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twg_000000029400 | and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such As passing all conceit, needs no defence. Thou lovst to hear the sweet melodious sound That Phbus lute, the queen of music, makes; And I in deep delight am chiefly drownd Whenas himself | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029401 | to singing he betakes. One god is god of both, as poets feign; One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. IX Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love, * * * * * * Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, For Adons sake, a youngster proud and wild; Her stand she takes upon a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029402 | steep-up hill; Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds; She, silly queen, with more than loves good will, Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds. Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar, Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth! See in my thigh, quoth she, here | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029403 | was the sore. She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one, And blushing fled, and left her all alone. X Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluckd, soon vaded, Pluckd in the bud and vaded in the spring! Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded! Fair creature, killd too soon by deaths sharp sting! Like a green plum that hangs | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029404 | upon a tree, And falls, through wind, before the fall should be. I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have; For why thou leftst me nothing in thy will; And yet thou leftst me more than I did crave; For why I craved nothing of thee still. O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee, Thy discontent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029405 | thou didst bequeath to me. XI 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, she fell to him. Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embracd me, And then she clippd Adonis in her arms; Even thus, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029406 | quoth she, the warlike 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; 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029407 | bay, To kiss and clip me till I run away! XII Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, ages breath is short; Youth is nimble, age is lame; Youth | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029408 | is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee; O, my love, my love is young! Age, I do defy thee. O, sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stayst too long. XIII Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, A shining | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029409 | gloss that vadeth suddenly; A flower that dies when first it gins to bud; A brittle glass thats broken presently: A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour. And as goods lost are seld or never found, As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh, As flowers dead lie witherd on the ground, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029410 | As broken glass no cement can redress, So beauty blemishd once, for evers lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost. XIV Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share: She bade good night that kept my rest away; And daffd me to a cabin hangd with care, To descant on the doubts of my decay. Farewell, quoth | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029411 | she, and come again tomorrow: Fare well I could not, for I suppd with sorrow. Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, In scorn or friendship, nill I conster whether: T may be, she joyd to jest at my exile, T may be, again to make me wander thither: Wander, a word for shadows like myself, As take the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029412 | pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east! My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, And wish her lays were tuned like the lark. For she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029413 | doth welcome daylight with her ditty, And drives away dark dreaming night. The night so packd, I post unto my pretty; Heart hath his hope and eyes their wished sight; Sorrow changd to solace, solace mixd with sorrow; For why, she sighd, and bade me come tomorrow. Were I with her, the night would post too soon; But now are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029414 | minutes added to the hours; To spite me now, each minute seems a moon; Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers! Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow: Short, night, tonight, and length thyself tomorrow. XV It was a lordings daughter, the fairest one of three, That liked of her master as well as well | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029415 | might be, Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye could see, Her fancy fell a-turning. Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love did fight, To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight; To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite Unto the silly damsel! But one must be refused; more mickle was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029416 | the pain, That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain, For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain: Alas she could not help it! Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away: Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029417 | gay; For now my song is ended. XVI On a day, alack the day! Love, whose month was ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air. Through the velvet leaves the wind All unseen gan passage find, That the lover, sick to death, Wishd himself the heavens breath: Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029418 | would I might triumph so! But, alas, my hand hath sworn Neer to pluck thee from thy thorn: Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet! Thou for whom Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were, And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. XVII My flocks feed not, my ewes breed not, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029419 | My rams speed not, all is amis: Love is dying, faiths defying, Hearts denying, causer of this. All my merry jigs are quite forgot, All my ladys love is lost, God wot: Where her faith was firmely fixd in love, There a nay is placd without remove. One silly cross wrought all my loss; O frowning fortune, cursed fickle dame! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029420 | For now I see inconstancy More in women than in men remain. In black mourn I, all fears scorn I, Love hath forlorn me, living in thrall. Heart is bleeding, all help needing, O cruel speeding, fraughted with gall. My shepherds pipe can sound no deal. My weathers bell rings doleful knell; My curtal dog that wont to have playd, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029421 | Plays not at all, but seems afraid. With sighs so deep procures to weep, In howling wise, to see my doleful plight. How sighs resound through heartless ground, Like a thousand vanquishd men in bloody fight! Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not, Green plants bring not forth their dye; Herds stands weeping, flocks all sleeping, Nymphs black peeping | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029422 | fearfully. All our pleasure known to us poor swains, All our merry meetings on the plains, All our evening sport from us is fled, All our love is lost, for love is dead. Farewel, sweet love, thy like neer was For a sweet content, the cause of all my woe! Poor Corydon must live alone; Other help for him I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029423 | see that there is none. XVIII Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame, And stalld the deer that thou shouldst strike, Let reason rule things worthy blame, As well as fancy, partial might; Take counsel of some wiser head, Neither too young nor yet unwed. And when thou comst thy tale to tell, Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029424 | Least she some subtle practice smell, A cripple soon can find a halt, But plainly say thou lovst her well, And set her person forth to sale. What though her frowning brows be bent, Her cloudy looks will calm ere night, And then too late she will repent, That thus dissembled her delight; And twice desire, ere it be day, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029425 | That which with scorn she put away. What though she strive to try her strength, And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, Her feeble force will yield at length, When craft hath taught her thus to say: Had women been so strong as men, In faith, you had not had it then. And to her will frame all thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029426 | ways; Spare not to spend, and chiefly there Where thy desert may merit praise, By ringing in thy ladys ear: The strongest castle, tower and town, The golden bullet beats it down. Serve always with assured trust, And in thy suit be humble true; Unless thy lady prove unjust, Press never thou to choose a new: When time shall serve, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029427 | be thou not slack, To proffer, though she put thee back. The wiles and guiles that women work, Dissembled with an outward show, The tricks and toys that in them lurk, The cock that treads them shall not know, Have you not heard it said full oft, A womans nay doth stand for nought. Think women still to strive with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029428 | men, To sin and never for to saint: There is no heaven, by holy then, When time with age shall them attaint, Were kisses all the joys in bed, One woman would another wed. But soft, enough,too much,I fear Lest that my mistress hear my song: She will not stick to round me on th ear, To teach my tongue | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029429 | to be so long. Yet will she blush, here be it said, To hear her secrets so bewrayd. XIX Live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dales and fields, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029430 | By shallow rivers, by whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee a bed of roses, With a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Then live with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029431 | me and be my love. Loves Answer. If that the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherds tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. XX As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029432 | did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring; Everything did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone: She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Leand her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefullst ditty, That to hear it was great pitty. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, Tereu, Tereu, by and by; That to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029433 | hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain, For her griefs so lively shown Made me think upon mine own. Ah, thought I, thou mournst in vain! None takes pitty on thy pain. Senseless trees they cannot hear thee, Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee; King Pandion he is dead, All thy friends are lappd in lead, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029434 | All thy fellow birds do sing, Careless of thy sorrowing. Whilst as fickle fortune smiled, Thou and I were both beguiled. Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in misery. Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. Every man will be thy friend Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; But if store of crowns | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029435 | be scant, No man will supply thy want. If that one be prodigal, Bountiful they will him call, And with such-like flattering, Pity but he were a king. If he be addict to vice, Quickly him they will entice; If to women he be bent, They have at commandement. But if Fortune once do frown, Then farewell his great renown. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029436 | They that fawnd on him before, Use his company no more. He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need: If thou sorrow, he will weep; If thou wake, he cannot sleep. Thus of every grief in heart He with thee doth bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flattring foe. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029437 | THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE Let the bird of loudest lay, On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul precurrer of the fiend, Augur of the fevers end, To this troop come thou not near. From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing, Save the eagle, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029438 | featherd king; Keep the obsequy so strict. Let the priest in surplice white, That defunctive music can, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right. And thou treble-dated crow, That thy sable gender makst With the breath thou givst and takst, Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. Here the anthem doth commence: Love and constancy is dead; Phoenix | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029439 | and the turtle fled In a mutual flame from hence. So they lovd, as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distincts, division none: Number there in love was slain. Hearts remote, yet not asunder; Distance and no space was seen Twixt this turtle and his queen; But in them it were a wonder. So between them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029440 | love did shine, That the turtle saw his right Flaming in the phoenix sight; Either was the others mine. Property was thus appalled, That the self was not the same; Single natures double name Neither two nor one was called. Reason, in itself confounded, Saw division grow together; To themselves yet either neither, Simple were so well compounded. That it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029441 | cried, How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath reason, reason none, If what parts can so remain. Whereupon it made this threne To the phoenix and the dove, Co-supremes and stars of love, As chorus to their tragic scene. THRENOS Beauty, truth, and rarity. Grace in all simplicity, Here enclosd in cinders lie. Death is now the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029442 | phoenix nest; And the turtles loyal breast To eternity doth rest. Leaving no posterity: Twas not their infirmity, It was married chastity. Truth may seem, but cannot be; Beauty brag, but tis not she; Truth and beauty buried be. To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair; For these dead birds sigh a prayer. THE RAPE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029443 | OF LUCRECE TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, and Baron of Titchfield. The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029444 | yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness. Your Lordships in all duty, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. THE ARGUMENT. Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029445 | pride surnamed Superbus), after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the peoples suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029446 | meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the kings son, in their discourses after supper, everyone commended the virtues of his own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome; and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which everyone | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029447 | had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucreces beauty, yet smothering his passions for the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029448 | present, departed with the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatched messengers, one to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029449 | Rome for her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029450 | Which done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so moved, that with one consent and a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029451 | general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to consuls. From the besieged Ardea all in post, Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, And to Collatium bears the lightless fire, Which in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire And girdle with embracing flames the waist Of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029452 | Collatines fair love, Lucrece the chaste. Haply that name of chaste unhapply set This bateless edge on his keen appetite, When Collatine unwisely did not let To praise the clear unmatched red and white Which triumphed in that sky of his delight; Where mortal stars as bright as heavens beauties, With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. For he the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029453 | night before, in Tarquins tent Unlocked the treasure of his happy state, What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent In the possession of his beauteous mate; Reckning his fortune at such high proud rate That kings might be espoused to more fame, But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. O happiness enjoyed but of a few, And, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029454 | if possessed, as soon decayed and done As is the mornings silver melting dew Against the golden splendour of the sun! An expired date, cancelled ere well begun. Honour and beauty in the owners arms, Are weakly fortressed from a world of harms. Beauty itself doth of itself persuade The eyes of men without an orator; What needeth then apologies | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029455 | be made, To set forth that which is so singular? Or why is Collatine the publisher Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown From thievish ears, because it is his own? Perchance his boast of Lucrece sovreignty Suggested this proud issue of a king; For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be. Perchance that envy of so rich | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029456 | a thing, Braving compare, disdainfully did sting His high-pitched thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt That golden hap which their superiors want. But some untimely thought did instigate His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those; His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, Neglected all, with swift intent he goes To quench the coal which in his liver glows. O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029457 | rash false heat, wrapped in repentant cold, Thy hasty spring still blasts and neer grows old! When at Collatium this false lord arrived, Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame, Within whose face beauty and virtue strived Which of them both should underprop her fame. When virtue bragged, beauty would blush for shame; When beauty boasted blushes, in despite | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029458 | Virtue would stain that oer with silver white. But beauty, in that white intituled From Venus doves, doth challenge that fair field. Then virtue claims from beauty beautys red, Which virtue gave the golden age to gild Their silver cheeks, and called it then their shield; Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, When shame assailed, the red | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029459 | should fence the white. This heraldry in Lucrece face was seen, Argued by beautys red and virtues white. Of eithers colour was the other queen, Proving from worlds minority their right. Yet their ambition makes them still to fight; The sovereignty of either being so great, That oft they interchange each others seat. Their silent war of lilies and of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029460 | roses, Which Tarquin viewed in her fair faces field, In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; Where, lest between them both it should be killed, The coward captive vanquished doth yield To those two armies that would let him go Rather than triumph in so false a foe. Now thinks he that her husbands shallow tongue, The niggard prodigal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029461 | that praised her so, In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, Which far exceeds his barren skill to show. Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. This earthly saint, adored by this devil, Little suspecteth the false worshipper; For unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil; Birds | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029462 | never limed no secret bushes fear. So guiltless she securely gives good cheer And reverend welcome to her princely guest, Whose inward ill no outward harm expressed. For that he coloured with his high estate, Hiding base sin in pleats of majesty, That nothing in him seemed inordinate, Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, Which, having all, all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029463 | could not satisfy; But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store That, cloyed with much, he pineth still for more. But she, that never coped with stranger eyes, Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, Nor read the subtle shining secrecies Writ in the glassy margents of such books; She touched no unknown baits, nor feared no hooks, Nor | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029464 | could she moralize his wanton sight, More than his eyes were opened to the light. He stories to her ears her husbands fame, Won in the fields of fruitful Italy; And decks with praises Collatines high name, Made glorious by his manly chivalry With bruised arms and wreaths of victory. Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express, And, wordless, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029465 | so greets heaven for his success. Far from the purpose of his coming thither, He makes excuses for his being there. No cloudy show of stormy blustring weather Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear, Till sable Night, mother of dread and fear, Upon the world dim darkness doth display, And in her vaulty prison stows the day. For | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029466 | then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, Intending weariness with heavy sprite; For after supper long he questioned With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night. Now leaden slumber with lifes strength doth fight, And every one to rest themselves betake, Save thieves and cares and troubled minds that wake. As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving The sundry | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029467 | dangers of his wills obtaining, Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining. Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining, And when great treasure is the meed proposed, Though death be adjunct, theres no death supposed. Those that much covet are with gain so fond For what they have not, that which they | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029468 | possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond; And so, by hoping more, they have but less, Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrout in this poor-rich gain. The aim of all is but to nurse the life With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age; And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029469 | in this aim there is such thwarting strife That one for all or all for one we gage: As life for honour in fell battles rage, Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost The death of all, and all together lost. So that in ventring ill we leave to be The things we are, for that which we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029470 | expect; And this ambitious foul infirmity, In having much, torments us with defect Of that we have. So then we do neglect The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, Make something nothing by augmenting it. Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, Pawning his honour to obtain his lust; And for himself himself he must forsake. Then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029471 | where is truth, if there be no self-trust? When shall he think to find a stranger just, When he himself himself confounds, betrays To slandrous tongues and wretched hateful days? Now stole upon the time the dead of night, When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes. No comfortable star did lend his light, No noise but owls and wolves | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029472 | death-boding cries; Now serves the season that they may surprise The silly lambs. Pure thoughts are dead and still, While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. And now this lustful lord leaped from his bed, Throwing his mantle rudely oer his arm; Is madly tossed between desire and dread; Th one sweetly flatters, th other feareth harm. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029473 | honest fear, bewitched with lusts foul charm, Doth too too oft betake him to retire, Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire. His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly; Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, Which must be lodestar to his lustful eye, And to the flame thus speaks | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029474 | advisedly: As from this cold flint I enforced this fire, So Lucrece must I force to my desire. Here pale with fear he doth premeditate The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, And in his inward mind he doth debate What following sorrow may on this arise. Then looking scornfully, he doth despise His naked armour of still-slaughtered lust, And justly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029475 | thus controls his thoughts unjust: Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not To darken her whose light excelleth thine. And die, unhallowed thoughts, before you blot With your uncleanness that which is divine. Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine. Let fair humanity abhor the deed That spots and stains loves modest snow-white weed. O shame | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029476 | to knighthood and to shining arms! O foul dishonour to my households grave! O impious act including all foul harms! A martial man to be soft fancys slave! True valour still a true respect should have. Then my digression is so vile, so base, That it will live engraven in my face. Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029477 | And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, To cipher me how fondly I did dote, That my posterity, shamed with the note, Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin To wish that I their father had not been. What win I if I gain the thing I seek? A | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029478 | dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minutes mirth to wail a week, Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down? If Collatinus dream of my intent, Will he not wake, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029479 | and in a desprate rage Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent? This siege that hath engirt his marriage, This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, This dying virtue, this surviving shame, Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? O, what excuse can my invention make When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? Will not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029480 | my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake, Mine eyes forgo their light, my false heart bleed? The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, But coward-like with trembling terror die. Had Collatinus killed my son or sire, Or lain in ambush to betray my life, Or were he not my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029481 | dear friend, this desire Might have excuse to work upon his wife, As in revenge or quittal of such strife; But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend, The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. Shameful it is; ay, if the fact be known. Hateful it is, there is no hate in loving. Ill beg her love. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029482 | But she is not her own. The worst is but denial and reproving. My will is strong, past reasons weak removing. Who fears a sentence or an old mans saw Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe. Thus, graceless, holds he disputation Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will, And with good thoughts makes dispensation, Urging the worser sense | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029483 | for vantage still; Which in a moment doth confound and kill All pure effects, and doth so far proceed That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. Quoth he, She took me kindly by the hand, And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes, Fearing some hard news from the warlike band Where her beloved Collatinus lies. O how | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029484 | her fear did make her colour rise! First red as roses that on lawn we lay, Then white as lawn, the roses took away. And how her hand, in my hand being locked, Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear, Which struck her sad, and then it faster rocked, Until her husbands welfare she did hear; Whereat she smiled | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029485 | with so sweet a cheer That had Narcissus seen her as she stood, Self-love had never drowned him in the flood. Why hunt I then for colour or excuses? All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth. Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses; Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth. Affection is my captain, and he leadeth; And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029486 | when his gaudy banner is displayed, The coward fights and will not be dismayed. Then, childish fear, avaunt! Debating, die! Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age! My heart shall never countermand mine eye. Sad pause and deep regard beseems the sage; My part is youth, and beats these from the stage. Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize; Then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029487 | who fears sinking where such treasure lies? As corn oergrown by weeds, so heedful fear Is almost choked by unresisted lust. Away he steals with opening, listning ear, Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust; Both which, as servitors to the unjust, So cross him with their opposite persuasion That now he vows a league, and now invasion. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029488 | Within his thought her heavenly image sits, And in the self-same seat sits Collatine. That eye which looks on her confounds his wits; That eye which him beholds, as more divine, Unto a view so false will not incline, But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, Which once corrupted takes the worser part; And therein heartens up his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029489 | servile powers, Who, flattered by their leaders jocund show, Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. By reprobate desire thus madly led, The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece bed. The locks between her chamber and his will, Each one by him enforced, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029490 | retires his ward; But, as they open, they all rate his ill, Which drives the creeping thief to some regard. The threshold grates the door to have him heard; Night-wandring weasels shriek to see him there; They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. As each unwilling portal yields him way, Through little vents and crannies of the place | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029491 | The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay, And blows the smoke of it into his face, Extinguishing his conduct in this case; But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch. And being lighted, by the light he spies Lucretias glove, wherein her needle sticks; He takes it from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029492 | the rushes where it lies, And griping it, the needle his finger pricks, As who should say, This glove to wanton tricks Is not inured. Return again in haste; Thou seest our mistress ornaments are chaste. But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; He in the worst sense construes their denial. The doors, the wind, the glove that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029493 | did delay him, He takes for accidental things of trial; Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, Who with a lingring stay his course doth let, Till every minute pays the hour his debt. So, so, quoth he, these lets attend the time, Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, To add a more rejoicing to the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029494 | prime, And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. Pain pays the income of each precious thing: Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands. Now is he come unto the chamber door That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, Which with a yielding latch, and with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029495 | no more, Hath barred him from the blessed thing he sought. So from himself impiety hath wrought, That for his prey to pray he doth begin, As if the heavens should countenance his sin. But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, Having solicited th eternal power That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, And they would stand | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029496 | auspicious to the hour, Even there he starts. Quoth he, I must deflower. The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, How can they then assist me in the act? Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide! My will is backed with resolution. Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried; The blackest sin is cleared | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029497 | with absolution. Against loves fire fears frost hath dissolution. The eye of heaven is out, and misty night Covers the shame that follows sweet delight. This said, his guilty hand plucked up the latch, And with his knee the door he opens wide. The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch; Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. Who | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029498 | sees the lurking serpent steps aside; But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. The curtains being close, about he walks, Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head. By their high treason is his heart misled, Which gives the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029499 | watch-word to his hand full soon To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. Look as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight; Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun To wink, being blinded with a greater light. Whether it is that she reflects so bright, That dazzleth them, or else some | 60 | gutenberg |
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