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and she's a great lubberly boy: if it had not been i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 't is a post-master's boy.

Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.

Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl: if I had been married to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him."

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you, bow you should know my daughter by her garments ?

Slen. I went to her in white, and cried, “mum," and she cried “budget,” as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy.

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose; turned my daughter into green; and indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married.

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Enter Doctor Caius. Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha' married un garçon, a boy; un paisan, by gar, a boy: it is not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened.

Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ?

Caius. Ay, by gar, and 't is a boy: by gar, I'll raise all Windsor.

(Exit Caius. Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne? Page. My heart misgives me. Here comes master Fenton.

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Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. How now, master Fenton!

Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon!

Page. Now, mistress; how chance you went not with master Slender?

Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor maid?

Fent. You do amaze her: hear the truth of it.
You would bave married ber most shamefully,
Where there was no proportion held in love.
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,

Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us.
The offence is holy that she hath committed;
And this deceit loses the name of craft,
Of disobedience, or unduteous title,
Since therein she doth evitate and shun.
A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.

Ford. Stand not amaz’d: here is no remedy. -
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state:
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.

Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced.

Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy. What cannot be eschewd, must be embracd.

Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd.

Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no farther. — Master Fenton,
Heaven give you many, many merry days.
Good husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire;
Sir John and all.

Ford. Let it be so. Sir John,
To master Brook you yet shall hold your word;
For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford.

[Esceunt.

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THE POEMS

OF

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

VENUS AND ADONIS.

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Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis bied him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, 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.
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.
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 :
And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,

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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.
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.
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.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens; (0, how quick is love!)
The steed iś stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:

Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,

And governd him in strength, though not in lust. 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.
He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs,
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:

He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.

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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.
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.
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.
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lowers 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.
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.
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,

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