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This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
“ Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st suck Through which it enters to surprise her heart,
weeping ? Wbo, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
What may a beavy groan advantage thee? With cold pale weakness numbs each feeling part: Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see? They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour." Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ;
Till, cheering up her senses sore-dismay'd, Here overcome, as one full of despair, Sbe tells them, 't is a causeless fantasy,
She veil'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd And childish errour that they are afraid ; The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair Bids them leave quaking, wills them fear no more;- In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd; And with that word she spy'd the hunted boar; But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again. Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together, O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow! A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye; Which madly hurries her she knows not whither; Both crystals where they view'd each other's sorrow, This way she runs, and now she will no further, Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry; But back retires, to rate the boar for murder. But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sigbs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again, A thousand spleens bear ber a thousand ways;
She treads the paths that she untreads again; Variable passions throng her constant woe, Her inore than haste is mated with delays,
As striving which should best become her grief; Like the proceedings of a dranken brain; All entertain'd, each passion labours so, Full of respect, yet nought at all respecting, That every present sorrow seemeth chief, In band with all things, nought at all effecting. But none is best; then join they all together,
Like many clouds cousulting for foul weather. Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master; By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla; And there another licking of his wound,
A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well: 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; The dire imagination she did follow And here she meets another, sadly scowling,
This sound of hope doth labour to expell; To whom she speaks; and he replies with howling. For now reviving joy bids ber rejoice,
And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice. When he had ceas'd his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, Against the welkin vollies out his voice;
Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass; Another and another answer him,
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Which her cheek melts, as scoroing it should pass, Shaking their scratch'd ears bleeding as they go.
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. Look, how the world's poor people are amazed, At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
O hard-believing love, how strange it seems Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, Not to believe, and yet too credulous !
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes, So she at these sad signs draws op her breath, Despair and hope make thee ridiculous: And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death.
The one doth fatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. “ Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love," thus chides she Death; Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought; Grim-grinning ghost, Earth's worm, what dost Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame; thou mean
It was not she that callid him all to nanght; To stifle beauty, and to steal bis breath,
Now she adds honour to his hateful name; Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set She clepes hiin king of graves, and grave for kings, Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ?
Imperial supreme of ali mortal things. “ If he be dead- no, it cannot be,
“ No, no," quoth she, “sweet Death, I did but jest ; Seeing his beauty, thou should'st strike at it Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear, O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see, When as I met the boar, that bloody beast, But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Which knows no pity, but is still severe; Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess) Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart. I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease,
" Hadst thon but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower.
“ Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander; | 'T is 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."
Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
“My tongue cannot express my grief for one, Her rash saspect she doth extenuate;
And yet," quoth she, “behold two Adons dead ! And that his beauty may the better thrire, My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, With Death she humbly doth insinuate;
Mine eyes are tura'd to fire, my heart to lead : Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire ! His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. So shall I die by drops of hot desire. “O Jove," quoth she," bow much a fool was I, " Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost ! To be of such a weak and silly mind,
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? To wail his death, who lives, and must not die, Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing ? For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him. “ Fie, fie, fond Love, thou art so full of fear, Bonnet or veil henceforth no creature wear!
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves; Nor Sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear; Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.” The Sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you. Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
But when Adonis liv'd, Sun and sharp air Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn. Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of bis fair; As faulcon to the lure, away she flies;
“ And therefore would he put his bonnet on, The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ; Under whose brim the gawdy Sun would peep; And in her haste unfortunately spies
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone, The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight; Play with bis locks; then would Adonis weep : Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, And straight, in pity of his tender years, Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew. They both would strive who first should dry his tears. Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, “ To see his face, the lion walk'd along
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, Behind some hedge, because he would not fear And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
him ; Long after fearing to creep forth again; To recreate himself, when he hath sung, So, at his bloody view, her eyes are filed
The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him: Into the deep dark cabins of her head,
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,
And never fright the silly lamb that day.
“ When he beheld his shadow in the brook, Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills; And never wound the heart with looks again; When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, Who, like a king perplexed in his throne,
That some would sing, some other in their bills By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries;
He fed them with his sigbt, they him with berries. Whereat each tributary subject quakes ;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, “ But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, Struggling for passage, Earth's foundation shakes, Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Which with cold terrours doth men's mind con- Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore; This mutiny each part doth so surprise, [found : Witness the entertaiument that he gave; That from their dark beds, once more, leap hereyes; If he did see his face, why theo I know,
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd « 'T is true, 't is true; thus was Adonis slain ; In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, With purple tears, that his wound wept, was Who would not whet his teeth at him again, drench'd :
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, And ouzzling in his fank, the loving swine But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed. Sheath'd, unaware, his tusk in his soft groin. This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; “ Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head; With kissing him I should have kill'd him first; Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth ; But he is dead, and never did he bless
She thinks could not die, he is not dead. My youth with his; the more I am accurs'd."
That her sight dazzling makes the wound scem She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ;
That makes more gashes where no breach should As if he heard the woeful words she told :
Two glasses, wbere herself herself beheld
Thus, weary of the world, away she hies, A thousand times, and now no more reflect; And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies And every beauty robb’d of his effect :
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd, " Wonder of time,' quoth she, “this is my spite, Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen That, you being dead, the day should yet be light. Means to immure herself, and not be seen. " Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy,
Sorror on love hereafter shall attend ; It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end; Ne'er settled equally, too high or low;
RAPE OF LUCRECE. That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. “ It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud,
And shall be blasted in a breathing-while ; The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
With sweets, that shall the sharpest sight beguile: RIGHT HON. HENRY WRIOTHESLY, The strongest body shall it make most weak, Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak. EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. " It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,
The love I dedicate to your lordship is without Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, [sures. end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning,
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with trea is but a superfluons moiety. The warrant I have It shall be raging-mad, and silly-mild,
of your honourable disposition, not the worth of Make the young old, the old become a child.
my untutored lines, makes it assured of accept" It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear;
ance. What I have done is yours, what I have It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust; to do is yours ; being part in all I have devoted It shall be merciful, and too severe,
yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would And most deceiving, when it seems most just; Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward,
show greater: mean time, as it is, it is bound to Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.
your lordship, to whom I wish long life, still
lengthened with all happiness. " It shall be cause of war, and dire events, And set dissention 'twixt the son and fire ;
Your lordship's in all duty,
As dry combustious matter is to fire;
Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive pride surAnd in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, named Superbus) after he had caused his own
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white; father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murResembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood dered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. customs, not requiring or staying for the peo
ple's suffrages, had possessed himself of the She bows her bead, the new-sprung flower to smell, kingdom ; went, accompanied with his sons and Comparing it to her Adonis' breath;
other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,
During which siege, the principal men of the Since he himself is reft from her by death : army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. after supper every one commended the virtues
of his own wife ; among whom, Collatinus ex“ Poor flower," quoth she, “ this was thy father's tolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Luguise,
cretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted (Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) to Roine; and intending, by their secret and For every little grief to wet bis eyes :
sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every To grow unto himself was bis desire,
one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds And so 't is thine; but know, it is as good
his wife (though it were late in the night) spinTo wither in my breast, as in bis blood.
ving amongst her maids: the other ladies were
all found dancing and revelling, or in several “Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast; disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded
Thou art the next of blood, and 't is thy right: Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night: with Lucrece's beauty, yet smothering his pasThere shall not be one minute of an hour,
sions for the present, departed with the rest back Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.” to the camp; from whence he shortly after pri
WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. THE
vily withdrew himself, and was (according to Perchance his boast of Lucrece sorereignty
But beauty, in that white intituled,
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. From the besieged Ardea all in post, Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white. And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Of either's colour was the other queen, Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, Proving from world's minority their right : And girdle with embracing fames the waist Yet their ambition makes them still to fight; Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. The sovereignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat. Haply that name of chaste unbapp'ly set 'This bateless edge on his keen appetite;
This silent war of lilies and of roses When Collatine unwisely did not let
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, To praise the clear unmatched red and white In their pure ranks his traitor ege encloses; Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, Where mortal stars, as bright as Heaven's beauties, The coward captive vanquished duth yield With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe. For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) What priceless wealth the Heavens had him lent
In that high task hath doue her beauty wrong, In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth ove,
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, But king nor peer to such a pterless dame.
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. O happiness enjoy'd but of a few !
This earthly saint, adored by this devil, And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
Little suspecteth the false worshipper; As is the morning's silver-melting dew
For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream on evil; Against the golden splendour of the Sun !
Birds never limb'd no secret bushes fear: An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
And reverend welcome to her princely guest, Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd: Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
For that he colour'd with his high estate, The eyes of men without an orator;
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty; What needeth then apology be made
That nothing in bim seem'd inordinate, To set forth that which is so singular?
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, Or why is Collatine the publisher
Which, having all, all could not satisfy; Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store, From thjevish ears, because it is his own?
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.
at sbe that never cop'd with stranger eyes, Now stole upon the time the dead of night, uld pick no meaning from their parling looks, When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes; er read the subtle-shining secresies
No comfortable star did lend his light, rit in the glassy margents of such books; No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries : e touch'd no unknown bajts, nor fear'd no hooks; Now serves the season that they may surprise or could she moralize his wanton sight,
The silly lambs; pare thoughts are dead and still, ore than his eyes were opend to the light. While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. e stories to her ears her husband's fame, And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, Fon in the fields of fruitful Italy;
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm; od decks with praises Collatine's high name, Is madly toss'd between desire and dread; ade glorious by his manly chivalry,
The one sweetly flatters, the other feareth harm; ith bruised arms and wreaths of victory : But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm, er joy with hear'd-up hand she doth express, Doth too too oft betake him to retire, nd, wordless, so greeis Heaven for his success. Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire. ar from the purpose of his coming thither, His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, le makes excuses for his being there.
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, Eo cloudy show of stormy blustering weather Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, oth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Which must be lode-star to bis lustful eye; Se sable Night, mother of dread and fear, And to the flame thus speaks advisedly : Upon the world dim darkness doth display, “ As from this cold Aint I enforc'd this fire, And in her vaulty prison stows the day.
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.” For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, Here, pale with fear, he doth premeditate Intending weariness with heavy spright;
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, For, after supper, long be questioned
And in his inward mind he doth debate With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night: What following sorrow may on this arise: Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight; Then looking scornfully, he doth despise And every one to rest himself betakes, (wakes. His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust, Sare thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust. As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving “Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining; To darken her whose light excelleth thine ! Yet ever to obta:p his will resolving,
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining: With your uncleanness that which is divine ! Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining; Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine: And when great treasure is the meed proposed, Let fair humanity abhor the deed Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed. That spots and stains love's inodest snow-white weed. Those that much covet, are with gain so fond, “O shame to knighthood and to shining arms k That what they have not (that which they possess) | O foul disbonour to my household's grave! They scatter and unloose it from their bond, O impious act, including all foul harms ! And so, by hoping more, they bave but less; A martial man to be soft fancy's slave! Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
True valour still a true respect should have; Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,
Then my digression is so vile, so base, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. That it will live engraven in my face. The aim of all is but to nurse the life
“ Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, With honour, wealth, and ease, in waining age; And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, That one for all, or all for one we gage;
To cipher me, how fondly I did dote; As life for honour, in fell battles' rage ;
That my posterity, sham'd with the note, Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin The death of all, and all together lost.
To wish that I their father had not been. So that in vent'ring ill, we leave to be
“What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? The things we are, for that which we expect; A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy : And this ambitious foul infirmity,
Who buys a minute's mirth, to wail a week? Io having much, torments us with defect
Or sells eternity, to get a toy? Of that we bave: so then we do neglect
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ? "The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Make something nothing, by augmenting it. Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down? Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, “ If Collatipus dream of my intent, Pawning bis honour to obtain his lust;
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage And for himself, himself he must forsake: Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ? Theo where is truth, if there be no self-trust? This siege that hath engirt his marriage, When shall be think to find a stranger just, This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, When he himself bimself confounds, betrays This dying virtue, this surviving shame, To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days? | Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?