by Cari Hislop
“Didn’t your mother tell you not to interrupt a man trying to woo you with poetry?”
“No, she just said don’t marry a man out of desperation.”
“As I was saying before being rudely interrupted by a wicked mermaid…
Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:”
“I thought you were wooing me.”
“One more impertinent outbreak Madam and you’ll regret it!” Her soft snorts of laughter belied his harsh tone. “I mean it. You won’t get any pudding.
Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him…”
“What does it mean he fell to her?”
“You’d understand if you’d quit interrupting my attempts to be romantic.”
“Pray forgive my interruption my Lord.”
“Impudent Wife! How many times have I told you not to address me as a God?”
“How else am I to address my Adonis?”
“Adonis wasn’t a god; he was merely loved by a god.”
“But surely if he was loved by Venus she must have thought him godly?”
“I don’t care what she thought! I’m not a god and you’ll address me by my name or face my ungodly wrath. Where was I?”
“Adonis was falling to Venus. Does that mean he fell on her or was falling for her?”
Marshall gave his smirking wife another harsh look. “As I was saying,
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
‘Even thus,’ quoth she, ‘the war-like god embraced me,’
And then she clipped Adonis in her arms;
‘Even thus,’ quoth she, ‘the war-like god unlaced me,’…”
“He unlaced her? Are you trying to put me to the blush?”
“Interrupt my wooing one more time Merry Godfrey and I’ll be forced to fell drastic measures on your lips to silence you! You’ll be done for!” Laughing, she pinched his nose and then smiled up at him. “Adonis would never have put up with this irreverent cheek! Let me finish the poem or I won’t kiss you for a week!” She obediently pinched her lips together, but her eyes were laughing at him. She knew he wouldn’t be able to wait a week. “As I was saying…
‘Even thus,’ quoth she, ‘the war-like god unlaced me,’
As if the boy should use like loving charms.
‘Even thus,’ quoth she, ‘he seized on my lips,’
And with her lips on his did act the seizure;…”
He paused as if hoping she’d offer to kiss him, but her lips remained obediently pinched together. Visibly disappointed, he continued…
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away.”
“Does this mean you’re planning to run away if I kiss you? What a daft poem. Who wrote that?”
“Shakespeare; didn’t you listen to last two lines? ‘Ah! that I had my lady at this bay, to kiss and clip me till I run away.’ I’d wager he means he’d…just believe me he wouldn’t be running with his feet!”
“What’s a bay?”
“I assume it’s in the attic where he’s at while writing the poem…”
“What does he mean by clip?”
“This.” Marshall tightened his arms about her and pulled her closer.
“Oh! I like Shakespeare’s clipping…”
The adoring look in her eyes made Marshall’s head feel as if it might float away like a soap bubble. “Would you care for a sample of Shakespeare’s kissing as well?”
“Will it be a long sample?” Marshall accepted warm breath and silently wooed his wife with a soft deep kiss. The sweet sensation of her fingers combing through his hair made his heart beat faster. How could she caress him with tenderness and not fall in love with him? Feeling her tongue taste the edge of his lips he groaned in disappointment as she abruptly broke free leaving him craving more. “Marshall, there’s something I have to tell you…”
Her beaming smile called a thousand love poems to mind as Marshall sighed in resignation. He licked his lips as he wondered how long his bursting heart could keep its secret against such charm. “Tell on merry maiden…as if I could resist that smile.”
“Last night after you fell asleep…”
“On top of you.”
It was Marshall’s turn to smirk as Mary blushed. “Don’t interrupt this is important. Last night I realised…”
“My bed is more comfortable?”
“No, I’ve been asking myself the wrong question.”
Marshall’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What wrong question?”
“Do I love you; I realised I could never answer the question.” Marshall felt his face drain of blood as the words struck him like a physical blow. She was oblivious to his chagrin as she picked up the book in her lap and found her page. “I started asking myself other questions and I found I could answer every single one without difficulty. And then these disjointed words kept coming to mind. It was a poem, but I couldn’t remember which one. I found it; your answer is a sonnet by Shakespeare.”
“My answer?” Marshall choked on uncertainty. “You can’t give me an answer. I have two more months. You can’t make up your mind so soon; isn’t it against one of your rules?”
“I thought you didn’t want to wait two months.” Her smile faded into a look of dread. “Did you want to wait to see if you find someone more eligible?”
“No!” It was a sharp bark. “I don’t want you to walk out of my life when I should have two whole months to persuade you to stay.” Marshall clutched Mary closer. “And if you try to feed me some lies how you can never love me while smiling at me like that I’ll refuse you an annulment. I’m sure if I had enough time…”
She reached up and caressed his cheek. “This is your answer Marshall.
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give…”
Marshall groaned in horror. He couldn’t remember how the sonnet ended, she read on oblivious to his distress.
“So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again, after yourself’s decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear…”
Marshall held his breath as the words ‘your sweet form’ settled in his frantic brain like a cat in front of a Christmas fire. Did he dare hope? Unsure he barked, “Start over and slow down! Shakespeare wasn’t running when he wrote it.”
“Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again, after yourself’s decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day,
And barren rage of death’s eternal cold?
Oh! None but unthrifts: Dear my love, you know
You had a father; let your son say so.”
She slowly closed the book and shyly looked up through her lashes into burning blue sapphires.
Holding her close with one arm Marshall reached round her and claimed her braid and reverently pulled the end to his lips. “Let my son say so? Are you telling me you love me?” Her cheeks flushed bright red as she nodded her head. “You’re not saying that because Alyce is dead and Emily’s run off with Buckingham and I’d die of loneliness if you left me?” She shook her head. “You really love me?” Her beaming smile confirmed it was true. “I make you feel like you’re in one of John
Donne’s love poems?”
“Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you’ enthral mee, never shall be free…”
It was Marshall’s turn to blush as he silently finished the poem, ‘Nor ever chaste, except you ravish mee.’ He reluctantly filled his lungs with air as he wrestled the impulse to jump up and carry her to his bed. “Did you want to have another wedding ceremony? We could exchange vows…”
She reached up and put her fingers over his mouth. “I am Lady Mary Godfrey; unless you wish to dismiss your hired wife?”
“I’d rather eat a hemlock salad.”
“So the Lady in the lake was right; you’re in love with me.”
“I told you I was undone…” Shakespeare’s sonnets landed on the floor with a dull thud as her hand reached up and combed into the nape of his neck causing pleasant shivers.
“There be none of Beauty’s daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to…”
Marshall inhaled his wife’s breath as she silenced his romantic words with an eager kiss that caused sweat to bead on his skin. His clothes had never felt so constricting. He couldn’t breathe with his throat wrapped in linen. His lips momentarily released, he blindly tugged at his cravat. “Merry…I’ve been in agony…” The words were still echoing through the library as he kissed the fingers covering his lips.
“I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more private.”
Bliss bubbled through Marshall’s veins as he struggled up out of the chair holding his wife and headed for the door. His feet matched the pace of his pounding heart as Mary waived her naked toes in the air taunting him with future pleasures as she hummed a waltz in his ear. His bedchamber in sight Marshall shouted, “Shall we dance for joy Mrs Godfrey?”
“I would be delighted to dance for joy Mr Godfrey.” Marshall impulsively swirled her in circles down the long corridor and dropped her outside his bedchamber door. The world was still spinning as Marshall pulled his laughing wife into his room and locked the door. His own amusement was forgotten as she stood on her toes, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…”
Marshall’s hand trembled as it traced warm curves hidden under slippery yellow silk as his blushing wife removed his cravat. “I’m in a poem.”
“Yes, one where Adonis doesn’t run away.” Marshall’s snorts of laughter choked off into silence as Mary put her hands on his chest and tipped back her head. Her smiling eyes watched his lips approach through half closed lids. “Do you love me?”
“Hmmm…yes…” His lovesick groan trailed into silence as his slow kiss demonstrated that poetry could sometimes be utterly inadequate.
