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To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal, So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire : That through the length of times he stands disgrac'd. His irue respect will prison false desire,
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defacd; And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,
To whose weak ruins ruster troops of cares, That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine. To ask the spoiled princess how she fares. Have done, quoth he ; my uncontrolled tide She says, her subjects with foul insurrection Turns not, but swells the bigher by this let. Have batier'd down her consecrated wall, Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, And by their mortal fault brought in subjection And with the wind in greater fury fret :
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death, and pain perpetual:
But her foresight could not forestall their will.
Even in this thought, through the dark night he And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood A captive victor, that hath lost in gain; (stealeth, Black last, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain; If all these petty ills shall change thy good,
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. Thy sea wiihin a puddle's womb is hears'd,
She bears the load of lust he left behind,
And he the burthen of a guilty mind.
She like a weary'd lamb lies panting there;
He scowls, and hates himself for his offence, Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride : She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear; The lesser thing should not the greater hide ; He faintly flies, sweating with guilty sear; The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's fooi, She stays, exclaiming on the direful night'; But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight. So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state- He thence departs a heavy convertite, No more, quoth he, by heaven, I will not hear thee; She there remains a hopeless cast-away: Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
He in his speed looks for the morning light, Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;
she never may behold the day: That done, despitefully I mean to bear ihee For day, quoth she, night's seapes doth open lay; Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,
And my true eyes have never practis'd how
They think not but that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they ihemselves behold; Shame folded up in blind concealing night, And therefore would they still in darkness be, When most unseen, then most doth tyrannise. To have their unseen sin remain untold; The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries; For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, Till with her own white Reece her voice controllid And grave, like water that doth eat in steel, Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold: Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel. For with the nightly linen that she wears,
Here she exclaims against repose and rest, He pens her piteous clamours in her head; And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind, Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. And bids it leap from thence, where it may find O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed ! Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. The spots whereof could weeping purify,
Frantic with grief'thus breathes she forth her spite
0, comfort-killing night, image of hell !
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame! Pure chastity is rifled of her store,
Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, The prey wherein by nature they delight;
Make war against proportion'd course of time ! So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares ihis night:
Or, if thou wilt permit the sun to climb His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, Devours his will, that liv?d by foul devouring. Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 0, deeper sin than bottomless conceit
With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; Can comprehend in still imagination !
Let their exhal’d'unwholesome breaths make sick Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt,
The life of purity, the supreme fair, Ere he can see his own abomination.
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick; While lust is in his pride, no exclamation
And let thy misty vapours march so thick, Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tiré. May set at noon, and make perpetual night. And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, Were Tarquin night, (as he is but night's child, With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, The silver-shining queen he would distain; Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, Her twinkling handmaids, too, by him defil'd, Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : Through night's black bosom should not peep again : The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with grace, So should I have copartners in my pain : For there it revels; and when that decays, And fellowship in wo doth wo assuage, The guilty rebel for remission prays,
As palmers' chat make short their pilgrimaga.
Where now I have no one to blush with me, Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;
What virtue breeds, iniquity devours :
Or kills his life, or else his quality.
"Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason; Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get; Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace!
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season ; Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, 'Tis thou that spurn’st at right, at law, at reason ; That all the faults which in thy reign are made, And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade! Sits Sin, io seize the souls that wander by him. Make me not object to the tell-tale day!
Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath : The light will show, character'd in my brow, Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd ;" The story of sweet chastity's decay,
Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth; The impíous breach of holy wedlock vow:
Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd ! Yea, the illiterate that know not how
Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud : To 'cipher what is writ in iearned books,
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!
Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast; The orator, to deck his oratory,
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name; Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame:
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wornwood taste: Feast-finding minstrels,' tuning my defame,
Thy violent vanities can never last. Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How comes it, ther., vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ?
When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, If that be made a theme for disputation,
And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd ? The branches of another root are rotted d;
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end ?. And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted,
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd? That is as clear from this attaint of mine,
Give physic lo the sick, ease to the pain'd ? As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;
But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. 0, unseen shame! invisible disgrace! 0, unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar! The patient dies while the physician sleeps ; Reproach is stamp'd on Collatinus' face,
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; And Tarquin's eyo may read the mot afar, Justice is feasting while the widow weeps; How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Advice is sporting, while infection breeds; Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, [knows! Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds : Which not themselves, but he that gives them, Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's ragos, If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. From me by strong assault it is bereft.
When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, My honey fost, and I, a drone-like bee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid; Have no perfection of my summer left,
They bay thy help: bu Sin be'er gives a fee, But robb'd and ransack'd by injarious theft : He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd, In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, As well to hear as grant what he hath said. And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. My Collatine would else have come to me Yet am I guiltless of thy honour's wreck;
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
Guilty thou art of murder and of theft ; Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
Guilty of perjury and subornation; For it had been dishonour to disdain him :
Guilty of treason, forgery, and shifi; Besides of weariness he did complain him,
Guiliy of incest, that abomination : And talk'd of virtue:-0, unlook'd for evil,
An accessary by thine inclination
To all sins past, and all that are to come,
Misshapen Time, copesmate of ugly night,
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care ;
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, (snare ; Or kings be breakers of their own behests ?
Base watch of wocs, sin's pack-horse, virtue's But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are.
O, hear me then, injurious, sbifting Time!
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.
Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose ? And useless barns the harvest of his wits;
Cancel'd my fortunes, and evchained me Having no other pleasure of his gain,
To endless date of never-ending woes? But torment that it canno: cure his pain.
Time's office is, to fine the hate of foes.; So then he hath it, when he cannot use it,
To eat up errors by opinion bred, And leaves it to be master'd by his young ;
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed, Who in their pride do presently abuse it :
Time's glory is to calm contending kings, Their father was too weak, and they too strong, To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long,
To stamp the seal of time in aged things, The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, To wake the morn, and sentinel the night, Even in the moment that we call them ours.
To wrong the wronger till he render right; I 'Feast-finding minstrels.' Our ancient minstre!s To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, were the constant attendants on fea-03.-Steevens. And smear with dust their glittering golden towors:
To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, | Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools !
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!
For me, I force not argument a straw, And iurn the giddy round of fortune's wheel : Since that my case is past the help of law. To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,
In vain I rail at opportunity, To make the child a man, the man a child,
At time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;
In vain 1 cavil with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite :
This helpless smoke of words doth ine no right, To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,
The remedy indeed to do me good, And waste huge stones with little water-drops.
Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood.
Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree ? Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame; Unless thou could'st return to make amends?
For if I die, my honour lives in thee, One peor retiring minute in an age
But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame; Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame, Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends : [back, And wast afear'd to scratch her wicked foe, o, this dread night, would'st thou one hour come Kill both thyself and her for yielding so. I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack!
This said, from her betumbled couch she starteth, Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
To find some desperate instrument of death: With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
But this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth, Devise extremes heyond extremity,
To make more vent for passage of her breath; To make him curse this cursed crimeful night :
Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisbeth, Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright; As smoke from Ætna, that in air consumes, And the dire thought of his committed evil
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.
In vain, quoth she, I live, and seek in vain
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain,
O! that is gone, for which I sought to live,
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
A dying life to living infamy:
Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know Let him have time to see his friends his foes, The stained taste of violated troth; And merry fools to mock at him resort :
I will not wrong thy true affection so, Let him have time to mark how slow time goes To flatter thee with an infringed oath; In time of sorrow, and how swift and short This bastard graff shall never come to growth: His time of folly, and his time of sport:
He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute, And ever let his unrecalling crime
That thou art douing father of his fruit. Have time to wail the abusing of his time.
Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy stale; Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill! But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought, At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
Basely with gold, but siol'n from forth thy gate. Himself, himself seek every hour to kill! [spill : For me, I am the mistress of my fate; Such wretched hands such wretched blood should And with my trespass never will dispense, For who so base would such an office have, Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence. As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave ?
I will not poison thee with my attaint, The baser is he, coming from a king,'
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses; To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. My sable ground of sin I will not paint, The mightier man, the mightier is the thing To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate; My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices, For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,
By this lamenting Philomel had ended
And solemn night with slow-sad gaii descended But if the like the snow-white swan desire, To ugly hell; when lo, the blushing morrow The stain upon his silver down will stay,
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow; Poor grooms are sightless night, kinys glorious day; But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, Gnats are unnoted wheresoe er they fly,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye.
Revealing day through every cranny spies, 1 'To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel. '-An allu. To whom she sobbing speaks : 0, eye of eyes,
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping; sion to the costly monuments of our ancient kings and Why pry'st thou through my window ? leave thy nobles, which were frequently made of iron or copper, wrought with great nicety, many of which even in Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleep
fing: Shakspeare's time, had berun to decay. There are some of these monuments still to be seen in Westmin. Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, ber-abbey, and other old cathedrals.-Malone. For day hath nought to do what's done by night.
Thus cavils she with every thing she sees ; Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted,
Her mansion batter'd by the enemy;
Yet die I will not, till my Collatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death;
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath,
Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent,
And as his due, writ in my testament.
My honour I'll bequeath unto the knifo
That wounds my body so dishonoured.
'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ;
The one will live, the other being dead :
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn:
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. "Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ;
Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee;
By whose example thou revengd may'st be.
Mine honour be the knife's, that makes my wound; woful hostess brooks not merry guests :)
My shame be his that did
fame confound; Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ;
And all my fame that lives, disbursed be Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears. To those that live, and think no shame of me. Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this Will;'
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it!
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. And with deep groans the diapason bear :
Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, so be it. For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,
Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee; While thou on Tereus descant'st, better skill.
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be, And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
This plot of death when sadly she had laid,
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,
With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid,
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads, when sun doth melt their snow.
Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow; And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty ;
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow,
(For why? her face wore sorrow's livery :)
But durst not ask of her audaciously
Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,
But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye;
Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy
or those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky,
Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light, When life is sham'd, and death reproaches debtor. Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night To kill myself, quoth sho, alack! what were it,
A pretty while these pretty creaturos stand,
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling :
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ;
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts ;
For men have marble, women waxen, minds,
And therefore are they formed as marble will; Whose love of either to myself nearer?
1 - Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will.'-The When both were kept for heaven and Collatine. Ah me! the bark peeld from the lofty pine,
overseer of a will was designed as a check upon the
erecutors. Our author appoints John Hall and his wife His leaves will wither, and his sap decay; for his executors, and Thomas Russel and Francis Cal So must my soul, her bark being peeld away. lins as his overseers.-Steevens.
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds When sighs and groans and tears may grace the Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill : Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her (fashion Then call them not the authors of their ill, From that suspicion which the world might bear her, No more than wax shall be accounted evil, To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. With words, till action might become them better. Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, To see sad sights moves more than hear them told; Lays open all the little worms that creep;
For then the eye interprets to the ear In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain The heavy motion thai it doth behold, Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:
When every part a part of wo doth bear,
Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ,
Charging the sour-fac'd groom to bie as fast
The homely villein courtsies to her low; Assail'd by night, with circumstances strong
And blushing on her, with a steadfast eye, Of present death, and shame that might ensue
Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, By that her death, to do her husband wrong ;
And forth with bashful innocence doth hié.
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie,
For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame.
When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. To the poor counterfeit of her complaining;
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely :
this pattern of the worn-out age Know, gentle wench, it small'avails my mood :
Pawn'd honesi looks, but lay'd no words to gage.
His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust, The more to blame my sluggard negligence :
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz'd; Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense ;
Her earnest eye did make him more amaz'd: Myself was stirring ere the break of day,
The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish, And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.
The more she thought he spy'd in her some blemish.
But long she thinks till he return again, But lady, if your maid may be so bold,
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. She would request to know your heaviness.
The weary time she cannot entertain, O peace ! quoth Lucrece ; if it should be told,
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan: The repetition cannot make it less;
So wo hath wearied wo, moan tired moan, For more it is than I can well express :
That she her plaints a little while doth stay, And that deep torture may be callid a hell,
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. When more is felt than one hath power to tell.
At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen
of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy; Yet save that labour, for I have them here. Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, What should I say?-One of my husband's men For Helen's rape the city to destroy, Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy; A letter to my lord, my love, my dear;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud, Bid him with speed prepare to carry it:
As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.
A thousand lamentable objects there, Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life: First hovering o'er the paper with her quill: Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, Conceit and grief an eager combat fight ;
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife : What wit sets down, is blotted straight with will; The red blood reek’d, to show the painter's strise ; This is too curious good, this blunt and ill : And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, Much like a press of people at a door,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nighis.
There might you see the labouring pioneer
And from the towers of Troy there would appear Health to thy person! next vouchsafe t'afford, The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust, (If ever, love, thy Lucroce thou wilt see,) Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust : Some present speed, to come and visit mo: Such sweet observance in this work was had, So I commend me from our house in grief; That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. My woes aro tedious, though my words are brief.” In great commanders grace and majesty Here folds she up the tenor of her wo,
You might behold, triumphing in their faces; Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity; By this short schedule Collatine may know
And here and there the painter interlaces Her grief, but not her grief's true quality :
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces ; She dares not thereof make discovery,
Wauch heartless peasants did so well resemble, Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,
That one would swear he sawthem quake and tremble Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse. At Ardea, to my lord, with more than haste. Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
About a century and a half ago, all our letters that reShe hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ;
quired speed were superscribed, With post post haste.