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But more than "he" her poor tongue could not

speak;

Till, after many accents and delays,

Untimely breathings, sick and short assays,
She utters this: He, he, fair lords, 'tis he,
That guides this hand to give this wound to me.

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath'd ·
That blow did bail it from the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breath'd:
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny.

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed,
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew;
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed,
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw :
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;
And, bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side,

Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood,46
Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood.

Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd,
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin
stain'd.

About the mourning and congealed face

Of that black blood, a watery rigol goes,*

47

46 That is, stood waste or desolate; a sense of vastly now ob solete. For similar uses of the substantive vast, see Hamlet, Act i. sc. 2. note 27.

H.

47 A rigo! is a circle See 2 Henry IV., Act iv. sc. 4, note 15

Which seems to weep upon the tainted place:
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes,
Corrupted blood some watery token shows;
And blood untainted still doth red abide,
Blushing at that which is so putrefied.

Daughter, dear daughter! old Lucretius cries,
That life was mine, which thou hast here depriv'd.
If in the child the father's image lies,

Where shall I live, now Lucrece is unliv'd?
Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd.
If children pre-decease progenitors,

We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new-born,
But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,
Shows me a bare-bon'd death by time outworn;
O! from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn,
And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass,

That I no more can see what once I was.

O time! cease thou thy course, and last no longer,
If they surcease to be, that should survive.
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive?
The old bees die, the young possess their hive:
Then, live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee!

By this starts Collatine as from a dream,
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,
And counterfeits to die with her a space;
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,
And live to be revenged on her death.

The deep vexation of his inward soul
Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue;
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long,
Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid,
That no man could distinguish what he said.

Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain,
But through his teeth, as if the name be tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain,
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er:
Then son and father weep with equal strife,
Who should weep most for daughter or for wife.

The one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says, She's mine.-O! mine she is,
Replies her husband: do not take away
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say
He weeps for her; for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.

O! quoth Lucretius, I did give that life
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd."
Woe, woe! quoth Collatine, she was my wife;
I ow'd her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.
My daughter! and My wife! with clamours fill'd
The dispers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, My daughter! and My wife!

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side
Seeing such emulation in their woe,

48 Too late is too lately or too recently. — Ow'd, second line after, is own'd, possess'd.

H.

Began to clothe his wit in state and pride,
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,

For sportive words, and uttering foolish things:

But now he throws that shallow habit by,
Wherein deep policy did him disguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise!
Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool,
Now set thy long-experienc'd wit to school.

Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?

Is it revenge to give thyself a blow,

For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?
Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds;
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.

Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
In such relenting dew of lamentations;
But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations;
That they will suffer these abominations

(Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac'd) By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chas'd.49

Now, by the Capitol that we adore,

And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd,

49 The construction is, "that they will suffer these abominations to be chased."

By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store,
By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd,
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
We will revenge the death of this true wife.

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow;
And to his protestation urg'd the rest,

Who, wondering at him, did his words allow :
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow,
And that deep vow which Brutus made before,
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

When they had sworn to this advised doom,
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence,
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence:
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment."

50

bo Plausibly is with applause or with acclamation.

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