((Printed after the Sonnets, 1609 edn.)) From off a hill whose concaue wombe reworded, A plaintfull story from a sistring vale My spirrits t'#attend this doble voyce accorded, And downe I laid to list the sad tun'd tale, Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale Tearing of papers breaking rings #a twaine, Storming her world with sorrowes, wind and raine. Vpon her head a plattid hiue of straw, Which fortified her visage from the Sunne, Whereon the thought might thinke sometime it saw The carkas of a beauty spent and donne, Time had not sithed all that youth begun, Nor youth all quit, but spight of heauens fell rage, Some beauty peept, through lettice of sear'd age. Oft did she heaue her Napkin to her eyne, Which on it had conceited charecters: Laundring the silken figures in the brine, That seasoned woe had pelleted in teares, And often reading what contents it beares: As often shriking vndistinguisht wo, In clamours of all size both high and low. Some-#times her leueld eyes their carriage ride, As they did battry to the spheres intend: Sometime diuerted their poore balls are tide, To th'#orbed earth; sometimes they do extend, Their view right on, anon their gases lend,

To euery place at once and no where fixt, The mind and sight distractedly commixt. Her haire nor loose nor ti'd in formall plat, Proclaimd in her a carelesse hand of pride; For some vntuck'd descended her sheu'd hat, Hanging her pale and pined cheeke beside, Some in her threeden fillet still did bide, And trew to bondage would not breake from thence, Though slackly braided in loose negligence. A thousand fauours from a maund she drew, Of amber christall and of bedded Iet, Which one by one she in a riuer threw, Vpon whose weeping margent she was set, Like vsery applying wet to wet, Or Monarches hands that lets not bounty fall, Where want cries some; but where excesse begs all. Of folded schedulls had she many a one, Which she perusd, sighd, tore and gaue the flud, Crackt many a ring of Posied gold and bone, Bidding them find their Sepulchers in mud, Found yet mo letters sadly pend in blood, With sleided silke, feate and affectedly Enswath'd and seald to curious secrecy. These often bath'd she in her fluxiue eies, And often kist, and often gaue to teare, Cried O false blood thou register of lies, What vnapproued witnes doost thou beare *Inke would haue seem'd more blacke and damned heare This said in top of rage the lines she rents, Big discontent, so breaking their contents. A reuerend man that graz'd his cattell ny,

Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew Of Court of Cittie, and had let go by The swiftest houres obserued as they flew, Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew: And priuiledg'd by age desires to know In breefe the grounds and motiues of her wo. So slides he downe vppon his greyned bat; And comely distant sits he by her side, When hee againe desires her, being satte, Her greeuance with his hearing to deuide If that from him there may be ought applied Which may her suffering extasie asswage Tis promist in the charitie of age. Father she saies, though in mee you behold The iniury of many a blasting houre; Let it not tell your Iudgement I am old, Not age, but sorrow, ouer me hath power; I might as yet haue bene a spreading flower Fresh to my selfe, if I had selfe applyed Loue to my selfe, and to no Loue beside. But wo is mee, too early I attended A youthfull suit it was to gaine my grace; O one by natures outwards so commended, That maidens eyes stucke ouer all his face, Loue lackt a dwelling and made him her place. And when in his faire parts shee didde abide, Shee was new lodg'd and newly Deified. His browny locks did hang in crooked curles, And euery light occasion of the wind Vpon his lippes their silken parcels hurles, Whats sweet to do, to do wil aptly find, Each eye that saw him did inchaunt the minde:

For on his visage was in little drawne, What largenesse thinkes in parradise was sawne. Smal shew of man was yet vpon his chinne, His phenix #downe began but to appeare Like vnshorne veluet, on that termlesse skin Whose bare out-#brag'd the web it seem'd to #were. Yet shewed his visage by that cost more deare, And nice affections wauering stood in doubt If best were as it was, or best without. His qualities were beautious as his forme, For maiden tongu'd he was and thereof free; Yet if men mou'd him, was he such a storme As oft twixt #May and Aprill is to see, When windes breath sweet, vnruly though they bee. His rudenesse so with his authoriz'd youth, Did liuery falsenesse in a pride of truth. Wel could hee ride, and often men would say That horse his mettell from his rider takes Proud of subiection, noble by the swaie, What rounds, what bounds, what course what stop he |(makes And controuersie hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his mannad'g, by'th wel doing Steed. But quickly on this side the verdict went, His reall habitude gaue life and grace To appertainings and to ornament, Accomplisht in him-#selfe not in his case: All ayds them-#selues made fairer by their place, Can for addicions, yet their purpos'd trimme Peec'd not his grace but were al grac'd by him. So on the tip of his subduing tongue

All kinde of arguments and question deepe, Al replication prompt, and reason strong For his aduantage still did wake and sleep, To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weepe: He had the dialect and different skil, Catching al passions in his craft of #will. That hee didde in the general bosome raigne Of young, of old, and sexes both inchanted, To dwel with him in thoughts, or to remaine In personal duty, following where he haunted, Consent's bewitcht, ere he desire haue granted, And dialogu'd for him what he would say, Askt their own wils and made their wils obey. Many there were that did his picture gette To serue their eies, and in it put their mind, Like fooles that in th' imagination set The goodly obiects which abroad they find Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd, And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them, *Then the true gouty Land-#lord which doth owe them. So many haue that neuer toucht his hand Sweetly suppos'd them mistresse of his heart: My wofull selfe that did in freedome stand, And was my owne fee simple (not in part) What with his #art in youth and youth in #art Threw my affections in his charmed power, Reseru'd the stalke and gaue him al my flower. Yet did I not as some my equals did Demaund of him, nor being desired yeelded. Finding my selfe in honour so forbidde, With safest distance I mine honour sheelded, Experience for me many bulwarkes builded

Of proofs new bleeding which remaind the foile Of this false Iewell, and his amorous spoile. But ah who euer shun'd by precedent, The destin'd #ill she must her selfe assay, Or forc'd examples gainst her owne content To put the by-#past perrils in her way? Counsaile may stop #a while what will not stay: For when we rage, aduise is often seene By blunting vs to make our wits more keene. Nor giues it satisfaction to our blood, That wee must curbe it vppon others proofe, To be forbod the sweets that seemes so good, For feare of harmes that preach in our behoofe; O appetite from iudgement stand aloofe The one a pallate hath that needs will taste, Though reason weepe and cry it is thy last. For further I could say this mans vntrue, And knew the patternes of his foule beguiling, Heard where his plants in others Orchards grew, Saw how deceits were guilded in his smiling, Knew vowes, were euer brokers to defiling, Thought Characters and words meerly but #art, And bastards of his foule adulterat heart. And long vpon these termes I held my Citty, Till thus hee gan besiege me: Gentle maid Haue of my suffering youth some feeling pitty And be not of my holy vowes affraid, Thats to ye sworne to none was euer said, For feasts of loue I haue bene call'd vnto Till now did nere inuite nor neuer vow. All my offences that abroad you see

Are errors of the blood none of the mind: Loue made them not, with acture they may be, Where neither Party is nor trew nor kind, They sought their shame that so their shame did find, And so much lesse of shame in me remaines, By how much of me their reproch containes, Among the many that mine eyes haue seene, Not one whose flame my hart so much as warmed, Or my affection put to th'#smallest teene, Or any of my leisures euer Charmed, Harme haue I done to them but nere was harmed, Kept hearts in liueries, but mine owne was free, And raignd commaunding in his monarchy. Looke heare what tributes wounded fancies sent me, Of palyd pearles and rubies red as blood: Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me Of greefe and blushes, aptly vnderstood In bloodlesse white, and the encrimson'd mood, Effects of terror and deare modesty, Encampt in hearts but fighting outwardly. And Lo behold these tallents of their heir, With twisted mettle amorously empleacht I haue receau'd from many a seueral faire, Their kind acceptance, wepingly beseecht, With th'#annexions of faire gems inricht, And deepe brain'd sonnets that did amplifie Each stones deare Nature, worth and quallity. The Diamond? why twas beautifull and hard, Whereto his inuis'd properties did tend, The deepe greene Emrald in whose fresh regard, Weake sights their sickly radience do amend. The heauen hewd Saphir and the Opall blend

With obiects manyfold; each seuerall stone, With wit well blazond smil'd or made some mone. Lo all these trophies of affections hot, Of pensiu'd and subdew'd desires the tender, Nature hath chargd me that I hoord them not, But yeeld them vp where I my selfe must render: That is to you my origin and ender: For these of force must your oblations be, Since I their Aulter, you enpatrone me. Oh then aduance (of yours) that phraseles hand, Whose white weighes downe the airy scale of praise, Take all these similies to your owne command, Hollowed with sighes that burning lunges did raise: What me your minister for you obaies Workes vnder you, and to your audit comes Their distract parcells, in combined summes. Lo this deuice was sent me from a Nun, Or Sister sanctified of holiest note, Which late her noble suit in court did shun, Whose rarest hauings made the blossoms dote, For she was sought by spirits of ritchest cote, But kept cold distance, and did thence remoue, To spend her liuing in eternall loue. But oh my sweet what labour ist to leaue, The thing we haue not, mastring what not striues, Playing the Place which did no forme receiue, Playing patient sports in vnconstraind giues, She that her fame so to her selfe contriues, The scarres of battaile scapeth by the flight, And makes her absence valiant, not her #might. Oh pardon me in that my boast is true,

The accident which brought me to her eie, Vpon the moment did her force subdewe, And now she would the caged cloister flie: Religious loue put out religions eye: Not to be tempted would she be enur'd, And now to tempt all liberty procure. How mightie then you are, Oh heare me tell, The broken bosoms that to me belong, Haue emptied all their fountaines in my well: And mine I powre your Ocean all amonge: I strong ore them and you ore me being strong, Must for your victorie vs all congest, As compound loue to phisick your cold brest. My parts had powre to charme a sacred Sunne. Who disciplin'd I dieted in grace, Beleeu'd her eies, when they t' assaile begun, All vowes and consecrations giuing place: O most potentiall loue, vowe, bond, nor space In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine For thou art all and all things els are thine. When thou impressest what are precepts worth Of stale example? when thou wilt inflame, How coldly those impediments stand forth Of wealth of filliall feare, lawe, kindred fame, *Loues armes are peace, gainst rule, gainst sence, gainst |(shame And sweetens in the suffring pangues it beares, The {Alloes} of all forces, shockes and feares. Now all these hearts that doe on mine depend, Feeling it breake, with bleeding groanes they pine, And supplicant their sighes to you extend To leaue the battrie that you make gainst mine, Lending soft audience, to my sweet designe,

And credent soule, to that strong bonded #oth, That shall preferre and vndertake my troth. This said, his watrie eies he did dismount, Whose sightes till then were leaueld on my face, Each cheeke a riuer running from a fount, With brynish currant downe-#ward flowed #a pace: Oh how the channell to the streame gaue grace Who glaz'd with Christall gate the glowing Roses, That flame through water which their hew incloses, Oh father, what a #hell of witch-#craft lies, In the small orb of one perticular teare? But with the invndation of the eies: What rocky heart to water will not weare? What brest so cold that is not warmed heare, Or cleft effect, cold modesty hot wrath: Both fire from hence, and chill extincture hath. For loe his passion but an #art of craft, Euen there resolu'd my reason into teares, There my white stole of chastity I daft, Shooke off my sober gardes, and ciuill feares, Appeare to him as he to me appeares: All melting, though our drops this diffrence bore, His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. In him a plenitude of subtle matter, Applied to Cautills, all straing formes receiues, Of burning blushes, or of weeping water, Or sounding palenesse: and he takes and leaues, In eithers aptnesse as it best deceiues: To blush at speeches ranck, to weepe at woes Or to turne white and sound at tragick showes. That not a heart which in his leuell came,

Could scape the haile of his all hurting ayme, Shewing faire Nature is both kinde and tame: And vaild in them did winne whom he would maime, Against the thing he sought, he would exclaime, When he most burnt in hart-#wisht luxurie, He preacht pure maide, and praisd cold chastitie. Thus meerely with the garment of a grace, The naked and concealed feind he couerd, That th'#vnexperienct gaue the tempter place, Which like a Cherubin aboue them houerd, Who young and simple would not be so louerd. Aye me I fell, and yet do question make, What I should doe againe for such a sake. O that infected moysture of his eye, O that false fire which in his cheeke so glowd: O that forc'd thunder from his heart did flye, O that sad breath his spungie lungs bestowed, O all that borrowed motion seeming owed, Would yet againe betray the fore-#betrayed, And new peruert a reconciled Maide.

TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE, HENRY Wriothesley, Earle of Southhampton, and Baron of Titchfield. *THE loue I dedicate to your *Lordship is without end: wher-of *this Pamphlet without be-ginning *is but a superfluous *Moity. The warrant I haue of *your Honourable disposition, *not the worth of my vntutord *Lines make it assured of acceptance. What I haue *done is yours, what I haue to doe is yours, being *part in all I haue, deuoted yours. Were my worth *greater, my duety would shew greater, meane time, *as it is, it is bound to your Lordship; To whom I wish long life still lengthned with all happinesse. Your Lordships in all duety. William Shakespeare.

*Lucius Tarquinius ({for his excessiue pride surnamed} Superbus) *{After hee had caused his owne father in law} Seruius Tullius {to} *{be cruelly murdred, and contrarie to the Romaine lawes and cu-stomes}, *{not requiring or staying for the peoples suffrages, had possessed} *{himselfe of the kingdome: went accompanyed with his sonnes and other} *{Noble men of Rome, to beiege} Ardea, {during which siege, the principall} *{men of the Army meeting one euening at the Tent of} Sextus Tarquini-us *{the Kings sonne, in their discourses after supper euery one commended} *{the vertues of his owne wife: among them} Colatinus {extolled the incom-parable} *{chastity of his wife} Lucretia. {In that pleasant humor they all po-sted} *{to Rome, and intending by theyr secret and sodaine arriuall to make} *{triall of that which euery one had before auouched, onely} Colatinus {finds} *{his wife (though it were late in the night) spinning amongest her maides}, *{the other Ladies were all found dauncing and reuelling, or in seuerall dis-ports}: *{whereupon the Noble men yeelded} Colatinus {the victory, and} *{his wife the Fame. At that time} Sextus Tarquinius {being enflamed} *{with} Lucrece {beauty, yet smoothering his passions for the present, departed} *{with the rest backe to the Campe: from whence he shortly after priuily} *{withdrew himselfe, and was (according to his estate) royally entertayned} *{and lodged by} Lucrece {at} Colatium. {The same night he twetcherouslie} *{stealeth into her Chamber, violently rauisht her, and early in the mor-ning} *{speedeth away}. Lucrece {in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatch-eth} *{Messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the Campe for} *Colatine. {They came, the one accompanyed with} Iunius Brutus, {the o-ther} *{with} Publius Valerius: {and finding} Lucrece {attired in mourning} *{habite, demanded the cause of her sorrow. Shee first taking an oath of} *{them for her reuenge, reuealed the Actor, and whole maner of his dea-ling}, *{and withall sodainely stabbed her selfe. Which done, with one con-sent} *{they all vowed to roote 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 deede: with a bitter inuectiue against the} *{tyranny of the King, wherewith the people were so moued, that with one} *{consent and a general acclamation, the} Tarquins {were all exiled, and the} {state gouernment changed from Kings to Consuls}.

From the besieged Ardea all in post, Borne by the trustlesse wings of false desire, *Lust-#breathed TARQVIN, leaues the Roman host, And to Colatium beares the lightlesse fire, Which in pale embers hid, lurkes to aspire, And girdle with embracing flames, the #wast *Of COLATINES fair loue, LVCRECE the chast. Hap'ly that name of chast, vnhap'ly set This batelesse edge on his keene appetite: When COLATINE vnwisely did not let, To praise the cleare vnmatched red and white, Which triumpht in that skie of his delight: *Where mortal stars as bright as heaue[n]s Beauties, With pure aspects did him peculiar dueties.

For he the night before in Tarquins Tent, Vnlockt the treasure of his happie state: What priselesse wealth the heauens had him lent, In the possession of his beauteous mate. Reckning his fortune at such high proud rate, That Kings might be espowsed to more fame, But King nor Peere to such a peerelesse dame. O happinesse enioy'd but of a few, And if possest as soone decayed and done: As is the morning siluer melting dew, Against the golden splendour of the Sunne. An expir'd date canceld ere well begunne. Honour and Beautie in the owners armes, Are weakelie fortrest from a world of harmes. Beautie it selfe doth of it selfe perswade, The eies of men without an Orator, What needeth then Appologie be made To set forth that which is so singuler? Or why is Colatine the publisher Of that rich iewell he should keepe vnknown, From theeuish eares because it is his owne?

Perchance his bost of Lucrece Sou'raigntie, Suggested this proud issue of a King: For by our eares our hearts oft taynted be: Perchance that enuie of so rich a thing Brauing compare, disdainefully did sting *His high pitcht thoughts that meaner men should |(vant, That golden hap which their superiors want. But some vntimelie thought did instigate, His all too timelesse speede if none of those, His honor, his affaires, his friends, his state, Neglected all, with swift intent he goes, To quench the coale which in his liuer glowes. O rash false heate, wrapt in repentant cold, *Thy hastie spring still blasts and nere growes old. When at Colatium this false Lord ariued, Well was he welcom'd by the Romaine dame, Within whose face Beautie and Vertue striued, Which of them both should vnderprop her fame. *Whe[n] Vertue brag'd, Beautie wold blush for shame, When Beautie bosted blushes, in despight Vertue would staine that ore with siluer white.

But Beautie in that white entituled, From Venus doues doth challenge that faire field, Then Vertue claimes from Beautie, Beauties red, Which Vertue gaue the golden age, to guild Their siluer cheekes, and cald it then their shield, Teaching them thus to vse it in the fight, *Whe[n] shame assaild, the red should fe[n]ce the white. This Herauldry in LVCRECE face was seene, Argued by Beauties red and Vertues white, Of eithers colour was the other Queene: Prouing from worlds minority their right, Yet their ambition makes them still to fight: The soueraignty of either being so great, That oft they interchange ech others seat. This silent warre of Lillies and of Roses, Which TARQVIN vew'd in her faire faces field, In their pure rankes his traytor eye encloses, *Where least betweene them both it should be kild. The coward captiue vanquished, doth yeeld To those two Armies that would let him goe, Rather then triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinkes he that her husbands shallow tongue, The niggard prodigall that praisde her so: In that high taske hath done her Beauty wrong. Which farre exceedes his barren skill to show. *Therefore that praise which COLATINE doth owe, Inchaunted TARQVIN aunswers with surmise, In silent wonder of still gazing eyes. This earthly sainct adored by this deuill, Little suspecteth the false worshipper: "For vnstaind thoughts do seldom dream on euill. "Birds neuer lim'd, no secret bushes feare: So guiltlesse shee securely giues good cheare, And reuerend welcome to her princely guest, Whose inward #ill no outward harme exprest. For that he colourd with his high estate, Hiding base sin in pleats of Maiestie: That nothing in him seemd inordinate, Saue sometime too much wonder of his eye, Which hauing all, all could not satisfie; But poorly rich so wanteth in his store, That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But she that neuer cop't with straunger eies, *Could picke no meaning from their parling lookes, Nor read the subtle shining secrecies, Writ in the glassie margents of such bookes, *Shee toucht no vnknown baits, nor feard no hooks, Nor could shee moralize his wanton sight, More then his eies were opend to the light. He stories to her eares her husbands fame, Wonne in the fields of fruitfull Italie: And decks with praises Colatines high name, Made glorious by his manlie chiualrie, With bruised armes and wreathes of victorie, *Her ioie with heaued-#vp hand she doth expresse, *And wordlesse so greetes heauen for his successe. Far from the purpose of his comming thither, He makes excuses for his being there, No clowdie show of stormie blustring wether, Doth yet in his faire welkin once appeare, Till sable Night mother of dread and feare, Vppon the world dim darknesse doth displaie, And in her vaultie prison, stowes the daie.

For then is Tarquine brought vnto his bed, Intending wearinesse with heauie sprite: For after supper long he questioned, With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night, Now leaden slumber with liues strength doth fight, And euerie one to rest himselfe betakes, *Saue theeues, and cares, and troubled minds that |(wakes. As one of which doth Tarquin lie reuoluing The sundrie dangers of his wils obtaining: Yet euer to obtaine his #will resoluing. *Though weake-#built hopes perswade him to abstai-|(ning Dispaire to gaine doth traffique oft for gaining, And when great treasure is the meede proposed, *Though death be adiu[n]ct, ther's no death supposed. Those that much couet are with gaine so fond, That what they haue not, that which they possesse They scatter and vnloose it from their bond, And so by hoping more they haue but lesse, Or gaining more, the profite of excesse Is but to surfet, and such griefes sustaine, *That they proue ba[n]ckrout in this poore rich gain.

The ayme of all is but to nourse the life, With honor, wealth, and ease in wainyng age: And in this ayme there is such thwarting strife, That one for all, or all for one we gage: As life for honour, in fell battailes rage, Honor for wealth, and oft that wealth doth cost The death of all, and altogether lost. So that in ventring #ill, we leaue to be The things we are, for that which we expect: And this ambitious foule infirmitie, In hauing much torments vs with defect Of that we haue: so then we doe neglect The thing we haue, and all for want of wit, Make something nothing, by augmenting it. Such hazard now must doting TARQVIN make, Pawning his honor to obtaine his lust, And for himselfe, himselfe he must forsake. Then where is truth if there be no selfe-#trust? When shall he thinke to find a stranger iust, *When he himselfe, himselfe confounds, betraies, *To sclandrous tongues & wretched hateful daies?

Now stole vppon the time the dead of night, When heauie sleepe had closd vp mortall eyes, No comfortable starre did lend his light, *No noise but Owles, & wolues death-#boding cries: Now serues the season that they may surprise *The sillie Lambes, pure thoughts are dead & still, *While Lust and Murder wakes to staine and kill. And now this lustfull Lord leapt from his bed, Throwing his mantle rudely ore his arme, Is madly tost betweene desire and dred; Th'#one sweetely flatters, th'#other feareth harme, But honest feare, bewicht with lustes foule charme, Doth too too oft betake him to retire, Beaten away by brainesicke rude desire. His Faulchon on a flint he softly smiteth, That from the #could stone sparkes of fire doe flie, Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, Which must be lodestarre to his lustfull eye. And to the flame thus speakes aduisedlie; As from this cold flint I enforst this fire, So LVCRECE must I force to my desire.

Here pale with feare he doth premeditate, The daungers of his lothsome 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 iustly thus controlls his thoughts vniust. Faire torch burne out thy light, and lend it not To darken her whose light excelleth thine: And die vnhallowed thoughts, before you blot With your vncleannesse, that which is deuine: Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine: Let faire humanitie abhor the deede, *That spots & stains loues modest snow-#white weed. O shame to knighthood, and to shining Armes, O foule dishonor to my houshoulds graue: O impious act including all foule harmes. A martiall man to be soft fancies slaue, True valour still a true respect should haue, Then my digression is so vile, so base, That it will liue engrauen in my face.

Yea though I die the scandale will suruiue, And be an eie-#sore in my golden coate: Some lothsome dash the Herrald will contriue, To cipher me how fondlie I did dote: That my posteritie sham'd with the note Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sinne, To wish that I their father had not beene. What win I if I gaine the thing I seeke? A dreame, a breath, a froth of fleeting ioy, Who buies a minutes mirth to waile a weeke? Or sels eternitie to get a toy? For one sweete grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond begger, but to touch the crowne, *Would with the scepter straight be stroke[n] down? If COLATINVS dreame of my intent, Will he not wake, and in a desp'rate rage Post hither, this vile purpose to preuent? This siege that hath ingirt his marriage, This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, This dying vertue, this suruiuing shame, Whose crime will beare an euer-#during blame.

O what excuse can my inuention make *When thou shalt charge me with so blacke a deed? *Wil not my tongue be mute, my fraile ioints shake? Mine eies forgo their light, my false hart bleede? The guilt beeing great, the feare doth still exceede; And extreme feare can neither fight nor flie, But cowardlike with trembling terror die. Had COLATINVS kild my sonne or sire, Or laine in ambush to betray my life, Or were he not my deare friend, this desire Might haue excuse to worke vppon his wife: As in reuenge or quittall of such strife. But as he is my kinsman, my deare friend, The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. Shamefull it is: #I, if the fact be knowne, Hatefull it is: there is no hate in louing, Ile beg her loue: but she is not her owne: The worst is but deniall and reproouing. My #will is strong past reasons weake remoouing: Who feares a sentence or an old mans saw, Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.

Thus gracelesse holds he disputation, Tweene frozen conscience and hot burning #will, And with good thoughts makes dispensation, Vrging the worser sence for vantage still. Which in a moment doth confound and kill All pure effects, and doth so farre proceede, *That what is vile, shewes like a vertuous deede. Quoth he, shee tooke me kindlie by the hand, And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes, Fearing some hard newes from the warlike band, Where her beloued COLATINVS lies. O how her feare did make her colour rise First red as Roses that on Lawne we laie, Then white as Lawne the Roses tooke awaie. And now her hand in my hand being lockt, Forst it to tremble with her loyall feare: Which strooke her sad, and then it faster rockt, Vntill her husbands welfare shee did heare. Whereat shee smiled with so sweete a cheare, *That had NARCISSVS seene her as shee stood, Selfe-#loue had neuer drown'd him in the flood.

Why hunt I then for colour or excuses? All Orators are dumbe when Beautie pleadeth, Poore wretches haue remorse in poore abuses, *Loue thriues not in the hart that shadows dreadeth, Affection is my Captaine and he leadeth. And when his gaudie banner is displaide, The coward fights, and will not be dismaide. Then childish feare auaunt, debating die, Respect and reason waite on wrinckled age: My heart shall neuer countermand mine eie; Sad pause, and deepe regard beseemes the sage, My part is youth and beates these from the stage. Desire my Pilot is, Beautie my prise, *Then who feares sinking where such treasure lies? As corne ore-#growne by weedes: so heedfull feare Is almost choakt by vnresisted lust: Away he steales with open listning eare, Full of foule hope, and full of fond mistrust: Both which as seruitors to the vniust, So crosse him with their opposit perswasion, That now he vowes a league, and now inuasion.

Within his thought her heauenly image sits, And in the selfe same seat sits COLATINE, That eye which lookes on her confounds his wits, That eye which him beholdes, as more deuine, Vnto a view so false will not incline; But with a pure appeale seekes to the heart, Which once corrupted takes the worser part. And therein heartens vp his seruile powers, Who flattred by their leaders iocound show, Stuffe vp his lust: as minutes fill vp howres. And as their Captaine: so their pride doth grow, Paying more slauish tribute then they owe. By reprobate desire thus madly led, *The Romane Lord marcheth to LVCRECE bed. The lockes betweene her chamber and his #will, Ech one by him inforst retires his ward: But as they open they all rate his #ill, Which driues the creeping theefe to some regard, The threshold grates the doore to haue him heard, *Night-#wandring weezels shreek to see him there, They fright him, yet he still pursues his feare.

As each vnwilling portall yeelds him way, Through little vents and cranies of the place, The wind warres with his torch, to make him staie, And blowes the smoake of it into his face, Extinguishing his conduct in this case. But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, Puffes forth another wind that fires the torch. And being lighted, by the light he spies LVCRECIAS gloue, wherein her needle sticks, He takes it from the rushes where it lies, And griping it, the needle his finger pricks. As who should say, this gloue to wanton trickes Is not inur'd; returne againe in #hast, Thou seest our mistresse ornaments are chast. But all these poore forbiddings could not stay him, He in the worst sence consters their deniall: The dores, the wind, the gloue that did delay him, He takes for accidentall things of triall. Or as those bars which stop the hourely diall, Who with a lingring staie his course doth let, Till euerie minute payes the howre his debt.

So so, quoth he, these lets attend the time, Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, To ad a more reioysing to the prime, And giue the sneaped birds more cause to sing. Pain payes the income of ech precious thing, *Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirats, shelues and |(sands The marchant feares, ere rich at home he lands. Now is he come vnto the chamber dore, That shuts him from the Heauen of his thought, Which with a yeelding latch, and with no more, Hath bard him from the blessed thing he sought. So from himselfe impiety hath wrought, That for his pray he doth begin, As if the Heauens should countenance his sin. But in the midst of his vnfruitfull prayer, Hauing solicited th'#eternall power, *That his foule thoughts might co[m]passe his fair faire, And they would stand auspicious to the howre. Euen there he starts, quoth he, I must deflowre; The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, How can they then assist me in the act.

Then Loue and Fortune be my Gods, my guide, My #will is backt with resolution: Thoughts are but dreames till their effects be tried, The blackest sinne is clear'd with absolution. Against loues fire, feares frost hath dissolution. The eye of Heauen is out, and mistie night Couers the shame that followes sweet delight. This said, his guiltie hand pluckt vp the latch, And with his knee the dore he opens wide, *The doue sleeps fast that this night Owle will catch. Thus treason workes ere traitors be espied. Who sees the lurking serpent steppes aside; But shee sound sleeping fearing no such thing, Lies at the mercie of his mortall sting. Into the chamber wickedlie he stalkes, And gazeth on her yet vnstained bed: The curtaines being close, about he walkes, Rowling his greedie eye-#bals in his head. By their high treason is his heart mis-#led, *Which giues the watch-#word to his hand ful soon, To draw the clowd that hides the siluer Moon.

Looke as the faire and fierie pointed Sunne, Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaues our sight: Euen so the Curtaine drawne, his eyes begun To winke, being blinded with a greater light. Whether it is that shee reflects so bright, *That dazleth them, or else some shame supposed, *But blind they are, and keep themselues inclosed. O had they in that darkesome prison died, Then had they seene the period of their #ill: Then COLATINE againe by LVCRECE side, In his cleare bed might haue reposed still. But they must ope this blessed league to kill, And holie-#thoughted LVCRECE to their sight, Must sell her ioy, her life, her worlds delight. Her lillie hand, her rosie cheeke lies vnder, Coosning the pillow of a lawfull kisse: Who therefore angrie seemes to part in sunder, Swelling on either side to want his blisse. Betweene whose hils her head intombed is; Where like a vertuous Monument shee lies, To be admir'd of lewd vnhallowed eyes.

Without the bed her other faire hand was, On the greene couerlet whose perfect white Showed like an Aprill dazie on the grasse, With pearlie swet resembling dew of night. Her eyes like Marigolds had sheath'd their light, And canopied in darkenesse sweetly lay, Till they might open to adorne the day. *Her haire like golde[n] threeds playd with her breath, O modest wantons, wanton modestie Showing lifes triumph in the map of death, And deaths dim looke in lifes mortalitie. Ech in her sleepe themselues so beautifie, *As if betweene them twaine there were no strife, But that life liu'd in death, and death in life. Her breasts like Iuory globes circled with blew, A paire of maiden worlds vnconquered, Saue of their Lord, no bearing yoke they knew, And him by oath they truely honored. These worlds in TARQVIN new ambition bred, Who like a fowle vsurper went about, From this faire throne to heaue the owner out.

What could he see but mightily he noted? What did he note, but strongly he desired? What he beheld, on that he firmely doted, And in his #will his wilfull eye he tyred. With more then admiration he admired Her azure vaines, her alablaster skinne, Her corall lips, her snow-#white dimpled chin. As the grim Lion fawneth ore his pray, Sharpe hunger by the conquest satisfied: So ore this sleeping soule doth TARQVIN stay, His rage of lust by gazing qualified; Slakt, not supprest, for standing by her side, His eye which late this mutiny restraines, Vnto a greater vprore tempts his vaines. And they like stragling slaues for pillage fighting, Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting, In bloudy death and rauishment delighting; *Nor childrens tears nor mothers grones respecting, Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: Anon his beating heart allarum striking, *Giues the hot charge, & bids the[m] do their liking.

His drumming heart cheares vp his burning eye, His eye commends the leading to his hand; His hand as proud of such a dignitie, Smoaking with pride, marcht on, to make his stand On her bare brest, the heart of all her land; *Whose ranks of blew vains as his hand did scale, Left their round turrets destitute and pale. They mustring to the quiet Cabinet, Where their deare gouernesse and ladie lies, Do tell her shee is dreadfullie beset, And fright her with confusion of their cries. Shee much amaz'd breakes ope her lockt vp eyes, Who peeping foorth this tumult to behold, Are by his flaming torch dim'd and controld. Imagine her as one in dead of night, From forth dull sleepe by dreadfull fancie waking, That thinkes shee hath beheld some gastlie sprite, Whose grim aspect sets euerie ioint #a shaking, What terror tis: but shee in worser taking, From sleepe disturbed, heedfullie doth view The sight which makes supposed terror trew.

Wrapt and confounded in a thousand feares, Like to a new-#kild bird shee trembling lies: Shee dares not looke, yet winking there appeares Quicke-#shifting Antiques vglie in her eyes. "Such shadowes are the weake-#brains forgeries, Who angrie that the eyes flie from their lights, *In darknes daunts the[m] with more dreadfull sights. His hand that yet remaines vppon her brest, (Rude Ram to batter such an Iuorie wall:) May feele her heart (poore Cittizen) distrest, Wounding it selfe to death, rise vp and fall; Beating her bulke, that his hand shakes withall. This moues in him more rage and lesser pittie, To make the breach and enter this sweet Citty. First like a Trompet doth his tongue begin, To sound a parlie to his heartlesse foe, Who ore the white sheet peers her whiter chin, The reason of this rash allarme to know, Which he by dum demeanor seekes to show. But shee with vehement prayers vrgeth still, Vnder what colour he commits this #ill.

Thus he replies, the colour in thy face, That euen for anger makes the Lilly pale, And the red rose blush at her owne disgrace, Shall plead for me and tell my louing tale. Vnder that colour am I come to scale Thy neuer conquered Fort, the fault is thine, For those thine eyes betray thee vnto mine. Thus I forestall thee, if thou meane to chide, Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night, Where thou with patience must my #will abide, My #will that markes thee for my earths delight, Which I to conquer sought with all my #might. But as reproofe and reason beat it dead, By thy bright beautie was it newlie bred. I see what crosses my attempt will bring, I know what thornes the growing rose defends, I thinke the honie garded with a sting, All this before-#hand counsell comprehends. But #Will is deafe, and hears no heedfull friends, Onely he hath an eye to gaze on Beautie, *And dotes on what he looks, gainst law or duety.

I haue debated euen in my soule, *What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shal breed, But nothing can affections course controull, Or stop the headlong furie of his speed. I know repentant teares insewe the deed, Reproch, disdaine, and deadly enmity, Yet striue I to embrace mine infamy. This said, hee shakes aloft his Romaine blade, Which like a Faulcon towring in the skies, Cowcheth the fowle below with his wings shade, *Whose crooked beake threats, if he mount he dies. So vnder his insulting Fauchion lies Harmelesse LVCRETIA marking what he tels, *With trembling feare: as fowl hear Faulco[n]s bels. LVCRECE, quoth he, this night I must enioy thee, If thou deny, then force must worke my way: For in thy bed I purpose to destroie thee. That done, some worthlesse slaue of thine ile slay. To kill thine Honour with thy liues decaie. *And in thy dead armes do I meane to place him, Swearing I slue him seeing thee imbrace him.

So thy suruiuing husband shall remaine The scornefull marke of euerie open eye, Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdaine, Thy issue blur'd with namelesse bastardie; And thou the author of their obloquie, Shalt haue thy trespasse cited vp in rimes, And sung by children in succeeding times. But if thou yeeld, I rest thy secret friend, The fault vnknowne, is as a thought vnacted, "A little harme done to a great good end, For lawfull pollicie remaines enacted. "The poysonous simple sometime is compacted In a pure compound; being so applied, His venome in effect is purified. Then for thy husband and thy childrens sake, Tender my suite, bequeath not to their lot The shame that from them no deuise can take, The blemish that will neuer be forgot: Worse then a slauish wipe, or birth howrs blot, For markes discried in mens natiuitie, Are natures faultes, not their owne infamie.

Here with a Cockeatrice dead killing eye, He rowseth vp himselfe, and makes a pause, While shee the picture of pure pietie, *Like a white Hinde vnder the grypes sharpe clawes, Pleades in a wildernesse where are no lawes, *To the rough beast, that knowes no gentle right, Nor ought obayes but his fowle appetite. But when a black-#fac'd clowd the world doth thret, In his dim mist th'#aspiring mountaines hiding: *From earths dark-#womb, some gentle gust doth get, *Which blow these pitchie vapours fro[m] their biding: Hindring their present fall by this deuiding. So his vnhallowed #hast her words delayes, *And moodie PLVTO winks while Orpheus playes. Yet fowle night-#waking Cat he doth but dallie, *While in his hold-#fast foot the weak mouse pa[n]teth, Her sad behauiour feedes his vulture follie, A swallowing gulfe that euen in plentie wanteth. His eare her prayers admits, but his heart granteth No penetrable entrance to her playning, *"Tears harden lust though marble were with ray-|(ning.

Her pittie-#pleading eyes are sadlie fixed In the remorselesse wrinckles of his face. Her modest eloquence with sighes is mixed, Which to her Oratorie addes more grace. Shee puts the period often from his place, And midst the sentence so her accent breakes, That twise she doth begin ere once she speakes. She coniures him by high Almightie loue, *By knighthood, gentrie, and sweete friendships #oth, By her vntimely teares, her husbands loue, By holie humaine law, and common troth, By Heauen and Earth, and all the power of both: That to his borrowed bed he make retire, And stoope to Honor, not to fowle desire. Quoth shee, reward not Hospitalitie, *With such black payment, as thou hast pretended, Mudde not the fountaine that gaue drinke to thee, Mar not the thing that cannot be amended. End thy #ill ayme, before thy shoote be ended. He is no wood-#man that doth bend his bow, To strike a poore vnseasonable #Doe.

My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me, Thy selfe art mightie, for thine own sake leaue me: My selfe a weakling, do not then insnare me. Thou look'st not like deceipt, do not deceiue me. My sighes like whirlewindes labor hence to heaue |(thee. *If euer man were mou'd with woma[n]s mones, *Be moued with my teares, my sighes, my grones. All which together like a troubled Ocean, Beat at thy rockie, and wracke-#threatning heart, To soften it with their continuall motion: For stones dissolu'd to water do couert. O if no harder then a stone thou art, Melt at my teares and be compassionate, Soft pittie enters at an iron gate. In TARQVINS likenesse I did entertaine thee, Hast thou put on his shape, to do him shame? To all the Host of Heauen I complaine me. *Thou wrongst his honor, wou[n]dst his princely name: Thou art not what thou seem'st, and if the same, Thou seem'st not what thou art, a God, a King; *For kings like Gods should gouerne euerything.

How will thy shame be seeded in thine age When thus thy vices bud before thy spring? If in thy hope thou darst do such outrage, What dar'st thou not when once thou art a King? O be remembred, no outragious thing From vassall actors can be wipt away, Then Kings misdeedes cannot be hid in clay. This deede will make thee only lou'd for feare, But happie Monarchs still are feard for loue: With fowle offendors thou perforce must beare, When they in thee the like offences proue; If but for feare of this, thy #will remoue. *For Princes are the glasse, the schoole, the booke, *Where subiects eies do learn, do read, do looke. *And wilt thou be the schoole where lust shall learne? Must he in thee read lectures of such shame? Wilt thou be glasse wherein it shall discerne Authoritie for sinne, warrant for blame? To priuiledge dishonor in thy name. Thou backst reproch against long-#liuing lawd, And mak'st faire reputation but a bawd.

Hast thou commaund? by him that gaue it thee From a pure heart commaund thy rebell #will: Draw not thy sword to gard iniquitie, For it was lent thee all that broode to kill. Thy Princelie office how canst thou fulfill? When patternd by thy fault fowle sin may say, He learnd to sin, and thou didst teach the way. Thinke but how vile a spectacle it were, To view thy present trespasse in another: Mens faults do seldome to themselues appeare, Their own transgressions partiallie they smother, *This guilt would seem death-#worthie in thy brother. O how are they wrapt in with infamies, *That fro[m] their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes? To thee, to thee, my heau'd vp hands appeale, Not to seducing lust thy rash relier: I sue for exil'd maiesties repeale, Let him returne, and flattring thoughts retire. His true respect will prison false desire, And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eien, That thou shalt see thy state, and pittie mine.

Haue done, quoth he, my vncontrolled tide Turnes not, but swels the higher by this let. *Small lightes are soone blown out, huge fires abide, And with the winde in greater furie fret: The petty streames that paie a dailie det To their salt soueraigne with their fresh fals #hast, Adde to his flowe, but alter not his tast. Thou art, quoth shee, a sea, a soueraigne King, And loe there fals into thy boundlesse flood, Blacke lust, dishonor, shame, mis-#gouerning, Who seeke to staine the Ocean of thy blood. If all these pettie ils shall change thy good, Thy sea within a puddels wombe is hersed, And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. So shall these slaues be King, and thou their slaue, Thou noblie base, they baselie dignified: Thou their faire life, and they thy fowler graue: Thou lothed in their shame, they in their pride, The lesser thing should not the greater hide. *The Cedar stoopes not to the base shrubs foote, But low-#shrubs wither at the Cedars roote.

So let thy thoughts low vassals to thy state, *No more quoth he, by Heauen I will not heare thee. Yeeld to my loue, if not inforced hate, In steed of loues coy tutch shall rudelie teare thee. That done, despitefullie I meane to beare thee Vnto the base bed of some rascall groome, To be thy partner in this shamefull doome. This said, he sets his foote vppon the light, For light and lust are deadlie enemies, Shame folded vp in blind concealing night, When most vnseene, then most doth tyrannize. *The wolfe hath ceazd his pray, the poor lamb cries, *Till with her own white fleece her voice controld, Intombes her outcrie in her lips sweet fold. For with the nightlie linnen that shee weares, He pens her piteous clamors in her head, Cooling his hot face in the chastest teares, That euer modest eyes with sorrow shed. O that prone lust should staine so pure a bed, The spots whereof could weeping purifie, Her tears should drop on them perpetuallie.

But shee hath lost a dearer thing then life, And he hath wonne what he would loose againe, This forced league doth force a further strife, This momentarie ioy breeds months of paine, This hot desire conuerts to colde disdaine; Pure chastitie is rifled of her store, And lust the theefe farre poorer then before. Looke as the full-#fed Hound, or gorged Hawke, Vnapt for tender smell, or speedie flight, Make slow pursuite, or altogether bauk, The praie wherein by nature they delight: So surfet-#taking TARQVIN fares this night: His tast delicious, in digestion sowring, *Deuoures his #will that liu'd by fowle deuouring. O deeper sinne then bottomelesse conceit Can comprehend in still imagination Drunken Desire must vomite his receipt Ere he can see his owne abhomination. While Lust is in his pride no exclamation Can curbe his heat, or reine his rash desire, Till like a Iade, self-#will himselfe doth tire.

And then with lanke, and leane discolour'd cheeke, *With heauie eye, knit-#brow, and strengthlesse pace, Feeble desire all recreant, poore and meeke, Like to a banckrout begger wailes his cace: *The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with grace; For there it reuels, and when that decaies, The guiltie rebell for remission praies. So fares with this fault-#full Lord of Rome, Who this accomplishment so hotly chased, For now against himselfe he sounds this doome, *That through the length of times he sta[n]ds disgraced: Besides his soules faire temple is defaced, *To whose weake ruines muster troopes of cares, To aske the spotted Princesse how she fares. Shee sayes her subiects with fowle insurrection, Haue batterd downe her consecrated wall, And by their mortall fault brought in subiection Her immortalitie, and made her thrall, To liuing death and payne perpetuall. Which in her prescience shee controlled still, But her foresight could not forestall their #will.

*Eu'n in this thought through the dark-#night he stea-|(leth, A captiue victor that hath lost in gaine, Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, The scarre that will dispight of Cure remaine, Leauing his spoile perplext in greater paine. Shee beares the lode of lust he left behinde, And he the burthen of a guiltie minde. Hee like a theeuish dog creeps sadly thence, Shee like a wearied Lambe lies panting there, He scowles and hates himselfe for his offence, Shee desperat with her nailes her flesh doth teare. He faintly flies sweating with guiltie feare; Shee staies exclayming on the direfull night, He runnes and chides his vanisht loth'd delight. He thence departs a heauy conuertite, Shee there remaines a hopelesse cast-#away, He in his speed lookes for the morning light: Shee prayes shee neuer may behold the day. For daie, quoth shee, nights scapes doth open lay, And my true eyes haue neuer practiz'd how To cloake offences with a cunning brow.

They thinke not but that euerie eye can see, The same disgrace which they themselues behold: And therefore would they still in darkenesse be, To haue their vnseene sinne remaine vntold. For they their guilt with weeping will vnfold, And graue like water that doth eate in steele, Vppon my cheeks, what helpelesse shame I feele. Here shee exclaimes against repose and rest, And bids her eyes hereafter still be blinde, Shee wakes her heart by beating on her brest, And bids it leape from thence, where it maie finde Some purer chest, to close so pure a minde. *Franticke with griefe thus breaths shee forth her |(spite, Against the vnseene secrecie of night. O comfort-#killing night, image of #Hell, Dim register, and notarie of shame, Blacke stage for tragedies, and murthers fell, Vast sin-#concealing Chaos, nourse of blame. Blinde muffled bawd, darke harber for defame, Grim caue of death, whispring conspirator, With close-#tong'd treason & the rauisher.

O hatefull, vaporous, and foggy night, Since thou art guilty of my curelesse crime: Muster thy mists to meete the Easterne light, Make war against proportion'd course of time. Or if thou wilt permit the Sunne to clime His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, Knit poysonous clouds about his golden head. With rotten damps rauish the morning aire, Let their exhald vnholdsome breaths make sicke The life of puritie, the supreme faire, Ere he arriue his wearie noone-#tide pricke, And let thy mustie vapours march so thicke, That in their smoakie rankes, his smothred light May set at noone, and make perpetuall night. Were TARQVIN night, as he is but nights child, The siluer shining Queene he would distaine; Her twinckling handmaids #to (by him defil'd) *Through nights black bosom shuld not peep again. So should I haue copartners in my paine, And fellowship in woe doth woe asswage, As Palmers chat makes short their pilgrimage.

Where now I haue no one to blush with me, *To crosse their armes & hang their heads with mine, To maske their browes and hide their infamie, But I alone, alone must sit and pine, Seasoning the earth with showres of siluer brine; *Mingling my talk with tears, my greef with grones, Poore wasting monuments of lasting mones. O night thou furnace of fowle reeking smoke Let not the iealous daie behold that face, Which vnderneath thy blacke all-#hiding cloke Immodestly lies martird with disgrace. Keepe still possession of thy gloomy place, That all the faults which in thy raigne are made, May likewise be sepulcherd in thy shade. Make me not obiect to the tell-#tale day, The light will shew characterd in my brow, The storie of sweete chastities decay, The impious breach of holy wedlocke vowe. Yea the illiterate that know not how To cipher what is writ in learned bookes, Will cote my lothsome trespasse in my lookes.

The nourse to still her child will tell my storie, *And fright her crying babe with TARQVINS name. The Orator to decke his oratorie, Will couple my reproch to TARQVINS shame. Feast-#finding minstrels tuning my defame, Will tie the hearers to attend ech line, How TARQVIN wronged me, I COLATINE. Let my good name, that sencelesse reputation, For COLATINES deare loue be kept vnspotted: If that be made a theame for disputation, The branches of another roote are rotted; And vndeseru'd reproch to him alotted, That is as cleare from this attaint of mine, As I ere this was pure to COLATINE. O vnseene shame, inuisible disgrace, O vnfelt sore, crest-#wounding priuat scarre Reproch is stampt in COLATINVS face, And TARQVINS eye maie read the mot #a farre, "How he in peace is wounded not in warre. "Alas how manie beare such shamefull blowes, *Which not the[m]selues but he that giues the[m] knowes.

If COLATINE, thine honor laie in me, From me by strong assault it is bereft: My Honnie lost, and I a Drone-#like #Bee, Haue no perfection of my sommer left, But rob'd and ransak't by iniurious theft. In thy weake Hiue a wandring waspe hath crept, And suck't the Honnie which thy chast #Bee kept. Yet am I guiltie of thy Honors wracke, Yet for thy Honor did I entertaine him, Comming from thee I could not put him backe: For it had beene dishonor to disdaine him, Besides of wearinesse he did complaine him, And talk't of Vertue (O vnlook't for euill,) When Vertue is prophan'd in such a Deuill. Why should the worme intrude the maiden bud? Or hatefull Kuckcowes hatch in Sparrows nests? Or Todes infect faire founts with venome mud? Or tyrant follie lurke in gentle brests? Or Kings be breakers of their owne behestes? "But no perfection is so absolute, That some impuritie doth not pollute.

The aged man that coffers vp his gold, *Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painefull fits, And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, But like still pining TANTALVS he sits, And vselesse barnes the haruest of his wits: Hauing no other pleasure of his gaine, But torment that it cannot cure his paine. So then he hath it when he cannot vse it, And leaues it to be maistred by his yong: Who in their pride do presently abuse it, Their father was too weake, and they too strong To hold their cursed-#blessed Fortune long. "The sweets we wish for, turne to lothed sowrs, "Euen in the moment that we call them ours. Vnruly blasts wait on the tender spring, *Vnholsome weeds take roote with precious flowrs, The Adder hisses where the sweete birds sing, What Vertue breedes Iniquity deuours: We haue no good that we can say is ours, But #ill annexed opportunity Or kils his life, or else his quality.

O opportunity thy guilt is great, Tis thou that execut'st the traytors treason: Thou sets the wolfe where he the lambe may get, Who euer plots the sinne thou poinst the season. Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason, *And in thy shadie Cell where none may spie him, Sits sin to ceaze the soules that wander by him. Thou makest the vestall violate her oath, Thou blowest the fire when temperance is thawd, Thou smotherst honestie, thou murthrest troth, Thou fowle abbettor, thou notorious bawd, Thou plantest scandall, and displacest lawd. Thou rauisher, thou traytor, thou false theefe, Thy honie turnes to gall, thy ioy to greefe. Thy secret pleasure turnes to open shame, Thy priuate feasting to a publicke fast, Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name, Thy sugred tongue to bitter wormwood tast, Thy violent vanities can neuer last. How comes it then, vile opportunity Being so bad, such numbers seeke for thee?

When wilt thou be the humble suppliants friend And bring him where his suit may be obtained? When wilt thou sort an howre great strifes to end? *Or free that soule which wretchednes hath chained? Giue phisicke to the sicke, ease to the pained? *The poore, lame, blind, hault, creepe, cry out for |(thee, But they nere meet with oportunitie. The patient dies while the Phisitian sleepes, The Orphane pines while the oppressor feedes. Iustice is feasting while the widow weepes. Aduise is sporting while infection breeds. Thou graunt'st no time for charitable deeds. *Wrath, enuy, treason, rape, and murthers rages, *Thy heinous houres wait on them as their Pages. When Trueth and Vertue haue to do with thee, A thousand crosses keepe them from thy aide: They buie thy helpe, but sinne nere giues a fee, He gratis comes, and thou art well apaide, As well to heare, as graunt what he hath saide. My COLATINE would else haue come to me, *When TARQVIN did, but he was staied by thee.

Guilty thou art of murther, and of theft, Guilty of periurie, and subornation, Guilty of treason, forgerie, and shift, Guilty of incest that abhomination, An accessarie by thine inclination. To all sinnes past and all that are to come, From the creation to the generall doome. Misshapen time, copesmate of vgly night, Swift subtle post, carrier of grieslie care, Eater of youth, false slaue to false delight: *Base watch of woes, sins packhorse, vertues snare. Thou noursest all, and murthrest all that are. O heare me then, iniurious shifting time, Be guiltie of my death since of my crime. Why hath thy seruant opportunity Betraide the howres thou gau'st me to repose? Canceld my fortunes, and inchained me To endlesse date of neuer-#ending woes? Times office is to fine the hate of foes, To eate vp errours by opinion bred, Not spend the dowrie of a lawfull bed.

Times glorie is to calme contending Kings, To vnmaske falshood, and bring truth to light, To stampe the seale of time in aged things, To wake the morne, and Centinell the night, To wrong the wronger till he render right, To ruinate proud buildings with thy howres, *And smeare with dust their glitring golden towrs. To fill with worme-#holes stately monuments, To feede obliuion with decay of things, To blot old bookes, and alter their contents, To plucke the quils from auncient rauens wings, To drie the old oakes sappe, and cherish springs: To spoile Antiquities of hammerd steele, And turne the giddy round of Fortunes wheele. To shew the beldame daughters of her daughter, To make the child a man, the man a childe, To slay the tygre that doth liue by slaughter, To tame the Vnicorne, and Lion wild, To mocke the subtle in themselues beguild, *To cheare the Plowman with increasefull crops, And #wast huge stones with little water drops.

Why work'st thou mischiefe in thy Pilgrimage, Vnlesse thou could'st returne to make amends? One poore retyring minute in an age *Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, Lending him wit that to bad detters lends, *O this dread night, would'st thou one howr come |(backe, *I could preuent this storme, and shun thy wracke. Thou ceaselesse lackie to Eternitie, *With some mischance crosse TARQVIN in his flight. Deuise extreames beyond extremitie, To make him curse this cursed crimefull night: Let gastly shadowes his lewd eyes affright, And the dire thought of his committed euill, Shape euery bush a hideous shapelesse deuill. Disturbe his howres of rest with restlesse trances, Afflict him in his bed with bedred grones, Let there bechaunce him pitifull mischances, To make him mone, but pitie not his mones: Stone him with hardned hearts harder then stones, *And let milde women to him loose their mildnesse, Wilder to him then Tygers in their wildnesse.

Let him haue time to teare his curled haire, Let him haue time against himselfe to raue, Let him haue time of times helpe to dispaire, Let him haue time to liue a lothed slaue, Let him haue time a beggers orts to craue, And time to see one that by almes doth liue, Disdaine to him disdained scraps to giue. Let him haue time to see his friends his foes, And merrie fooles to mocke at him resort: Let him haue time to marke how slow time goes In time of sorrow, and how swift and short His time of follie, and his time of sport. And euer let his vnrecalling crime Haue time to waile th'#abusing of his time. O time thou tutor both to good and bad, Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this #ill: At his owne shadow let the theefe runne mad, Himselfe, himselfe seeke euerie howre to kill, *Such wretched ha[n]ds such wretched blood shuld spill. For who so base would such an office haue, As sclandrous deaths-#man to so base a slaue.

The baser is he comming from a King, To shame his hope with deedes degenerate, The mightier man the mightier is the thing That makes him honord, or begets him hate: For greatest scandall waits on greatest state. The Moone being clouded, presently is mist, But little stars may hide them when they list. The Crow may bath his coaleblacke wings in mire, And vnperceau'd flie with the filth away, But if the like the snow-#white Swan desire, The staine vppon his siluer Downe will stay. *Poore grooms are sightles night, kings glorious day, Gnats are vnnoted wheresoere they flie, But Eagles gaz'd vppon with euerie eye. Out idle wordes, seruants to shallow fooles, Vnprofitable sounds, weake arbitrators, Busie your selues in skill contending schooles, Debate where leysure serues with dull debators: To trembling Clients be you mediators, For me, I force not argument a straw, Since that my case is past the helpe of law.

In vaine I raile at oportunitie, At time, at TARQVIN, and vnchearfull night, In vaine I cauill with mine infamie, In vaine I spurne at my confirm'd despight, *This helplesse smoake of words doth me no right: The remedie indeede to do me good, Is to let forth my fowle defiled blood. Poore hand why quiuerst thou at this decree? Honor thy selfe to rid me of this shame, For if I die, my Honor liues in thee, But if I liue thou liu'st in my defame; Since thou couldst not defend thy loyall Dame, And wast affeard to scratch her wicked Fo, Kill both thy selfe, and her for yeelding so. *This said, from her betombled couch shee starteth, To finde some desp'rat Instrument of death, But this no slaughter house no toole imparteth, To make more vent for passage of her breath, Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth, *As smoake from AETNA, that in aire consumes, *Or that which from discharged Cannon fumes.

In vaine (quoth shee) I liue, and seeke in vaine Some happie meane to end a haplesse life. I fear'd by TARQVINS Fauchion to be slaine, Yet for the selfe same purpose seeke a knife; But when I fear'd I was a loyall wife, So am I now, o no that cannot be, Of that true tipe hath TARQVIN rifled me. O that is gone for which I sought to liue, And therefore now I need not feare to die, To cleare this spot by death (at least) I giue A badge of Fame to sclanders liuerie, A dying life, to liuing infamie: Poore helplesse helpe, the treasure stolne away, To burne the guiltlesse casket where it lay. *Well well deare COLATINE, thou shalt not know The stained tast of violated troth: I will not wrong thy true affection so, To flatter thee with an infringed oath: This bastard graffe shall neuer come to growth, He shall not boast who did thy stocke pollute, That thou art doting father of his fruite.

Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, Nor laugh with his companions at thy state, But thou shalt know thy intrest was not bought Basely with gold, but stolne from foorth thy gate. For me I am the mistresse of my fate, And with my trespasse neuer will dispence, Till life to death acquit my forst offence. I will not poyson thee with my attaint, Nor fold my fault in cleanly coin'd excuses, My sable ground of sinne I will not paint, To hide the truth of this false nights abuses. My tongue shall vtter all, mine eyes like sluces, As from a mountaine spring that feeds a dale, Shal gush pure streams to purge my impure tale. By this lamenting Philomele had ended, The well-#tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, And solemne night with slow sad gate descended To ouglie #Hell, when loe the blushing morrow Lends light to all faire eyes that light will borrow. But cloudie LVCRECE shames her selfe to see, And therefore still in night would cloistred be.

Reuealing day through euery crannie spies, And seems to point her out where she sits weeping, To whom shee sobbing speakes, o eye of eyes, *Why pry'st thou throgh my window? leaue thy pee-|(ping, *Mock with thy tickling beams, eies that are sleeping; Brand not my forehead with thy percing light, *For day hath nought to do what's done by night. Thus cauils shee with euerie thing shee sees, True griefe is fond and testie as a childe, *Who wayward once, his mood with naught agrees, Old woes, not infant sorrowes beare them milde, Continuance tames the one, the other wilde, Like an vnpractiz'd swimmer plunging still, *With too much labour drowns for want of skill. So shee deepe drenched in a Sea of care, Holds disputation with ech thing shee vewes, And to her selfe all sorrow doth compare, No obiect but her passions strength renewes: And as one shiftes another straight insewes, *Somtime her griefe is dumbe and hath no words, Sometime tis mad and too much talke affords.

The little birds that tune their mornings ioy, Make her mones mad, with their sweet melodie, "For mirth doth search the bottome of annoy, "Sad soules are slaine in merrie companie, "Griefe best is pleas'd with griefes societie; "True sorrow then is feelinglie suffiz'd, "When with like semblance it is simpathiz'd. "Tis double death to drowne in ken of shore, "He ten times pines, that pines beholding food, "To see the salue doth make the wound ake more: *"Great griefe greeues most at that wold do it good; "Deepe woes rowle forward like a gentle flood, *Who being stopt, the bou[n]ding banks oreflowes, Griefe dallied with, nor law, nor limit knowes. *You mocking Birds (quoth she) your tunes intombe Within your hollow swelling feathered breasts, And in my hearing be you mute and dumbe, My restlesse discord loues no stops nor rests: "A woefull Hostesse brookes not merrie guests. Ralish your nimble notes to pleasing eares, *"Distres likes du[m]ps whe[n] time is kept with teares.

Come Philomele that sing'st of rauishment, Make thy sad groue in my disheueld heare, As the danke earth weepes at thy languishment: So I at each sad straine, will straine a teare, And with deepe grones the Diapason beare: For burthen-#wise ile hum on TARQVIN still, While thou on TEREVS descants better skill. And whiles against a thorne thou bear'st thy part, To keepe thy sharpe woes waking, wretched I To imitate thee well, against my heart Will fixe a sharpe knife to affright mine eye, Who if it winke shall thereon fall and die. These meanes as frets vpon an instrument, *Shal tune our heart-#strings to true languishment. And for poore bird thou sing'st not in the day, As shaming anie eye should thee behold: Some darke deepe desert seated from the way, That knowes not parching heat, nor freezing cold Will wee find out: and there we will vnfold *To creatures stern, sad tunes to change their kinds, *Since me[n] proue beasts, let beasts bear ge[n]tle minds.

As the poore frighted #Deare that stands at gaze, Wildly determining which way to flie, Or one incompast with a winding maze, That cannot tread the way out readilie: So with her selfe is shee in mutinie, To liue or die which of the twaine were better, *When life is sham'd and death reproches detter. To kill my selfe, quoth shee, alacke what were it, But with my body my poore soules pollusion? *They that loose halfe with greater patience beare it, Then they whose whole is swallowed in confusion. That mother tries a mercilesse conclusion, Who hauing two sweet babes, when death takes |(one, Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. My bodie or my soule which was the dearer? When the one pure, the other made deuine, Whose loue of eyther to my selfe was nearer? When both were kept for Heauen and COLATINE: Ay me, the Barke pild from the loftie Pine, His leaues will wither, and his sap decay, So must my soule her barke being pild away.

Her house is sackt, her quiet interrupted, Her mansion batterd by the enemie, Her sacred temple spotted, spoild, corrupted, Groslie ingirt with daring infamie. Then let it not be cald impietie, If in this blemisht fort I make some hole, *Through which I may conuay this troubled soule. Yet die I will not, till my COLATINE Haue heard the cause of my vntimelie death, That he may vow in that sad houre of mine, Reuenge on him that made me stop my breath, My stained bloud to TARQVIN ile bequeath, Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent, And as his due writ in my testament. My Honor ile bequeath vnto the knife That wounds my bodie so dishonored, Tis Honor to depriue dishonord life, The one will liue, the other being dead. So of shames ashes shall my Fame be bred, For in my death I murther shamefull scorne, My shame so dead, mine honor is new borne.

Deare Lord of that deare iewell I haue lost, What legacie shall I bequeath to thee? My resolution loue shall be thy bost, By whose example thou reueng'd mayst be. How TARQVIN must be vs'd, read it in me, My selfe thy friend will kill my selfe thy fo, And for my sake serue thou false TARQVIN so. This briefe abridgement of my #will I make, My soule and bodie to the skies and ground: My resolution Husband doe thou take, Mine Honor be the knifes that makes my wound, My shame be his that did my Fame confound; And all my Fame that liues disbursed be, To those that liue and thinke no shame of me. Thou COLATINE shalt ouersee this #will, How was I ouerseene that thou shalt see it? My bloud shall wash the sclander of mine #ill, My liues foule deed my lifes faire end shall free it. Faint not faint heart, but stoutlie say so be it, *Yeeld to my hand, my hand shall conquer thee, Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.

This plot of death when sadlie shee had layd, And wip't the brinish pearle from her bright eies, With vntun'd tongue shee hoarslie cals her mayd, Whose swift obedience to her mistresse hies. "For fleet-#wing'd duetie with thoghts feathers flies, *Poore LVCRECE cheeks vnto her maid seem so, As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. *Her mistresse shee doth giue demure good morrow, With soft slow-#tongue, true marke of modestie, And sorts a sad looke to her Ladies sorrow, (For why her face wore sorrowes liuerie.) But durst not aske of her audaciouslie, Why her two suns were clowd ecclipsed so, Nor why her faire cheeks ouer-#washt with woe. But as the earth doth weepe the Sun being set, Each flowre moistned like a melting eye: Euen so the maid with swelling drops gan wet Her circled eien inforst, by simpathie Of those faire Suns set in her mistresse skie, Who in a salt wau'd Ocean quench their light, *Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

A prettie while these prettie creatures stand, Like Iuorie conduits corall cesterns filling: One iustlie weepes, the other takes in hand No cause, but companie of her drops spilling. Their gentle sex to weepe are often willing, Greeuing themselues to gesse at others smarts, *And the[n] they drown their eies, or break their harts. For men haue marble, women waxen mindes, And therefore are they form'd as marble #will, The weake opprest, th'#impression of strange kindes Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill. Then call them not the Authors of their #ill, No more then waxe shall be accounted euill, Wherein is stampt the semblance of a Deuill. *Their smoothnesse; like a goodly champaine plaine, Laies open all the little wormes that creepe, In men as in a rough-#growne groue remaine. Caue keeping euils that obscurely sleepe. Through christall wals ech little mote will peepe, *Though me[n] ca[n] couer crimes with bold stern looks, *Poore womens faces are their owne faults books.

No man inueigh against the withered flowre, But chide rough winter that the flowre hath kild, Not that deuour'd, but that which doth deuour Is worthie blame, o let it not be hild Poore womens faults, that they are so fulfild *With mens abuses, those proud Lords to blame, *Make weak-#made wome[n] tenants to their shame. The president whereof in LVCRECE view, Assail'd by night with circumstances strong Of present death, and shame that might insue. By that her death to do her husband wrong, Such danger to resistance did belong: That dying feare through all her bodie spred, And who cannot abuse a bodie dead? *By this milde patience bid faire LVCRECE speake, To the poore counterfaite of her complayning, My girle, quoth shee, on what occasion breake *Those tears fro[m] thee, that downe thy cheeks are raig-|(ning? If thou dost weepe for griefe of my sustaining: Know gentle wench it small auailes my mood, *If tears could help, mine own would do me good.

But tell me girle, when went (and there shee staide, Till after a deepe grone) TARQVIN from hence, Madame ere I was vp (repli'd the maide,) The more to blame my sluggard negligence. Yet with the fault I thus farre can dispence: My selfe was stirring ere the breake of day, And ere I rose was TARQVIN gone away. But Lady, if your maide may be so bold, Shee would request to know your heauinesse: (O peace quoth LVCRECE) if it should be told, The repetition cannot make it lesse: For more it is, then I can well expresse, And that deepe torture may be cal'd a #Hell, When more is felt then one hath power to tell. Go get mee hither paper, inke, and pen, Yet saue that labour, for I haue them heare, (What should I say) one of my husbands men Bid thou be readie, #by and by, to beare A letter to my Lord, my Loue, my Deare, Bid him with speede prepare to carrie it, The cause craues #hast, and it will soone be writ.

Her maide is gone, and shee prepares to write, First houering ore the paper with her quill: Conceipt and griefe an eager combat fight, What wit sets downe is blotted straight with #will. This is too curious good, this blunt and #ill, Much like a presse of people at a dore, Throng her inuentions which shall go before. At last shee thus begins: thou worthie Lord, Of that vnworthie wife that greeteth thee, Health to thy person, next, vouchsafe t'#afford (If euer loue, thy LVCRECE thou wilt see,) Some present speed, to come and visite me: So I commend me, from our house in griefe, *My woes are tedious, though my words are briefe. Here folds shee vp the tenure of her woe, Her certaine sorrow writ vncertainely, By this short Cedule COLATINE may know Her griefe, but not her griefes true quality, Shee dares not thereof make discouery, Lest he should hold it her own grosse abuse, *Ere she with bloud had stain'd her stain'd excuse.

Besides the life and feeling of her passion, She hoords to spend, when he is by to heare her, *When sighs, & grones, & tears may grace the fashio[n] Of her disgrace, the better so to cleare her *From that suspicio[n] which the world might bear her. To shun this blot, shee would not blot the letter *With words, till action might becom the[m] better. *To see sad sights, moues more then heare them told, For then the eye interpretes to the eare The heauie motion that it doth behold, When euerie part, a part of woe doth beare. Tis but a part of sorrow that we heare, *Deep sounds make lesser noise the[n] shallow foords, And sorrow ebs, being blown with wind of words. Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ At ARDEA to my Lord with more then #hast, The Post attends, and shee deliuers it, Charging the sowr-#fac'd groome, to high as fast As lagging fowles before the Northerne blast, *Speed more then speed, but dul & slow she deems, Extremity still vrgeth such extremes.

The homelie villaine cursies to her low, And blushing on her with a stedfast eye, Receaues the scroll without or yea or no, And forth with bashfull innocence doth hie. But they whose guilt within their bosomes lie, Imagine euerie eye beholds their blame, *For LVCRECE thought, he blusht to see her shame. When seelie Groome (God wot) it was defect Of spirite, life, and bold audacitie, Such harmlesse creatures haue a true respect To talke in deeds, while others saucilie Promise more speed, but do it leysurelie. Euen so this patterne of the worne-#out age, Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. His kindled duetie kindled her mistrust, That two red fires in both their faces blazed, Shee thought he blusht, as knowing TARQVINS lust, And blushing with him, wistlie on him gazed, Her earnest eye did make him more amazed. The more shee saw the bloud his cheeks replenish, *The more she thought he spied in her som blemish.

But long shee thinkes till he returne againe, And yet the dutious vassall scarce is gone, The wearie time shee cannot entertaine, For now tis stale to sigh, to weepe, and grone, So woe hath wearied woe, mone tired mone, That shee her plaints a little while doth stay, Pawsing for means to mourne some newer way. At last shee cals to mind where hangs a peece Of skilfull painting, made for PRIAMS Troy, Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, For HELENS rape, the Cittie to destroy, Threatning cloud-#kissing ILLION with annoy, Which the conceipted Painter drew so prowd, *As Heauen (it seem'd) to kisse the turrets bow'd. A thousand lamentable obiects there, In scorne of Nature, #Art gaue liuelesse life, Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping teare, Shed for the slaughtred husband by the wife. The red bloud reek'd to shew the Painters strife, And dying eyes gleem'd forth their ashie lights, Like dying coales burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you see the labouring Pyoner Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust, And from the towres of Troy, there would appeare The verie eyes of men through loop-#holes thrust, Gazing vppon the Greekes with little lust, Such sweet obseruance in this worke was had, *That one might see those farre of eyes looke sad. In great commaunders, Grace, and Maiestie, You might behold triumphing in their faces, In youth quick-#bearing and dexteritie, And here and there the Painter interlaces Pale cowards marching on with trembling paces. Which hartlesse peasaunts did so wel resemble, *That one would swear he saw them quake & tre[m]ble. In AIAX and VLYSSES, o what #Art Of Phisiognomy might one behold The face of eyther cypher'd eythers heart, Their face, their manners most expreslie told, In AIAX eyes blunt rage and rigour rold, But the mild glance that slie VLYSSES lent, Shewed deepe regard and smiling gouernment.

There pleading might you see graue NESTOR stand, As'#twere incouraging the Greekes to fight, Making such sober action with his hand, That it beguild attention, charm'd the sight, In speech it seemd his beard, all siluer white, *Wag'd vp and downe, and from his lips did flie, *Thin winding breath which purl'd vp to the skie. About him were a presse of gaping faces, Which seem'd to swallow vp his sound aduice, All ioyntlie listning, but with seuerall graces, As if some Marmaide did their eares intice, Some high, some low, the Painter was so nice. The scalpes of manie almost hid behind, To iump vp higher seem'd to mocke the mind. Here one mans hand leand on anothers head, His nose being shadowed by his neighbours eare, *Here one being throng'd, bears back all boln, & red, Another smotherd, seemes to pelt and sweare, And in their rage such signes of rage they beare, As but for losse of NESTORS golden words, It seem'd they would debate with angrie swords.

For much imaginarie worke was there, Conceipt deceitfull, so compact so kinde, That for ACHILLES image stood his speare Grip't in an Armed hand, himselfe behind Was left vnseene, saue to the eye of mind, A hand, a foote, a face, a leg, a head Stood for the whole to be imagined. And from the wals of strong besieged TROY, *When their braue hope, bold HECTOR march'd to |(field, Stood manie Troian mothers sharing ioy, To see their youthfull sons bright weapons wield, And to their hope they such odde action yeeld, That through their light ioy seemed to appeare, *(Like bright things staind) a kind of heauie feare. *And from the strond of DARDAN where they fought, To SIMOIS reedie bankes the red bloud ran, Whose waues to imitate the battaile sought With swelling ridges, and their rankes began To breake vppon the galled shore, and than Retire againe, till meeting greater ranckes *They ioine, & shoot their fome at SIMOIS bancks.

To this well painted peece is LVCRECE come, To find a face where all distresse is steld, Manie shee sees, where cares haue carued some, But none where all distresse and dolor dweld, Till shee dispayring HECVBA beheld, Staring on PRIAMS wounds with her old eyes, *Which bleeding vnder PIRRHVS proud foot lies. In her the Painter had anathomiz'd *Times ruine, beauties wracke, and grim cares raign, *Her cheeks with chops and wrincles were disguiz'd, Of what shee was, no semblance did remaine: Her blew bloud chang'd to blacke in euerie vaine, *Wanting the spring, that those shrunke pipes had |(fed, Shew'd life imprison'd in a bodie dead. On this sad shadow LVCRECE spends her eyes, And shapes her sorrow to the Beldames woes, Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, And bitter words to ban her cruell Foes. The Painter was no God to lend her those, *And therefore LVCRECE swears he did her wrong, To giue her so much griefe, and not a tong.

Poore Instrument (quoth shee) without a sound, Ile tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue, *And drop sweet Balme in PRIAMS painted wound, *And raile on PIRRHVS that hath done him wrong; And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long; And with my knife scratch out the angrie eyes, Of all the Greekes that are thine enemies. Shew me the strumpet that began this stur, That with my nailes her beautie I may teare: Thy heat of lust fond PARIS did incur This lode of wrath, that burning Troy doth beare; Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here, And here in Troy for trespasse of thine eye, *The Sire, the sonne, the Dame and daughter die. Why should the priuate pleasure of some one Become the publicke plague of manie moe? Let sinne alone committed, light alone Vppon his head that hath transgressed so. Let guiltlesse soules be freed from guilty woe, For ones offence why should so many fall? To plague a priuate sinne in generall.

Lo here weeps HECVBA, here PRIAM dies, *Here manly HECTOR faints, here TROYLVS sounds, Here friend by friend in bloudie channel lies: And friend to friend giues vnaduised wounds, And one mans lust these manie liues confounds. Had doting PRIAM checkt his sons desire, *Troy had bin bright with Fame, & not with fire. Here feelingly she weeps TROYES painted woes, For sorrow, like a heauie hanging bell, Once set on ringing, with his own waight goes, Then little strength rings out the dolefull knell, So LVCRECE set #a worke, sad tales doth tell *To pencel'd pensiuenes, & colour'd sorrow, *She lends them words, & she their looks doth bor-|(row, Shee throwes her eyes about the painting round, And who shee finds forlorne, shee doth lament: At last shee sees a wretched image bound, *That piteous lookes, to Phrygian sheapheards lent, His face though full of cares, yet shew'd content, *Onward to TROY with the blunt swains he goes, *So mild that patience seem'd to scorne his woes.

In him the Painter labour'd with his skill To hide deceipt, and giue the harmlesse show An humble gate, calme looks, eyes wayling still, A brow vnbent that seem'd to welcome wo, Cheeks neither red, nor pale, but mingled so, That blushing red, no guiltie instance gaue, Nor ashie pale, the feare that false hearts haue. But like a constant and confirmed Deuill, He entertain'd a show, so seeming iust, And therein so ensconc't his secret euill, That Iealousie it selfe could not mistrust, False creeping Craft, and Periurie should thrust Into so bright a daie, such blackfac'd storms, *Or blot with Hell-#born sin such Saint-#like forms. The well-#skil'd workman this milde Image drew For periur'd SINON, whose inchaunting storie The credulous old PRIAM after slew. *Whose words like wild fire burnt the shining glorie Of rich-#built ILLION, that the skies were sorie, And little stars shot from their fixed places, *Whe[n] their glas fel, wherin they view'd their faces.

This picture shee aduisedly perus'd, And chid the Painter for his wondrous skill: Saying, some shape in SINONS was abus'd, So faire a forme lodg'd not a mind so #ill, And still on him shee gaz'd, and gazing still, *Such signes of truth in his plaine face shee spied, That shee concludes, the Picture was belied. It cannot be (quoth she) that so much guile, (Shee would haue said) can lurke in such a looke: *But TARQVINS shape, came in her mind the while, And from her tongue, can lurk, from cannot, tooke It cannot be, shee in that sence forsooke, And turn'd it thus, it cannot be I find, But such a face should beare a wicked mind. For euen as subtill SINON here is painted, So sober sad, so wearie, and so milde, (As if with griefe or trauaile he had fainted) To me came TARQVIN armed to beguild With outward honestie, but yet defild With inward vice, as PRIAM him did cherish: So did I TARQVIN, so my Troy did perish.

Looke looke how listning PRIAM wets his eyes, To see those borrowed teares the SINON sheeds, PRIAM why art thou old, and yet not wise? For euerie teare he fals a Troian bleeds: His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds, *Those rou[n]d clear pearls of his that moue thy pitty, Are bals of quenchlesse fire to burne thy Citty. Such Deuils steale effects from lightlesse #Hell, For SINON in his fire doth quake with cold, And in that cold hot burning fire doth dwell, These contraries such vnitie do hold, Only to flatter fooles, and make them bold, *So PRIAMS trust false SINONS teares doth flatter, *That he finds means to burne his Troy with water. Here all inrag'd such passion her assailes, That patience is quite beaten from her breast, Shee tears the sencelesse SINON with her nailes, Comparing him to that vnhappie guest, Whose deede hath made herselfe, herselfe detest, At last shee smilingly with this giues ore, *Foole fool, quoth she, his wounds wil not be sore.

Thus ebs and flowes the currant of her sorrow, And time doth wearie time with her complayning, *Shee looks for night, & then shee longs for morrow, *And both shee thinks too long with her remayning. *Short time seems long, in sorrowes sharp sustayning, Though wo be heauie, yet it seldome sleepes, *And they that watch, see time, how slow it creeps. Which all this time hath ouerslipt her thought, That shee with painted Images hath spent, Being from the feeling of her own griefe brought, By deepe surmise of others detriment, Loosing her woes in shews of discontent: It easeth some, though none it euer cured, To thinke their dolour others haue endured. But now the mindfull Messenger come backe, Brings home his Lord and other companie, *Who finds his LVCRECE clad in mourning black, And round about her teare-#distained eye Blew circles stream'd, like Rain-#bows in the skie. These watergalls in her dim Element, Foretell new stormes to those alreadie spent.

Which when her sad beholding husband saw, Amazedlie in her sad face he stares: Her eyes though sod in tears look'd red and raw, Her liuelie colour kil'd with deadlie cares, He hath no power to aske her how shee fares, Both stood like old acquaintance in a trance, *Met far from home, wondring ech others chance. At last he takes her by the bloudlesse hand, And thus begins: what vncouth #ill euent Hath thee befalne, that thou dost trembling stand? Sweet loue what spite hath thy faire colour spent? Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent? Vnmaske deare deare, this moodie heauinesse, And tell thy griefe, that we may giue redresse. Three times with sighes shee giues her sorrow fire, Ere once shee can discharge one word of woe: At length addrest to answer his desire, Shee modestlie prepares, to let them know Her Honor is tane prisoner by the Foe, While COLATINE and his consorted Lords, With sad attention long to heare her words.

And now this pale Swan in her watrie nest, Begins the sad Dirge of her certaine ending, Few words (quoth shee) shall fit the trespasse best, Where no excuse can giue the fault amending. In me moe woes then words are now depending, And my laments would be drawn out too long, To tell them all with one poore tired tong. Then be this all the taske it hath to say, Deare husband in the interest of thy bed A stranger came, and on that pillow lay, Where thou wast wont to rest thy wearie head, And what wrong else may be imagined, By foule inforcement might be done to me, From that (alas) thy LVCRECE is not free. For in the dreadfull dead of darke midnight, With shining Fauchion in my chamber came A creeping creature with a flaming light, And softly cried, awake thou Romaine Dame, And entertaine my loue, else lasting shame On thee and thine this night I will inflict, If thou my loues desire do contradict.

*For some hard fauour'd Groome of thine, quoth he, Vnlesse thou yoke thy liking to my #will Ile murther straight, and then ile slaughter thee, And sweare I found you where you did fulfill The lothsome act of Lust, and so did kill The lechors in their deed, this Act will be My Fame, and thy perpetuall infamy. With this I did begin to start and cry, And then against my heart he set his sword, Swearing, vnlesse I tooke all patiently, I should not liue to speake another word. So should my shame still rest vpon record, And neuer be forgot in mightie Roome *Th'#adulterat death of LVCRECE, and her Groome. Mine enemy was strong, my poore selfe weake, (And farre the weaker with so strong a feare) My bloudie Iudge forbod my tongue to speake, No rightfull plea might plead for Iustice there. His scarlet Lust came euidence to sweare That my poore beautie had purloin'd his eyes, And when the Iudge is rob'd, the prisoner dies.

O teach me how to make mine owne excuse, Or (at the least) this refuge let me finde, Though my grosse bloud be staind with this abuse, Immaculate, and spotlesse is my mind, That was not forc'd, that neuer was inclind To accessarie yeeldings, but still pure Doth in her poyson'd closet yet endure. Lo heare the hopelesse Marchant of this losse, With head declin'd, and voice dam'd vp with wo, With sad set eyes and wretched armes acrosse, From lips new waxen pale, begins to blow The griefe away, that stops his answer so. But wretched as he is he striues in vaine, *What he breaths out, his breath drinks vp again. As through an Arch, the violent roaring tide, Outruns the eye that doth behold his #hast: Yet in the Edie boundeth in his pride, Backe to the strait that forst him on so fast: In rage sent out, recald in rage being past, Euen so his sighes, his sorrowes make a saw, *To push griefe on, and back the same grief draw.

*Which speechlesse woe of his poore she attendeth, And his vntimelie frenzie thus awaketh, Deare Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth Another power, no floud by raining slaketh, My woe too sencible thy passion maketh More feeling painfull, let it than suffice To drowne on woe, one paire of weeping eyes. And for my sake when I might charme thee so, For shee that was thy LVCRECE, now attend me, Be sodainelie reuenged on my Foe. *Thine, mine, his own, suppose thou dost defend me *From what is past, the helpe that thou shalt lend me Comes all too late, yet let the Traytor die, "For sparing Iustice feeds iniquitie. But ere I name him, you faire Lords, quoth shee, (Speaking to those that came with COLATINE) Shall plight your Honourable faiths to me, With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine, For 'tis a meritorious faire designe, To chase iniustice with reuengefull armes, *Knights by their oaths should right poore Ladies |(harmes.

At this request, with noble disposition, Each present Lord began to promise aide, As bound in Knighthood to her imposition, Longing to heare the hatefull Foe bewraide. But shee that yet her sad taske hath not said, The protestation stops, o speake quoth shee, How may this forced staine be wip'd from me? What is the qualitie of my offence Being constrayn'd with dreadfull circumstance? May my pure mind with the fowle act dispence My low declined Honor to aduance? May anie termes acquit me from this chance? The poysoned fountaine cleares it selfe againe, And why not I from this compelled staine? With this they all at once began to saie, Her bodies staine, her mind vntainted cleares, While with a ioylesse smile, shee turnes awaie The face, that map which deepe impression beares Of hard misfortune, caru'd it in with tears. No no, quoth shee, no Dame hereafter liuing, By my excuse shall claime excuses giuing.

Here with a sigh as if her heart would breake, *Shee throwes forth TARQVINS name: he he, she saies, *But more then he, her poore tong could not speake, Till after manie accents and delaies, Vntimelie breathings, sicke and short assaies, Shee vtters this, he he faire Lords, tis he That guides this hand to giue this wound to me. Euen here she sheathed in her harmlesse breast *A harmfull knife, that thence her soule vnsheathed, That blow did baile it from the deepe vnrest Of that polluted prison, where it breathed: Her contrite sighes vnto the clouds bequeathed *Her winged sprite, & through her wou[n]ds doth flie Liues lasting date, from cancel'd destinie. Stone still, astonisht with this deadlie deed, Stood COLATINE, and all his Lordly crew, Till LVCRECE Father that beholds her bleed, Himselfe, on her selfe-#slaughtred bodie threw, And from the purple fountaine BRVTVS drew The murdrous knife, and as it left the place, Her blood in poore reuenge, held it in chase.

And bubling from her brest, it doth deuide In two slow riuers, that the crimson bloud Circles her bodie in on euerie side, Who like a late sack't Iland vastlie stood Bare and vnpeopled, in this fearfull flood. Some of her bloud still pure and red remain'd, *And som look'd black, & that false TARQVIN stain'd. About the mourning and congealed face Of that blacke bloud, a watrie rigoll goes, Which seemes to weep vpon the tainted place, And euer since as pittying LVCRECE woes, Corrupted bloud, some waterie token showes, And bloud vntainted, still doth red abide, Blushing at that which is so putrified. *Daughter, deare daughter, old LVCRETIVS cries, That life was mine which thou hast here depriued, If in the childe the fathers image lies, Where shall I liue now LVCRECE is vnliued? Thou wast not to this end from me deriued. If children praedecease progenitours, We are their ofspring and they none of ours.

Poor broken glasse, I often did behold In thy sweet semblance, my old age new borne, But now that faire fresh mirror dim and old *Shewes me a bare-#bon'd death by time out-#worne, O from thy cheekes my image thou hast torne, And shiuerd all the beautie of my glasse, That I no more can see what once I was. O time cease thou thy course and last no longer, If they surcease to be that should suruiue: Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, And leaue the foultring feeble soules aliue? The old Bees die, the young possesse their hiue, *Then liue sweet LVCRECE, liue againe and see Thy father die, and not thy father thee. By this starts COLATINE as from a dreame, And bids LVCRECIVS giue his sorrow place, *And then in key-#cold LVCRECE bleeding streame He fals, and bathes the pale feare in his face, And counterfaits to die with her #a space, Till manly shame bids him possesse his breath, And liue to be reuenged on her death.

The deepe vexation of his inward soule, Hath seru'd a dumbe arrest vpon his tongue, Who mad that sorrow should his vse controll, Or keepe him from heart-#easing words so long, Begins to talke but through his lips do throng *Weake words, so thick come in his poor harts aid, That no man could distinguish what he said. *Yet sometime TARQVIN was pronounced plaine, But through his teeth, as if the name he tore, This windie tempest, till it blow vp raine, Held backe his sorrowes tide, to make it more. At last it raines, and busie windes giue ore, Then sonne and father weep with equall strife, *Who shuld weep most for daughter or for wife. The one doth call her his, the other his, Yet neither may possesse the claime they lay. The father saies, shee's mine, o mine shee is Replies her husband, do not take away My sorrowes interest, let no mourner say He weepes for her, for shee was onely mine, And onelie must be wayl'd by COLATINE.

O, quoth LVCRETIVS, I did giue that life Which shee #to earely and too late hath spil'd. *Woe woe, quoth COLATINE, shee was my wife, I owed her, and tis mine that shee hath kil'd. My daughter and my wife with clamors fild The disperst aire, who holding LVCRECE life, Answer'd their cries, my daughter and my wife. *BRVTVS who pluck't the knife from LVCRECE side, Seeing such emulation in their woe, Began to cloath his wit in state and pride, Burying in LVCRECE wound his follies show, He with the Romains was esteemed so As seelie ieering idiots are with Kings, For sportiue words, and vttring foolish things. But now he throwes that shallow habit by, Wherein deepe pollicie did him disguise, And arm'd his long hid wits aduisedlie, To checke the teares in COLATINVS eies. Thou wronged Lord of Rome, quoth he, arise, Let my vnsounded selfe suppos'd a foole, Now set thy long experienc't wit to schoole.

Why COLATINE, is woe the cure for woe? *Do wounds helpe wounds, so griefe helpe greeuous |(deeds? Is it reuenge to giue thy selfe a blow, For his fowle Act, by whom the faire wife bleeds? Such childish humor from weake minds proceeds, Thy wretched wife mistooke the matter so, *To slaie her selfe that should haue slaine her Foe. Couragious Romaine, do not steepe thy hart In such relenting dew of Lamentations, But kneele with me and helpe to beare thy part, To rowse our Romaine Gods with inuocations, That they will suffer these abhominations *(Since Rome her self in the[m] doth stand disgraced,) *By our strong arms fro[m] forth her fair streets chaced. Now by the Capitoll that we adore, And by this chast bloud so vniustlie stained, *By heauens faire sun that breeds the fat earths store, By all our countrey rights in Rome maintained, *And by chast LVCRECE soule that late complained Her wrongs to vs, and by this bloudie knife, We will reuenge the death of this true wife.

This sayd, he strooke his hand vpon his breast, And kist the fatall knife to end his vow: And to his protestation vrg'd the rest, Who wondring at him, did his words allow. Then ioyntlie to the ground their knees they bow, *And that deepe vow which BRVTVS made before, He doth againe repeat, and that they swore. When they had sworne to this aduised doome, *They did conclude to beare dead LVCRECE thence, To shew her bleeding bodie thorough Roome, And so to publish TARQVINS fowle offence; Which being done, with speedie diligence, The Romaines plausibly did giue consent, To TARQVINS euerlasting banishment.

((Included in R. Chester's {Love's Martyr}, 1601)) Let the bird of lowdest lay, On the sole {Arabian} tree, Herauld sad and trumpet be: To whose sound chaste wings obay. But thou shriking harbinger, Foule precurrer of the fiend, Augour of the feuers end, To this troupe come thou not neere. From this Session interdict Euery foule of tyrant wing, Saue the Eagle feath'red King, Keepe the obsequie so strict. Let the Priest in Surples white, That defunctiue Musicke can, Be the death-#deuining Swan, Lest the {Requiem} lacke his right. And thou treble dated Crow, That thy sable gender mak'st, With the breath thou giu'st and tak'st, Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. Here the Antheme doth commence, Loue and Constancie is dead, {Phoenix} and the {Turtle} fled, In a mutuall flame from hence. So they loued as loue in twaine, Had the essence but in one,

Two distincts, Diuision none, Number there in loue was slaine. Hearts remote, yet not asunder; Distance and no space was seene, Twixt this {Turtle} and his Queene; But in them it were a wonder. So betweene them Loue did shine, That the {Turtle} saw his right, Flaming in the {Phoenix} sight; Either was the others #mine. Propertie was thus appalled, That the selfe was not the same: Single Natures double name, Neither two nor one was called. Reason in it selfe confounded, Saw Diuision grow together, To themselues yet either neither, Simple were so well compounded. That it cried, how true a twaine, Seemeth this concordant one, Loue hath Reason, Reason none, If what parts, can so remaine. Whereupon it made this {Threne}, To the {Phoenix} and the {Doue}, Co-#supremes and starres of Loue, As {Chorus} to their Tragique Scene.

{Threnos}. Beautie, Truth, and Raritie, Grace in all simplicitie, Here enclosde, in cinders lie. Death is now the {Phoenix} nest, And the {Turtles} loyall brest, To eternitie doth rest. Leauing no posteritie, Twas not their infirmitie, It was married Chastitie. Truth may seeme, but cannot be, Beautie bragge, but tis not she, Truth and Beautie buried be. To this vrne let those repaire, That are either true or faire, For these dead Birds, sigh a prayer. {William Shake-#speare}. *TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE Henrie Wriothesley, Earle of Southampton, and Baron of Titchfield. *{Right Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in} *{dedicating my vnpolisht lines to your Lordship, nor} *{how the worlde will censure mee for choosing so} *{strong a proppe to support so weake a burthen}, *{onelye if your Honour seeme but pleased, I ac-count} *{my selfe highly praised, and vowe to take aduantage of all} *{idle houres, till I haue honoured you with some grauer labour. But} *{if the first heire of my inuention proue deformed, I shall be sorie it} *{had so noble a god-#father: and neuer after eare so barren a land}, *{for feare it yeeld me still so bad a haruest, I leaue it to your Honou-rable} *{suruey, and your Honor to your hearts content, which I wish} *{may alwaies answere your owne wish, and the worlds hope-full} {expectation}. Your Honors in all dutie, William Shakespeare.

Even as the sunne with purple-#colourd face, Had tane his last leaue of the weeping morne, Rose-#cheekt Adonis hied him to the chace, Hunting he lou'd, but loue he laught to scorne: *Sick-#thoughted Venus makes amaine vnto him, And like a bold fac'd suter ginnes to woo him. Thrise fairer then my selfe, (thus she began) The fields chiefe flower, sweet aboue compare, Staine to all Nimphs, more louely then a man, More white, and red, then doues, or roses are: Nature that made thee with her selfe at strife, Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. Vouchsafe thou wonder to alight thy steed, And raine his proud head to the saddle bow, If thou wilt daine this fauor, for thy meed A thousand honie secrets shalt thou know: Here come and sit, where neuer serpent hisses, And being set, Ile smother thee with kisses.

And yet not cloy thy lips with loth'd sacietie, But rather famish them amid their plentie, Making them red, and pale, with fresh varietie: Ten kisses short as one, one long as twentie: A sommers day will seeme an houre but short, Being wasted in such time-#beguiling sport. With this she ceazeth on his sweating palme, The president of pith, and liuelyhood, And trembling in her passion, calls it balme, Earths soueraigne salue, to do a goddesse good, Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force, Couragiously to plucke him from his horse. Ouer one arme the lustie coursers raine, Vnder her other was the tender boy, Who blusht, and powted in a dull disdaine, With leaden appetite, vnapt to toy, She red, and hot, as coles of glowing fier, He red for shame, but frostie in desier. The studded bridle on a ragged bough, Nimbly she fastens, (o how quicke is loue) The steed is stalled vp, and euen now, To tie the rider she begins to proue: Backward she pusht him, as she would be thrust, And gouernd him in strength though not in lust.

So soone was she along, as he was downe, Each leaning on their elbowes and their hips: *Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, And gins to chide, but soone she stops his lips, *And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall neuer open. He burnes with bashfull shame, she with her teares Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheekes, Then with her windie sighes, and golden heares, To fan, and blow them drie againe she seekes. He saith, she is immodest, blames her misse, *What followes more, she murthers with a kisse. Euen as an emptie Eagle sharpe by fast, Tires with her beake on feathers, flesh, and bone, Shaking her wings, deuouring all in #hast, Till either gorge be stuft, or pray be gone: Euen so she kist his brow, his cheeke, his chin, And where she ends, she doth anew begin. Forst to content, but neuer to obey, Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face. She feedeth on the steame, as on a pray, And calls it heauenly moisture, aire of grace, *Wishing her cheeks were gardens ful of flowers, *So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

Looke how a bird lyes tangled in a net, So fastned in her armes Adonis lyes, Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret, Which bred more beautie in his angrie eyes: Raine added to a riuer that is ranke, Perforce will force it ouerflow the banke. Still she intreats, and prettily intreats, For to a prettie eare she tunes her tale. Still is he sullein, still he lowres and frets, Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashie pale, Being red she loues him best, and being white, Her best is betterd with a more delight. Looke how he can, she cannot chuse but loue, And by her faire immortall hand she sweares, From his soft bosome neuer to remoue, Till he take truce with her contending teares, *Which lo[n]g haue raind, making her cheeks al wet, *And one sweet kisse shal pay this comptlesse debt. Vpon this promise did he raise his chin, Like a diuedapper peering through a waue, Who being lookt on, ducks as quickly in: So offers he to giue what she did craue, But when her lips were readie for his pay, He winks, and turnes his lips another way.

Neuer did passenger in sommers heat, More thirst for drinke, then she for this good turne, Her helpe she sees, but helpe she cannot get, She bathes in water, yet her fire must burne: Oh pitie gan she crie, flint-#hearted boy, Tis but a kisse I begge, why art thou coy? I haue bene wooed as I intreat thee now, Euen by the sterne, and direfull god of warre, Whose sinowie necke in battell nere did bow, Who conquers where he comes in euerie iarre, Yet hath he bene my captiue, and my slaue, *And begd for that which thou vnaskt shalt haue. Ouer my Altars hath he hong his launce, His battred shield, his vncontrolled crest, And for my sake hath learnd to sport, and daunce, To toy, to wanton, dallie, smile, and iest, Scorning his churlish drumme, and ensigne red, Making my armes his field, his tent my bed. Thus he that ouer-#ruld, I ouer-#swayed, Leading him prisoner in a red rose chaine, *Strong-#temperd steele his stronger strength obayed. Yet was he seruile to my coy disdaine, Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy #might, For maistring her that foyld the god of fight.

Touch but my lips with those faire lips of thine, Though mine be not so faire, yet are they red, The kisse shalbe thine owne as well as mine, What seest thou in the ground? hold vp thy head, Looke in mine ey-#bals, there thy beautie lyes, Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? Art thou asham'd to kisse? then winke againe, And I will winke, so shall the day seeme night. Loue keepes his reuels where there are but twaine: Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight, These blew-#veind violets whereon we leane, Neuer can blab, nor know not what we meane. The tender spring vpon thy tempting lip, Shewes thee vnripe; yet maist thou well be tasted, Make vse of time, let not aduantage slip, Beautie within it selfe should not be wasted, *Faire flowers that are not gathred in their prime, Rot, and consume them selues in litle time. Were I hard-#fauourd, foule, or wrinckled old, Il-#nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, Ore-#worne, despised, reumatique, and cold, Thick-#sighted, barren, leane, and lacking iuyce; *The[n] mightst thou pause, for the[n] I were not for thee, But hauing no defects, why doest abhor me?

Thou canst not see one wrinckle in my brow, *Mine eyes are grey, and bright, & quicke in turning: My beautie as the spring doth yearelie grow, My flesh is soft, and plumpe, my marrow burning, *My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, Would in thy palme dissolue, or seeme to melt. Bid me discourse, I will inchaunt thine eare, Or like a Fairie, trip vpon the greene, Or like a Nimph, with long disheueled heare, Daunce on the sands, and yet no footing seene. Loue is a spirit all compact of fire, Not grosse to sinke, but light, and will aspire. Witnesse this Primrose banke whereon I lie, *These forcelesse flowers like sturdy trees support me: *Two stre[n]gthles doues will draw me through the skie, *From morne till night, euen where I list to sport me. Is loue so light sweet boy, and may it be, That thou should thinke it heauie vnto thee? Is thine owne heart to thine owne face affected? Can thy right hand ceaze loue vpon thy left? Then woo thy selfe, be of thy selfe reiected: *Steale thine own freedome, and complaine on theft. Narcissus so him selfe him selfe forsooke, And died to kisse his shadow in the brooke.

Torches are made to light, iewels to weare, Dainties to tast, fresh beautie for the vse, Herbes for their smell, and sappie plants to beare. Things growing to them selues, are growths abuse, *Seeds spring fro[m] seeds, & beauty breedeth beauty, Thou wast begot, to get it is thy duty. Vpon the earths increase why shouldst thou feed, Vnlesse the earth with thy increase be fed? By law of nature thou art bound to breed, That thine may liue, when thou thy selfe art dead: And so in spite of death thou doest suruiue, In that thy likenesse still is left aliue. By this the loue-#sicke Queene began to sweate, For where they lay the shadow had forsooke them, And Titan tired in the midday heate, With burning eye did hotly ouer-#looke them, Wishing Adonis had his teame to guide, So he were like him, and by Venus side. And now Adonis with a lazie sprite, And with a heauie, darke, disliking eye, His lowring browes ore-#whelming his faire sight, Like mistie vapors when they blot the skie, *So wring his cheekes, cries, fie, no more of loue, The sunne doth burne my face I must remoue.

Ay, me, (quoth Venus) young, and so vnkinde, What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gon? Ile sigh celestiall breath, whose gentle winde, Shall coole the heate of this descending sun: Ile make a shadow for thee of my heares, *If they burn too, Ile quench them with my teares. *The sun that shines from heauen, shines but warme, And lo I lye betweene that sunne, and thee: The heate I haue from thence doth litle harme, Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me, And were I not immortall, life were done, Betweene this heauenly, and earthly sunne. Art thou obdurate, flintie, hard as steele? Nay more then flint, for stone at raine relenteth: Art thou a womans sonne and canst not feele What tis to loue, how want of loue tormenteth? O had thy mother borne so hard a minde, *She had not brought forth thee, but died vnkind. What am I that thou shouldst contemne me this? Or what great danger, dwels vpon my sute? What were thy lips the worse for one poore kis? *Speake faire, but speake faire words, or else be mute: Giue me one kisse, Ile giue it thee againe, And one for intrest, if thou wilt haue twaine.

Fie, liuelesse picture, cold, and sencelesse stone, Well painted idoll, image dull, and dead, Statue contenting but the eye alone, Thing like a man, but of no woman bred: *Thou art no man, though of a mans complexion, *For men will kisse euen by their owne direction. This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, And swelling passion doth prouoke a pause, Red cheeks, and fierie eyes blaze forth her wrong: Being Iudge in loue, she cannot right her cause. *And now she weeps, & now she faine would speake And now her sobs do her intendments breake. Sometime she shakes her head, and then his hand, Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground; Sometime her armes infold him like a band, She would, he will not in her armes be bound: And when from thence he struggles to be gone, She locks her lillie fingers one in one. Fondling, she saith, since I haue hemd thee here Within the circuit of this iuorie pale, Ile be a parke, and thou shalt be my #deare: Feed where thou wilt, on mountaine, or in dale; Graze on my lips, and if those hils be drie, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountaines lie.

Within this limit is reliefe inough, Sweet bottome grasse, and high delightfull plaine, Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure, and rough, To shelter thee from tempest, and from raine: Then be my #deare, since I am such a parke, No dog shal rowze thee, though a thousand bark. At this Adonis smiles as in disdaine, That in ech cheeke appeares a prettie dimple; Loue made those hollowes, if him selfe were slaine, He might be buried in a tombe so simple, Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie, *Why there loue liu'd, & there he could not die. These louely caues, these round inchanting pits, Opend their mouthes to swallow Venus liking: Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? Strucke dead at first, what needs a second striking? *Poore Queene of loue, in thine own law forlorne, To loue a cheeke that smiles at thee in scorne. Now which way shall she turne? what shall she say? Her words are done, her woes the more increasing, The time is spent, her obiect will away, And from her twining armes doth vrge releasing: Pitie she cries, some fauour, some remorse, Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.

But lo from forth a copp's that neighbors by, A breeding Iennet, lustie, young, and proud, Adonis trampling Courser doth espy: And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud. The strong-#neckt steed being tied vnto a tree, Breaketh his raine, and to her straight goes hee. Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, And now his wouen girthes he breaks asunder, The bearing earth with his hard hoofe he wounds, *Whose hollow wombe resounds like heauens thun-|(der, The yron bit he crusheth tweene his teeth, Controlling what he was controlled with. His eares vp prickt, his braided hanging mane Vpon his compast crest now stand on end, His nostrils drinke the aire, and forth againe As from a fornace, vapors doth he send: His eye which scornfully glisters like fire, Shewes his hote courage, and his high desire. Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps, With gentle maiestie, and modest pride, Anon he reres vpright, curuets, and leaps, As who should say, lo thus my strength is tride. And this I do, to captiuate the eye, Of the faire breeder that is standing by.

What recketh he his riders angrie sturre, His flattering holla, or his stand, I say, What cares he now, for curbe, or pricking spurre, For rich caparisons, or trappings gay: He sees his loue, and nothing else he sees, For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. Looke when a Painter would surpasse the life, In limming out a well proportioned steed, His #Art with Natures workmanship at strife, As if the dead the liuing should exceed: So did this Horse excell a common one, In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone. *Round hooft, short ioynted, fetlocks shag, and long, *Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostrill wide, *High crest, short eares, straight legs, & passing stro[n]g, *Thin mane, thicke taile, broad buttock, tender hide: *Looke what a Horse should haue, he did not lack, Saue a proud rider on so proud a back. Sometime he scuds farre off, and there he stares, Anon he starts, at sturring of a feather: To bid the wind #a base he now prepares, *And #where he runne, or flie, they know not whether: *For through his mane, & taile, the high wind sings, *Fanning the haires, who waue like feathred wings.

He lookes vpon his loue, and neighes vnto her, She answers him, as if she knew his minde, Being proud as females are, to see him woo her, *She puts on outward strangenesse, seemes vnkinde: *Spurnes at his loue, and scorns the heat he feeles, Beating his kind imbracements with her heeles. Then like a melancholy malcontent, He vailes his taile that like a falling plume, Coole shadow to his melting buttocke lent, He stamps, and bites the poore flies in his fume: His loue perceiuing how he was inrag'd, Grew kinder, and his furie was asswag'd. His testie maister goeth about to take him, When lo the vnbackt breeder full of feare, Iealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, With her the Horse, and left Adonis there: As they were mad vnto the wood they hie them, *Outstripping crowes, that striue to ouerfly them. All swolne with chafing, downe Adonis sits, Banning his boystrous, and vnruly beast; And now the happie season once more fits That louesicke loue, by pleading may be blest: For louers say, the heart hath treble wrong, When it is bard the aydance of the tongue.

An Ouen that is stopt, or riuer stayd, Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: So of concealed sorow may be sayd, Free vent of words loues fier doth asswage, But when the hearts atturney once is mute, The client breakes, as desperat in his sute. He sees her comming, and begins to glow: Euen as a dying coale reuiues with winde, And with his bonnet hides his angrie brow, Lookes on the dull earth with disturbed minde: Taking no notice that she is so nye, For all askance he holds her in his eye. O what a sight it was wistly to view, How she came stealing to the wayward boy, To note the fighting conflict of her hew, How white and red, ech other did destroy: But now her cheeke was pale, and #by and by It flasht forth fire, as lightning from the skie. Now was she iust before him as he sat, And like a lowly louer downe she kneeles, With one faire hand she heaueth vp his hat, Her other tender hand his faire cheeke feeles: *His tendrer cheeke, receiues her soft hands print, As apt, as new falne snow takes any dint.

Oh what a war of lookes was then betweene them, Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, His eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seene them, *Her eyes wooed still, his eyes disdaind the wooing: And all this dumbe play had his acts made plain, *With tears which Chorus-#like her eyes did rain. Full gently now she takes him by the hand, A lillie prisond in a gaile of snow, Or Iuorie in an allablaster band, So white a friend, ingirts so white a fo: This beautious combat wilfull, and vnwilling, Showed like two siluer doues that sit #a billing. Once more the engin of her thoughts began, O fairest mouer on this mortall round, Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound, *For one sweet looke thy helpe I would assure thee, *Thogh nothing but my bodies bane wold cure thee *Giue me my hand (saith he,) why dost thou feele it? *Giue me my heart (saith she,) and thou shalt haue it. O giue it me lest thy hard heart do steele it, And being steeld, soft sighes can neuer graue it. Then loues deepe grones, I neuer shall regard, Because Adonis heart hath made mine hard.

For shame he cries, let go, and let me go, My dayes delight is past, my horse is gone, And tis your fault I am bereft him so, I pray you hence, and leaue me here alone, For all my mind, my thought, my busie care, Is how to get my palfrey from the mare. Thus she replies, thy palfrey as he should, Welcomes the warme approch of sweet desire, Affection is a coale that must be coold, Else sufferd it will set the heart on fire, *The sea hath bounds, but deepe desire hath none, Therfore no maruell though thy horse be gone. How like a iade he stood tied to the tree, Seruilly maisterd with a leatherne raine, But when he saw his loue, his youths faire fee, He held such pettie bondage in disdaine: *Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, Enfranchising his mouth, his backe, his brest. Who sees his true-#loue in her naked bed, Teaching the sheets a whiter hew then white, But when his glutton eye so full hath fed, His other agents ayme at like delight? Who is so faint that dares not be so bold, To touch the fier the weather being cold?

Let me excuse thy courser gentle boy, And learne of him I heartily beseech thee, To take aduantage on presented ioy, *Though I were du[m]be, yet his proceedings teach thee O learne to loue, the lesson is but plaine, And once made perfect, neuer lost againe. I know not loue (quoth he) nor will not know it, Vnlesse it be a Boare, and then I chase it, Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it, My loue to loue, is loue, but to disgrace it, For I haue heard, it is a life in death, *That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath. Who weares a garment shapelesse and vnfinisht? Who plucks the bud before one leafe put forth? If springing things be anie iot diminisht, They wither in their prime, proue nothing worth, The colt that's backt and burthend being yong, Loseth his pride, and neuer waxeth strong. You hurt my hand with wringing, let vs part, And leaue this idle theame, this bootlesse chat, Remoue your siege from my vnyeelding hart, To loues allarmes it will not ope the gate, *Dismisse your vows, your fained tears, your flattry, For where a heart is hard they make no battry.

*What canst thou talke (quoth she) hast thou a tong? O would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing, *Thy marmaides voice hath done me double wrong, I had my lode before, now prest with bearing, *Mellodious discord, heauenly tune harsh sounding, *Eares deep sweet musik, & harts deep sore wou[n]ding Had I no eyes but eares, my eares would loue, That inward beautie and inuisible, Or were I deafe, thy outward parts would moue Ech part in me, that were but sensible, *Though neither eyes, nor eares, to heare nor see, Yet should I be in loue, by touching thee. Say that the sence of feeling were bereft me, And that I could not see, nor heare, nor touch, And nothing but the verie smell were left me, Yet would my loue to thee be still as much, *For fro[m] the stillitorie of thy face excelling, *Coms breath perfumd, that breedeth loue by smel-|(ling. But oh what banquet wert thou to the tast, Being nourse, and feeder of the other foure, Would they not wish the feast might euer last, And bid suspition double locke the dore; Lest iealousie that sower vnwelcome guest, Should by his stealing in disturbe the feast?

Once more the rubi-#colourd portall opend, Which to his speech did honie passage yeeld, Like a red morne that euer yet betokend, Wracke to the sea-#man, tempest to the field: Sorrow to shepherds, wo vnto the birds, *Gusts, and foule flawes, to heardmen, & to herds. This #ill presage aduisedly she marketh, Euen as the wind is husht before it raineth: Or as the wolfe doth grin before he barketh: Or as the berrie breakes before it staineth: Or like the deadly bullet of a gun: His meaning strucke her ere his words begun. And at his looke she flatly falleth downe, For lookes kill loue, and loue by lookes reuiueth, A smile recures the wounding of a frowne, But blessed bankrout that by loue so thriueth. The sillie boy beleeuing she is dead, *Claps her pale cheeke, till clapping makes it red. And all amaz'd, brake off his late intent, For sharply he did thinke to reprehend her, Which cunning loue did wittily preuent, Faire-#fall the wit that can so well defend her: For on the grasse she lyes as she were slaine, Till his breath breatheth life in her againe.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheekes, He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, He chafes her lips, a thousand wayes he seekes, To mend the hurt, that his vnkindnesse mard, He kisses her, and she by her good #will, Will neuer rise, so he will kisse her still. The night of sorrow now is turnd to day, Her two blew windowes faintly she vpheaueth, Like the faire sunne when in his fresh array, He cheeres the morne, and all the earth releeueth: And as the bright sunne glorifies the skie: So is her face illumind with her eye. Whose beames vpon his hairelesse face are fixt, As if from thence they borrowed all their shine, Were neuer foure such lamps, together mixt, Had not his clouded with his browes repine. *But hers, which through the cristal tears gaue light, Shone like the Moone in water seene by night. O where am I (quoth she,) in earth or heauen, Or in the Ocean drencht, or in the fire: What houre is this, or morne, or wearie euen, Do I delight to die or life desire? But now I liu'd, and life was deaths annoy, But now I dy'de, and death was liuely ioy.

O thou didst kill me, kill me once againe, Thy eyes shrowd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Hath taught them scornfull tricks, & such disdaine, That they haue murdred this poore heart of mine, *And these mine eyes true leaders to their queene, But for thy piteous lips no more had seene. Long may they kisse ech other for this cure, Oh neuer let their crimson liueries weare, And as they last, their verdour still endure, To driue infection from the dangerous yeare: That the star-#gazers hauing writ on death, May say, the plague is banisht by thy breath. Pure lips, sweet seales in my soft lips imprinted, What bargaines may I make still to be sealing? To sell my selfe I can be well contented, So thou wilt buy, and pay, and vse good dealing, Which purchase if thou make, for feare of slips, Set thy seale manuell, on my wax-#red lips. A thousand kisses buyes my heart from me, And pay them at thy leisure, one by one, What is ten hundred touches vnto thee, Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone? *Say for non paime[n]t, that the debt should double, Is twentie hundred kisses such a trouble?

Faire Queene (quoth he) if anie loue you owe me, Measure my strangenesse with my vnripe yeares, Before I know my selfe, seeke not to know me, No fisher but the vngrowne frie forbeares, *The mellow plum doth fall, the greene sticks fast, Or being early pluckt, is sower to tast. Looke the worlds comforter with wearie gate, His dayes hot taske hath ended in the west, The owle (nights herald) shreeks, tis verie late, The sheepe are gone to fold, birds to their nest, *And cole-#black clouds, that shadow heauens light, Do summon vs to part, and bid good night. Now let me say goodnight, and so say you, If you will say so, you shall haue a kis; Goodnight (quoth she) and ere he sayes adue, The honie fee of parting tendred is, Her armes do lend his necke a sweet imbrace, *Incorporate then they seeme, face growes to face. Till breathlesse he disioynd, and backward drew, The heauenly moisture that sweet corall mouth, Whose precious tast, her thirstie lips well knew, Whereon they surfet, yet complaine on drouth, He with her plentie prest, she faint with dearth, Their lips together glewed, fall to the earth.

Now quicke desire hath caught the yeelding pray, And gluttonlike she feeds, yet neuer filleth, Her lips are conquerers, his lips obay, Paying what ransome the insulter willeth: *Whose vultur thought doth pitch the price so hie, That she will draw his lips rich treasure drie. And hauing felt the sweetnesse of the spoile, With blind fold furie she begins to forrage, *Her face doth reeke, & smoke, her blood doth boile, And carelesse lust stirs vp a desperat courage, Planting obliuion, beating reason backe, *Forgetting shames pure blush, & honors wracke. Hot, faint, and wearie, with her hard imbracing, *Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much ha[n]dling, Or as the fleet-#foot Roe that'#s tyr'd with chasing, Or like the froward infant stild with dandling: He now obayes, and now no more resisteth, While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. What waxe so frozen but dissolues with tempring, And yeelds at last to euerie light impression? Things out of hope, are compast oft with ventring, Chiefly in loue, whose leaue exceeds commission: Affection faints not like a pale-#fac'd coward, *But the[m] woes best, whe[n] most his choice is froward.

When he did frowne, o had she then gaue ouer, Such nectar from his lips she had not suckt, Foule wordes, and frownes, must not repell a louer, *What though the rose haue prickles, yet tis pluckt? Were beautie vnder twentie locks kept fast, Yet loue breaks through, & picks them all at last. For pittie now she can no more detaine him, The poore foole praies her that he may depart, She is resolu'd no longer to restraine him, Bids him farewell, and looke well to her hart, The which by Cupids bow she doth protest, He carries thence incaged in his brest. Sweet boy she saies, this night ile #wast in sorrow, For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch, Tell me loues maister, shall we meete to morrow, Say, shall we, shall we, wil thou make the match? He tell's her no, to morrow he intends, To hunt the boare with certaine of his frends. The boare (quoth she) whereat a suddain pale, Like lawne being spred vpon the blushing rose, Vsurpes her cheeke, she trembles at his tale, And on his neck her yoaking armes she throwes. She sincketh downe, still hanging by his necke, He on her belly fall's, she on her backe.

Now is she in the verie lists of loue, Her champion mounted for the hot incounter, All is imaginarie she doth proue, He will not mannage her, although he mount her, That worse then Tantalus is her annoy, To clip Elizium, and to lacke her ioy. Euen so poore birds deceiu'd with painted grapes, Do surfet by the eye, and pine the maw: Euen so she languisheth in her mishaps, As those poore birds that helplesse berries saw, *The warme effects which she in him finds missing, She seekes to kindle with continuall kissing. But all in vaine, good Queene, it will not bee, She hath assai'd as much as may be prou'd, Her pleading hath deseru'd a greater fee, She's loue; she loues, and yet she is not lou'd, Fie, fie, he saies, you crush me, let me go, You haue no reason to withhold me so. Thou hadst bin gone (quoth she) sweet boy ere this, *But that thou toldst me, thou woldst hunt the boare, Oh be aduisd, thou know'st not what it is, With iauelings point a churlish swine to goare, Whose tushes neuer sheathd, he whetteth still, Like to a mortall butcher bent to kill.

On his bow-#backe, he hath a battell set, Of brisly pikes that euer threat his foes, *His eyes like glow-#wormes shine, when he doth fret His snout digs sepulchers where ere he goes, Being mou'd he strikes, what ere is in his way, And whom he strikes, his crooked tushes slay. His brawnie sides with hairie bristles armed, Are better proofe then thy speares point can enter, His short thick necke cannot be easily harmed, Being irefull, on the lyon he will venter, The thornie brambles, and imbracing bushes, *As fearefull of him part, through whom he rushes. Alas, he naught esteem's that face of thine, To which loues eyes paies tributarie gazes, Nor thy soft handes, sweet lips, and christall eine, Whose full perfection all the world amazes, But hauing thee at vantage (wondrous dread) *Wold roote these beauties, as he root's the mead. Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, Beautie hath naught to do with such foule fiends, Come not within his danger by thy #will, They that thriue well, take counsell of their friends, *When thou didst name the boare, not to disse[m]ble, I feard thy fortune, and my ioynts did tremble.

Didst thou not marke my face, was it not white? Sawest thou not signes of feare lurke in mine eye? Grew I not faint, and fell I not downe right? Within my bosome whereon thou doest lye, *My boding heart, pants, beats, and takes no rest, But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my brest. For where loue raignes, disturbing iealousie, Doth call him selfe affections centinell, Giues false alarmes, suggesteth mutinie, And in a peacefull houre doth crie, kill, kill, Distempring gentle loue in his desire, As aire, and water do abate the fire. This sower informer, this bate-#breeding spie, This canker that eates vp loues tender spring, This carry-#tale, dissentious iealousie, *That somtime true newes, somtime false doth bring, Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine eare, That if I loue thee, I thy death should feare. And more then so, presenteth to mine eye, The picture of an angrie chafing boare, Vnder whose sharpe fangs, on his backe doth lye, An image like thy selfe, all staynd with goare, *Whose blood vpon the fresh flowers being shed, *Doth make the[m] droop with grief, & hang the hed.

What should I do, seeing thee so indeed? That tremble at th'#imagination, The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, And feare doth teach it diuination; I prophecie thy death, my liuing sorrow, If thou incounter with the boare to morrow. But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul'd by me, Vncouple at the timerous flying hare, Or at the foxe which liues by subtiltie, Or at the Roe which no incounter dare: Pursue these fearfull creatures o're the downes, *And on thy wel breathd horse keep with thy hou[n]ds And when thou hast on foote the purblind hare, Marke the poore wretch to ouer-#shut his troubles, How he outruns the wind, and with what care, He crankes and crosses with a thousand doubles, The many musits through the which he goes, Are like a laberinth to amaze his foes. Sometime he runnes among a flocke of sheepe, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometime where earth-#deluing Conies keepe, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell: And sometime sorteth with a heard of #deare, Danger deuiseth shifts, wit waites on feare.

For there his smell with others being mingled, The hot sent-#snuffing hounds are driuen to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry, till they haue singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out, *Then do they spend their mouth's, eccho replies, As if an other chase were in the skies. By this poore wat farre off vpon a hill, Stands on his hinder-#legs with listning eare, To hearken if his foes pursue him still, Anon their loud alarums he doth heare, And now his griefe may be compared well, To one sore sicke, that heares the passing bell. Then shalt thou see the deaw-#bedabbled wretch, Turne, and returne, indenting with the way, Ech enuious brier, his wearie legs do scratch, Ech shadow makes him stop, ech murmour stay, For miserie is troden on by manie, And being low, neuer releeu'd by anie. Lye quietly, and heare a litle more, Nay do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise, To make thee hate the hunting of the bore, Vnlike my selfe thou hear'st me moralize, Applying this to that, and so to so, For loue can comment vpon euerie wo.

Where did I leaue? no matter where (quoth he) Leaue me, and then the storie aptly ends, The night is spent; why what of that (quoth she?) And now tis darke, and going I shall fall. In night (quoth she) desire sees best of all. But if thou fall, oh then imagine this, The earth in loue with thee, thy footing trips, And all is but to rob thee of a kis, Rich prayes make true-#men theeues: so do thy lips Make modest Dyan, cloudie and forlorne, Lest she should steale a kisse and die forsworne. Now of this darke night I perceiue the reason, Cinthia for shame, obscures her siluer shine, Till forging nature, be condemn'd of treason, *For stealing moulds from heauen, that were diuine, *Wherin she fram'd thee, in hie heauens despight, To shame the sunne by day, and her by night. And therefore hath she brib'd the destinies, To crosse the curious workmanship of nature, To mingle beautie with infirmities, And pure perfection with impure defeature, Making it subiect to the tyrannie, Of mad mischances, and much miserie.

As burning feauers, agues pale, and faint, Life-#poysoning pestilence, and frendzies wood, The marrow-#eating sicknesse whose attaint, Disorder breeds by heating of the blood, *Surfets, impostumes, griefe, and damnd dispaire, Sweare natures death, for framing thee so faire. And not the least of all these maladies, But in one minutes fight brings beautie vnder, Both fauor, sauour, hew, and qualities, Whereat the th#'impartiall gazer late did wonder, Are on the sudden wasted, thawed, and donne, *As mountain snow melts with the midday sonne. Therefore despight of fruitlesse chastitie, Loue-#lacking vestals, and selfe-#louing Nuns, That on the earth would breed a scarcitie, And barraine dearth of daughters, and of suns; Be prodigall, the lampe that burnes by night, Dries vp his oyle, to lend the world his light. What is thy bodie but a swallowing graue, Seeming to burie that posteritie, *Which by the rights of time thou needs must haue, If thou destroy them not in darke obscuritie? If so the world will hold thee in disdaine, Sith in thy pride, so faire a hope is slaine.

So in thy selfe, thy selfe art made away, A mischiefe worse then ciuill home-#bred strife, *Or theirs whose desperat hands them selues do slay, Or butcher sire, that reaues his sonne of life: Foule cankring rust, the hidden treasure frets, But gold that's put to vse more gold begets. Nay then (quoth Adon) you will fall againe, Into your idle ouer-#handled theame, The kisse I gaue you is bestow'd in vaine, And all in vaine you striue against the streame, *For by this black-#fac't night, desires foule nourse, Your treatise makes me like you, worse & worse. If loue haue lent you twentie thousand tongues, And euerie tongue more mouing then your owne, Bewitching like the wanton Marmaids songs, Yet from mine eare the tempting tune is blowne, For know my heart stands armed in mine eare, And will not let a false sound enter there. Left the deceiuing harmonie should ronne, Into the quiet closure of my brest, And then my litle heart were quite vndone, In his bed-#chamber to be bard of rest, No ladie no, my heart longs not to grone, But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

What haue you vrg'd, that I can not reproue? The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger, I hate not loue, but your deuise in loue, That lends imbracements vnto euery stranger, You do it for increase, o straunge excuse When reason is the bawd to lusts abuse. Call it not loue, for loue to heauen is fled, Since sweating lust on earth vsurpt his name, Vnder whose simple semblance he hath fed, Vpon fresh beautie, blotting it with blame; *Which the hot tyrant staines, & soone bereaues: As Caterpillers do the tender leaues. Loue comforteth like sun-#shine after raine, But lusts effect is tempest after sunne, Loues gentle spring doth alwayes fresh remaine, Lusts winter comes, ere sommer halfe be donne: Loue surfets not, lust like a glutton dies: Loue is all truth, lust full of forged lies. More I could tell, but more I dare not say, The text is old, the Orator too greene, Therefore in sadnesse, now I will away, My face is full of shame, my heart of teene, Mine eares that to your wanton talke attended, Do burne them selues, for hauing so offended.

With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace, Of those faire armes which bound him to her brest, And homeward through the dark lawnd runs apace, Leaues loue vpon her backe, deeply distrest, *Looke how a bright star shooteth from the skye; So glides he in the night from Venus eye. Which after him she dartes, as one on shore Gazing vpon a late embarked friend, Till the wilde waues will haue him seene no more, Whose ridges with the meeting cloudes contend: So did the mercilesse, and pitchie night, Fold in the obiect that did feed her sight. Whereat amas'd as one that vnaware, Hath dropt a precious iewell in the flood, Or stonisht, as night wandrers often are, Their light blowne out in some mistrustfull wood; Euen so confounded in the darke she lay, Hauing lost the faire discouerie of her way. And now she beates her heart, whereat it grones, *That all the neighbour caues as seeming troubled, Make verball repetition of her mones, Passion on passion, deeply is redoubled, Ay me, she cries, and twentie times, wo, wo, And twentie ecchoes, twentie times crie so,

She marking them, begins a wailing note, And sings extemporally a wofull dittie, *How loue makes yong-#men thrall, & old men dote, How loue is wise in follie, foolish wittie: Her heauie antheme still concludes in wo, And still the quier of ecchoes answer so. Her song was tedious, and out-#wore the night, For louers houres are long, though seeming short, If pleasd themselues, others they thinke delight, In such like circumstance, with such like sport: Their copious stories oftentimes begunne, End without audience, and are neuer donne. For who hath she to spend the night withall, But idle sounds resembling parasits? Like shrill-#tongu'd Tapsters answering euerie call, Soothing the humor of fantastique wits, She sayes tis so, they answer all tis so, And would say after her, if she said no. Lo here the gentle larke wearie of rest, From his moyst cabinet mounts vp on hie, And wakes the morning, from whose siluer brest, The sunne ariseth in his maiestie, Who doth the world so gloriously behold, *That Ceader tops and hils, seeme burnisht gold.

Venus salutes him with this faire good morrow, Oh thou cleare god, and patron of all light, *From whom ech lamp, and shining star doth borrow, The beautious influence that makes him bright, *There liues a sonne that suckt an earthly mother, May lend thee light, as thou doest lend to other. This sayd, she hasteth to a mirtle groue, Musing the morning is so much ore-#worne, And yet she heares no tidings of her loue, She harkens for his hounds, and for his home, Anon she heares them chaunt it lustily, And all in #hast she coasteth to the cry. And as she runnes, the bushes in the way, Some catch her by the necke, some kisse her face, Some twin'd about her thigh to make her stay, She wildly breaketh from their strict imbrace, Like a milch #Doe, whose swelling dugs do ake, Hasting to feed her fawne, hid in some brake, By this she heares the hounds are at a bay, Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder, Wreath'd vp in fatall folds iust in his way, *The feare where of doth make him shake, & shudder, Euen so the timerous yelping of the hounds, Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.

For now she knowes it is no gentle chase, But the blunt boare, rough beare, or lyon proud, Because the crie remaineth in one place, Where fearefully the dogs exclaime aloud, Finding their enemie to be so curst, They all straine curt'sie who shall cope him first. This dismall crie rings sadly in her eare, Through which it enters to surprise her hart, Who ouercome by doubt, and bloodlesse feare, *With cold-#pale weakenesse, nums ech feeling part, *Like soldiers when their captain once doth yeeld, They basely flie, and dare not stay the field. Thus stands she in a trembling extasie, Till cheering vp her senses all dismayd, She tels them tis a causlesse fantasie, And childish error that they are affrayd, *Bids the[m] leaue quaking, bids them feare no more, And with that word, she spide the hunted boare. Whose frothie mouth bepainted all with red, *Like milke, & blood, being mingled both togither, A second feare through all her sinewes spred, *Which madly hurries her, she knowes not whither, This way she runs, and now she will no further, But backe retires, to rate the boare for murther.

A thousand spleenes beare her a thousand wayes, She treads the path, that she vntreads againe; Her more then #hast, is mated with delayes, Like the proceedings of a drunken braine, Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting, In hand with all things, naught at all effecting. Here kenneld in a brake, she finds a hound, And askes the wearie caitiffe for his maister, And there another licking of his wound, Gainst venimd sores, the onely soueraigne plaister. And here she meets another, sadly skowling, *To whom she speaks, & he replies with howling. When he hath ceast his #ill resounding noise, Another flapmouthd mourner, blacke, and grim, Against the welkin, volies out his voyce, Another, and another, answer him, *Clapping their proud tailes to the ground below, *Shaking their scratcht-#eares, bleeding as they go. Looke how, the worlds poore people are amazed, At apparitions, signes, and prodigies, *Whereon with feareful eyes, they long haue gazed, Infusing them with dreadfull prophecies; So she at these sad signes, drawes vp her breath, And sighing it againe, exclaimes on death.

Hard fauourd tyrant, ougly, meagre, leane, Hatefull diuorce of loue, (thus chides she death) *Grim-#grinning ghost, earths-#worme what dost thou |(meane? To stifle beautie, and to steale his breath? Who when he liu'd, his breath and beautie set Glosse on the rose, smell to the violet. If he be dead, o no, it cannot be, Seeing his beautie, thou shouldst strike at it, Oh yes, it may, thou hast no eyes to see, But hatefully at randon doest thou hit, Thy marke is feeble age, but thy false dart, Mistakes that aime, and cleaues an infants hart. Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, And hearing him, thy power had lost his power, The destinies will curse thee for this stroke, They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluckst a flower, Loues golden arrow at him should haue fled, And not deaths ebon dart to strike him dead. *Dost thou drink tears, that thou prouok'st such wee-|(ping, What may a heauie grone aduantage thee? Why hast thou cast into eternall sleeping, Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see? Now nature cares not for thy mortall vigour, Since her best worke is ruin'd with thy rigour.

Here ouercome as one full of dispaire, She vaild her eye-#lids, who like sluces stopt The christall tide, that from her two cheeks faire, In the sweet channell of her bosome dropt. *But through the floud-#gates breaks the siluer rain, And with his strong course opens them againe. O how her eyes, and teares, did lend, and borrow, Her eye seene in the teares, teares in her eye, *Both christals, where they viewd ech others sorrow: Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to drye, But like a stormie day, now wind, now raine, *Sighs drie her cheeks, tears make the[m] wet againe. Variable passions throng her constant wo, As striuing who should best become her griefe, All entertaind, ech passion labours so, That euerie present sorrow seemeth chiefe, But none is best, then ioyne they all together, *Like many clouds, consulting for foule weather. By this farre off, she heares some huntsman hallow, A nourses song nere pleasd her babe so well, The dyre imagination she did follow, This sound of hope doth labour to expell, For now reuiuing ioy bids her reioyce, And flatters her, it is Adonis voyce.

Whereat her teares began to turne their tide, Being prisond in her eye: like pearles in glasse, Yet sometimes fals an orient drop beside, *Which her cheeke melts, as scorning it should passe To wash the foule face of the sluttish ground, Who is but dronken when she seemeth drownd. O hard beleeuing loue how strange it seemes Not to beleeue, and yet too credulous: Thy weale, and wo, are both of them extreames, Despaire, and hope, makes thee ridiculous. The one doth flatter thee in thoughts vnlikely, In likely thoughts the other kils thee quickly. Now she vnweaues the web that she hath wrought, Adonis liues, and death is not to blame: It was not she that cald him all to nought; Now she ads honours to his hatefull name. *She clepes him king of graues, & graue for kings, Imperious supreme of all mortall things. No, no, quoth she, sweet death, I did but iest, Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of feare When as I met the boare, that bloodie beast, Which knowes no pitie but is still seuere, Then gentle shadow (truth I must confesse) I rayld on thee, fearing my loues decesse.

Tis not my fault, the Bore prouok't my tong, Be wreak't on him (inuisible commaunder) T'is he foule creature, that hath done thee wrong, I did but act, he's author of thy slaunder. *Greefe hath two tongues, and neuer woman yet, Could rule them both, without ten womens wit. Thus hoping that Adonis is aliue, Her rash suspect she doth extenuate, And that his beautie may the better thriue, With death she humbly doth insinuate. *Tels him of trophies, statues, tombes, and stories, His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. O Ioue quoth she, how much a foole was I, To be of such a weake and sillie mind, To waile his death who liues, and must not die, Till mutuall ouerthrow of mortall kind? For he being dead, with him is beautie slaine, And beautie dead, blacke Chaos comes againe. Fy, fy, fond loue, thou art as full of feare, As one with treasure laden, hem'd with theeues, Trifles vnwitnessed with eye, or eare, Thy coward heart with false bethinking greeues. Euen at this word she heares a merry horne, Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorne.

As Faulcons to the lure, away she flies, The grasse stoops not, she treads on it so light, And in her hart, vnfortunately spies, The foule boares conquest, on her faire delight, *Which seene, her eyes are murdred with the view, Like stars asham'd of day, themselues withdrew. Or as the snaile, whose tender hornes being hit, Shrinks backward in his shellie caue with paine, And, there all smoothred vp, in shade doth fit, Long after fearing to creepe forth againe: So at his bloodie view her eyes are fled, Into the deep-#darke cabbins of her head. Where they resigne their office, and their light, To the disposing of her troubled braine, Who bids them still consort with ougly night, And neuer wound the heart with lookes againe, Who like a king perplexed in his throne, By their suggestion, giues a deadly grone. Whereat ech tributarie subiect quakes, As when the wind imprisond in the ground, Struggling for passage, earths foundation shakes, *Which with cold terror, doth mens minds confound: This mutinie ech part doth so surprise, *That fro[m] their dark beds once more leap her eies.

And being opend, threw vnwilling light, Vpon the wide wound, that the boare had trencht In his soft flanke, whose wonted lillie white *With purple tears that his wound wept, had dre[n]cht. *No floure was nigh, no grasse, hearb, leaf, or weed, *But stole his blood, and seemd with him to bleed. This solemne sympathie, poore Venus noteth, Ouer one shoulder doth she hang her head, Dumblie she passions, frantikely she doteth, She thinkes he could not die, he is not dead, Her voice is stopt, her ioynts forget to bow, Her eyes are mad, that they haue wept till now. Vpon his hurt she lookes so stedfastly, *That her sight dazling, makes the wound seem three, And then she reprehends her mangling eye, That makes more gashes, where no breach shuld be: *His face seems twain, ech seuerall lim is doubled, *For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled My tongue cannot expresse my griefe for one, And yet (quoth she) behold two Adons dead, My sighes are blowne away, my salt teares gone, Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead, Heauie hearts lead melt at mine eyes red fire, So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

Alas poore world what treasure hast thou lost, What face remains aliue that's worth the viewing? *Whose tongue is musick now? what ca[n]st thou boast, Of things long since, or any thing insuing? *The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh, and trim, But true sweet beautie liu'd, and di'de with him. Bonnet, nor vaile henceforth no creature weare, Nor sunne, nor wind will euer striue to kisse you, Hauing no faire to lose, you need not feare, *The sun doth skorne you, & the wind doth hisse you. But when Adonis liu'de, sunne, and sharpe aire, Lurkt like two theeues, to rob him of his faire. And therefore would he put his bonnet on, Vnder whose brim the gaudie sunne would peepe, The wind would blow it off, and being gon, Play with his locks, then would Adonis weepe. And straight in pittie of his tender yeares, They both would striue who first should drie his |(teares. To see his face the Lion walkt along, *Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him: To recreate himself when he hath song, The Tygre would be tame, and gently heare him. If he had spoke, the wolfe would leaue his praie, And neuer fright the sillie lambe that daie.

When he beheld his shadow in the brooke, The fishes spread on it their golden gils, When he was by the birds such pleasure tooke, That some would sing, some other in their bils *Would bring him mulberries & ripe-#red cherries, He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. But this foule, grim, and vrchin-#snowted Boare, Whose downeward eye still looketh for a graue: Ne're saw the beautious liuerie that he wore, Witnesse the intertainment that he gaue. If he did see his face, why then I know, He thought to kisse him, and hath kild him so. Tis true, tis true, thus was Adonis slaine, He ran vpon the Boare with his sharpe speare, Who did not whet his teeth at him againe, But by a kisse thought to persuade him there. And nousling in his flanke the louing swine, Sheath'd vnaware the tuske in his soft groine. Had I bin tooth'd like him I must confesse, With kissing him I should haue kild him first, But he is dead, and neuer did he blesse My youth with his, the more am I accurst. With this she falleth in the place she stood, And staines her face with his congealed bloud.

She lookes vpon his lips, and they are pale, She takes him by the hand, and that is cold, She whispers in his eares a heauie tale, As if they heard the wofull words she told: She lifts the coffer-#lids that close his eyes, *Where lo, two lamps burnt out in darknesse lies. Two glasses where her selfe, her selfe beheld A thousand times, and now no more reflect, Their vertue lost, wherein they late exceld, And euerie beautie robd of his effect; Wonder of time (quoth she) this is my spight, *That thou being dead, the day shuld yet be light. Since thou art dead, lo here I prophecie, Sorrow on loue hereafter shall attend: It shall be wayted on with iealousie, Find sweet beginning, but vnsauorie end. Nere setled equally, but high or lo, That all loues pleasure shall not match his wo. It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud, Bud, and be blasted, in a breathing while, The bottome poyson, and the top ore-#strawd With sweets, that shall the truest sight beguile, The strongest bodie shall it make most weake, *Strike the wise du[m]be, & teach the foole to speake.

It shall be sparing, and too full of ryot, Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures, The staring ruffian shall it keepe in quiet, *Pluck down the rich, inrich the poore with treasures, It shall be raging mad, and sillie milde, Make the yoong old, the old become a childe. It shall suspect where is no cause of feare, It shall not feare where it should most mistrust, It shall be mercifull, and not seueare, And most deceiuing, when it seemes most iust, *Peruerse it shall be, where it showes most toward, Put feare to valour, courage to the coward. It shall be cause of warre, and dire euents, And set dissention twixt the sonne, and sire, Subiect, and seruill to all discontents: As drie combustious matter is to fire, Sith in his prime, death doth my loue destroy, They that loue best, their loues shall not enioy. By this the boy that by her side laie kild, Was melted like a vapour from her sight, And in his blood that on the ground laie spild, A purple floure sproong vp, checkred with white, Resembling well his pale cheekes, and the blood, *Which in round drops, vpo[n] their whitenesse stood.

She bowes her head, the new-#sprong floure to smel, Comparing it to her Adonis breath, And saies within her bosome it shall dwell, Since he himselfe is reft from her by death; *She crop's the stalke, and in the breach appeares, *Green-#dropping sap, which she co[m]pares to teares. Poore floure (quoth she) this was thy fathers guise, Sweet issue of a more sweet smelling sire, For euerie little griefe to wet his eies, To grow vnto himselfe was his desire; And so tis thine, but know it is as good, To wither in my brest, as in his blood. Here was thy fathers bed, here in my brest, Thou art the next of blood, and tis thy right. Lo in this hollow cradle take thy rest, My throbbing hart shall rock thee day and night; There shall not be one minute in an houre, Wherein I wil not kisse my sweet loues floure. Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her siluer doues, by whose swift aide, *Their mistresse mounted through the emptie skies, In her light chariot, quickly is conuaide, *Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen, Meanes to immure her selfe, and not be seen.