THE RAPE OF LVCRECE.
1 The praising of Lucrecia as chast, vertuous and beautifull, maketh Tarquin enamored.
FRom the besieged Ardea all in post,Borne by the trustlesse wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed TARQVIN leaues the Romane 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 faire lone, Lucrece the chast.
Haply that name of chast, vnhaply 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,
VVhere mortall star as bright as heauens beauties,
VVith pure aspects did him peculiar duties.
For he the night before in Tarquins tent,
Vnlockt the treasure of his happy state:
What priselesse wealth the heauens had himlent,
In the possession of his beautious mate.
Reckoning his fortune at so high a rate
That Kings might be espowsed to more fame,
But King nor Prince to such a peerelesse dame.
O happinesse enioyd but of a few,
And if possest as soone decayde and done:
As if the mornings siluer melting dew,
Against the golden splendor of the Sunne,
A date expir'd: and canceld ere begun.
Honour and beauty in the owners armes,
Are weakly fortrest from a world of harmes.
Beauty it selfe, doth of it selfe perswade
The eies of men without an Orator,
What needeth then Apologies be made
To set forth that which is so singular?
Or why is Colatine the publisher
Of that rich Iewell he should keepe vnknowne,
From theeuish eares because it is his owne?
Perchance his boast of LVCRECE Sou'raignty,
Suggested this proud issue of a King:
For by our eares our hearts oft tainted be,
Perchance that enuy of so rich a thing
Brauing compare, disdainfully did sting
His high pitcht thoughts that meaner men should vant
That golden hap which their superiors want.
But some vntimely 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 heat, wrapt in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts and n'er growes old.
2 Tarquin welcomed by Lucrece.
When at Colatia this false Lord ariued,Well was he welcom'd by the Romane dame,
Within whose face beauty and vertue striued,
Which of them both should vnderprop her fame,
When vertue brag'd, beauty would blush for shame,
When beauty boasted blushes, in despight
Vertue would staine that o're with siluer white.
But beauty in that white intituled,
From Venus doues doth challenge that faire field,
Then vertue claimes from beauty, beauties red,
Which vertue gaue the golden age to guild
Their siluer cheekes, and cald it then their shield
[Page] Teaching them thus to vse it in the fight,
When shame assail'd, the red should fence 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 sou'raignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each others seat.
This silent warre of Lillies and of Roses,
Which Tarquin viewd in her faire faces field,
In their pure rankes his traytor eye encloses,
Where least between 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 thinks he that her husbands shallow tongue,
The niggard prodigall that praisde her so,
In that high taske hath done her beauty wrong.
Which farre exceeds his barren skill to show.
Therefore that praise which Colatine doth owe,
Inchanted Tarquin answers with furmise,
In silent wonder of still gazing eyes.
This earthly Saint adored by this Diuell,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper:
"For thoughts vnstain'd do sildome dreame on euil.
"Birds neuer limb'd, no secret bushes feare:
So guiltlesse she securely giues good cheare,
And reuerend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ile no outward harme exprest.
For that he colourd with his high estate,
Hiding base sinne in pleats of Maiesty:
That nothing in him seemd inordinate,
[Page] Saue sometime too much wonder of his eye,
Which hauing all, all could not satisfie;
But poorely rich so wanteth in his store,
That cloyd with much, he pineth still for more.
But she that neuer copte with stranger eies,
Could pick no meaning from their parling lookes,
Nor read the subtile shining secrecies
Writ in the glassie margents of such bookes,
She toucht no vnknowne baits, nor fear'd no bookes;
Nor could she 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 manly chiualry,
With bruised armes and wreaths of victory;
Her ioy with heaued-vp hand she doth expresse,
And wordlesse so greets heauen for his successe.
Far from the purpose of his comming thither,
He makes excuses for his being there;
No cloudy show of stormy blustring wether
Doth yet in his faire welkin once appeare,
Till sable night sad source of dread and feare,
Vpon the world dim darknesse doth display,
And in her vaulty prison shuts the day.
For then is Tarquin brought vnto his bed,
Intending wearinesse with heauy sprite:
For after supper long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Now leaden slumber with liues strength doth fight,
And euery one to rest themselues betake,
Saue theeues, and eares, and troubled minds that wake.
As one of which doth Tarquin lie reuoluing
Yet euer to obtaine his will resoluing.
Though weake-built hopes perswade him to abstaining;
Despaire to gaine doth traffique oft for gaining,
And when great treasure is the meed proposed,
Though death be adiunct, ther's no death supposed.
Those that much couet are with gaine so fond,
That oft 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 profit of excesse
Is but to surfet, and such griefes sustaine
That they proue banckrout in this poore rich gaine.
The ayme of all, is but to nourse the life
With honor, wealth, and ease, in wayning age:
And in this ayme there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage:
As life for honor, in fell battails 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 Tarquin 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 finde a stranger iust,
When he himselfe, himselfe confounds, betraies
[Page] To slanderous tongues and wretched hatefull daies?
Now stole vpon the time the dead of night,
When heauy sleep had closd vp mortall eye,
No comfortable starre did lend his light,
No noise but Owles and Wolues death boding cries:
Now serues the season that they may surprize
3 Tarquin disputing the matter at last resolues to satisfie his lust.
The silly Lambs, pure thoughts are dead and 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 arms,
Is madly tost between desire and dread;
Th'one sweetly flatters, th'other feateth harme,
But honest feare, bewitcht with lusts foule charme,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
Beaten away by brainsicke rude desire.
His Fanchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparkes of fire doth flie,
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Which must be lode-star to his lustfull eie,
And to the flame thus speakes aduisedly;
As from this cold flint I enforct this fire,
So LVCRECE must I force to my desire.
Here pale with feare he doth premeditate
The dangers of his lothsome enterprise,
And in his inward minde 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 diuine:
Let faire humanity abhor the deed,
That spots and staines loues modest snow-white weed.
O shame to knighthood, and to shining armes,
O foule dishonor to my housholds 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 scandall will suruiue,
And be an eie-sore in my golden coate:
Some loathsome dash the Herald will contriue,
To cipher me how fondly I did dote:
That my posterity sham'd with the note
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sinne,
To wish that I their father had not been.
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 eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar but to touch the crowne?
Would with the scepter straight be stroken downe?
If Colatinus dreame of my intent,
Will he not wake; and in a desperate 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:
Mine eies for goe their light, my false heart bleed?
The guilt being great, the feare doth still exceede,
And extreame feare can neither fight nor flie,
But cowardlike with trembling terror die.
Had Collatinus 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 vpon 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 not end.
Shamefull it is, if once 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 reprouing.
My will is strong, past reasons weake remouing.
VVho feares a sentence or an old mans sawe,
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.
VVhich in a moment doth confound and kill
All pure effects, and doth so farre proceed,
That what is vile, shewes like a vertuous deed.
Quoth he, she tooke me kindely by the hand,
And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eies,
Fearing some hard newes from the warlike band
VVhere her beloued Colatinus lies.
O how her feare did make her colour rise?
First red as Roses that on Lawne we lay,
Then white as Lawne the Roses tooke away.
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 she did heare,
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheare
That had Narsissus seen her as flie stood,
Selfe-loue had neuer drown'd him in the flood.
Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
All Orators are dumbe when beauty pleads,
Poore wretches haue remorse in poore abuses,
Loue thriues not in the heart that shadowes dreads,
Affection is my Captaine and he leades:
And when this gaudy banner is displaide,
The coward fights and will not be dismaide.
Then childish feare auant, debating die,
Respect and Reason waite on wrinkled age:
My heart shall neuer countermand mine eye,
Sad Pause and deepe Regard beseems the sage,
My part is youth, and beats these from the stage.
Desire my pilot is, Beauty my prise,
Then who feares sinking where such treasure lies.
As corne ore-growne by weeds, so heedfull feare
Is almost cloakt 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 looks on her confounds his wits,
That eye which him beholds, as more diuine
Vnto a view so false will not incline:
Which once corrupted, takes the worser part,
And therein hartens vp his seruile powers,
VVho flattered by their leaders iocond 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 doth march to Lucrece bed.
The lockes between her chamber and his will,
Each one by him enforst, recites his ward,
But as they open they all rate his ill,
VVhich driues the creeping theefe to some regard.
The threshold grates the dore to haue him heard.
Night-wandring Weezles shreeke to see him there,
They fright him, yet he still pursues his feare.
As each vnwilling portall yeelds him way,
Through little vents and crannies of the place,
The winde wars with his torch to make him stay,
And blowes the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct in this case.
But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
Puffes forth another winde that fires the torch.
And being lighted by the light he spies
Lucreciaes gloue, wherein her needle stickes,
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 nor 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 construes their deniall:
The dores, the wind, the gloue that did delay him,
[Page] He takes for accedentall things of triall,
Or as those barres which stop the hourely diall,
Who with a lingring stay his course doth let,
Till euery minute payes the houre his debt.
So, so, quoth he, these lets attend the time,
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring,
To adde a more reioycing to the prime,
And giue the sneaped birds more cause to sing,
Paine paies the income of ech precious thing,
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, 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 Prey to pray he doth begin,
As if the heauens should countenance his sinne.
But in the midst of his vnfruitfull, prayer,
Hauing sollicited th'eternall power,
That his foule thoughts might compasse his fair, faire,
And they would stand auspicious to the howre,
Euen there he starts, quoth he, I must defloure:
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,
Blacke sinne is cleard with absolution,
Against loues fire, feares frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heauen is out, and misty night
Couers the shame that followes sweet delight.
This said his guilty hand pluckt vp the latch,
The Doue sleeps fast that this night Owle will catch.
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied:
VVho sees the lurking serpent steps aside;
But she sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortall sting.
Into the chamber wickedly he stalkes,
And gazeth on her yet vnstained bed:
The curtaines being close, about he walkes,
Rouling his greedy eye-bals in his head,
By their high treason is his heart misled.
Which giues the watch-word to his hand too soone,
To draw the cloude that hides the siluer Moone.
Looke as the faire and fiery pointed Sunne,
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaues our sight:
Euen so the curtaine drawne his eies begun
To winke, being blinded with a greater light.
Whether it is that she reflects so bright
That dazeleth them, or else some shame supposed,
But blind they are, and keep themselues inclosed.
O had they in that darksome prison died,
Then had they seen the period of their ill;
Then Colatine againe by Lucrece side,
In his cleare bed might haue reposed still:
But they must ope this blessed league to kill:
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight,
Must sell her ioy, her life, her worlds delight.
Her lilly hand her rosie cheekes lies vnder,
Coosening the pillow of a lawfull kisse.
Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his blisse,
Between whose hils her head intombed is.
Where like a vertuous monument she lies.
[Page] To be admir'd of lewde vnhallowed eies.
Without the bed hir other faire hand was,
On the greene couerlet, whose perfect white
Showed like an Aprill dazie on the grasse,
With pearly swet, resembling dewe of night.
Her eyes like Marigolds had sheathd their light,
And canopied in darknesse sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorne the day.
Her haire like golden threeds plaid with her breath,
O modest wantons, wanton modesty!
Showring lifes triumph in the map of death,
And deaths dim looke in lifes mortality.
Each in her sleepe themselues so beautifie,
As if between them twaine there were no strife,
But that life liu'd in death, and death in life.
Her breasts like iuory globes cirdled with blew,
A paire of maiden worlds vnconquered:
Saue of their Lord no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred.
Who like a foule vsurper went about,
From this faire throne to heaue the owner out.
What could he see but mightely he noted?
What did he note, but strongly he desired?
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will his wilfull eye he tired.
With more then admiration he admired
Her azure vaines her alablaster skinne,
Her corall lips her snow white dimpled chin.
As the grim Lion fauneth ore his pray,
Sharpe hunger by the conquest satisfied:
So ore this sleeping soule doth TARQVIN stay,
His rage of lust by gazing qualified.
[Page] Slackt, 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 teares nor mothers grones respecting,
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting.
Anon his beating heart alarum striking,
Giues the hot charge and bids them doe 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 dignity,
Smoking with pride, marcht on to make his stand
On her bare breasts, the heart of all her land,
VVhose ranckes of blew vaines as his hand did scale,
Left their round turrets destitute and pale.
They mustring to the quiet Cabinet,
Where their deare gouernesse and Lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset,
And fright her with confusion of their cries.
She much amaz'd breakes ope her lockt vp eies.
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 fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some gastly sprite,
5 Lucretia wakes amazed and confounded to be so surprised
Whose grim aspect sets euery ioynt a shaking,What terrour tis: but she in worser taking,
From sleepe disturbd, heedfully doth view,
The sight which makes supposed terror rue.
Wrapt and confounded in a thousand feares,
Like to a new-kild bird she trembling lies:
[Page] She dares not looke, yet winking there appeares
Quicke shifting Antiques vgly in her eyes,
Such shadowes are the weake braines forgeries,
Who angry that the eyes flie from their lights,
In darknesse daunts them with more dreadfull sights.
His hand that yet remaines vpon her brest,
(Rude Ram to batter such an Iuory wall:)
May feele her heart (poore Citizen) 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 pitty,
To make the breach, and enter this sweet City.
First like a trumpet doth his tongue begin,
To sound a parly to his hartlesse foe,
Who ore the white sheet peeres her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarme to know,
Which he by dumbe demeanor seekes to show:
But she 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 insnar'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 beauty it was newly bred.
I see what crosses my attempts will bring,
I know what thornes the growing Rose defends,
I thinke the hony garded with a sting,
All this before hand counsell comprehends.
But will is deafe, and heares no heedfull friends.
Onely he hath an eie to gaze on beauty,
And dotes on what he lookes, gainst law or duty.
I haue debated euen in my soule,
What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed.
But nothing can affections course controle
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed,
I know repentant teares insue the deed.
Reproch, disdaine, and deadly enmity,
Yet striue I to imbrace mine infamy.
This said, he shakes aloft his Romane blade,
Which like a Faulcon towring in the skies,
Coucheth the fowle below with his wings shade,
Whose crooked beake threats, if he mount he dies.
So vnder his insulting Fauchion lies
Harmelesse Lucretia, marking what he tels,
With trembling feare, as fowle heare Faulcons bels.
Lucrece, quoth he, this night I must enioy thee;
If thou deny, then force must work my way:
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee.
That done, some worthlesse slaue of thine ile slay,
To kill thine honor with thy liues decay.
And in thy dead armes doe I meane to place him,
Swearing I slew him seeing thee imbrace him.
So thy suruiuing husband shall remaine,
The scornefull marke of euery open eye,
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdaine,
Thy issue blurd with namelesse bastardy:
And thou the Author of their obloquy.
[Page] Shall 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,
Fot lawfull policy remaines enacted.
The poisonous simple sometime is compacted
In purest compounds; being so applied,
His venome in effect is purified.
Then for thy husband and thy childrens sake,
Tender my suit, bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no deuice can take,
The blemish that will neuer be forgot:
Worse then a slauish wipe, or birth-houres blot:
For markes descried in mens natiuity,
Are Natures faults, not their owne infamy.
Here with a Cocka-trice dead killing eye,
He rowseth vp himselfe, and makes a pause,
While she the picture of pure piety,
Like a white Hinde beneath the gripes sharpe clawes,
Pleads in a wildernesse where are no lawes.
To the rough beast, that knowes no gentle right,
Nor ought obeyes but his foule appetite.
But when a blacke-fac'd cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist the aspiring mountaine hiding,
From earths darke wombe some gentle gust doth get,
Which blow these pitchy vapours from their biding,
Hindring their present fall by this diuiding.
So his vnhallowed haste her words delaies,
And moody Pluto winkes while Orpheus plaies.
Yet foule night waking Cat he doth but dally,
VVhile in his hold-fast foot the weake mouse panteth.
Her sad behauiour feeds his vulture folly.
His eare her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
No penetrable entrance to her plaining,
Teares harden lust, though marble weares with rayning.
Her pitty-pleading eyes are sadly fixed
In the remorselesse wrinckles of his face:
Her modest eloquence with sighes is mixed,
Which to her Oratory ads more grace.
She puts the period often from his place,
And midst the sentence so her accent breakes,
That twice she doth begin ere once she speakes.
6 Lucrece pleadeth in defence of chastity and exprobateth his vnciuill lust.
She coniures him by high Almighty Ioue,By Knighthood, Gentry, and sweet friendships oath,
By her vntimely teares, her husbands loue,
By holy humane 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 foule desire.
Quoth she, reward not Hospitality
With such blacke paiment as thou hast pretended,
Mudde not the fountaine that gaue drinke to thee,
Marre not the thing that cannot be amended:
End thy ill ayme, before thy shoot 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 mighty, for thine owne sake leaue me:
My selfe a weakeling, doe not then insnate me.
Thou look'st not like deceipt, do not deceiue me.
My sighes like whirlewinds labour hence to heaue thee:
If euer man were mou'd with womans mones,
Be moued with my teares, my sighes, my grones.
All which together like a troubled Ocean,
[Page] Beat at thy rocky, and wrack-threatning heart,
To soften it with their continuall motion:
For stones dissolu'd, to water doe conuert.
O if no harder then a stone thou art,
Melt at my teares and be compassionate,
Soft pitty enters at an yron gate.
In TARQVINS likenesse I did entertaine thee,
Hast thou put on his shape to doe him shame?
To all the hoste of heauen I complaine me.
Thou wrongst his Honor, woundst his princely name,
Thou art not what thou seemst, and if the same,
Thou seem'st not what thou art, a God, a King,
For Kings like Gods should gouerne euery thing.
How will thy shame be feeded 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 misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.
This deed shall make thee only lou'd for feare,
But happy Monarchs still are feard for loue:
With foule offenders 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,
VVhere subiects eies doe learne, doe read, doe looke.
And wilt thou be the schoole where lust shall learne?
Must he in thee read lectures of such shame?
VVilt thou be glasse wherein it shall discerne
Authority for sinne, warrant for blame?
To priuiledge dishonor in thy name.
Thou back'st reproch against long liuing laud,
And makst faire Reputation but a baud.
Hast thou command? by him that gaue it thee
From a pure heart command thy rebell will:
Draw not thy sword to gard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill,
Thy princely office how caust thou fulfill
When patterned by thy fault, foule sinne may say,
He learnd to sinne, and thou didst teach the way?
Thinke but how vile a spectacle it were,
To view thy present trespasse in another:
Mens faults doe sildome to themselues appeare,
Their owne transgressions partially they smother:
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
O how are they wrapt in with infamies,
That from their owne misdeeds askaunce their eies.
To thee, to thee, my heau'd vp hands appeale,
Not to seducing lust thy rash reply:
Isue for exild maiesties repeale,
Let him returne and flattering thoughts retire.
His true respect will prison false desire,
7 Tarquin all impatient interrupts her and denied of consent breaketh the enclosure of her chastity by force.
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eies,That thou shalt see thy state and pitty mine.
Haue done, quoth he, my vncontrolled tide
Turnes not, but swels the higher by this let,
Small lights are soone blowne out, huge fires abide,
And with the winde in greater fury fret:
The pretty streames that pay a daily debt
To their salt soueraigne with their fresh fals hast,
Adde to this flowe but alter not his taste.
Thou art (quoth she) a sea, a soueraigne King,
And loe, therefals into thy boundlesse flood,
Blacke lust, dishonor, shame, misgouerning.
Who seeke to staine the Ocean of thy bloud.
If all these petty ils shall change thy good,
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.
So shall these slaues be King, and thou their slaue:
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified:
Thou their faire life, and they thy fouler graise:
Thou lothed in their shame, they in thy pride,
The lesser thing should not the greater hide.
The Cedar stoops not to the base shrubs foot,
But low shrubs wither at the Cedars root.
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, enforced hate,
In stead of loues coy touch shall rudely teare thee:
That done, despightfully 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 foot vpon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded vp in blind concealing night,
When most vnseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The Wolfe hath seizd his Prey, the poore Lambe cries
Till with her owne white fleece her voice controld,
Intombs her outcry in her lips sweet fold.
For with the mighty linnen that she weares,
He pens her piteous clamors in her head,
Cooling his hot face in the chastest teares,
That euer modest eies with sorrow shed.
O that fowle lust should staine so pure a bed:
The spots whereof could weeping purifie,
Her teares should drop on them perpetually.
But she hath lost a dearer thing then life,
And he hath won what he would loose againe:
This forced league doth force a further strife,
This hot desire conuerts to cold disdaine:
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,
And lust, the theefe, far poorer then before.
Looke as the ful-fed Hound or gorged Hawke,
Vnapt for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether bauke
The prey wherein by nature they delight:
So surfet-taking TARQVIN fares this night.
His taste delicious, in digestion sowring,
Deuoures his will, that liu'd by foule deuouring.
O deeper sinne then bottomlesse conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination!
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt,
Ere he can see his owne abhomination.
While lust is in his pride no exclamation
Can curbe his heat, of reine his rash desire,
Till like a Iade, selfe-will himselfe doth tire.
And then with lanke and leane discolour'd cheeke,
With heauy eye, knit brow, and strengthlesse pace,
Feeble desire all recreant, poore and meeke,
Like to a bankerout begger wailes his case:
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with grace:
For there it reuels, and when that decaies,
The guilty rebel for remission praies.
So fares it 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 stands disgraced:
Besides, his soules faire temple is defaced:
To whose weake ruines muster troopes of cares,
To aske the spotted Princesse how she fares.
She saies her subiects with foule insurrection,
[Page] Haue battred downe her consecrated wall,
And by their mortall fault brought in subiection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To liuing death and paine perpetuall.
VVhich in her prescience she controled still,
But her foresight could not forestall their will.
Euen in this thought through the darke night he stealeth
A captiue victor that hath lost in gaine:
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will despight of Cure remaine;
Leauing his spoile perplext in greater paine.
She beares the load of lust he left behinde,
And he the burthen of a guilty minde.
He like a theeuish dog creeps sadly thence,
She like a wearied Lambe lies panting there:
He scowles and hates himselfe for his offence,
She desperate, with her nailes, her flesh doth teare,
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty feare;
She staies exclaiming on the direfull night;
He runs and chides his vanisht loth'd delight.
He thence departs a heauy conuertite,
She there remaines a hopelesse cast-away:
He in his speed lookes for the morning light:
She prayes she neuer may behold the day,
For day, quoth she, night scapes doth open lay:
And my true eies haue neuer practizd how,
To cloake offences with a cunning brow.
They thinke not but that euery eye can see,
The same disgrace which they themselues behold:
And therefore would they still in darknesse lie,
To haue their vnseene sinne remaine vntold:
For they their guilt with weeping will vnfold,
And graue, like water that doth eate in steele,
Vpon my cheeks what helplesse shame I feele.
Here she exclaimes against repose and rest,
8 Lucrece thus abused complaines on her misery.
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind:She wakes her heart by beating on her brest,
And bids it leape from thence, where it may finde
Some purer chest, to close so pure a minde.
Franticke with griefe thus breaths she forth her spight,
Against the vnseene secrecy of night.
O comfort-killing night, image of Hell,
Dim register, and notary of shame,
Blacke stage for tragedies and murthers fell,
Vast sinne concealing Chaos, nurse of blame,
Blind mussled bawde, darke harbor for defame,
Grim caue of death, whispring conspirator
With close tongu'd treason, and the rauisher.
O hatefull, vaporous and foggy night,
Since thou art guilty of my curelesse crime:
Muster thy mysts to meet 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.
VVith rotten damps rauish the morning ayre,
Let their exhal'd vnholesome breaths make sicke
The life of purity, the supreme faire,
Ere he ariue his weary noon tide pricke.
And let thy mysty vapors march so thicke,
That in their smoaky rankes his smothered light
May set at noone and make perpetuall night.
VVere Tarquin night as he is but nights child,
The siluer shining Queen he would disdaine,
Her twinckling handmaids to (by him defild)
Through nights blacke bosome should not peep againe.
So should I haue copartners in my paine.
As Palmers that makers short their Pilgrimage.
VVhere now I haue no one to blush with me,
To crosse their armes and hang their heads with mine,
To maske their browes and hide their infamy,
But I alone, alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with showres of siluer brine,
Mingling my talke with teares, my griefe with grones
Poore wasting monuments of lasting mones.
O night thou furnace of foule reeking smoke,
Let not the iealous day behold that face
VVhich vnderneath thy blacke all-hiding cloke
Immodestly lies martyred with disgrace.
Keepe still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy raigne are made,
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade.
Make me not obiect to the tel-tale day,
The light shall shew charactred in my brow,
The story of sweet chastities decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlockes vow.
Yea, the illeterate that know not how
To cipher what is writ in learned bookes,
Will quote my lothsome trespasse in my lookes.
The nurse to still her child will tell my story,
And fright her crying babe with Tarquins name:
The Orator to decke his oratory,
VVill couple my reproch to Tarquins shame,
Feast finding minstrels tuning my defame
Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin 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,
And vndeseru'd reproch to him allotted,
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 priuate scarre:
Reproch is stampt in COLLATINVS face,
And Tarquins eye may read the mot a far,
How he in peace is wounded, not in warre.
Alas how many beare such shamefull blowes,
Which not themselues but he that giues them knowes?
If Colatine thine honor lay in me,
From me by strong assault it is bereft:
My hony lost, and I a Drone like bee,
Haue no perfection of my sommer left,
But robd and ransackt by iniurious theft.
In thy weake hiue a wandring waspe hath crept,
And suckt the hony which thy chast Bee kept.
Yet am I guilty of thy honors wracke;
Yet for thy honor did I entertaine him;
Comming from thee I could not put him backe:
For it had been dishonor to disdairie him,
Besides of wearinesse he did complaine him,
And talke of vertue (O vnlookt for euill)
VVhen vertue is prophan'd in such a Diuell.
VVhy should the worme intrude the maiden bud?
Or hatefull Cuckowes hatch in Sparrowes nests?
Or Todes infect faire founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant Folly lurke in gentle brests?
Or Kings be breakers of their owne behests?
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.
The aged man that coffers vp his gold,
And scarce hath eies his treasure to behold,
But like still pining Tantalus he sits,
And vselesse bannes 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 mastred by his yong,
VVho in their pride doe presently abuse it:
Their father was too weake, and they too strong:
To hold their cursed-blessed fortunelong.
The sweets we wish for turne to loathed sowers,
Euen in the moment that we call them ours.
Vnruly blast wait on the tender spring,
Vnholsome weeds take root with precious flowers:
The Adder hisseth where the sweet birds sing:
What vertue breeds, iniquity deuours:
VVe haue no good that we can say is ours:
But ill-annexed Opportunity,
Or kils his life, or els his quality.
O Opportunity thy guilt is great;
Tis thou that execut'st the traitors treason:
Thou sets the Wolfe where he the Lambe may get:
Who euer plots the sinne thou points the season.
Tis thou that spurnst at right, at law, at reason.
And in thy shady Cell where none may spie her,
Sits Sinne to seaze the soules that wander by her.
Thou mak'st the Vestall violate her oath:
Thou blowest the fire when Temperance is thawd;
Thou smotherst honesty, thou murtherst troth:
Thou fowle abbettor, thou notorions baud:
Thou plantest scandall, and displacest land.
Thou rauisher, thou traitor, thou false thiefe,
Thy hony turnes to gall, thy ioy to griefe.
Thy secret pleasure turnes to open shame;
Thy priuate feasting to a publicke fast:
Thy smothering titles to a ragged name:
Thy sugred tongue to bitter wormwood taste:
Thy violent vanities can neuer last.
How comes it then, vile opportunity
Being so bad, such numbers seeke for thee?
VVhen wilt thou be the humble suppliants friend,
And bring him where his suit may be obtained?
VVhen wilt thou sort an houre great strifes to end?
Or free that soule which wretchednesse hath chained?
Giue physicke to the sicke, ease to the pained?
The poore, lame, blinde, halt, creep, cry out for thee;
But they nere met with opportunity.
The Patient dies while the Physitian sleepes;
The Orphan pines while the Oppressor feeds:
Iustice is feasting while the widow weeps:
Aduise is sporting while infection breeds,
Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds,
Wrath, enuy, treason, rape, and murther rages,
Thy hainous houres wait on them as their pages.
VVhen Trueth and Vertue haue to doe with thee
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;
They buy thy helpe, but Sinne nere giues a fee,
He gratis comes, and thou art well apaid
As well to heare, as grant what he hath said.
My Colatine would else haue come to me:
VVhen Tarquin did, but he was staid by thee.
Guilty thou art of murther and of theft,
Guilty of periury and subornation,
Guilty of treason, forgery and shift,
Guilty of incest that abhomination,
An accessary by thine inclination
From the creation to the generall doome.
Mishapen time, copesmate of vgly night,
Swift subtile post, carrier of grisly care,
Eater of youth, false slaue to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sins packe-horse, vertues snare;
Thou nursest all, and murtherest all that are:
O heare me then, iniurious shifting time,
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.
VVhy hath thy seruant Opportunity
Betrai'd the houres 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 error by opinion bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawfull bed.
Times glory 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 houres:
And smeare with dust their glittering golden towres.
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 ancient Rauens wings.
To dry the old oakes sap, and cherish springs.
To spoile antiquities of hammered 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 mocke the subtile in themselues beguild.
To cheare the Plowman with increasefull crops,
And waste huge stones with little water drops.
Why work'st thou mischiefe in thy pilgrimage,
Vnlesse thou couldst returne to make amends?
One poore retyring minute in an age,
VVould purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit that to bad dettors lends,
O this dread night, wouldst thou one houre come back
I could preuent this storme and shun this wracke.
Thou ceaselesse lackie to Eternity,
VVith some mischance crosse Tarquin in his flight
Deuise extreames beyond extremity,
To make him curse this cursed crimefull night:
Let gastly shadowes his lewd eies affright,
And the dire thought of his committed euill.
Shape euery bush a hideous shapelesse Diuell.
Disturbe his howres of rest with restlesse trances
Afflict him in his bed with bedred grones:
Let there bechance him pittifull mischances,
To make him mone, but pitty not his mones:
Stone him with hardned harts harder then stone,
And let mild women to him loose their mildnesse,
VVilder 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 despaire,
Let him haue time to liue a loathed slaue,
Let him haue time a beggars 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,
[Page] And merry 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 folly, and his time of sport.
And euer let his vnrecalling time,
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 taughts this ill,
At his owne shadow let the theefe runne mad,
Himselfe, himselfe seeke euery houre to kill,
Such wretched hands such wretched bloud should spill.
For who so base would such an office haue
As slanderous deaths-man to so base a slaue?
The baser is he, comming from a King,
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate,
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hato:
For greatest scandall waites on greatest state.
The Moone being clouded presently is mist,
But little Starres may hide them when they list.
The Crow may bathe his cole-blacke wings in mire,
And vnperceiu'd flye with the filth away,
But if the like the snow-white Swan desire,
The staine vpon his siluer Downe will stay.
Poore groomes are sightlesse night, Kings glorious day;
Gnats are vnnoted wheresoere they flye,
But Eagles gaz'd vpon with euery eye.
Our idle words, seruants to shallow fooles,
Vnprofitable sounds, weake arbitrators,
Busie your selues in skil-contending schooles,
Debate where leasure serues with dul debators:
To trembling Clyents be you mediators,
For me, I force not argument a straw,
Since that my case is past the help of law.
In vaine I raile at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and vnsearchfull night:
In vaine I cauill with mine infamy,
In vaine I spurne at my confirm'd despight:
This helplesse smoke of words doth me no right;
The remedy indeed to do me good
Is to let foorth my foule defiled blood.
Poore hand, why quiuerest 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 Foe,
Kill both thy selfe and her for yeelding so.
This said from her betumbled couch she starts,
To finde some desperate instrument of death,
But this no slaughterhouse no toole imparts,
To make more vent for passage of her breath,
Which thrunging through her lips so vanisheth
As smoake from Aetna, that in aire consumes,
Or that which from discharged Canon fumes.
In vaine (quoth she) I liue, and seeke in vaine
Some happy meane to end a haplesse life:
I fear'd by Tarquins Fauchion to be slaine,
Yet for the selfe-same purpose seeke a knife:
But when I feard, I was a loyall wife;
So am I now: O no that cannot be,
Of that true type hath Tarquin 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 slaunders liuery,
A dying life to liuing infamy.
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 grasse shall neuer come to growth,
He shall not boast who did thy stocke pollute,
That thou art doting father of his fruit.
Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state,
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
Basely with gold, but stolne from forth thy gate,
For me I am the mistresse of my fate
And with my trespasse neuerwill dispence,
Till life to death acquit my forst offence.
I will not poison thee with my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleanly coyn'd excuses,
My sable ground of sinne I will not paint,
To hide the truth of this false nights abules:
My tongue shall vtter all, mine eyes like sluces
As from a mountaine spring that feeds a dale,
Shall gush pure streames to purge my impure tale.
By this lamenting Philomele had ended,
The well-tun'd warble ofher nightly sorrow,
9 Lucrece continuing herlaments, disputeth whether she should kill her selfe or no.
And solemne night with slow sad gate descendedTo ougly Hell, when loe the blushing morrow
Lends light to all faire eyes that light would borrow.
But clowdy Lucrece shames her selfe to see,
And therefore still in night would cloistred be.
Reuealing day through euery cranny spies,
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping,
To whom she sobbing speakes, O eye of eyes,
[Page] Why pry'st thou through my window? leaue thy peeping,
Mock with thy tickling beames, eyes that are sleeping:
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
For day hath nought to do whats done by night.
Thus cauils she with euery thing she sees,
True griefe is fond and testie as a childe,
Who way-ward once, his mood with nought agrees,
Old woes, not infant sorrowes beare them milde;
Continuance tames the one, the other wilde
Like an vnpractiz'd swimmer plunging stil,
With too much labour drowns for want of skill,
So she deepe drenched in a Sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she viewes,
And to her selfe all sorrow doth compare,
No obiect but her passions strength renewes,
And as one shifts another straight insewes,
Sometimes her griefe is dumbe and hath no words,
Sometime tis mad and too much talke affoords.
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 merry company,
Griefe best is pleased with griefes societie?
True sorrow then is feelingly 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 grieues most at that would do it good,
Deepe woes roule forward like a gentle floud.
Who being stopt, the bounding banks oreflowes,
Griefe dallied with, nor law, nor limit knowes.
You mocking Birds (quoth she) your tunes intombe
[Page] Within your hollow swelling feathred breasts,
And in my hearing be you euer dumbe,
My restlesse discord loues no stops nor rests;
A wofull hostesse brooks not merry guests.
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing eares,
Distresse likes dumps when time is kept with teares.
Come Philomele that singst 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 groanes the Diapason beare:
For burthen-wise Ile hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus descants better skill.
And whiles against a thorne thou bearst thy part,
To keepe thy sharpe woes waking wretched I
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will sixe a sharpe knife to affright mine eye,
Who if it winke, shall thereon fall and die.
These meanes as frets vpon an instrument,
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment,
And for poore bird thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold:
Some darke deepe desart seated from the way,
That knowes nor parching heat, nor freezing cold
Will we finde out: and there we will vnfold
To creatures stern, sad tunes to change their kinds
Since men proue beasts, let beasts beare gentle minds.
As the poore frighted Deere that stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly,
Or one incompast with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily:
So with her selfe is she in mutinie,
To liue or die which of the twaine were better
[Page] When life is sham'd and death reproches detter.
To kill my selfe quoth she, alacke what were it,
But with my body my poore soules pollution?
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 body or my soule which was the dearer?
When the one pure, the other made diuine,
Whose loue of either, to my selfe was nearer?
When both were kept for Heauen and Colatine
Ay me, the barke pild from the lofty 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 battered by the enemy,
Her sacred Temple spotted, spoild, corrupted,
Grosly ingirt with daring infamy,
Then let it not be cald impiety
If in this blemisht fort I make some hole,
Through which I may conuey this troubled soule.
Yet die I will not till my Colatine
Haue heard the cause of my vntimely death,
That he may vow in that sad houre of mine,
Reuenge on him that made me stop my breath,
My stained bloud to Tarquin ile bequeath,
VVhich 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 body so dishonored:
Tis Honor to depriue dishonored life
The one will liue, the other being dead.
For in my death I murther shamefull scorne,
My shame so dead, my honor is new borne.
Deare Lord of that deare Iewell I haue lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee?
My resolution, loue, shall be thy bost,
By whose example thou reueng'd maist be.
How Tarquin must be vs'd, read it in me.
My selfe thy friend will kill my selfe thy foe,
And for my sake serue thou false Tarquin so.
This briefe abridgement of my will I make,
My soule and body to the skies and ground,
My resolution (Husband) doe you take,
Mine honor be the knifes that make 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.
Then Colatine shall ouersee this will,
How was I ouerseene that thou shalt see it?
My bloud shall wash the slander of mine ill;
My lifes foule deed my lifes faire end shall free it.
Faint not faint heart, but stoutly 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 sadly she had laid,
And wipt the brinish pearle from her bright eyes,
10 Lucrece resolued to kil her selfe determines first to send her Husband word.
With vntun'd tongue she hoarsely calld her maid,Whose swift obedience to her mistresse hies,
For fleet-wingd duty with thoughts feathers flies
Poore Lucrece cheekes vnto her maid seeme so,
As winter meads when Sunne doth melt their snow.
Her mistresse she doth giue demure good morrow,
With soft slow tongue, true markes of modesty,
[Page] And sorts a sad looke to her Ladies sorrow,
(For why her face wore sorrowes liuery.)
But durst not aske of her audaciously
Why her two suns were clowd-eclipsed so,
Nor why her faire cheeks ouer washt with woe.
But as the earth doth weepe the Sun being set,
Each flower moystned like a melting eye:
Euen so the maid with swelling drops gan wet
Her circkled eyne enforc'd, by sympathie
Of those faire Suns set in her mistresse skie,
Who in a salt-wau'd Ocean quench their light.
Which makes the maid weepe like the dewy night.
A prettie while these pretty creatures stand,
Like iuory conduits corall cesierues filling:
One iustly weepes, the other takes in hand
No cause, but company of her drops spilling.
Their gentle sex to weepe are often willing,
Grieuing themselues to gesse at other smarts,
And then they drowne their eies, or breake their harts.
For men haue marble, women waxen minds,
And therefore are they form'd as marble will,
The weake opprest, th' impression of strange kinds,
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 diuell.
Their smothnesse like a champaine plaine,
Layes open all the little wormes that creepe,
In men as in a rough growne groue remaine
Caue-keeping euils that obscurely sleepe.
Through chrystall walles ech little mote will peepe,
Though men can couer crimes with bold stern looks
Poore womans faces are their owne faults bookes.
No man inueighs against the withered flowre,
But chide rough winter that the flowre hath kild,
Not that deuourd, but that which doth deuoure
Is worthy blame, ô let it not be held
Poore womens faults, that they are so fulfild
With mens abuses, those proud Lords to blame,
Make weake-made women tenants to their shame.
The president whereof in Lucrece view,
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong
Of present death and shame that mightinsue,
By that her death to do her husband wrong:
Such danger to resistance did belong.
The dying feare through all her body spread,
And who cannot abuse a body dead?
By this milde patience bid faire Lucrece speake
To the poore counterfeit of her complayning:
My girle, quoth she on what occasion breake
Those teares from thee, that downe thy cheeks are raining
If thou dost weepe for griefe of my sustaining,
Know gentle wench, it small auailes my moode,
If teares could helpe, mine owne would do me good.
But tell me girle, when went (and there she staid,
Til after a deepe grone) Tarquin from hence?
Madam ere I was vp (repli'd the maid,)
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 Tarquin gone away.
But Lady, if your maid may be so bold,
She would request to know your heauinesse:
O peace (quoth Lucrece) if it should be told,
The repetition cannot make it lesse:
For more it is then I can well expresse,
When more is felt then one hath power to tell.
Goe get me 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 ready by and by to beare,
A Letter to my Lord, my loue, my deare,
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it,
The cause craues hast, and it will soone be writ.
Her maide is gone and she prepares to write,
First houering ore the paper with her quill,
Conceipt and griefe an eager combat fight,
What Wit sets downe is blotted still with Will,
This is too curious good, this blunt and ill.
Much like a prease of people at a dore,
Throng her inuentions which shall goe before.
At last she thus begins: Thou worthy Lord
Of that vnworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person, next vouchsafet' afford
(If euer loue thy LVCRECE thou wilt see)
Some present speed to come and visit me.
So I commend me from our house in griefe,
My woes are tedious, though my words are briefe.
Here folds she vp the tenor of her woe,
Her certain sorrow writ vncertainly,
By this short sedule Colatine may know
Her griefe, but not her griefes true quality
She dares not thereof make discouery,
Least he should hold it her owne grosse abuse,
Ere she with blood had staind her staind excuse.
Besides the life and feeling of her passien,
She hoords to spend, when he is by to heare her,
VVhen sighes and grones and teares may grace the fashion
[Page] Of her disgrace, the better so to cleare her
From that suspition which the world might beare her.
To shun this blot she would not blot the letter,
With words, till action might become them better.
To see sad sights moues more then heare them told:
For then the eye interprets to the eare
The heauy motion that it doth behold
VVhen euery part a part of woe doth beare:
Tis but a part of sorrow that we heare.
Deepe sounds make lesser noise then shallow fords,
And sorrow ebs being blowne with wind of words.
Her letter now is seald, and on it writ,
At Ardea to my Lord with more than haste,
The Post attends and she deliuers it,
Charging the soure fac'd groom to high as fast
As lagging foules before the Northren blast.
Speed, more then speed, but dull and slow she deems,
Extremity still vrgeth such extremes.
The homely villaine cursies to her lowe,
And blushing on her with a stedfast eye
Receiues the scroll without or yea or no,
And forthwith bashfull innocence doth lie,
But they whose guilt within their bosomes lie,
Imagine euery eye beholds their blame,
For Lucrece thought he blusht to see her shame.
VVhen silly Groome (God wot) it was defect
Of spirit, life, and bold audacity,
Such harmlesse creatures haue a true respect
To talke in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but doe it leasurely.
Euen so this patterne of the worne out age,
Pawn'd honest lookes but laid no words to gage.
His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
She thought he blusht as knowing Tarquins lust,
And blushing with him, wistly on him gazed,
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed:
The more she saw the bloud his cheeks replenish,
The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.
But long she thinks till he returne againe,
And yet the duteous vassall scarce is gone,
The weary time she cannot entertaine,
For now tis stale to sigh, to weepe, and grone,
So woe hath wearied woe, mone tyred mone,
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pawsing for meanes to mourne some newer way.
At last she cals to minde where hangs a peece
Of skilfull painting, made for Priams Troy,
Before the which is drawne the power of Greece,
For Hellens rape the citie to destroy,
Threatning cloud-kissing Illion with annoy;
Which the conceipted Painter drew so proud,
As heauen (it seemd) to kisse the turrets bowd.
A thousand lamentable obiects there
In scorne of Nature. Art gaue liuelesse life:
Many a dire drop seemd a weeping teare.
Shed for the slaughtred husband by the wife.
The red bloud reekd to shew the painters strife,
And dying eies gleemd forth their ashy lights,
Like dying coales burnt out in tedious nights,
There might you see the labouring Pyoner
Begrimd with sweat, and smeared all with dust,
And from the towres of Troy there would appeare
The verie eies of men through loope-holes thrust,
Gazing vpon the Greekes with little lust,
Such sweet obseruance in this worke was had,
[Page] That one might see those farre off eies looke sad.
In great commanders, Grace and Maiestie
You might behold triumphing in their faces,
In youth quick-bearing and dexteritie,
And heere and there the Painter interlaces
Pale couards marching on with trembling paces,
Which hartlesse peasants did so well resemble,
That one would sweare he saw them quake & tremble.
In Aiax and Vlysses, O what Art
Of Phisiognomy might one behold!
The face of either cipher'd eithers heart,
Their face, their maners most expresly told.
In Aiax eies blunt rage and rigor rold.
But the mild glance that she Vlisses lent,
Shew'd 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 speach it seemd his beard, al 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 prease of gaping faces
Which seem'd to swallow vp his sound aduise:
All ioyntly listning, but with seuerall graces,
As if some Mermaid did their eares intise,
Some high, some low, the painter was so nise.
The scalpes of many almost hid behind,
To iump vp higher seem'd to mock the mind.
Here one mans hand lean'd on anothers head.
His nose being shadowed by his neighbours eare,
Here one being throng'd beares backe al boln and red;
Another smotherd, seemes to pelt and sweare,
[Page] 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 angry swords.
For much imaginarie worke was there,
Conceipt deceitfull, so compact so kinde,
That for Achilles image stood his speare
Gript in an armed hand, himselfe behinde
Was left vnseene, saue to the eye of minde,
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 many Troiane mothers sharing ioy,
To see their youthfull sonnes bright weapons wield,
And to their hope they such odde action yield,
That through their light ioy seemed to appeare,
(Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heauie feare.
And from the strond of Dardan where they fought,
To Simois reedy banks the red bloud ran,
Whose waues to imitate the battel sought
With swelling ridges, and their ranks began
To breake vpon the galled shore, and than
Retire againe, till meeting greater ranks
They ioyne, and shoot their some at Simois banks.
To this well painted peece is Lucrece come,
To finde a face where all distresse is steld,
Many she sees, where cares haue carued some,
But none where all distresse and dolour dweld,
Til she dispairing Hecuba beheld,
Staring on Priams wounds with her old eyes,
Which bleeding vnder Pirrhus proud foot lies.
In her the Painter had annotimiz'd
Times ruine, Beauties wrack, and grim Cares raigne,
Of what she was, no semblance did remaine;
Her blew bloud chang'd to black in euery vain,
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed
Shew'd life imprison'd in a body dead.
On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her cies,
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 Lucrece sweares he did her wrong,
To giue her so much griefe, and not a tong.
Poore instrument (quoth she) without a sound,
Ile tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue:
And drop sweet balme in Priams painted wound,
And raile on Pirrhus that hath done him wrong,
And with my teares quench Troy that burns so long:
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
Of all the Greeks, that are thine enemies.
Shew me the strumpet that began this sturre,
That with my nailes her beautie I may teare:
Thy heat of lust fond Paris did incurre
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 Son, the Dame and Daughter die.
Why should the priuate pleasure of some one
Become the publick plague of many moe?
Let sinne alone committed, light alone
Vpon his head that hath transgressed so.
Let guiltlesse soules be freed from guiltie woe.
For ones offence why should so many fall?
To plague a priuate sinne in generall.
Loe here weepes Hecuba, here Priam dies,
Here manly Hector faints, here Troylus sounds,
Here friend by friend in bloudy channell lies:
And friend to friend giues vnaduised wounds,
And one mans lust these many liues confounds.
Had doting Priam checkt his sonnes desire,
Troy had bin bright with Fame, and not with fire.
Here feelingly she weeps Troyes painted woes,
For sorrow, like a heauy hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his owne waight goes,
Then little strength rings out the dolefull knell:
So Lucrece set a worke, sad tales doth tell
To penseld pensiuenesse, and colour'd sorrow,
She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.
She throwes her eies about the painted round,
And who she finds forlorne she doth lament:
At last shee sees wretched image bound,
That piteous lookes to Phrygian shepheards lent,
His face though full of cares, yet shew'd content,
Onward to Troy with these blunt swaines he goes,
So mild, that patience seemd to scorne his woes.
In him the painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceipt and giue the harmelesse show
An humble gate, calme lookes, eies wayling still,
A brow vnbent that seem'd to welcome wo,
Cheekes, neither red, nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red, no guilty 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 this secret euill,
That Iealousie it selfe could not mistrust,
False creeping craft and Periurie should thrust
Or blot with hel-borne sin such Saint-like forms.
The well-skild workman this mild Image drew
For periur'd Sinon, whose inchanting 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 starres shot from their fixed places,
When their glasse fell wherein they viewd their faces.
This picture she aduisedly perusd,
And chide the Painter for his woundrous skill:
Saying, some shape in Sinons was abusd,
So faire a forme lodg'd not a mind so ill,
And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still
Such signes of truth in his plaine face she spied,
That she concluds, the picture was belied.
It cannot be (quoth she) that so much guile,
(She would haue said) can lurke in such a Looke:
But Tarquins shape, came in her minde the while.
And from her tongue, can lurke, from cannot, tooke
It cannot be, she in that sense forsooke,
And turnd it thus, it cannot be I find,
But such a face should beare a wicked minde.
For euen as subtill Sinon here is painted,
So sober sad, so weary and so milde,
(As if with griefe or trauaile he had fainted,)
To me came Tarquin armed to beguild
With outward honestie, but yet defil'd
With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
So did I Tarquin, so my Troy did perish.
Looke, looke how listning Priam wets his eies
To see those borrowed teares that Sinon sheds
Priam why art thou old, and yet not wise?
His eyes drops fire, no water thence proceeds,
Those round cleare pearles of his that moue thy pity
Are bals of quenchlesse fire to burne thy Citie.
Such Diuels 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,
Onely to flatter fooles and make them bold:
So Priams trust false Sinons teares doth flatter
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.
Here all inrag'd such passion her assailes,
That patience is quite beaten from her breast,
She teares the sencelesse Sinon with her nailes,
Comparing him to that vnhappie guest,
Whose deede hath made herselfe, herselfe detest;
At last she smilingly with this giues ore,
Foole, foole, quoth she his wounds will not be sore.
Thus ebs and flowes the currant of her sorrow,
And time doth weary time with her complayning,
She lookes for night, and then she longs for morrow,
And both she thinks too long with her remaining.
Short time seemes long, in sorrows sharp sustaining:
Though woe be heauie, yet it seldome sleeps,
And they that watch, see time how slow it creeps.
Which all this time hath ouerslipt her thought,
That she with painted Images hath spent,
Being from the feeling of her owne griefe brought,
By deepe surmise of others detriment,
Loosing her woes in shewes of discontent:
It easeth some, though none it euer cured,
To thinke their dolour others haue endured.
But now the mindfull Messenger comes backe,
[Page]
Vpon Lucrece sending for Collatine i [...] such hast, he with d [...] uers of his allies and friends returnes home.
Brings home his Lord and other company,Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black,
And round about her teare-distained-eye
Blew circles stream'd, like Rainbowes in the skie.
These watergals in her dim Element,
Foretell new stormes to those already spent.
Which when her sad beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her sad face he stares:
Her eies though sod in teares look'd red and raw,
Her liuely colour kild with deadly cares,
He hath no power to aske her how she fares,
But 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 befallen, that thou dost trembling stand?
Sweet loue, what spite hath thy faire colour spent?
Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent?
Vnmask deare deare, this moodie heauinesse,
And tell thy griefe, that we may giue redresse.
Three times with sighs she giues her sorrow fire,
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length addrest to answere his desire,
She modestly 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,
Fow words (quoth shee) shall fit the trespasse best,
Wherein no excuse can giue the fault amending,
In me more woes then words are now depending
And my laments would be drawne out too long,
[Page] To tell them all with one poore tired tongue?
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 was wont to rest thy weary head,
And what wrong else may be imagined,
By foule inforcement might be done to me,
From that (alas) thy Lucrece is not free.
For in the dreadfull dead of darke mid night,
With shining Fauchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature with a flaming light,
And softly cryed, awake thou Roman Dame,
And intertaine my loue, else lasting shame
On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my loues desire doe contradict.
For some hard-fauour'd groome of thine, quoth he,
Vnlesse thou yoake 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 Leachers in their deed, this act will be
My fame, and thy perpetuall infamie.
With this I did begin to start and cry,
And then against my heart he sets 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 Rome
Th' adulterat death of Lucrece and her groome.
Mine enemy was strong, my poore selfe weake,
(And farre the weaker with so strong a feare)
My bloudie Iudge forbad my tongue to speake,
No rightfull plea might plead for Iustice there.
[Page] His scarlet lust came euidence to sweare,
That my poore beautie had purloin'd his eies;
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 grose bloud be staind with this abuse,
Immaculate, and spotlesse is my minde,
That was not forc't, that neuer was inclin'd
To accessarie yeeldings, but still pure
Doth in her poison'd closet yet indure.
Loe here the hopelesse Marchant of this losse,
With head inclin'd and voice dam'd vp with wo,
With sad set eies and wretched armes a crosse,
From lips new waxen pale, begins to blow
The griefe away, that stops his answere so,
But wretched as he is he striues in vaine,
What he breaths out, his breath drinks vp againe.
As through an Arch, the violent roaring Tide,
Out runs the eye that doth behold his hast:
Yet in the Edie boundeth in his pride,
Back to the straite that forst him on so fast:
In rage sent out, recald in rage being past;
Euen so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw,
To push griefe on and back the same griefe draw.
Which speechlesse woe of his poore she attendeth,
And his vntimely frenzie thus awaketh,
Deare Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power, no floud by raining slaketh,
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh
More feeling painfull, let it then suffice
To drowne one woe, one paire of weeping eyes,
And for my sake when I might charme thee so,
For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me,
[Page] Be sodainly reuenged on my foe,
Thine, mine, his owne, suppose thou dost defend me
From what is past, the help 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 she
(Speaking to those that came with Collatine)
Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
With swift pursute 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 harms.
Vpon the relation of Lucrece her rape, Collatine and the rest sweare to reuenge: but this seemes not full satisfaction to her losses. She killeth her selfe to exasperate them the more to punish the delinquent.
At this request, with noble disposition,Each present Lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition,
Longing to heare the hatefull foe bewrard,
But the that yet her sad taske hath not said,
The protestation stops, O speake quoth she,
How may this forced staine be wipt from me?
What is the qualitie of mine offence
Being constrain'd with dreadfull circumstances?
May my pure mind with the foule act dispence
My low declined honour to aduance?
May any 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 say,
Her bodies staine, the minde vntainted cleares,
While with a ioylesse, smile, she turnes away
The face, that map which deepe impression beares
Of hard misfortune, caru'd it in with teares.
No no, quoth she, no Dame hereafter liuing,
By my excuse shall claime excuses giuing.
Here with a sigh, as if her heart would breake,
She throwes forth Tarquins name: he, he, she saies
But more then he, her poore tongue could not speake,
Till after many accents and delaies,
Vntimely breathings, sick and short assaies,
She vtters this, he he, faire Lord, tis he
That guids this hand to giue this wound to me.
Euen here sheath'd in her harmelesse breast
A harmefull knife, that thence her soule vnsheathed,
That blow did bayle it from the deepe vnrest
Of that polluted prison where it breathed
Her contrite sighs vnto the clouds bequeathed,
Her winged spright, and through her wounds doth flye
Lifes lasting date from cancel'd destinie.
Stone still, astonisht with this deadly deed,
Stood Colatine and all his Lordly crue,
Till Lucrece father that beholds her bleed.
Himselfe, on her self-slaughtered body threw,
And from the purple fountaine Brutus drew
The murdrous knife, and as it left the place,
Her bloud 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 body in on euery side,
Who like a late sackt Iland vastly stood
Bare and vnpeopled in this fearefull flood.
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd
And some lookt blacke, and that false Tarquin stain'd.
About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood, a watry rigoll goes,
Which seemes to weepe vpon the tainted place;
And euer since as pitying Lucrece woes,
Corrupted blood some watry token showes,
[Page] And bloud vntainted still doth red abide,
Blushing at that which is so putrifide.
Daughter, deare daughter, old Lucretius cries.
That life was mine which thou hast here depriued,
If in the childe the fathers image lies,
Where shall I liue now Lucrece is vnliued?
Thou wast not to this end from me deriued.
If children praedecease progenitours,
We are their off-spring and they none of ours.
Poore broken glasse, I often did behold
In thy sweete semblance, my old age new borne,
But now that faire fresh mirrour dim and old,
Shewes me a barebon'd death by time out worne,
O from my cheeks my image thou hast torne,
And shiuerd all the beautie from my glasse,
That I no more can see what once I was.
O time cease thou thy course and hast no longer,
If thou surcease to be that should suruiue:
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,
And leaue the foultring feeble soules a liue?
The old Bees die, the yong possesse their hiue,
Then liue sweet Lucrece, liue againe and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee.
By this stars Collatine as from a dreame.
And bids Lucretius giue his sorrow place,
And then in Key cold Lucrece bleeding streame
He fals, and bathes the pale feare in his face,
And counterfeits 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 made that sorrow should his vse controle,
[Page] Or keepe him from heart-easing words so long,
Begins to talke, but through his lips do throng
Weak words so thick comes in his poore hearts aid
That no man could distinguish what he said.
Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plaine,
But through his teeth as if his name he tore.
This windie tempest till it blow vp raine,
Held back his sorrowes tide to make it more.
At last it raines, and busie winds giue ore:
Then sonne and father weepe with equall strife,
Who should weepe 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 she's mine, O mine she is
Replies her husband, do not take away
My sorrowes interest, let no mourner say
He weepes for her, for she was onely mine.
And onely must be waild by Colatine.
O, quoth Lucretius, I did giue that life
Which she too early and too late hath spild.
Woe woe, quoth Colatine, she was my wife,
I owed her, and tis mine that she hath kild.
My daughter and my wife with clamors fild
The disperst aire, who holding Lucrece life,
Answered their cries, my daughter and my wife.
Brutus who pluckt the knife from Lucrece side
Seeing such emulation in their woe,
Began to cloath his wit in state and pride.
Burying in Lucrece wound his follies show.
He with the Romains was esteemed so
As selie ieering ideots are with kings,
For sportiue words, and vttering foolish things.
But now he throwes that shallow habit by,
[Page] Wherein the pollicy did him disguise,
And arm'd his long hid wits aduisedly
To check the teares in Colatinus eies,
Thou wronged Lord of Rome, quoth he, arise,
Let my vnsounded selfe supposd a foole,
Now set thy long experienc't wit to schoole,
Why Colatine, is woe the cure for woe?
Doe wounds help wounds, or griefe helpe grieuous deeds
Is it reuengie to giue thy selfe a blow
For his foule Act, by whom thy faire wife bleeds?
Such childish humor from weake minds proceeds,
Thy wretched wife mistooke the matter so,
To slaue her selfe that should haue slaine her Foe.
Couragious Romane doe not steepe thy heart
In such lamenting dew of lamentations,
But kneele with me and helpe to beare thy part,
To rouse our Roman Gods with inuocations,
That they will suffer these abhominations,
(Since Rome her selfe in them doth stand disgraced)
By our strong arms from forth her faire streets chased.
Now by the Capitoll that we adore,
And by this chast blood so vniustly stained,
By heauens faire sun that breeds the fat earths store
By all our country rites in Rome maintained,
And by chast Lucrece soule that late complained
Her wrongs to vs, and by this bloudy knife,
We will reuenge the death of this true wife.
This said, he stroke 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 ioyntly to the ground their knees they bow,
And that deepe vow which Brutus made before
[Page] He doth againe repeat, and that they swore.
When they had sworne to this aduised doome,
They did conclude to beare dead Lucrece thence
To shew the bleeding body through out Rome,
And so to publish Tarquins foule offence;
Which being done, with speedy diligence
The Romains plausibly did giue consent,
To Tarquins euerlasting banishment.
FINIS.