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(As if with grief or travel he had fainted)
To me came Tarquin armed, fo beguil'd
With outward. honefty, but yet defil'd

With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
So did I Tarquin, fo my Troy did perith.

Look, look how lift'ning Priam wets his eyes
To fee those borrow'd tears that Sinon fheds!
Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wife?
For every tear he falls, a Trojan bleeds:
His eyes drop fire, no water thence proceeds.
Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity,
Are balls of quenchlefs fire to burn thy city.

Such devils fteal effects from lightless hell,
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,
And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell:
These contraries fuch unity do hold,

Only to flatter fools, and make them bold:

So Priam's truft falfe Sinon's tears doth flatter, That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.

Here all enrag'd fuch paffion her afsails,

That patience is quite beaten from her breast;
She tears the fenfeless Sinon with her nails,
Comparing him to that unhappy guest,
Whofe deed hath made herfelf herfelf deteft.
At laft fhe feemingly with this gives o'er,
Fool! fool! quoth fhe, his wounds will not be fore.

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her forrow,
And time doth weary time with her complaining:
She looks for night and then she longs for morrow,
And both the thinks too long with her remaining:
Short time seems long, in forrow's sharp sustaining.

Tho' woe be heavy, yet it seldom fleeps,

And they that watch, fee time how flow it creeps.

Which all this time hath over-flipt her thought,
That the with painted images hath spent,
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought,
By deep furmife of others detriment,
Loofing her woes in fhews of difcontent.

It eafeth fome, tho' none it ever cur'd,
'To think their dolour others have endur'd.

But new the mindful meffenger comes back,
Brings home his lord, and other company;
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black,
And round about her tear-diftained eye
Blue circles ftream'd, like rainbows in the sky.
Thefe watergalls, in her dim element,
Foretel new storms to thofe already spent.

Which when her fad beholding hufband faw,
Amazedly in her fad face he ftares:
Her eyes, tho' fod in tears, look red and raw,
Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.
He has no power to ask her how the fares,

But ftood like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wond'ring each other's chance.

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand,
And thus begins: What uncouth ill event

Hath thee befallen, that thou doft trembling ftand?
Sweet love, what fpite hath thy fair colour fpent?
Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent?

Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.

Three times with fighs fhe gives her forrows fire,
Ere once the can discharge one word of woe:
At length addrefs'd, to anfwer this defire,
She modeftly prepares, to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prifoner by the foe:
While Colatine, and his conforted lords,
With fad attention long to hear her words.

And now this pale fwan in her watʼry neft,
Begins the fad dirge of her certain ending.
Few words, quoth fhe, fhall fit the trespass beft,
Wherein no excufe can give the fault a mending;
In me more woes than words are now depending :.
And my laments would be drawn out too long,
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.

Then be this all the task it hath to fay,
Dear husband, in the intereft of thy bed
A ftranger came, and on that pillow lay,
Where thou waft wont to rest thy weary head;
And what wrong elfe may be imagined

By foul enforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.

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For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
With fhining fauchion in my chamber, came
A creeping creature with a flaming light,
And foftly cry'd, Awake thou Roman dame!
And entertain my love, elfe lafting shame

On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love's defire do contradict.

For fome hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he, Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,

Fll murder ftrait, and then I'll flaughter thee,
And fwear I found you, where you did fulfil
The loathfome act of luft; and fo did kill

The lechers in their deed: this act will be
My fame, and thy perpetual infamy.

With this I did begin to ftart and cry,
And then againft my heart he fets his fword,
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,

I fhould not live to speak another word :
So fhould my fhame ftill reft upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rome,.

Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.

Mine enemy was ftrong, my poor felf weak,.
(And far the weaker with fo ftrong a fear)
My bloody judge forbad my tongue to speak,
No rightful plea might plead for justice there:
His fcarlet luft came evidence to swear,

That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes;
And when the judge is robb'd, the prifoner dies.

Oh! teach me how to make mine own excufe,
Or at the leaft, this refuge let me find;
Tho' my grofs blood be ftain'd with this abufe,
Immaculate and spotlefs is my mind ;'
That was not forc'd, that never was inclin'd
To acceffary yieldings: but still pure
Doth in her poifon'd clofet yet endure.

Lo! here the hopeless merchant of this lofs,.
With head inclin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe;
With fad fet eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away, that ftops his anfwer so.

But wretched as he is, he ftrives in vain;

What he breathes out, his breath drinks up again,

As thro', an arch, the violent roaring tide
Out-runs the eye, that doth behold his haste ;-
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride
Back to the ftrait, that forc'd him on so fast;
In rage fent out, recall'd in rage being paft:
Even fo his fighs, his forrows make a faw,

To pufh grief on, and back the fame grief draw..

Which fpeechlefs woe of his, poor fhe attendeth,.
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
Dear lord, thy forrow to my forrow lendeth
Another power, no flood my raining flacketh -
My woe too fenfible thy paffion maketh

More feeling painful; let it then fuffice

To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.

And for my fake, when I might charm thee fo,
For fhe, that was thy Lucrece-now attend me,.
Be fuddenly revenged on my foe;

Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou doft defend me
From what is paft, the help, that thou fhalt lend me
Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die,
For fparing juftice feeds iniquity.

But ere I name him, you fair lords, quoth fhe,
(Speaking to thofe that came with Colatine)
Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
With fwift pursuit to 'venge this wrong of mine:
For 'tis a meritorious fair design,

To chafe injuftice with revengeful arms,

Knights by their oaths fhould right poor ladies harms.

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