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For men have marble, women waxen minds,
And therefore they are form'd as marble will:
The weak opprel's'd, th' impression of sirange kinds -
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill.
Then call them not the authors of their ill,

Np more than wax shall be accounted evil, i .
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil-

Their smoothness, like an even champain plain*..
Lays open all the little worms that creep.
In men, as in a rough grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils,. that obfcuiely steep:
Thro' crystal walls each little moie will peep..

Tho' men can cover crimes with bold" stern looks.*;

Poor womens laces are their own faults. books.

No man inveighs against the witber'd flower,
But chides rough winter, that the flower has kill'd ::
Not that's deveur'd, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame: O let it not be held .{ . 1 fl
Poor womens faults that they are fo sujsill'd . i
With mens abuses; thole proud lords, to blame,.
Make weak mad women tenants to their shame.

The precedent whereof in Lucrwe view,
Aflail'd by night with circumstances strong • ..
Of present death, and shame that might ensue
By that her death to do her husband wrong;
Such danger to resistance did belong, ....

The dying sear thro' all her body spread,.

And who cannot abuse a. body dead? 3 '.

By this mild patience did fair Lucrece speak- ;.
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining:

T A R <fcu i N and L o c R E C Et" &£.

My girl, quoth she, on what occasion break [ing? Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are rainIf thou dost: weep for grief of my sustaining,

Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood ^ If tears could help, mine own. would do me good.

But tell me, girl, when went (and there she sbud,.

Till aster a deep groan) Tarquin from hence?

Madam, ere I was up (replied the maid).

The more to blame my fluggard negligence:

Yet with the fault I thus sar can dispense;
Myself was stirring ere the break of day.
And ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.

But lady, if your maid may be sb bold,

She would request to know your heaviness.

O peace (quoth Lucrece) if it should be told,

The repetition cannot make it less ;.

For more it is, than I can well express:

And that deep torture may be call'd a hell,
"When- more is selt than one hath power to tell.

Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen;

"Yet fave that labour, for I have them here.

(What should I fay ?) One of my husband's mea

Bid you be ready, by and by to bear

A letter to my lord, my love, my dear;
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it,
The cause craves haste, and it will foon be writ.

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write,
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill;
Conceit and grief an eager combat sight, .
"What wit setis down, is. blotted still with will
This is too curious good, this. blunt and ill;
Much like a press of people at a door,:
Throng her inventions, which shall go before.

At last she thus begins: Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wise, that greeteth thee,
Health to thy perfon; next vouchfase t' afford.
(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see)
Some present speed to come and visit me:
So I commend me from our house in grief,
My woes are tedious, tho* my words are brief.

Here folds she up the tenor of her woe,
Her certain forrow writ uncertainly:
By this short schedule Colatine may know
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality :-
She dares not therefore make discovery,

Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,

Ere she with Wood had stain'd her strain'd excuse.

Besides the lise and seeling of her passion,
She hoards to spend, when he is by to hear her;
When. sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the
Of her disgrace, the better fo to clear her [fashion
From that suspicion which the world might bear her:
To shun this blot, she wou'd not blot the letter
With words, till action might become them better*

To see fad sights, moves more than hear them told
For then the eye interprets to the ear. • -

The" heavy motion that it doth behold:
When every part a part of woe doth bear?
'Tis but a part of forrow that we hear.

Deep founds make lesser noise than shallow fordsY
And forfow ebbst being blown with wind ofwords*
Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ,
At Ardea to! my lord with more than haste;
The post. attends, and she delivers it,
Charging the four-facM groom to hie as fast,
As lagging fouls before the northern blast.

Speed, more thanspeed, but dull and flow she deems,,
Extremity still urgeth such extremes.

The homely villain curtsies ta her low,
And blushing on her with a stedfast eye,.
Receives the scroll without or yea or no;
For outward bashsul innocence doth fly.
But they whose guilt within their bofoms lie,
Imagine every eye beholds their blame,
For Lucrece thought slie blush'd to see her shame*.

When silly groom (God wot) it was- desect
Of spirit, lise, and bold audacity ;-
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others faucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely;
Even so this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage.

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red sires in both their faces blaz'd.
She thought he blush'd as knowing Tarquin's lustj,
And blushing with him, wistly on him gaz'd,
Her earnest eye did make him more amazM:
The more she faw the blood his cheeks replenish
The more she thought he spy'd in her fome blemish

But long she thinks till he return again,
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone:
The weary time she cannot entertaia,
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and- groan*
So woe hath wearied Woe, moan tired moan,
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pauling for means to mourn fome newer way.

At last {he calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting made for Priam's Troy;
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece*-
For Helen's rape the city to. destroy*
Threatening cloud kiffing Ilion with annoy;
Which the conceited painter drew fo proud,
As heaven (it scem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thoufand lamentable objects there;
In scorn of nature, art gave liseless lise;
Many a dire drop scem'd a weeping tear,
Shed for the flaughter'd husband by the wife.
The red blood reek'd to shew the painter's strise.

And dying eyes gleem'd forth their ashy lights*.

Like dying coals burnt out in tedious-nights.

There might you see the labouring pioneer BegrimM with sweat, and smeared all with dust; And from the towers of Troy, there wou'd appear The very eyes of men thro' loop-holes thrust, Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust.

t)uc.h sweet observance in the work was had, That one might see those far-off eyes look fadi

In great commanders, grace and majesty
You might behold triumphing in their saces:
In youth quick-btaring and dexterity:
And here and there the painter interlaces
Fale cowards matching.on with trembling paces:

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