he's angry, and his snout digs graves wherever he goes. Provoked, he strikes anything in his path, and whatever he strikes, his savage tusks kill.
‘His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm’d, Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter; His short thick neck cannot be easily harm’d; Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.	"His burly flanks, armed with bristling hair, are tougher than your spear can pierce. His short thick neck is hard to hurt. In his rage he'd take on a lion. Even the thorny brambles and clinging bushes part in fear as he charges through.
‘Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, To which Love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne, Whose full perfection all the world amazes; But having thee at vantage,—wondrous dread!— Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.	"Alas, he doesn't care for that face of yours, which love's own eyes gaze at in homage, nor for your soft hands, sweet lips and sparkling eyes, which amaze the whole world. If he gets you at an advantage, a dreadful thought, he'll tear up these beauties as he roots up the meadow.
‘O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still; Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends: Come not within his danger by thy will; They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, I fear’d thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.	"Oh, let him stay in his foul den. Beauty has nothing to do with such horrible fiends. Don't walk into his danger by choice. Those who prosper listen to their friends. When you mentioned the boar, honestly, I feared for your fate and my joints shook.
‘Didst thou not mark my face? was it not white? Saw’st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright? Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.	"Didn't you see my face? Wasn't it white? Didn't you see fear in my eyes? Didn't I go faint and fall flat? In my chest, where you're lying, my anxious heart pants, beats and has no rest, shaking you like an earthquake on my breast.
‘For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy Doth call himself Affection’s sentinel; Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, And in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” Distemp’ring gentle Love in his desire, As air and water do abate the fire.	"Where Love rules, disturbing Jealousy calls itself Love's watchman, gives false alarms and stirs up rebellion, and in a peaceful hour cries 'Kill, kill!' troubling gentle Love in his desire, as air and water weaken fire.
‘This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, This canker that eats up Love’s tender spring, This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy, That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring, Knocks at my heart and whispers in mine ear That if I love thee, I thy death should fear:	"This sour informer, this trouble-making spy, this canker eating up love's tender spring, this tale-bearing troublemaker, who brings news sometimes true and sometimes false, knocks at my heart and whispers in my ear that if I love you, I should fear your death.
‘And more than so, presenteth to mine eye The picture of an angry-chafing boar, Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie An image like thyself, all stain’d with gore; Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.	"And worse, it shows my mind a picture of a raging boar with an image like you lying beneath his sharp tusks, all stained with blood, whose blood on the fresh flowers makes them droop their heads in grief.
‘What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, That tremble at the imagination? The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, And fear doth teach it divination: I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.	"What should I do, seeing you like this, when you tremble just at the thought? Merely imagining it makes my weak heart bleed, and fear teaches me prophecy: I foresee your death and my lifelong grief if you meet the boar tomorrow.
‘But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Or at the fox which lives by subtlety, Or at the roe which no encounter dare: Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs, And on thy well-breath’d horse keep with thy hounds.	"But if you must hunt, take my advice: chase the timid, fleeing hare, or the cunning fox, or the deer that never faces an enemy. Pursue these frightened creatures across the hills, and keep up with your hounds on your well-winded horse.
‘And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles How he outruns the wind and with what care He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles: The many musets through the which he goes Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.	"And when you have the nearly blind hare on the run, watch the poor creature try to outrun its troubles: how it outruns the wind and, with great care, doubles back and crosses its trail a thousand times, its many gaps through hedges like a maze to confuse its enemies.
‘Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer: Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:	"Sometimes he runs among a flock of sheep to confuse the clever hounds' noses, or ducks into burrows where rabbits live to halt his noisy pursuers, or joins a herd of deer: danger invents tricks, and fear sharpens wit.
‘For there his smell with others being mingled, The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, As if another chase were in the skies.	"For when his scent is mixed with others, the hot, sniffing hounds fall into doubt and stop their baying until, with much effort, they sort out the cold trail. Then they give tongue again and an echo answers, as if another hunt were happening in the sky.
‘By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still: Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.	"By now poor Wat the hare, far off on a hill, stands on his hind legs with an ear cocked, listening for the pursuers. As soon as he hears their cries again, his grief is like that of a very sick man hearing the funeral bell.
‘Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way; Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never reliev’d by any.	"Then you'd see the dew-soaked creature turn and turn again, zigzagging along his path, every spiteful briar scratching his tired legs, every shadow and sound stopping him short, for the unlucky are trampled by many, and the downtrodden are never helped.
‘Lie quietly, and hear a little more; Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Unlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, Applying this to that, and so to so; For love can comment upon every woe.	"Lie quietly and listen to a bit more. No, don't struggle, you won't get up. I'm trying to make you hate boar-hunting, so you'll hear me preach, unlike myself, applying this to that, because love can find a comment on every woe."
‘Where did I leave?’ ‘No matter where,’ quoth he; ‘Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: The night is spent.’ ‘Why, what of that?’ quoth she. ‘I am,’ quoth he, ‘expected of my friends; And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.’ ‘In night,’ quoth she, ‘desire sees best of all.	"Where did I leave off?" "No matter where," he said. "Let me go and the story will end neatly. The night is gone." "So what?" she said. "My friends are expecting me," he said, "and it's dark, and I'll fall if I go." "In the night," she said, "desire sees best of all.
‘But if thou fall, O, then imagine this, The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.	"But if you do fall, imagine this: the earth, in love with you, trips your feet, all to steal a kiss from you. Rich prizes make honest men thieves, and so do your lips. They make modest Diana cloud over and sulk, for fear she'd steal a kiss and break her vow.
‘Now of this dark night I perceive the reason: Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, Till forging Nature be condemn’d of treason, For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine; Wherein she fram’d thee in high heaven’s despite, To shame the sun by day and her by night.	"Now I understand why the night is dark: the moon hides her silver light for shame, until Nature is convicted of treason for stealing heavenly molds, in which she shaped you in defiance of heaven to shame the sun by day and the moon by night.
‘And therefore hath she brib’d the Destinies To cross the curious workmanship of nature, To mingle beauty with infirmities, And pure perfection with impure defeature, Making it subject to the tyranny Of mad mischances and much misery;	"And so the moon has bribed the Fates to spoil Nature's fine craftsmanship, mixing beauty with defects and perfection with ugly flaws, and leaving it subject to the tyranny of wild accidents and misery,
‘As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint Disorder breeds by heating of the blood: Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair, Swear nature’s death for framing thee so fair.	"such as burning fevers, pale shivering agues, deadly plague, raging madness, the marrow-eating sickness whose onset breeds disorder by heating the blood, overindulgence, abscesses, grief and damned despair, which all swear to kill Nature for making you so fair.
‘And not the least of all these maladies But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under: Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder, Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done, As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.	"The least of these ailments in a minute's fight can bring beauty down: looks, scent, color and quality, which once amazed the fair-minded onlooker, suddenly waste away, melted and finished, like mountain snow in midday sun.
‘Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, That on the earth would breed a scarcity And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.	"So, despite their fruitless chastity, love-denying vestal virgins and self-loving nuns, who would make the earth short of daughters and sons, should give freely, as a lamp burning at night wastes its oil to give the world light.
‘What is thy body but a swallowing grave, Seeming to bury that posterity Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.	"What is your body but a swallowing grave, seeming to bury the children you must have, by time's right, if you don't destroy them in dark secrecy? If so, the world will despise you, since in your pride a fair hope is murdered.
‘So in thyself thyself art made away; A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay, Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life. Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.’	"So you destroy yourself in yourself, a crime worse than home-grown civil war, or the act of those who kill themselves, or the father who butchers his own son. Cankering rust eats the buried treasure, but gold put to use breeds more gold."

Part VIII — Adonis Departs; Venus Laments

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)Adonis rejects her, separating true love from lust, and runs off into the dark. Venus laments, her cries answered by echoes, until dawn comes.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
‘Nay, then,’ quoth Adon, ‘you will fall again Into your idle over-handled theme: The kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain, And all in vain you strive against the stream; For, by this black-fac’d night, desire’s foul nurse, Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.	"No, then," said Adonis, "you're going back to your tired, overworked theme. The kiss I gave was wasted, and you struggle against the current in vain, because by this black night, desire's foul nurse, your sermon makes me like you worse and worse.
‘If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, And every tongue more moving than your own, Bewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs, Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown; For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear, And will not let a false sound enter there;	"If love gave you twenty thousand tongues, each more moving than your own, enchanting as a seductive mermaid's song, the tempting tune would still blow past my ear, for my heart stands armed in my ear and won't let a false sound in,
‘Lest the deceiving harmony should run Into the quiet closure of my breast; And then my little heart were quite undone, In his bedchamber to be barr’d of rest. No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan, But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.	"lest the deceptive harmony sneak into my quiet chest and my little heart be ruined, barred from rest in its bedchamber. No, lady, no: my heart doesn't long to groan but sleeps soundly, and sleeps alone.
‘What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove? The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; I hate not love, but your device in love, That lends embracements unto every stranger. You do it for increase: O strange excuse, When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse!	"What have you said that I can't refute? The smooth path leads to danger. I don't hate love, but your way of loving, which hands out embraces to every stranger. You say it's for breeding: what an odd excuse, when reason serves as pimp to lust's abuse!
‘Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled, Since sweating Lust on earth usurp’d his name; Under whose simple semblance he hath fed Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves, As caterpillars do the tender leaves.	"Don't call it love, for Love has fled to heaven since sweating Lust took over his name on earth, and under that innocent disguise feeds on fresh beauty and stains it with shame, as caterpillars ruin tender leaves.
‘Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust’s effect is tempest after sun; Love’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust’s winter comes ere summer half be done; Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.	"Love comforts like sunshine after rain, but Lust's effect is a storm after sun. Love's gentle spring stays fresh, Lust's winter arrives before summer is half done. Love isn't gluttonous, Lust dies of excess. Love is all truth, Lust is full of forged lies.
‘More I could tell, but more I dare not say; The text is old, the orator too green. Therefore, in sadness, now I will away; My face is full of shame, my heart of teen: Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended, Do burn themselves for having so offended.’	"I could say more, but I dare not. The text is old and the speaker too young. So, sadly, I'll go. My face is full of shame and my heart of grief, and my ears, which listened to your lewd talk, burn for having been so offended."
With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast, And homeward through the dark laund runs apace; Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress’d. Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky, So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye;	With that he broke from the sweet embrace of those fair arms that held him to her breast, and ran home across the dark lawn, leaving Love lying on her back in deep distress. Like a bright star shooting across the sky, he glided from Venus's sight in the night.
Which after him she darts, as one on shore Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend: So did the merciless and pitchy night Fold in the object that did feed her sight.	She stared after him, like someone on shore watching a friend sail off until the wild waves, whose crests meet the clouds, hide him from view. So the merciless pitch-black night swallowed the sight that fed her eyes.
Whereat amaz’d, as one that unaware Hath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood, Or ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are, Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood; Even so confounded in the dark she lay, Having lost the fair discovery of her way.	Stunned, like someone who has dropped a precious jewel in the water, or a night traveler whose light is blown out in a suspicious wood, she lay confused in the dark, having lost the bright guide to her way.
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled, Make verbal repetition of her moans; Passion on passion deeply is redoubled: ‘Ay me!’ she cries, and twenty times, ‘Woe, woe!’ And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.	Now she beat her chest so that it groaned, and all the nearby caves, as if troubled, echoed her moans in words. Her passion doubled and redoubled. "Ah me!" she cried, and "Woe, woe!" twenty times, and twenty echoes cried back twenty times.
She marking them, begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty; How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote; How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty: Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so.	Hearing them, she started a wailing tune and sang an improvised, sorrowful song about how love makes young men slaves and old men fools, how love is wise in folly and silly in wit. Her sad anthem ended in woe, and the chorus of echoes answered in kind.
Her song was tedious and outwore the night, For lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short: If pleas’d themselves, others, they think, delight In such-like circumstance, with such-like sport: Their copious stories oftentimes begun End without audience and are never done.	Her song was long and outlasted the night, for lovers' hours feel long even when they seem short. Happy lovers think others will enjoy the same pleasures, so their endless stories, begun without listeners, finish without an audience and are never done.
For who hath she to spend the night withal But idle sounds resembling parasites, Like shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call, Soothing the humour of fantastic wits? She says ‘’Tis so:’ they answer all ‘’Tis so;’ And would say after her, if she said ‘No.’	For whom does she have to spend the night with but idle sounds, like parasites, or like shrill-voiced barmen echoing every order and humoring moody customers? She says "It's so," and they answer "It's so," and would repeat after her if she said "No."
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty; Who doth the world so gloriously behold That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish’d gold.	Look, the gentle lark, tired of rest, rises from his damp nest and wakes the morning, and from the morning's silver breast the sun rises in majesty, so gloriously lighting the world that cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold.
Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: ‘O thou clear god, and patron of all light, From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow The beauteous influence that makes him bright, There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother, May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.’	Venus greeted him with a fair good morning: "Bright god, patron of all light, from whom every lamp and star borrows the beautiful influence that makes it shine, there lives on earth a son of an earthly mother who may lend light to you, as you do to others."

Part IX — The Hunt and the Death

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)At daybreak Venus hears the hounds and runs through the brambles in fear. She curses Death, hopes Adonis is alive, then finds him killed by the boar. She mourns him and prophesies that love will always bring sorrow.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, Musing the morning is so much o’erworn, And yet she hears no tidings of her love; She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn: Anon she hears them chant it lustily, And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.	That said, she hurried to a myrtle grove, thinking the morning was far advanced, and yet she heard no news of her love. She listened for his hounds and horn, and soon heard them baying eagerly, and hurried toward the sound.
And as she runs, the bushes in the way Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, Some twine about her thigh to make her stay: She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.	As she ran, the bushes in her way caught her by the neck, kissed her face and wrapped around her thighs to stop her. She broke wildly from their grip, like a doe with swollen udders racing to feed her fawn hidden in some thicket.
By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay; Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder Wreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way, The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.	Soon she heard the hounds at bay, and started like someone who spots an adder coiled in his path, shaking with fear. So the timid yelping of the hounds terrified her senses and threw her spirit into turmoil.
For now she knows it is no gentle chase, But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, Because the cry remaineth in one place, Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud: Finding their enemy to be so curst, They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first.	Now she knew it was no gentle chase but the savage boar, rough bear or proud lion, because the barking stayed in one place, where the dogs cried out in fear, finding their enemy so fierce that each politely let the others attack first.
This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, Through which it enters to surprise her heart; Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part: Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, They basely fly and dare not stay the field.	This grim cry rang sadly in her ear and struck at her heart, which, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, numbed her limbs with a cold weakness, like soldiers who, when their captain yields, run shamefully from the field.
Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy; Till, cheering up her senses all dismay’d, She tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy, And childish error, that they are afraid; Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:— And with that word she spied the hunted boar,	So she stood in a shaken daze, until, rallying her scattered senses, she told them it was a baseless fancy and a childish mistake to be afraid. She told them to stop shaking and fear no more, and just then she saw the hunted boar,
Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, Like milk and blood being mingled both together, A second fear through all her sinews spread, Which madly hurries her she knows not whither: This way she runs, and now she will no further, But back retires to rate the boar for murther.	whose frothy mouth was stained red, like milk and blood mixed together. A second fear spread through all her nerves and drove her madly she didn't know where: she ran this way, then stopped, then turned back to scold the boar for murder.
A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways; She treads the path that she untreads again; Her more than haste is mated with delays, Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting; In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.	A thousand impulses sent her a thousand ways. She trod the path and untrod it again, her haste tied up with delay, like the schemes of a drunken brain, full of intentions yet respecting nothing, busy with everything and accomplishing nothing.
Here kennell’d in a brake she finds a hound, And asks the weary caitiff for his master, And there another licking of his wound, ’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster; And here she meets another sadly scowling, To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.	Here she found a hound hiding in a thicket and asked the weary wretch about his master, and there another licking his wound, as a dog's saliva is the only healer for a poisoned sore. Here she met another, scowling sadly, and when she spoke to him he answered with howling.
When he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise, Another flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, Against the welkin volleys out his voice; Another and another answer him, Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go.	When he stopped his dismal noise, another drooping-mouthed, grim black mourner sent his voice up against the sky, and another and another answered him, tails drooping proudly to the ground, shaking their scratched ears, bleeding as they went.
Look, how the world’s poor people are amazed At apparitions, signs and prodigies, Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; So she at these sad signs draws up her breath And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.	Look at how the poor people of the world are amazed by ghosts, omens and wonders, gazing at them with fearful eyes and filling themselves with terrible prophecies. In the same way she drew breath at these sad signs and, sighing it out, cried out against Death.
‘Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, Hateful divorce of love,’—thus chides she Death,— ‘Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean To stifle beauty and to steal his breath, Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?	"Ugly, lean, hideous tyrant," she scolded Death, "hateful destroyer of love, grinning ghost, worm of the earth, what do you mean by choking beauty and stealing the breath of one whose breath, while alive, gave the rose its gloss and the violet its scent?
‘If he be dead,—O no, it cannot be, Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it:— O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see, But hatefully at random dost thou hit. Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant’s heart.	"If he is dead (oh no, it can't be, since you'd have spared such beauty) oh yes, it can, because you have no eyes and strike at random. Your target is feeble old age, but your wild dart misses and pierces a child's heart.
‘Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power. The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke; They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower: Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled, And not Death’s ebon dart, to strike him dead.	"If you had just warned him, he'd have spoken, and hearing him, your power would have failed. The Fates will curse you for this blow: they told you to cut a weed and you cut a flower. Love's golden arrow should have flown at him, not Death's black dart to strike him down.
‘Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping? What may a heavy groan advantage thee? Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see? Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, Since her best work is ruin’d with thy rigour.’	"Do you drink tears, that you cause such weeping? What good is a heavy groan to you? Why did you close in endless sleep the eyes that taught other eyes to see? Now Nature won't care about your deadly strength, since you've destroyed her best work with your cruelty."
Here overcome, as one full of despair, She vail’d her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopp’d The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d; But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, And with his strong course opens them again.	Overcome, like someone in despair, she lowered her eyelids, which, like sluice gates, held back the crystal flood that ran down her fair cheeks into the channel of her bosom. But the tears broke through the floodgates in a silver rain and forced them open again.
O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow! Her eye seen in the tears, tears in her eye; Both crystals, where they view’d each other’s sorrow, Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry; But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.	Oh, how her eyes and tears borrowed from one another! Her eye was seen in the tears, the tears in her eye, both crystal mirrors reflecting each other's sorrow, which friendly sighs tried in vain to dry. Like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, sighs dried her cheeks and tears wet them again.
Variable passions throng her constant woe, As striving who should best become her grief; All entertain’d, each passion labours so, That every present sorrow seemeth chief, But none is best: then join they all together, Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.	Shifting passions crowded her steady grief, each struggling to express it best, all welcomed, each working so hard that each present sorrow seemed the chief one, yet none was best. Then they all joined together, like many clouds conferring over foul weather.
By this, far off she hears some huntsman hallo; A nurse’s song ne’er pleas’d her babe so well: The dire imagination she did follow This sound of hope doth labour to expel; For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice.	Just then she heard a huntsman hallooing far off, and a nurse's lullaby never soothed a baby so well. The terrible fears she had been following were driven out by this sound of hope, and joy came back to her, flattering her that it was Adonis's voice.
Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, Being prison’d in her eye like pearls in glass; Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown’d.	At that, her tears turned back, held in her eyes like pearls in glass. Yet now and then an orient drop spilled over, and her cheek melted it, scorning to let it run down and wash the filthy ground, which is only drunk when it seems drowned.
O hard-believing love, how strange it seems Not to believe, and yet too credulous! Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes; Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous: The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.	Oh stubborn-believing love, how strange it seems to be both unbelieving and too credulous! Your joy and your woe are both extreme, and despair and hope make you ridiculous. One flatters you with unlikely thoughts, the other kills you quickly with likely ones.
Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought; Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame; It was not she that call’d him all-to naught; Now she adds honours to his hateful name; She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings, Imperious supreme of all mortal things.	Now she unpicked the web she'd woven: Adonis lived and Death was not to blame. It wasn't she who had called him worthless. Now she added honors to his hateful name, calling him king of graves and grave of kings, supreme ruler of all mortal things.
‘No, no,’ quoth she, ‘sweet Death, I did but jest; Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast, Which knows no pity, but is still severe; Then, gentle shadow,—truth I must confess,— I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease.	"No, no," she said, "sweet Death, I was only joking. But forgive me: I felt a sort of fear when I met the boar, that bloody beast who knows no pity and is always cruel. So, gentle shadow, I must confess, I railed at you because I feared my love had died.
‘’Tis not my fault: the boar provok’d my tongue; Be wreak’d on him, invisible commander; ’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; I did but act, he’s author of thy slander: Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet Could rule them both without ten women’s wit.’	"It isn't my fault; the boar provoked my tongue. Take revenge on him, invisible commander. He is the foul creature who has wronged you, and I only acted: he's the author of your slander. Grief has two tongues, and no woman ever ruled both without the wits of ten women."
Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, Her rash suspect she doth extenuate; And that his beauty may the better thrive, With Death she humbly doth insinuate; Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories His victories, his triumphs and his glories.	So, hoping Adonis was alive, she excused her hasty suspicion and flattered Death humbly so that his beauty might thrive, telling him of his trophies, statues, tombs and stories, his victories, triumphs and glories.
‘O Jove,’ quoth she, ‘how much a fool was I, To be of such a weak and silly mind To wail his death who lives and must not die Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind! For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.	"O Jove," she said, "what a fool I was, so weak and silly as to mourn the death of one who lives and shall not die until all mortals perish! For if he were dead, beauty would die with him, and with beauty dead, black chaos would come again.
‘Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear As one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves; Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.’ Even at this word she hears a merry horn, Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.	"Shame, shame, foolish love, you are so fearful, like a man laden with treasure and surrounded by thieves, grieving over trifles that no eye or ear has witnessed. Your cowardly heart is upset by false thoughts." At that moment she heard a merry horn and leaped up, she who had been so hopeless just before.
As falcon to the lure, away she flies; The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; And in her haste unfortunately spies The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight; Which seen, her eyes, as murder’d with the view, Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew;	She flew off like a falcon to the lure, treading so lightly the grass did not bend. In her haste, to her misfortune, she saw the boar's victory over her beloved, and at the sight her eyes withdrew as if murdered, like stars ashamed at daybreak,
Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, And there, all smother’d up, in shade doth sit, Long after fearing to creep forth again; So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled Into the deep dark cabins of her head:	or like a snail whose tender horns are hit and shrinks back in pain into its shell, where it sits smothered in the dark long after it's afraid to creep out. So at the bloody sight, her eyes fled deep into the dark chambers of her head,
Where they resign their office and their light To the disposing of her troubled brain; Who bids them still consort with ugly night, And never wound the heart with looks again; Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,	where they gave up their duty and light to her troubled brain, which told them to keep company with ugly night and never wound the heart with sights again. Her heart, like a king perplexed on his throne, gave a deadly groan at their report,
Whereat each tributary subject quakes; As when the wind, imprison’d in the ground, Struggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes, Which with cold terror doth men’s minds confound. This mutiny each part doth so surprise That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;	and every subject quaked, as when wind trapped underground struggles to escape and shakes the earth's foundation, terrifying men's minds. This mutiny so startled each part of her that her eyes sprang from their dark beds again,
And, being open’d, threw unwilling light Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench’d In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench’d: No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed.	and, opened, they unwillingly saw the wide wound the boar had gouged in his soft side, where the wonted lily-white skin was soaked in the purple tears his wound wept. Not a flower, grass, herb, leaf or weed nearby but stole his blood and seemed to bleed with him.
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth; Over one shoulder doth she hang her head; Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth; She thinks he could not die, he is not dead: Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow; Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.	Poor Venus noticed this solemn sympathy. She hung her head on one shoulder, grieving silently and frantically. She told herself he couldn't die, he wasn't dead. Her voice stopped, her joints forgot to bend, and her eyes seemed crazy for having wept until now.
Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three; And then she reprehends her mangling eye, That makes more gashes where no breach should be: His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled; For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.	She stared so hard at his wound that her dazzled sight made it seem triple, and then she scolded her wounding eye for making more gashes where there were none. His face seemed double and each limb doubled, for the eye often errs when the brain is disturbed.
‘My tongue cannot express my grief for one, And yet,’ quoth she, ‘behold two Adons dead! My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, Mine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead: Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire! So shall I die by drops of hot desire.	"My tongue can't express my grief for one Adonis, and yet, look, two Adonises dead!" she said. "My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, my eyes turned to fire and my heart to lead. Heavy heart of lead, melt in my eyes' red fire! Then I'll die by drops of hot desire.
‘Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! What face remains alive that’s worth the viewing? Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; But true-sweet beauty liv’d and died with him.	"Alas, poor world, what a treasure you've lost! What face now alive is worth looking at? Whose voice is music now? What can you boast of, past or future? Flowers are sweet and their colors fresh, but true sweet beauty lived and died with him.
‘Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you: Having no fair to lose, you need not fear; The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you: But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air Lurk’d like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:	"Let no one wear a hat or veil from now on! Neither sun nor wind will bother to kiss you. With no beauty to lose, you've nothing to fear: the sun scorns you and the wind hisses at you. But when Adonis lived, the sun and sharp wind lurked like two thieves to rob him of his beauty.
‘And therefore would he put his bonnet on, Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; The wind would blow it off and, being gone, Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep; And straight, in pity of his tender years, They both would strive who first should dry his tears.	"So he would put on his hat, under whose brim the showy sun would peek, and the wind would blow it off and play with his hair, and then Adonis would cry. At once, in pity for his youth, both would compete to dry his tears first.
‘To see his face the lion walk’d along Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him; To recreate himself when he hath sung, The tiger would be tame and gently hear him; If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey And never fright the silly lamb that day.	"To see his face, the lion walked behind a hedge so as not to scare him. To amuse himself when Adonis sang, the tiger would grow tame and listen gently. If he spoke, the wolf would drop its prey and not frighten the silly lamb that day.
‘When he beheld his shadow in the brook, The fishes spread on it their golden gills; When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, That some would sing, some other in their bills Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries; He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.	"When he looked at his reflection in the brook, the fish spread their golden gills over it. When he was near, birds took such pleasure that some sang and others brought him mulberries and ripe red cherries in their beaks. He fed them with his looks, and they fed him with berries.
‘But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, Ne’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore; Witness the entertainment that he gave: If he did see his face, why then I know He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so.	"But this foul, grim, pig-snouted boar, whose downcast eye always seeks a grave, never saw the beautiful livery Adonis wore. Look how he treated him. If he saw his face, then I know he meant to kiss him and killed him that way.
‘’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain: He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, Who did not whet his teeth at him again, But by a kiss thought to persuade him there; And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin.	"Yes, yes, that's how Adonis was killed. He ran at the boar with his sharp spear, but the boar didn't sharpen his teeth against him again; instead he tried to win him with a kiss, and nuzzling his side, the loving swine sheathed his tusk unawares in the soft groin.
‘Had I been tooth’d like him, I must confess, With kissing him I should have kill’d him first; But he is dead, and never did he bless My youth with his; the more am I accurst.’ With this, she falleth in the place she stood, And stains her face with his congealed blood.	"If I'd had tusks like his, I must confess, I'd have killed Adonis with kissing before he did. But he is dead and never blessed my youth with his, and so I'm even more cursed." With that she fell where she stood and smeared her face with his clotted blood.
She looks upon his lips, and they are pale; She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; She whispers in his ears a heavy tale, As if they heard the woeful words she told; She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies;	She looked at his pale lips and took his cold hand, and whispered a sad tale in his ear as if he could hear her woeful words. She lifted the coffin-lids of his eyelids, where two lamps burnt out lay in darkness.
Two glasses, where herself herself beheld A thousand times, and now no more reflect; Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d, And every beauty robb’d of his effect: ‘Wonder of time,’ quoth she, ‘this is my spite, That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.	They were two mirrors in which she'd seen herself a thousand times, and now they reflected nothing, their power lost, all their beauty robbed of effect. "Marvel of the age," she said, "this is my spite: that, now you are dead, the day is still bright.
‘Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy, Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend: It shall be waited on with jealousy, Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end, Ne’er settled equally, but high or low, That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.	"Since you are dead, here is my prophecy: sorrow will always attend love. It will be shadowed by jealousy, begin sweetly but end bitterly, never be evenly matched but always high or low, so that all love's pleasure won't equal its pain.
‘It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while; The bottom poison, and the top o’erstraw’d With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile: The strongest body shall it make most weak, Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.	"It will be fickle, false and full of deceit, bud and be blighted in the blink of an eye, poison at the bottom and sprinkled on top with sweets that fool the sharpest eye. It will make the strongest body weakest, strike the wise dumb and make the fool speak.
‘It shall be sparing and too full of riot, Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures; It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild, Make the young old, the old become a child.	"It will be stingy and too wild, teaching old age to dance, keeping the staring ruffian quiet, bringing down the rich and enriching the poor. It will be raving mad and foolishly mild, making the young old and the old like children.
‘It shall suspect where is no cause of fear; It shall not fear where it should most mistrust; It shall be merciful and too severe, And most deceiving when it seems most just; Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward, Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.	"It will suspect where there's no cause for fear and not fear where it should distrust most. It will be merciful and too severe, most deceiving when it seems most honest, contrary when it seems most willing, putting fear into the brave and courage into the coward.
‘It shall be cause of war and dire events, And set dissension ’twixt the son and sire; Subject and servile to all discontents, As dry combustious matter is to fire: Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy, They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.’	"It will cause war and terrible events and set son against father, a slave to every discontent, like dry fuel to fire. Since Death destroys my love in his prime, those who love best will never enjoy their beloved."

Part X — The Flower and the Flight

Plain-English summary (not part of the poem)Adonis's body vanishes and a purple-and-white flower grows from his blood. Venus picks it, carries it in her breast, and flies off in her chariot to Paphos.

Shakespeare’s original text

Shakespeare’s original	Modern English
By this, the boy that by her side lay kill’d Was melted like a vapour from her sight, And in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d, A purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white, Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.	By then the boy who lay slain at her side melted away like vapor from her sight, and from his blood spilled on the ground a purple flower sprang up, flecked with white, just like his pale cheeks and the blood standing in round drops on their whiteness.
She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, Comparing it to her Adonis’ breath; And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, Since he himself is reft from her by death: She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.	She bent her head to smell the new-grown flower and compared it with Adonis's breath. She said she'd keep it in her breast, since he himself was taken from her by death. She snapped the stalk, and green sap dripped from the break, which she compared to tears.
‘Poor flower,’ quoth she, ‘this was thy father’s guise— Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire— For every little grief to wet his eyes: To grow unto himself was his desire, And so ’tis thine; but know, it is as good To wither in my breast as in his blood.	"Poor flower," she said, "this was your father's way, the sweet child of an even sweeter father: to weep at every little grief. He wanted to grow into himself, and so do you. But know that it's just as good to wither on my breast as in his blood.
‘Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast; Thou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right: Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest, My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night: There shall not be one minute in an hour Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.’	"Here was your father's bed, here in my breast. You're his next of kin and it's your right. Look, rest in this hollow cradle; my throbbing heart will rock you day and night. There won't be a minute of any hour when I won't kiss my sweet love's flower."
Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey’d; Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.	Weary of the world, she hurried away and harnessed her silver doves, by whose swift help their mistress rose through the empty sky in her light chariot, heading for Paphos, where their queen meant to shut herself away and never be seen.

— THE END —

Commentary beginsEverything below is analysis written for this post, not Shakespeare's text.

Literary Reflection

Summary in brief

Venus, goddess of love, pursues the beautiful young hunter Adonis, who cares only for the chase. She pleads, argues, flatters and finally overpowers him with kisses, but he stays unmoved. When she warns him not to hunt the boar, he leaves anyway. At dawn she hears the hounds, finds him gored to death, and curses love itself, prophesying that it will forever be bound to sorrow. From his blood springs a purple-and-white flower, which she carries away to Paphos.

A reversal of the usual love story

Shakespeare takes Ovid's myth (Metamorphoses, Book 10) and turns the expected roles upside down. Here the woman is the aggressive wooer and the man is the reluctant, blushing object of desire. Venus is physically stronger and is repeatedly compared to a hungry eagle, a hunter, a conqueror and a park-keeper, while Adonis is a trapped bird, a prey animal and an unripe fruit. The poem is erotic, but it is also gently comic: a goddess who tamed the god of war cannot win a kiss from a teenager.

Comedy that darkens into tragedy

The first half of the poem plays like a witty comedy of seduction, full of mock-epic exaggeration, from Venus tucking Adonis under her arm to the stallion and the jennet running off into the woods. The tone begins to shift once the boar is mentioned. Venus's long warning speech is full of dread, and by the end the poem has become a lament. The change shows how closely desire and death sit together in Renaissance love poetry.

Key themes

• Love versus lust: Adonis insists that Venus's passion is lust wearing love's name, and his "Call it not love" speech sets out the difference as he sees it. Yet Venus's grief at the end is plainly sincere, so the poem never lets either view win outright.
• Beauty and time: Venus argues that beauty must be used, shared and passed on, or it will rot like unpicked fruit. Her argument echoes the procreation sonnets, and the poem's ending proves her point tragically: Adonis dies with no heir but a flower.
• Nature, instinct and the animal world: The stallion follows instinct and gets what he wants, while Adonis denies instinct and dies by the beast he chose to hunt. The boar can also be read as nature's own violent form of desire.
• Love's contradictions: Burning and freezing, pale and red, life in death: Venus's final prophecy gathers love's paradoxes into a catalogue of contradictions.
• Transformation: Like Ovid, Shakespeare closes with a metamorphosis, so that what cannot be kept as a lover can at least be kept as a flower.

Why it matters

Published in 1593 when the London theatres were closed by plague, this was Shakespeare's first printed work and a bestseller, reprinted many times in his lifetime. It belongs to the genre of the epyllion, a short erotic narrative poem on a classical subject. It also shows the young dramatist already at work on character, argument and sudden shifts of tone.

Form and Poetic Devices

Form

The poem is written in iambic pentameter and arranged in sixains (six-line stanzas) rhyming ababcc: two alternating rhymes followed by a closing couplet. The couplet often works as a punchline, a summary or a pivot, as in "What follows more she murders with a kiss."

Devices at a glance

Device	Where / Example
Simile	Venus is "like an empty eagle" devouring prey; Adonis is "like a bird tangled in a net"; the horse's breath rises "as from a furnace."
Metaphor and conceit	Venus as a "park" and Adonis her "deer"; kisses as coins and sealed contracts; the heart as a "bedchamber"; the tongue as the heart's "attorney."
Personification	Jealousy as a sentinel and spy; Death as a "hard-favour'd tyrant"; Love fleeing to heaven while Lust takes his name; Night as "desire's foul nurse."
Hyperbole	Venus's flattery that Nature herself says the world will end with Adonis's life; the claim that a thousand kisses are a small debt.
Antithesis and oxymoron	"Red for shame, but frosty in desire"; "Melodious discord"; "Love is wise in folly, foolish-witty."
Paradox	"She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd"; the idea that a swoon, a "death," could be "lively joy."
Apostrophe	Venus addresses the sun-god, Death, the dead Adonis and the flower directly, as if they could answer.
Allusion	Narcissus, Mars (the god of war), Titan (the sun), Cynthia/Dian (the moon), Tantalus, Jove, the Destinies (Fates), Paphos.
Pathetic fallacy	The flowers and grass seem to bleed with Adonis; the echoes cry back Venus's moans; the moon hides her face in shame.
Blazon / ekphrasis	The list of the stallion's perfect points compared to a painter's masterpiece; the catalogue of Adonis's beauty after his death.
Alliteration	"Sick-thoughted Venus"; "pure shame and aw'd resistance"; "Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets."
Anaphora	The "It shall be…" sequence in Venus's final prophecy builds a rhythmic curse against love.
Dramatic irony	The reader knows from the boar speech that Adonis is doomed, while he laughs off the warning; Venus even predicts how he will die.
Pun and wordplay	Playful puns on "deer/dear," "hart/heart," "mounted," and "lips on lips, since eyes in eyes."

Questions to consider

• Is Venus a sympathetic lover, a predator, or both?
• Does Adonis's refusal come from innocence, vanity (the Narcissus charge) or genuine moral conviction?
• What does the stallion episode tell us about natural desire versus human restraint?
• Does the final flower console Venus, or does it only confirm that beauty cannot be kept?

Citations and Further Reading

• William Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis (1593). Original text in the public domain.
• Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book 10 (the myth of Venus and Adonis), and Amores I.15 (source of the epigraph).
• Shakescleare: Venus and Adonis on LitCharts. A line-by-line modern translation by Bailey Sincox, recommended for readers who want a second, independent translation. Her translation is not reproduced in this post.

The modern-English column and the scene summaries are original paraphrases written for this post, and the reflection and devices guide is likewise my own work.