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Mens faults do seldom to themselves appear,
Their own transgressions partially they smother:
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother;
O! ho-ar are they wrapt in with insamies,
That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes
To thee, to thee, my heav'd up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust's outrageous sire;
I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal,
Let him return and flattering thoughts retire.
His true aspect will prifon false desire,
And wipe the dim mist from thy doating eyne,.
That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.
Have done, quolh he, my uncontroukd tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let y
Small lights are soon blown out, huge sires abide,.
And with the wind in greater sury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
To their falt fovereign with their fresh false haste
Add to his flow, bm alter not the taste.
Thou art (quoth she) a sea, a fovereign king.
And lo! there falls into tby boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these petty ills should change thy good.
Thy sea within a puddle womb is burst,
And not the puddle in thy sea dispers'd.
So shall these flaves be king,. and thou their flave 5.
Thou nobly base, they basely dignisied;
Thou their fair lise, and the\ thy fouler grave;
Thou loathed in thy shame, they in thy pride:
The lesser thing should not the greater hide.-
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.
So let thy thoughts low vassals to thy state —
No more, quoth he, by heaven I will not hear thee:
Yield to my love; if not, ensorced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee:
That done, despitesully I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of fome rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this shamesul doom.
This faid, lie sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf has seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries,
Till with her own white fleece her voice controul'd^
Intombs her outcry in her lips sweet fold.
For with the nightly linen, that she wears,
He pens her piteous clamours in her head,
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears,
That ever modest eyes with forrow shed.
O that foul lust should stain fo pure a bedl
The spots whereof, could weeping purisy,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.
But she hath lost a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again;
This forced league doth force a surther strife,
This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
. This hot desire converts to cold disdain.
Pure chastity is rifled of her store,
And lust, the thief, far poorer than before.
Look as the sull-sed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt sor tender smell, or speedy flight,
Make flow pursuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight:
So surseit-taking Tarquin sears this night;
His taste delicious, in digestion fouring,
Devours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring.
O! deeper sin, than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination!
Drunken desire, must vomit his receit,
Ere he Cin see his own abomination.' ' •
While lust is in his pride, no exclamation
Can curb his hear, or rein his ralh desire,
TiH, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.
And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,
Jeeble desire all recreant, poor and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The flesh being proud, desire does sight with grace.
For there it revels, and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.
So fares it with this fault-sull lord of Rome,
Who.this accomplishment fo hotly chas'd:
For now against himself he founds this doom,
That thro' the length of time he stands disgrae'd:
Besides, his soul's fair temple is desae'd;
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
To alk the spotted princess how she fares.
She fays, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wajl,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection'
Her immortality, and made her thrall ; 1
To living death, and pain perpetual:
"Which in her prescience she controuled still,
But her foresight could not fore-stall their will.
E'en in this thought thro' the dark night he stealetb,
A captive victor, that hath-lost in: gain -. .t .!
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that.will, despite of cure, remain:
Xieaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load os lust he left behind,
And he the burden of a guilty mind- '-'
He like a thievish dog creeps fadly thence,
She like a weary'd lamb lies panting there:
He scowls and hates himsels for his offence,
She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear:
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty sear:
She stays -exclaiming on the diresul night,
He runs and chides his vanish''d loath'd delight.
Tie thence departs a'heavy convertite;
She there remains a hopeless cast-away:
He iu his speed looks for the morning-lights
She prays she never may behold the day:
For day (quoth she) night scapes doth open lay;
And my true eyes have never practis'd how
To cloke offences with a cunning brow.
They think not but that every eye can see
The fame disgrace, which they themselves "behold";
And therefore would they still in darkness Ke,
To have their unseen sin remain untold.
For they their guilt with weeping will unsold,
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,
Upon their cheeks what helpless shame they seel.
Here site exclaims against repose and rest,
And bids her eyes hereaster still be blind;
She wakes her heart, by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may sind.
Some purer chest to dose fo pure a mind.
Frantic with- grief, thusbreathes she forth her spight
Against the unseen secrecy of night.
O comfort-killing night! image of hell!
Dim register! and notary of shame!
Black stage for tragedies! and murders sell 1'
Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour of defame!
Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator
With close-tongued treafon and the ravishert
O hatesul, vapourous, and foggy night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportions course of time:
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poifonous clouds about his golden head.
With rotten damps ravish the morning air,
Let their exhal'd unwholefome breaths make sick
The lise of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick:
And let thy misty vapours march fo thick,
That in their smoaky ranks his smother'd light
May set at noon, and make perpetual night.