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Honour and beauty in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortrest from a world of harm*.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade

The eyes of men without an orator;

What needed then apologies be made,

To set forth that which is fo singular i

Or why is Colatine the publisher

Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish cares, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' fov'reignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be.
Perchance, that envy of fo rich a thing
Braving compare, disdainsully did sting fvant
His high-pitcht thoughts, that meaner men should
The golden-hap, which their superiors want.

But fome untimely thought did instigate
His all too timeless speed, if none of those.
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal, which in his liver glows.

O rash false heat wrapt in repentant cold!

Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old.

When at Colatium this false lord arriv'd,
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd,
Which of them both should underprop her fame.
When virtue brag'd, beauty would blush for shame;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despight,
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.

Bat beauty, in that white intituled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair sield;
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
Her silver cheeks and ca-ll'd it then her shield -;
Teaching them thus to use it in the sight,
When shame asfail'd, the red should sence the


This heraldry in Luerece' face was seen,
Argu'd by beauty's red and virtue's white-;
Of either's colour was the other queen,
Proving from world's minority their right;
Yet their ambition makes them still to sight:
The fov'reignty os either being fo great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat.

This silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's sield,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye incloses,
Where, lest between them' both it should be kill'd,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield

To those two armies, that would let him go,
Rather than triumph o'er fo false a foe.

Now thinks he, that her husband's shallow tongue,
The niggard prodigal, that prais'd her fo,
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,'
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show.
Therefore that praise, which Colatine doth owe,

Inchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,

In filent wonder of still gazing eyes.

This earthly faint, adored by the devil,
Little suspected the false worshipper.


• For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream of evil,

* Birds never lim'd, no secret bushes sear:'

So guiltless she securely gives good chear. .- .
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm exprest.

For that he <:olour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in pleats of majesty,
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save fometimes too much wonder of his eye:
Which having all, all could not fatissy;
But poorly rich fo wanteth .in his store,
That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But (lie that never cop'd with stranger-eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
Nor read the subtle shining secrcsies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books,
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor sear'd no hooks.;
Nor could stie moralize his wanton sight.
More, than his eyes were open'd to the light.

He stories to her eats her husband's fame,

Won in the sields of fruitsul Italy;

And tkcks with praises Colatine's high name,

Made glorious by his manly chivalry,

With bruised arms and wreaths of viElory. \

Her joy with heav'd up hand she doth express,
And wordless, fo greets heav'n for his success.

Far from the purpose os his coming thither,
He makes excuses for his being there;
No cloudy (how.of stormy blust'ring weather,
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear,
Till fable night, fad fource of dread and sear,
"Dpon the world dim darkness doth display,
Aud in her vaulty prifon shuts the day.

Tor then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending weariness with heavy sprite-; .
for after supper long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night.
Now leaden flumber with lise's strength doth sight,
And every one to rest themselves betake,
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that


As one'of which, doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining,
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
Tho' weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining 5
Despair to gain doth trassisick oft for gaining:

And when great treasure is the meed propos'd,
Tho' death be adjunct, there's no death suppos'd.

Those that much covet are of gain fo fond,
That oft they have not that which they possess-;
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And fo by hoping more, they have but less;
Or gaining more, the" prosit of excess

Is but to surseit, and such griefs sustain,

That they prove bankrupt in this poor, rich, gain.

The aim of all, is but to nurse the lise
With honour, wealth and ease in waining age:
And in this aim there is such thwarting strise,
That one for all, or all for one we gage:
As lise for honour, in sell battles rage,

Honour for wealth, and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and altogether lost.

So that in venturing all, we leave to be

The things we are, for that which we expect:

And this ambitious foul insirmity,

In having much, torments us with defect

Of that we have: fo then we do neglect

The thing we have, and, all for want of wit,
Make fomething nothing, by augmenting it.

Such hazard now must doating Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust:
And for himself, himself he must forfake;
Then where is truth, if there be no self trust?
When shall he think to sind a stranger just,

When he himself, himself consounds, betrays,
To fland'rous tongue6 the wretched hatesul lays?

Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy flsep had clos'd up mortal eyes;
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls, and wolves death boding cries':
Now serves the seafon, that they may surprize

The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,
Whilst lust and murder wakes to stain and kill.

And now this lustsul lord leapt from his bed,
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm,
Is madly tost between desire and dread;
Th' one sweetly starters, the other seareth harm:
But honest sear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
Beaten away by brainsick rude desire.

His fauchion on a flint he foftly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of sire do fly,

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