First
part |
| From the besieged Ardea all
in post, | | | | Borne by the trustless wing 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, |
5 | | | And girdle with embracing flames the
waist | | | | Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the
chaste. | | |
|
| Haply that name of
«chaste» unhappily set | | | | This bateless edge on his keen
appetite; | | | | When Collatine unwisely did not
let |
10 | | | To praise the clear unmatched red and
white | | | | Which triumph'd in that sky of his
delight, | | | | Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's
beauties, | | | | With pure aspects did him peculiar
duties. | | |
|
| For he the night before, in
Tarquin's tent |
15 | | | Unlock'd the treasure of his happy
state; | | | | What priceless wealth the heavens had him
lent | | | | In the possession of his beauteous
mate; | | | | Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud
rate, | | | | That kings might be espoused to more
fame, |
20 | | | But king nor peer to such peerless
dame. | | |
|
| O happiness enjoy'd, but of a
few! | | | | And, if possess'd as soon decay'd and
done | | | | As is the morning's silver-melting
dew | | | | Against the golden splendour of the
sun! |
25 | | | An expired date, cancell'd ere well
begun: | | | | Honour and beauty, in the owner's
arms, | | | | Are weakly fortress'd from a world of
harms. | | |
|
| Beauty itself doth of itself
persuade | | | | The eyes of men without an
orator; |
30 | | | What needeth then apologies be
made, | | | | To set forth that which is so
singular? | | | | Or why Collatine the publisher
| | | | Of that rich jewel he should keep
unknown | | | | From thievish ears, because it is his
own? |
35 | |
|
| Perchance his boast of
Lucrece' sovereignty | | | | Suggested this proud issue of a
king; | | | | For by our ears our hearts oft tainted
be: | | | | Perchance that envy of so rich a
thing, | | | | Braving compare, disdainfully did
sting |
40 | | | His high-pich'd 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, |
45 | | | Neglected all, with swift intent he
goes | | | | To quench the coal which in his liver
glows. | | | | O rash-false heat, wrapp'd in repentant
cold, | | | | Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er
grows old! | | |
|
| When at Collation this false
lord arrived, |
50 | | | 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 bragg'd, beauty would blush
for shame; | | | | When beauty boasted blushes, in
despite |
55 | | | Virtue would stain that o'er with silver
white. | | |
|
| But beauty, in that white
intituled, | | | | From Venus' doves doth challenge that fir
field; | | | | Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's
red, | | | | Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
|
60 | | | Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then
their shield; | | | | Teaching them thus to use it in the
fight, | | | | When shame assil'd, the red should fence
the white. | | |
|
| This heraldry in Lucrece' f
ace was seen, | | | | Argued by beauty's red and virtue's
white; |
65 | | | Of either's colour was the other
queen, | | | | Proving from world's minority their
right; | | | | Yet their ambition makes them still to
fight; | | | | The sovereignty of either being so
great, | | | | That oft they interchange each other's
seat. |
70 | |
|
| This silent war of lilies and
of roses, | | | | Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's
field, | | | | In their pure ranks his traitor eye
encloses; | | | | Where, lest between hem both it should be
kill'd, | | | | The coward captive vanquished doth
yield |
75 | | | To those two armies, that would let him
go | | | | Rather than triumph in so false a foe.
| | |
|
| Now thinks he that her
husband's shallow tongue, | | | | The niggard prodigal that praised her
so, | | | | In that high task hath done her beauty
wrong, |
80 | | | 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, |
85 | | | Little suspecteth the false
worshipper; | | | | For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on
evil; | | | | Birds never limed no secret bushes
tear: | | | | So guiltless she securely gives good
cheer | | | | And reverend welcome to her princely
guest, |
90 | | | Whose inward ill no outward harm
express'd: | | |
|
| For that he colour'd with his
high estate, | | | | Hiding base sin in plaits of
majesty; | | | | That nothing in him seem'd
inordinate, | | | | Save sometime too much wonder of his
eye, |
95 | | | Which. having all, all could not
satisfy; | | | | But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his
store, | | | | That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still
for more. | | |
|
| But, she, that never coped
with stranger eyes, | | | | Could pick no meaning from their parling
looks, |
100 | | | Nor read the subtle-shining
secrecies | | | | Writ in the glassy margents of such
books: | | | | She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd
no hooks; | | | | Nor could she moralize his wanton
sight, | | | | More than his eyes were open'd to the
light. |
105 | |
|
| He stories to her ears her
husband's fame, | | | | Won in the fields of fruitful
Italy; | | | | And decks with praises Collatine's high
name, | | | | Made glorious by his manly
chivalry | | | | With bruised arms and wreaths of
victory: |
110 | | | Her joy with heaven-up hand she doth
express, | | | | And wordless so greets heaven for his
success. | | |
|
| Far from the purpose of his
coming hither, | | | | He makes excuses for his being
there: | | | | No cloudy show of stormy blustering
weather |
115 | | | 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 then is Tarquin brought
unto his bed, |
120 | | | Intending weariness with heavy
spright; | | | | For after supper long he
questioned | | | | With modest Lucrece, and wore out the
night; | | | | Now leaden slumber with life's strength
doth fight | | | | And every one to rest themselves
betake, |
125 | | | Save thieves and cares and troubled minds
that wake. | | |
|
| As one of which doth Tarquin
lie revolving | | | | The sundry dangers of his will's
obtaining; | | | | Yet ever to obtain his will
resolving, | | | | Though weak-built hopes persuade him to
abstaining; |
130 | | | Despair to gain doth traffic oft for
gaining, | | | | And when great treasure is the meed
proposed, | | | | Though death be adjunct, there's no death
supposed. | | |
|
| Those that much covet are
with gain so fond | | | | That what they have not, that which they
posses, |
135 | | | 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 bankrupt in this poor-rich
gain. |
140 | |
|
| The aim of all is but to
nurse the life | | | | With honour, wealth and ease, in waning
age; | | | | And in this aim there is such thwarting
strife | | | | That one for all or all for one we
gage; | | | | As life for honour in fell battle's
rage; |
145 | | | Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth
doth cost | | | | The death of all, and all together
lost. | | |
|
| So that in venturing ill we
leave to be | | | | The things we are for that which we
expect; | | | | And this ambitious foul
infirmity, |
150 | | | 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, |
155 | | | Pawning his honour to obtain his
lust; | | | | And for himself himself he must
forsake: | | | | Then where is truth, if there be no
self-trust? | | | | When shall he think to find a stranger
just, | | | | When he himself himself confounds,
betrays |
160 | | | To slanderous 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'death-boding
cries; |
165 | | | Now serves the season that they may
surprise | | | | The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead
and still, | | | | While lust and murder wakes to stain and
kill. | | |
|
| And now this lusful lord
leap'd from his bed, | | | | Throwing his mantle rudely
o'er his arm; |
170 | | | Is madly toss'd between desire and
dread; | | | | Th'one sweetly flatters, th'other feareth
harm; | | | | But honest fear, betwitch'd with lust's
foul charm, | | | | Doth too too oft betake him to
retire, | | | | Beaten aeay by braind-stick rude
desire. |
175 | |
|
| 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 lode-star to his lustful
eye; | | | | And to the flame thus speaks
advisedly: |
180 | | | «As from this cold tint 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 |
185 | | | What following sorrow may on this
arise: | | | | Then looking scornfully he doth
despise | | | | His naked armour of still-slaughter'd
lust, | | | | And justly thus controls his thoughts
unjust: | | |
|
| Fair torch, burn out thy
light, and lend it not |
190 | | | To darken her whose light excelleth
thine: | | | | And die, unhallow'd 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 |
195 | | | That spots and stains love's modest
snow-white weed. | | |
|
| O shame to knighthood and to
shining arms! | | | | O foul dishonour to my household's
grave! | | | | Oh impious act, including all foul
harms! | | | | A martial man to be soft fancy's
slave! |
200 | | | 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 | | | | And be an eye-sore in my golden
coat; |
205 | | | 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
bin. |
210 | |
|
| What win I, if I gain the
thing I seek? | | | | A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting
joy. | | | | Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a
week? | | | | Or sells eternity to get a
toy? | | | | For one sweet grape who will the vine
destroy? |
215 | | | 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, and in a desperate
rage | | | | Post hither, this vile purpose to
prevent? |
220 | | | 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, |
225 | | | When thou shalt charge me with so black a
deed? | | | | Will not 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, |
230 | | | But coward-like with trembling terror
die. | | |
|
| Had Collatinus kill'd my son
or sire | | | | Or lain in ambush to betray my
life, | | | | Or were he not my dear friend, this
desire | | | | Might have excuse to work upon his
wife, |
235 | | | As in revenge or quittal of such
strife: | | | | But as he is my kinsman mi 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; |
240 | | | I'll beg her love; but she is not her
own; | | | | The worst is but denial and
reproving; | | | | My will is strong, past reason's weak
removing; | | | | Who fears a sentence or an old man's
saw | | | | Shall by a painted cloth be kept in
awe. |
245 | |
|
| Thus graceless holds he
disputation | | | | Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning
will, | | | | And with good thoughts makes
dispensation, | | | | Urging the worser sense for vantage
still; | | | | Which in a moment doth confound and
kill |
250 | | | 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, |
255 | | | Where her beloved Collatinus
lies. | | | | O, how 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 lock'd, |
260 | | | Forced it to tremble with her loyal
fear! | | | | Which struck her sad, and then it faster
rock'd, | | | | Until her husband's welfare she did
head; | | | | Whereat she smiled with so sweet a
cheer | | | | That had Narcissus seen her as she
stood |
265 | | | Self-love had never drown'd him in the
flood. | | |
|
| Why hunt I them 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: |
270 | | | Affection is my captain, and he
leadeth; | | | | And when his gaudy banner is
display'd, | | | | The coward fights, and will not be
dismay'd. | | |
|
| Then, childish fear avaunt!
debating die! | | | | Respect and reason wait on wrinkled
age! |
275 | | | 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
price; | | | | Then who fears sinking where such treasure
lies?» |
280 | |
|
| As corn overgrown by weeds,
so heedful fear | | | | Is almost choked by unresisted
lust. | | | | Away he steals with open listening
ear, | | | | Full of foul hope and full of fond
mistrust; | | | | Both which, as servitors to the
unjust, |
285 | | | So cross him with their opposite
persuasion, | | | | That now he vows a league, and now
invasion. | | |
|
| Within his thought her
heavenly image sits, | | | | And in the self-same seat sits
Collatine: | | | | That eye which looks on her confounds his
wits; |
290 | | | 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
servile powers, |
295 | | | Who, flatter'd by their leader's 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, |
300 | | | The Roam lord marcheth to Lucrece'
bed. | | |
|
| The locks between her chamber
and his will, | | | | Each one by him enforced, retires his
ward; | | | | But, as they open, they all rate his
ill, | | | | Which drives the creeping thief to some
regard: |
305 | | | The threshold grates the door to have him
heard; | | | | Night-wandering 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 |
310 | | | 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 he
torch: |
315 | |
|
| And being lighted, by the
light he spies | | | | Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle
sticks: | | | | He takes if from the rushes where it
lies. | | | | And griping it, the needle his finger
pricks; | | | | As who should say: «This glove to
wanton tricks |
320 | | | Is not inured; return again in
haste; | | | | Thou see'st 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, hat did
delay him, |
325 | | | He takes for accidental things of
trial; | | | | Or as those which stop the hourly
dial, | | | | Who with a lingering stay his course doth
let, | | | | Till every minute pays the hour his
debt. | | |
|
| «So, so» quoth
he, «these lets attend the time, |
330 | | | Like little frosts that sometime threat
the spring, | | | | To add a more rejoicing to the
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, |
335 | | | 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
tought, | | | | Which with a yielding latch, and with no
more, | | | | Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he
sought. |
340 | | | So from himself impiety hath
wrought, | | | | That for his prey to pray he doth
begin, | | | | As if the heaven should countenance his
sin. | | |
|
| But in the midst of his
unfruitful prayer, | | | | Having solicited the eternal
power |
345 | | | That his foul thoughts might compass his
fair fair, | | | | And they would stand auspicious to the
hour, | | | | Even there he stars: quoth he, I must
deflower: | | | | The powers to whom I pray abhor this
fact; | | | | How can they assist me in the
act? |
350 | |
|
| The Love and Fortune be my
gods, my guide! | | | | My will is back'd with
resolution: | | | | Thoughts are but dreams till their effects
be tried; | | | | The blackest sin is clear'd with
absolution; | | | | Against love' fire fear's frost hath
dissolution. |
355 | | | The eye of heaven is out, and misty
night | | | | Covers the shame that follows sweet
delight.» | | |
|
| This said, his guilty hand
pluck'd up the latch, | | | | And with his knee the door he opens
wide. | | | | The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl
will catch; |
360 | | | Thus treason works ere traitors be
espied. | | | | Who 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 |
365 | | | And gazed 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 watch-word to his hand
full soon |
370 | | | 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; |
375 | | | Whether it is that she reflects so
bright, | | | | That dazzleth them, or else some shame
supposed; | | | | But blind they are, and keeps themselves
enclosed. | | |
|
| O, had they in that darksome
prison died! | | | | Then had they seen the period of the
ill; |
380 | | | Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side
| | | | In his clear bed might have reposed
still: | | | | But they must ope, this blessed league to
kill; | | | | And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their
sight | | | | Must sell her joy, her life, her world's
delight. |
385 | |
|
| Her lily hand her rosy cheek
lies under, | | | | Cozening the pillow of a lawful
kiss; | | | | Who, therefore angry, seems to part in
sunder, | | | | Swelling on either side to want his
bliss; | | | | Between whose hills her head entombed
is: |
390 | | | Where, like a virtuous monument, she
lies, | | | | To be admired of lewd unhallow'd
eyes. | | |
|
| Without the bed other fait
hand was, | | | | On the green coverlet; whose perfect
white | | | | Show'd like an April daisy on the
grass, |
395 | | | With pearly sweat, resembling dew of
night. | | | | Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed
their light, | | | | And canopied in darkness sweetly
lay, | | | | Till they might open to adorn the
day. | | |
|
| Her hair, like golden
threads, play'd with her breath; |
400 | | | modest wantons! wanton
modesty! | | | | Showing life's triumph in the map of
death, | | | | And death's dim look in life's
mortality: | | | | Each in her sleep themselves so
beauty | | | | As if between them twain there were no
strife, |
405 | | | But that life lived in death and death in
life. | | |
|
| Her breasts, like ivory
globes circle with blue, | | | | A pair of maiden worlds
unconquered, | | | | Save of their lord no bearing yoke they
knew, | | | | And him by oath they truly
honoured. |
410 | | | These worlds in Tarquin new ambition
bred; | | | | Who, like a foul usurper, went
about | | | | From this fair throne to heaven the owner
out. | | |
|
| What could he see but
mightily he noted? | | | | What did he note but strongly he
desired? |
415 | | | What he beheld, on that he firmly
doted, | | | | And in his will his wilful eye he
tired. | | | | With more than admiration he
admired | | | | Her azure veins, her alabaster
skin. | | | | Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled
chin. |
420 | |
|
| As the grim lion fawneth o'er
his prey, | | | | So o'er sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,
| | | | Sharp hunger by the conquest
satisfied, | | | | His rage of lust by gazing
qualified; | | | | Slack'd, not suppress'd for standing by
her side, |
425 | | | His eye, which late this mutiny
restrains, | | | | Unto a greater uproar temps his
veins: | | |
|
| And they, like straggling
slaves for pillage fighting, | | | | Obdurate vassals fell exploits
effecting | | | | In bloody death and ravishment
delighting, |
430 | | | Nor children's tears nor mother's groans
despecting, | | | | Swell in their pride, the onset still
expecting: | | | | Anon his beating heart, alarum
striking, | | | | Gives the hot charge, and bids them do
their liking | | |
|
| His drumming heart cheers up
his burning eye, |
435 | | | His eye commends the leading to his
hand; | | | | His hand, as proud of such a
dignity, | | | | Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his
stand | | | | On her bare breast, the heart of all her
land; | | | | Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did
scale, |
440 | | | Left their round turrets destitute and
pale. | | |
|
| They, mustering the quiet
cabinet | | | | Where their dear governess and lady
lies, | | | | Do tell her she is dreadfully
beset, | | | | And fright her with confusion of their
cries; |
445 | | | She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up
eyes, | | | | Who, peeping forth this tumult to
behold, | | | | Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and
controll'd. | | |
|
| Imagine her as one in dead of
night | | | | From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy
waking, |
450 | | | That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly
sprite. | | | | Whose grim aspect sets every joint
a-shaking; | | | | What terror'tis! but she, in worser
taking, | | | | From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
| | | | The sight which makes supposed terror
true. |
455 | |
|
| Wrapp'd and confounded in a
thousand fears, | | | | Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling
lies; | | | | She dares not look; yet, winking, there
appears | | | | Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her
eyes: | | | | Such shadows are the weak brain's
forgeries; |
460 | | | Who, angry that the eyes fly from their
lights, | | | | In darkness daunts them with more dreadful
sights. | | |
|
| His hand, that yet remains
upon her breast,- | | | | Rude ram, to batter such an ivory
wall!- | | | | May feel her heart, poor citizen!
distress'd, |
465 | | | Wounding itself to death, rise up and
fall, | | | | Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes
withal. | | | | This moves in him more rage and lesser
pity, | | | | To make the breach and enter this sweet
city. | | |
|
| First, like a trumpet, doth
his tongue begin |
470 | | | To sound a parley to his heartless
foe; | | | | Who oér the white sheet peers her
whiter chin, | | | | The reason of this rash alarm to
know, | | | | Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to
show; | | | | But she with vehement prayers urgeth
still |
475 | | | Under what colour he commits this
ill. | | |
|
| Thus he replies: «The
colour in thy face, | | | | That even for anger makes the lily
pale | | | | And the red rose blush at her own
disgrace, | | | | Shall plead for me and tell my loving
tale: |
480 | | | Under that colour am I come to
scale | | | | Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is
thine, | | | | For those thine eyes betray thee unto
mine. | | |
|
| Thus I forestall thee, if
thou mean to chide. | | | | Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this
night, |
485 | | | Where thou with patience must my will
abide; | | | | My will that marks thee for my earth's
delight, | | | | Which I to conquer sought with all my
might; | | | | But as reproof and reason beat it
dead, | | | | By thy bright beauty was it newly
bred. |
490 | |
|
| I see what crosses my attempt
will bring; | | | | I know what thorns the growing rose
defends; | | | | I think the honey guarded with a
sting; | | | | All this beforehand counsel
comprehends: | | | | But will is deaf and hears no heedful
friends; |
495 | | | Only he hath an eye to gaze on
beauty, | | | | And dotes on what he looks, against law or
duty. | | |
|
| I have debated, even in my
soul, | | | | What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I
shall breed; | | | | But nothing can affection's course
control, |
500 | | | Or stop the headlong fury of his
speed. | | | | I know repentant tears ensue the
deed, | | | | Reproach, disdain and deadly
enmity; | | | | Yet strive I to embrace mine
infamy.» | | |
|
| This said, he shakes aloft
his Roman blade, |
505 | | | Which, like a falcon towering in the
skies, | | | | Coucheth the fowl below with his wings'
shade, | | | | Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he
dies; | | | | So under his insulting falchion lies
| | | | Harmless Lucretia, marking what he
tells |
510 | | | With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's
bells. | | |
|
| «Lucrece» quoth
he, «this night I must enjoy thee; | | | | If thou deny, then force must work my
way, | | | | For in thy bed I purpose to destroy
thee: | | | | That done, some worthless slave of mine
I'll slay, |
515 | | | To kill thine honour with thy life's
decay; | | | | And in thy dead arms do I mean to place
him, | | | | Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace
him. | | |
|
| So thy surviving husband
shall remain | | | | The scornful mark of every open
eye; |
520 | | | Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this
disdain, | | | | Thy issue blurr'd with nameless
bastardy: | | | | And thou, the author of their
obloquy | | | | Shalt have thy trespass cited up in
thymes | | | | And sung by children in succeeding
times. |
525 | |
|
| But if thou yield, I rest thy
secret friend: | | | | The fault unknown is as a thought
unacted; | | | | A little harm done to a great good end
| | | | For lawful policy remains
enacted. | | | | The poisonous simple sometime is compacted
|
530 | | | In a pure compound; being so applied,
| | | | His venom in effect is
purified | | |
|
| Then, for thy husband and thy
children's sake, | | | | Tender my suit: bequeath not to their
lot | | | | The shame that from them no device can
take, |
535 | | | The blemish that will never be
forgot; | | | | Worse than a slavish wipe or mirth-hour's
blot: | | | | For marks descried in men's
nativity | | | | Are nature's faults, not their own
infamy.» | | |
|
|
Second
part |
| Here with a cockatrice'
dead-killing eye |
540 | | | He rouseth up himself, and makes a
pause; | | | | While she, the picture of true
piety, | | | | Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp
claws, | | | | Pleads, in a wilderness where are no
laws, | | | | To the rough beats that knows no gentle
right, |
545 | | | No aught obeys but his foul
appetite. | | |
|
| But when a black-faced cloud
the world doth threat, | | | | In his dim mist the aspiring mountains
hiding, | | | | From earth's dark womb some gentle gust
doth get, | | | | Which blows these pitchy vapours from
their biding, |
550 | | | Hindering their present fall by this
dividing; | | | | So his unhallow'd haste her words
delays, | | | | And moody Pluto winks Orpheus
plays. | | |
|
| Yet, foul night-waking vat,
he doth but dally, | | | | While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse
panteht: |
555 | | | Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture
folly, | | | | A swallowing gulf that even in plenty
wanteth; | | | | His ear her prayers admits, but his heart
granteth | | | | No penetrable entrance to her
plaining: | | | | Tears harden lust, though marble wear with
raining. |
560 | |
|
| Her pity-pleading eyes are
sadly fixed | | | | In the remorseless wrinkles of his
face; | | | | Her modest eloquence with sighs is
mixed, | | | | Which to her oratory adds more
grace. | | | | She puts the period often from his
place, |
565 | | | And midst the sentence so her accent
breaks | | | | That twice she doth begin ere once she
speaks. | | |
|
| She conjures him by high
almighty Jove, | | | | By kinghood, gentry, and sweet
friendship's oath, | | | | By her untimely tears, her husband's
love, |
570 | | | By holy human law and common
troth, | | | | By heaven and earth, and all the power of
both, | | | | That to his borrow'd bed he make
retire, | | | | And stoop to honour, not to foul
desire. | | |
|
| Quoth she: «Reward not
hospitality |
575 | | | With such black payment as thou hast
pretended; | | | | Mud not the fountain that gave drink to
thee; | | | | Mar not the tring that cannot be
amended; | | | | End thy ill aim before thy shoot be
ended; | | | | He is no woodman that doth bend his
bow |
580 | | | To strike a poor unseasonable
doe. | | |
|
| My husband is thy friend; for
his sake spare me; | | | | Thyself art mighty; for thine own sake
leave me: | | | | Myself a weakling; do not then ensnare
me; | | | | Thou look'st not like deceit; do not
deceive me. |
585 | | | My sight, like whirlwinds, labour hence to
heave thee: | | | | If ever man were moved with woman's
moans, | | | | Be moved with my tears, my sight, my
groans. | | |
|
| All which together, like a
troubled ocean, | | | | Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening
heart, |
590 | | | To soften it with their continual
motion; | | | | For stones dissolved to water do
convert. | | | | O, if no harder than a stone thou
art, | | | | Melt at tears, and be
compassionate! | | | | Soft pity enters at an iron
gate. |
595 | |
|
| In Tarquin's likeness I did
entertain thee: | | | | Hast thou put on his shape to do him
shame? | | | | To all the host of heaven I complain
me, | | | | Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his
princely name. | | | | Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the
same, |
600 | | | Thou seem'st not what thou art, a good, a
king; | | | | For kings, like gods, should govern every
thing. | | |
|
| How will thy shame be seeded
in thine age, | | | | When thus thy vices bud before thy
spring! | | | | If in thy hope thou darest do such
outrage, |
605 | | | What darest thou not when once thou art a
king? | | | | O, be remember'd, no outrageous
thing | | | | From vassal actors can be wiper
away; | | | | Then king's misdeeds cannot be hid in
clay. | | |
|
| This deed will make thee only
loved for fear; |
610 | | | But happy monarchs still are fear'd for
love: | | | | With foul offenders thou perforce must
bear, | | | | When they in thee the like offences
prove: | | | | If but for fear of this, thy will
remove; | | | | For princes are the glass, the school, the
book, |
615 | | | Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do
look. | | |
|
| And wilt thou be the school
where Lust shall lean? | | | | Must he in thee read lectures of such
shame? | | | | Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall
discern | | | | Authority for sin, warrant for
blame, |
620 | | | To privilege dishonour in thy
name? | | | | Thou back'st reproach against long-livin
laud, | | | | And makest fair reputation but a
bawd. | | |
|
| Hast thou command? by him
that gave it thee, | | | | From a pure heart command thy rebel
will: |
625 | | | Draw not thy sword to guard
iniquity, | | | | For it was lent thee all that brood to
kill. | | | | Thy princely office how canst thou
fulfil, | | | | When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul sin may
say | | | | He learn'd sin and thou didst teach the
way? |
630 | |
|
| Think but how vile a
spectacle it were, | | | | To view thy present trespass in
another. | | | | Man's faults do seldom to themselves
appear; | | | | Their own transgressions partially they
smother: | | | | This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy
brother |
635 | | | O, how are they wrapp'd in with
infamies | | | | That from their own misdeeds askance their
eyes! | | |
|
| To thee, to thee, my
heaved-up hands appeal, | | | | Not to seducing lust, thy rash
relier: | | | | I sue for exiled majesty's
repeal; |
640 | | | Let him return, and flattering thoughts
retire: | | | | His true respect will prison false
desire, | | | | And wipe the dim mist from thy doting
eyne, | | | | That thou shalt see thy state and pity
mine.» | | |
|
| «Have done» quoth
he: «my uncontrolled tide |
645 | | | Turns not, but swells the higher by this
let. | | | | Small lights are soon blown out, huge
fires abide, | | | | And with the wind in greater fury
fret: | | | | The petty streams that pay a daily
debt | | | | Tot their salt sovereign, with their fresh
falls' haste |
650 | | | Add to his flow, but alter not his
taste.» | | |
|
| «Thou art» quoth
she, «a sea, sovereign king; | | | | And, lo, there falls into thy boundless
flood | | | | Black lust, dishonour, shame,
misgoverning, | | | | Who seek to stain the ocean of thy
blood. |
655 | | | If all these petty ills shall charge thy
good, | | | | Thy sea within a puddle's womb is
hearsed, | | | | And not the puddle in thy sea
dispersed. | | |
|
| So shall these slaves be
king, and thou their slave; | | | | Thou nobly base, they basely
dignified; |
660 | | | Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler
grave: | | | | Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy
pride: | | | | The lesser thing should not the greater
hide; | | | | The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's
foot, | | | | But low shrubs wither at the cedar's
root. |
665 | |
|
| So let thy thoughts, low
vassals to thy state.»- | | | | «No more» quoth he; «by
heaven, I will not hear thee: | | | | Yield to my love; if not, enforced
hate, | | | | Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely
tear thee: | | | | That done, despitefully I mean to bear
thee |
670 | | | Unto the base bed of some rascal
groom, | | | | To be thy partner in this shameful
doom.» | | |
|
| This said, he sets his foot
upon the light, | | | | For light and lust are deadly
enemies: | | | | Shame folded up in blind concealing
night, |
675 | | | When most unseen, then most doth
tyrannize. | | | | The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor
lamb cries, | | | | Till with her own white fleece her voice
controll'd | | | | Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet
fold: | | |
|
| For with the nightly linen
that she wears |
680 | | | He pens her piteous clamours in her
head, | | | | Cooling his hot face in the chastest
tears | | | | That ever modest eyes with sorrow
shed. | | | | O, that prone lust should stain so pure a
bed! | | | | The spots whereof could weeping
purify, |
685 | | | Her tears should drop on them
perpetually. | | |
|
| But she lost a dearer thing
than life, | | | | And he hath won what he would lose
again: | | | | This forced league doth force a further
strife; | | | | This momentary joy breeds months of
pain; |
690 | | | This hot desire converts to cold
disdain: | | | | Pure Chastity is rifled of her
store, | | | | And Lust, the thief, far poorer than
before. | | |
|
| Look, as the full-fed hound
or gorged hawk, | | | | Unapt for tender smell or speedy
flight, |
695 | | | Make slow pursuit, or altogether
balk | | | | The prey wherein by nature they
delight, | | | | So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this
night: | | | | His taste delicious, in digestion
souring, | | | | Devours his will, that lived by foul
devouring. |
700 | |
|
| O, deeper sin than bottomless
conceit | | | | Can comprehend in still
imagination! | | | | Drunken Desire must vomit his
receipt, | | | | Ere he can see his own
abomination. | | | | While Lust is in his pride, no
exclamation |
705 | | | Can curb his heat or rein his rash
desire, | | | | Till, like a jade, Self-will himself doth
tire. | | |
|
| And then with lank and lean
discolour'd cheek, | | | | With heavy eye, knit brow, and
strengthless pace, | | | | Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor and
meek, |
710 | | | Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his
case: | | | | The flesh being proud, Desire doth figth
with Grace, | | | | For there it revels, and when that
decays | | | | The guilty rebel for remission
prays. | | |
|
| So fares it with this
faultful lord of Rome, |
715 | | | Who this accomplishment so hotly
chased; | | | | For now against himself he sounds this
doom, | | | | That through the length of times he stands
disgrace: | | | | Besides, his soul's fair temple is
defaced, | | | | To whose weak ruins muster troops of
cares, |
720 | | | Ti ask the spotted princess how she
fares. | | |
|
| She says, her subjects with
foul insurrection | | | | Have batter'd down her consecrated wall,
| | | | And by their mortal fault brought in
subjection | | | | Her immortality, and made her
thrall |
725 | | | To living death and pain
perpetual: | | | | Which in her prescience she controlled
still, | | | | But her foresight could not forestall
their will. | | |
|
| Even in this though through
the dark night he stealeth, | | | | A captive victor that hath lost in
gain; |
730 | | | Bearing away the wound that nothing
healeth, | | | | The scar that will, despite of cure,
remain; | | | | Leaving his spoil perplex's in greater
pain. | | | | She bears the load of lust he left
behind, | | | | And he the burthen of a guilty
mind. |
735 | |
|
| He like a thievish dog creeps
sadly thence; | | | | She like a wearied lamb lies panting
there; | | | | He scowls, and hates himself for his
offence; | | | | She, desperate, with her nails her flesh
doth tear; | | | | He faintly flies, sweating with guilty
fear; |
740 | | | She stays, exclaiming on the direful
night; | | | | He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loathed
delight. | | |
|
| He thence departs a heavy
convertite; | | | | She there remains a hopeless
cast-away; | | | | He in his speed looks for the morning
light; |
745 | | | She prays she never my behold the
day, | | | | «For day», quoth she,
«night's scapes doth open lay, | | | | And my true eyes have never practised
how | | | | To cloak offences with a cunning brow.
| | |
|
| They think not but that every
eye can see |
750 | | | The same disgrace which they themselves
behold; | | | | And therefore would they still in darkness
be, | | | | To have their unseen sin remain
untold; | | | | For they their guilt with weeping will
unfold, | | | | And grave, like water that doth eat in
steel, |
755 | | | Upon my cheeks helpless shame I
feel.» | | |
|
| Here she exclaims against
repose and rest, | | | | And bids her eyes hereafter still be
blind. | | | | She wakes her heart by beating on her
breast, | | | | And bids it leap from thence, where it may
find |
760 | | | Some purer chest to close so pure a
mind. | | | | Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth
her spite | | | | Against the unseen secrecy of
night: | | |
|
| «O comfort-killing
Night, image of hell! | | | | Dim register and notary of
shame! |
765 | | | Black stage for tragedies and murders
fell! | | | | Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of
blame! | | | | Blond muffled bawd! dark harbour for
defame! | | | | Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator
| | | | With close-tongued treason and the
ravisher! |
770 | |
|
| O hateful, vaporous and foggy
Night! | | | | Since thou art guilty of my cureless
crime, | | | | Muster thy mists to meet the eastern
light, | | | | Make war against proportion'd course of
time; | | | | Or if thou wilt permit the sun to
climb |
775 | | | His wonted height, yet ere he go to
bed, | | | | Knit poisonous clouds about his golden
head. | | |
|
| With rotten damps ravish the
morning air; | | | | Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make
sick | | | | The life of purity, the supreme
fait, |
780 | | | Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide
prick; | | | | And let thy misty vapours march so
thick | | | | That in their smoky ranks his smother'd
light | | | | May set at noon and make perpetual
night. | | |
|
| Were Tarquin Night, as he is
but Night's child, |
785 | | | The silver-shining queen he would
distain; | | | | Her twinkling handmaids too, by him
defiled, | | | | Through Night's black bosom should not
peep again: | | | | So should I have co-partners in my
pain; | | | | And fellowship in woe doth woe
assuage, |
790 | | | As palmers' chat makes short their
pilgrimage. | | |
|
| Where now I have no one to
blush with me, | | | | To cross their arms and hang their heads
with mine, | | | | To mask their brows and hide their
infamy; | | | | But I alone must sit and
pine, |
795 | | | Seasoning the earth with showers of silver
brine, | | | | Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with
groans, | | | | Poor wasting monuments of lasting
moans. | | |
|
| O, Night, thou furnace of
foul-reeking smoke, | | | | Let not the jealous Day behold that
face |
800 | | | Which underneath thy black all-hiding
cloak | | | | Immodestly martyr'd with
disgrace! | | | | Keep still possession of thy gloomy
place, | | | | That all the faults which in thy reign are
made | | | | May likewise be sepulchred in thy
shade! |
805 | |
|
| Make me not object to the
tell-tale Day! | | | | The light will show, character'd in my
brow, | | | | The story of sweet chastity's
decay, | | | | The impious breach of holy wedlock
vow: | | | | Yea, the illiterate, that know not
how |
810 | | | To cipher what is writ in learned
books, | | | | Will quote my loathsome trespass in my
looks. | | |
|
| The nurse, to still her
child, will tell my story, | | | | And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's
name; | | | | The orator, to deck his
oratory, |
815 | | | Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's
shame; | | | | Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my
defame, | | | | Will tie the hearers to attend each
line, | | | | How Tarquin wronged me, I
Collatine. | | |
|
| Let my good name, that
senseless reputation, |
820 | | | For Collatine's dear love be kept
unspotted: | | | | If that he made a theme for
disputation, | | | | The branches of another root are
rotted, | | | | And undeserved reproach to him
allotted | | | | That is as clear from this attaint of
mine |
825 | | | As I, ere this, was pure to
Collatine. | | |
|
| O unseen shame! invisible
disgrace! | | | | O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private
scar! | | | | Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus'
face, | | | | And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar,
|
830 | | | How he in peace is wounded, not in
war. | | | | Alas, how many bear such shameful
blows, | | | | Which not themselves, but he that gives
them knows! | | |
|
| If, Collatine, thine honour
lay in me, | | | | From me by strong assault it is
bereft. |
835 | | | My honey lost, and I, a drone-like
bee, | | | | Have no perfection of my summer left,
| | | | But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious
theft; | | | | In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath
crept, | | | | And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee
kept. |
840 | |
|
| Yet am I guilty of thy
honour's wrack; | | | | Yet for thy honour did I entertain
him; | | | | Coming from thee, I could not put him
back, | | | | For it had been dishonour to disdain
him, | | | | Besides of weariness he did complain
him, |
845 | | | And talk'd of virtue: O unlook'd-for
evil, | | | | When virtue is profaned in such a
devil! | | |
|
| Why should the worm intrude
the maiden bud? | | | | Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows'
nests? | | | | Or toads infect fair founts with venom
mud? |
850 | | | Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle
breasts? | | | | Or kings be breakers of their own
behests? | | | | But no perfection is so
absolute | | | | That some impurity doth not
pollute. | | |
|
| The aged man that coffers up
his fold |
855 | | | Is plagued with cramps and gouts and
painful fits, | | | | And scarce hath eyes his treasure to
behold, | | | | But like still-pining Tantalus he
sits | | | | And useless barns the harvest of his
wits, | | | | Having no other pleasure of his
gain |
860 | | | But torment that it cannot cure his
pain. | | |
|
| So then he hath it when he
cannot use it, | | | | And leaves it to be masterd'd by his
young; | | | | Who in their pride do presently abuse
it; | | | | Ther father was too weak, and they too
strong, |
865 | | | To hold their cursed-blessed fortune
long. | | | | The sweets we wish for turn to loathed
sours | | | | Even in the moment that we call them
ours. | | |
|
| Unruly blasts wait on the
tender spring; | | | | Unwholesome weeds take root with precious
flowers; |
870 | | | The adder hisses where the sweet birds
sing; | | | | What virtue breeds iniquity
devours: | | | | We have no good that we can say is
ours, | | | | But ill-annexed Opportunity | | | | Or kills his life or else his
quality. |
875 | |
|
| O Opportunity, thy guilt is
great! | | | | Tis thou that executest the traitor's
treason; | | | | Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may
get; | | | | Whoever plots the sin, thou point'st the
season; | | | | Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law,
at reason; |
880 | | | And in thy shady cell, where none may spy
him, | | | | Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander
by him. | | |
|
| Thou makest the vestal
violate her oath; | | | | Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is
thaw'd; | | | | Thou smother honesty, thou munder'st
troth; |
885 | | | Thou foul abettor! thou notorious
bawd! | | | | Thou plantest scandal and displacest
laud: | | | | Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false
thief, | | | | Thy honey turns to gall, thy to
grief! | | |
|
| Thy secret pleasure turns to
open shame, |
890 | | | Thy private feasting to a public
fast, | | | | Thy smoothing titles to a ragged
name, | | | | Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood
taste; | | | | Thy violent vanities can never
last. | | | | How comes it then, vile
Opportunity, |
895 | | | Being so bad, such numbers seek for
thee? | | |
|
| When wilt thou be the humble
suppliant's friend, | | | | And bring him where his suit may be
obtained? | | | | When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes
to end? | | | | Or free that soul which wretchedness hath
chained? |
900 | | | Give physic to the sick, ease to the
pained? | | | | The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry
out for thee | | | | But they ne'er meet with
Opportunity. | | |
|
| The patient dies while the
physician sleeps; | | | | The orphan pines while the oppressor
feeds; |
905 | | | Justice is feasting while the widow
weeps; | | | | Advice is sporting while infection
breeds: | | | | Thou grant'st no time for charitable
deeds: | | | | Wrath, envy, treason rape, and munder's
rages, | | | | Thy heinous hours wait on them as their
pages. |
910 | |
|
| When Truth and Virtue have to
do with thee, | | | | A thousand crosses keep them from thy
aid: | | | | They buy thy help, bur Sin ne'er gives a
fee; | | | | He gratis comes, and thou art well
appaid | | | | As well to hear as grant what he hath
said. |
915 | | | My Collatine would else have come to
me | | | | When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by
thee. | | |
|
| Guilty thou art of munder and
of theft, | | | | Guilty perjury and
subornation, | | | | Guilty treason, forgery and
shift, |
920 | | | Guilty of incest, that
abomination | | | | An accessary by thine
inclination | | | | To all sins past and all that are to
come | | | | From the creation to the general
doom. | | |
|
| Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of
ugly Night, |
925 | | | Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly
care, | | | | Eater of youth, false slave to false
delight, | | | | Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse,
virtue's snare | | | | Thou nursest all and murder'st all that
are: | | | | O, hear me them, injurious, shifting
Time! |
930 | | | Be guilty of my death, since of my
crime. | | |
|
| Why hath thy servant
Opportunity | | | | Betray'd the hours thou gavest me to
repose, | | | | Cancell'd my fortunes and enchained
me | | | | To endless date of never-ending
woes? |
935 | | | Time's office is to fine the hate of
foes, | | | | To eat up errors by opinion
bred, | | | | Not spend the dowry of a lawful
bed. | | |
|
| Time's glory is to calm
contending kings, | | | | To unmask falsehood and bring truth to
light, |
940 | | | To stamp the seal of mine in aged
things, | | | | To wake the morn and sentinel the
night, | | | | To wrong the wronger till render
right, | | | | To ruinate proud buildings with thy
hours, | | | | And smear with dust their glittering
golden towers; |
945 | |
|
| To fill with worm-holes
stately monuments, | | | | To feed oblivion with decay of
things, | | | | To blot old books and alter their
contents, | | | | To pluck the quills from ancient ravens'
wings, | | | | To dry the old oak's sap and cherish
springs |
950 | | | To spoil antiquities of hammer'd
steel | | | | And turn the giddy round of Fortune's
wheel; | | |
|
| To show the beldam daughters
of her daughter, | | | | To make the child a man, the man a
child, | | | | To slay the tiger that doth live by
slaughter, |
955 | | | To tame the unicorn and lion
wild! | | | | To mock the subtle in themselves
beguiled, | | | | To cheer the ploughman with increaseful
crops, | | | | And waste stones with little
water-drops. | | |
|
| Why work'st thou mischief in
thy pilgrimage, |
960 | | | Unless thou couldst return to make
amends? | | | | One poor retiring minute in an
age | | | | Would purchase thee a thousand
friends, | | | | Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends:
| | | | O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour
come back, |
965 | | | I could prevent this storm and shun thy
wrack! | | |
|
| Thou ceaseless lackey to
eternity, | | | | With some mischance cross Tarquin in his
flight: | | | | Devise extremes beyond
extremity, | | | | To make him curse this cursed crimeful
night; |
970 | | | Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes
affright, | | | | And the dire thought of his committed
evil | | | | Shape every bush a hideous shapeless
devil. | | |
|
| Disturb his of rest with
restless trances, | | | | Afflict him in his bed with bedrid
groans; |
975 | | | Let there bechance him pitiful
mischances, | | | | To make him moan; but pity not his
moans: | | | | Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder
than stones; | | | | And let mild women to him lose their
mildness, | | | | Wilder him than tigers in their
wildness. |
980 | |
|
| Let him have time to tear his
curled hair, | | | | Let him have time against himself to
rave, | | | | Let him have time of time's help to
despair, | | | | Let him have time to live a loathed
slave, | | | | Let him have time a beggar's orts to
crave, |
985 | | | And time to see one that by alms doth
live | | | | Disdain to him disdained scraps to
give. | | |
|
| Let him have time to see his
friends his foes, | | | | And merry fools to mock at him
resort; | | | | Let him have time to mark how slow time
goes |
990 | | | In time of sorrow, and how swift and
short | | | | His time of folly and his time of
sport; | | | | And ever let his unrecalling
crime | | | | Have time to wail the abusing of his
time. | | |
|
| O Time, thou tutor both to
good and bad, |
995 | | | Teach me to curse him that thou taugh'st
this ill! | | | | At his own shadow let the thief run
mad, | | | | Himself himself seek every hour to
kill! | | | | Such wretched hands such wretched blood
should spill; | | | | For who so base would such an office
have |
1000 | | | As slanderous deathsman to so base a
slave? | | |
|
| To baser is he, coming from a
king, | | | | To shame his hope with deeds
degenerate: | | | | The mightier man, the mightier is the
thing | | | | That makes him honour'd or begets him
hate; |
1005 | | | For greatest scandal wait on greatest
state. | | | | The moon being clouded presently is
miss'd, | | | | But little stars may hide them when they
list. | | |
|
| The crow may bathe his
coal-black wings in mire, | | | | And unperceived fly with the filth
away; |
1010 | | | But if the like snow-white swan
desire, | | | | The stain upon his silver down will
stay. | | | | Poor grooms are sightless night, kings
glorious day: | | | | Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they
fly, | | | | But eagles gazed upon with every
eye. |
1015 | |
|
| Out, idle words, servants to
shallow fools! | | | | Unprofitable sounds, weak
arbitrators! | | | | Busy yourselves in skill-contending
schools; | | | | Debate where leisure serves with dull
debaters; | | | | To trembling clients be you
mediators: |
1020 | | | For me, I force not argument a straw, | | | | Since that my case is past the help of
law. | | |
|
| In vain I rail at
Opportunity, | | | | At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful
Night; | | | | In vain I cavil with mine
infamy, |
1025 | | | In vain I spurn at my confirm'd
despite: | | | | This helpless smoke of words doth me no
right. | | | | The remedy indeed to do me
good | | | | Is to let forth my foul-defiled
blood. | | |
|
| Poor hand, why quiver'st thou
at this decree? |
1030 | | | Honour thyself to rid me of this
shame; | | | | For if I die, my honour lives in
thee, | | | | But if I live, thou livest in my
defame: | | | | Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal
dame, | | | | And wast afeard to scratch her wicked
foe, |
1035 | | | Kill both thyself and her for yielding
so.» | | |
|
|