lirik lagu richard burton - the rape of lucrece
from the besieged ardea all in post
borne by the trustless wings of false desire
l~st~breathed tarquin leaves the roman host
and to collatium bears the lightless fire
which in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
and girdle with embracing flames the waist
of collatine’s fair love, lucrece the chaste
haply that name of “chaste” unhapp’ly set
this bateless edge on his keen appetitе
when collatine unwisely did not lеt
to praise the clear unmatched red and white
which triumphed in that sky of his delight;
where mortal stars as bright as heaven’s beauties
with pure aspects did him peculiar duties
for he the night before, in tarquin’s tent
unlocked the treasure of his happy state
what priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
in the possession of his beauteous mate;
reck’ning his fortune at such high proud rate
that kings might be espoused to more fame
but king nor peer to such a peerless dame
o happiness enjoyed but of a few
and, if possessed, as soon decayed and done
as is the morning’s silver melting dew
against the golden splendour of the sun!
an expired date, cancelled ere well begun
honour and beauty in the owner’s arms
are weakly fortressed from a world of harms
beauty itself doth of itself persuade
the eyes of men without an orator;
what needeth then apologies be made
to set forth that which is so singular?
or why is collatine the publisher
of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
from thievish ears, because it is his own?
perchance his boast of lucrece’ sov’reignty
suggested this proud issue of a king;
for by our ears our hearts oft tainted be
perchance that envy of so rich a thing
braving compare, disdainfully did sting
his high~pitched thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt
that golden hap which their superiors want
but some 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, wrapped in repentant cold
thy hasty spring still blasts and ne’er grows old!
when at collatium this false lord arrived
well was he welcomed by the roman dame
within whose face beauty and virtue strived
which of them both should underprop her fame
when virtue bragged, beauty would blush for shame;
when beauty boasted blushes, in despite
virtue would stain that o’er with silver white
but beauty, in that white intituled
from venus’ doves, doth challenge that fair field
then virtue claims from beauty beauty’s red
which virtue gave the golden age to gild
their silver cheeks, and called it then their shield;
teaching them thus to use it in the fight
when shame assailed, the red should fence the white
this heraldry in lucrece’ face was seen
argued 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 fight;
the sovereignty of either being so great
that oft they interchange each other’s seat
their silent war of lilies and of roses
which tarquin viewed in her fair face’s field
in their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
where, lest between them both it should be k!lled
the coward captive vanquished doth yield
to those two armies that would let him go
rather than triumph in so false a foe
now thinks he that her husband’s shallow tongue
the n~ggard prodigal that praised her so
in that high task hath done her beauty wrong
which far exceeds his barren sk!ll to show
therefore that praise which collatine doth owe
enchanted tarquin answers with surmise
in silent wonder of still~gazing eyes
this earthly saint, adored by this devil
little suspecteth the false worshipper;
for unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
birds never limed no secret bushes fear
so guiltless she securely gives good cheer
and reverend welcome to her princely guest
whose inward ill no outward harm expressed
for that he coloured with his high estate
hiding base sin in pleats of majesty
that nothing in him seemed inordinate
save sometime too much wonder of his eye
which, having all, all could not satisfy;
but, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store
that, cloyed with much, he pineth still for more
but she, that never coped with stranger eyes
could pick no meaning from their parling looks
nor read the subtle shining secrecies
writ in the glassy margents of such books;
she touched no unknown baits, nor feared no hooks
nor could she moralize his wanton sight
more than his eyes were opened to the light
he stories to her ears her husband’s fame
won in the fields of fruitful italy;
and decks with praises collatine’s high name
made glorious by his manly chivalry
with bruised arms and wreaths of victory
her joy with heaved~up hand she doth express
and, wordless, so greets heaven for his success
far from the purpose of his coming thither
he makes excuses for his being there
no cloudy show of stormy bl~st’ring weather
doth yet in his fair welkin once appear
till sable night, mother of dread and fear
upon the world dim darkness doth display
and in her vaulty prison stows the day
for 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 slumber with life’s strength doth fight
and every one to rest themselves betake
save thieves and cares and troubled minds that wake
as one of which doth tarquin lie revolving
the sundry dangers of his will’s obtaining
yet ever to obtain his will resolving
though weak~built hopes persuade him to abstaining
despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining
and when great treasure is the meed proposed
though death be adjunct, there’s no death supposed
those that much covet are with gain so fond
for what they have not, that which they possess
they scatter and unloose it from their bond;
and so, by hoping more, they have but less
or, gaining more, the profit of excess
is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain
that they prove bankrout in this poor~rich gain
the aim of all is but to nurse the life
with honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
and in this aim there is such thwarting strife
that one for all or all for one we gage:
as life for honour in fell battle’s rage
honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
the death of all, and all together lost
so that in vent’ring ill we leave to be
the things we are, for that which we expect;
and this ambitious foul infirmity
in having much, torments us with defect
of that we have. so then we do neglect
the thing we have, and, all for want of wit
make something nothing by augmenting it
such hazard now must doting tarquin make
p~wning his honour to obtain his l~st;
and for himself himself he must forsake
then where is truth, if there be no self~trust?
when shall he think to find a stranger just
when he himself himself confounds, betrays
to sland’rous tongues and wretched hateful days?
now stole upon the time the dead of night
when heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes
no comfortable star did lend his light
no noise but owls’ and wolves’ death~boding cries;
now serves the season that they may surprise
the silly lambs. pure thoughts are dead and still
while l~st and murder wake to stain and k!ll
and now this l~stful lord leaped from his bed
throwing his mantle rudely o’er his arm;
is madly tossed between desire and dread;
th’ one sweetly flatters, th’ other feareth harm
but honest fear, bewitched with l~st’s foul charm
doth too too oft betake him to retire
beaten away by brain~sick rude desire
his falchion on a flint he softly smiteth
that from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;
whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth
which must be lodestar to his l~stful eye
and to the flame thus speaks advisedly:
“as from this cold flint i enforced this fire
so lucrece must i force to my desire.”
here pale with fear he doth premeditate
the dangers of his loathsome enterprise
and in his inward mind he doth debate
what following sorrow may on this arise
then looking scornfully, he doth despise
his naked armour of still~slaughtered l~st
and justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:
“fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
to darken her whose light excelleth thine
and die, unhallowed thoughts, before you blot
with your uncleanness that which is divine
offer pure incense to so pure a shrine
let fair humanity abhor the deed
that spots and stains love’s modest snow~white weed
“o shame to knighthood and to shining arms!
o foul dishonour to my household’s grave!
o impious act including all foul harms!
a martial man to be soft fancy’s slave!
true valour still a true respect should have
then my digression is so vile, so base
that it will live engraven in my face
“yea, though i die, the scandal will survive
and be an eye~sore in my golden coat;
some loathsome dash the herald will contrive
to cipher me how fondly i did dote
that my posterity, shamed with the note
shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
to wish that i their father had not been
“what win i if i gain the thing i seek?
a dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy
who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week
or sells eternity to get a toy?
for one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown
would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
“if collatinus dream of my intent
will he not wake, and in a desp’rate rage
post hither, this vile purpose to prevent?—
this siege that hath engirt his marriage
this blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage
this dying virtue, this surviving shame
whose crime will bear an ever~during blame?
“o, what excuse can my invention make
when thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?
will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake
mine eyes forgo their light, my false heart bleed?
the guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;
and extreme fear can neither fight nor fly
but coward~like with trembling terror die
“had collatinus k!lled my son or sire
or lain in ambush to betray my life
or were he not my dear friend, this desire
might have excuse to work upon his wife
as in revenge or quittal of such strife;
but as he is my kinsman, my dear friend
the shame and fault finds no excuse nor end
“shameful it is; ay, if the fact be known
hateful it is, there is no hate in loving
i’ll beg her love. but she is not her own
the worst is but denial and reproving
my will is strong, past reason’s weak removing
who fears a sentence or an old man’s saw
shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.”
thus, graceless, holds he disputation
’tween frozen conscience and hot~burning will
and with good thoughts makes dispensation
urging the worser sense for vantage still;
which in a moment doth confound and k!ll
all pure effects, and doth so far proceed
that what is vile shows like a virtuous deed
quoth he, “she took me kindly by the hand
and gazed for tidings in my eager eyes
fearing some hard news from the warlike band
where her beloved collatinus lies
o how her fear did make her colour rise!
first red as roses that on lawn we lay
then white as lawn, the roses took away
“and how her hand, in my hand being locked
forced it to tremble with her loyal fear
which struck her sad, and then it faster rocked
until her husband’s welfare she did hear;
whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer
that had narcissus seen her as she stood
self~love had never drowned him in the flood
“why hunt i then for colour or excuses?
all orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth
poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;
love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth
affection is my captain, and he leadeth;
and when his gaudy banner is displayed
the coward fights and will not be dismayed
“then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!
respect and reason wait on wrinkled age!
my heart shall never countermand mine eye
sad pause and deep regard beseems the sage;
my part is youth, and beats these from the stage
desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;
then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?”
as corn o’ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
is almost choked by unresisted l~st
away he steals with opening, list’ning ear
full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;
both which, as servitors to the unjust
so cross him with their opposite persuasion
that now he vows a league, and now invasion
within his thought her heavenly image sits
and in the self~same seat sits collatine
that eye which looks on her confounds his wits;
that eye which him beholds, as more divine
unto a view so false will not incline
but with a pure appeal seeks to the heart
which once corrupted takes the worser part;
and therein heartens up his servile powers
who, flattered by their leader’s jocund show
stuff up his l~st, as minutes fill up hours;
and as their captain, so their pride doth grow
paying more slavish tribute than they owe
by reprobate desire thus madly led
the roman lord marcheth to lucrece’ bed
the locks between her chamber and his will
each one by him enforced, retires his ward;
but, as they open, they all rate his ill
which drives the creeping thief to some regard
the threshold grates the door to have him heard;
night~wand’ring weasels shriek to see him there;
they fright him, yet he still pursues his fear
as each unwilling portal yields him way
through little vents and crannies of the place
the wind wars with his torch, to make him stay
and blows the smoke of it into his face
extinguishing his conduct in this case;
but his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch
puffs forth another wind that fires the torch
and being lighted, by the light he spies
lucretia’s glove, wherein her needle sticks;
he takes it from the rushes where it lies
and griping it, the needle his finger pr~cks
as who should say, “this glove to wanton tricks
is not inured. return again in haste;
thou seest our mistress’ ornaments are chaste.”
but all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;
he in the worst sense construes their denial
the doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him
he takes for accidental things of trial;
or as those bars which stop the hourly dial
who with a ling’ring stay his course doth let
till every minute pays the hour his debt
“so, so,” quoth he, “these lets attend the time
like little frosts that sometime threat the spring
to add a more rejoicing to the prime
and give the sneaped birds more cause to sing
pain pays the income of each precious thing:
huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands
the merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.”
now is he come unto the chamber door
that shuts him from the heaven of his thought
which with a yielding latch, and with no more
hath barred him from the blessed thing he sought
so from himself impiety hath wrought
that for his prey to pray he doth begin
as if the heavens should countenance his sin
but in the midst of his unfruitful prayer
having solicited th’ eternal power
that his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair
and they would stand auspicious to the hour
even there he starts. quoth he, “i must deflower
the powers to whom i pray abhor this fact
how can they then assist me in the act?
“then love and fortune be my gods, my guide!
my will is backed with resolution
thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried;
the blackest sin is cleared with absolution
against love’s fire fear’s frost hath dissolution
the eye of heaven is out, and misty night
covers the shame that follows sweet delight.”
this said, his guilty hand plucked up the latch
and with his knee the door he opens wide
the dove sleeps fast that this night~owl will catch;
thus treason works ere traitors be espied
who sees the lurking serpent steps aside;
but she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing
lies at the mercy of his mortal sting
into the chamber wickedly he stalks
and gazeth on her yet unstained bed
the curtains being close, about he walks
rolling his greedy eyeb~lls in his head
by their high treason is his heart misled
which gives the watch~word to his hand full soon
to draw the cloud that hides the silver moon
look as the fair and fiery~pointed sun
rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;
even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
to wink, being blinded with a greater light
whether it is that she reflects so bright
that dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;
but blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed
o, had they in that darksome prison died
then had they seen the period of their ill!
then collatine again by lucrece’ side
in his clear bed might have reposed still
but they must ope, this blessed league to k!ll;
and holy~thoughted lucrece to their sight
must sell her joy, her life, her world’s delight
her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under
coz’ning the pillow of a lawful kiss;
who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder
swelling on either side to want his bliss;
between whose hills her head entombed is
where like a virtuous monument she lies
to be admired of lewd unhallowed eyes
without the bed her other fair hand was
on the green coverlet; whose perfect white
showed like an april daisy on the grass
with pearly sweat resembling dew of night
her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light
and canopied in darkness sweetly lay
till they might open to adorn the day
her hair, like golden threads, played with her breath:
o modest wantons, wanton modesty!
showing life’s triumph in the map of death
and death’s dim look in life’s mortality
each in her sleep themselves so beautify
as if between them twain there were no strife
but that life lived in death and death in life
her br~~sts like ivory globes circled with blue
a pair of maiden worlds unconquered
save 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 foul usurper, went about
from this fair throne to heave the owner out
what could he see but mightily he noted?
what did he note but strongly he desired?
what he beheld, on that he firmly doted
and in his will his wilful eye he tired
with more than admiration he admired
her azure veins, her alabaster skin
her coral lips, her snow~white dimpled chin
as the grim lion fawneth o’er his prey
sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied
so o’er this sleeping soul doth tarquin stay
his rage of l~st by grazing qualified—
slaked, not suppressed; for standing by her side
his eye, which late this mutiny restrains
unto a greater uproar tempts his veins
and they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting
obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting
in bl~~dy death and ravishment delighting
nor children’s tears nor mothers’ groans respecting
swell in their pride, the onset still expecting
anon his beating heart, alarum striking
gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking
his drumming heart cheers up his burning eye
his eye commends the leading to his hand;
his hand, as proud of such a dignity
smoking with pride, marched on to make his stand
on her bare breast, the heart of all her land;
whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale
left their round turrets destitute and pale
they, must’ring to the quiet cabinet
where their dear governess and lady lies
do tell her she is dreadfully beset
and fright her with confusion of their cries
she, much amazed, breaks ope her locked~up eyes
who, peeping forth this tumult to behold
are by his flaming torch dimmed and controlled
imagine her as one in dead of night
from forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking
that thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite
whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking
what terror ’tis! but she, in worser taking
from sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
the sight which makes supposed terror true
wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears
like to a new~k!lled bird she trembling lies
she dares not look; yet, winking, there appears
quick~shifting antics, ugly in her eyes
such shadows are the weak brain’s forgeries;
who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights
in darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights
his hand, that yet remains upon her breast
rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!
may feel her heart, poor citizen, distressed
wounding itself to death, rise up and fall
beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal
this moves in him more rage, and lesser pity
to make the breach and enter this sweet city
first, like a trumpet doth his tongue begin
to sound a parley to his heartless foe
who o’er the white sheet peers her whiter chin
the reason of this rash alarm to know
which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;
but she with vehement prayers urgeth still
under what colour he commits this ill
thus he replies: “the colour in thy face
that even for anger makes the lily pale
and the red rose blush at her own disgrace
shall plead for me and tell my loving tale
under that colour am i come to scale
thy never~conquered fort; the fault is thine
for those thine eyes betray thee unto mine
“thus i forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:
thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night
where thou with patience must my will abide
my will that marks thee for my earth’s delight
which i to conquer sought with all my might
but as reproof and reason beat it dead
by thy bright beauty was it newly bred
“i see what crosses my attempt will bring;
i know what th~rns the growing rose defends;
i think the honey guarded with a sting;
all this beforehand counsel comprehends
but will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;
only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty
and dotes on what he looks, ’gainst law or duty
“i have debated, even in my soul
what wrong, what shame, what sorrow i shall breed;
but nothing can affection’s course control
or stop the headlong fury of his speed
i know repentant tears ensue the deed
reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;
yet strike i to embrace mine infamy.”
this said, he shakes aloft his roman blade
which, like a falcon tow’ring in the skies
coucheth the fowl below with his wings’ shade
whose crooked beak threats, if he mount he dies
so under his insulting falchion lies
harmless lucretia, marking what he tells
with trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon’s bells
“lucrece,” quoth he, “this night i must enjoy thee
if thou deny, then force must work my way
for in thy bed i purpose to destroy thee;
that done, some worthless slave of thine i’ll slay
to k!ll thine honour with thy life’s decay;
and in thy dead arms do i mean to place him
swearing i slew him, seeing thee embrace him
“so thy surviving husband shall remain
the scornful mark of every open eye;
thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain
thy issue blurred with nameless b~st~rdy
and thou, the author of their obloquy
shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes
and sung by children in succeeding times
“but if thou yield, i rest thy secret friend
the fault unknown is as a thought unacted;
a little harm done to a great good end
for lawful policy remains enacted
the poisonous simple sometimes is compacted
in a pure compound; being so applied
his venom in effect is purified
“then, for thy husband and thy children’s sake
tender my suit. bequeath not to their lot
the shame that from them no device can take
the blemish that will never be forgot
worse than a slavish wipe, or birth~hour’s blot:
for marks descried in men’s nativity
are nature’s faults, not their own infamy.”
here with a c~ckatrice’ dead~k!lling eye
he rouseth up himself and makes a pause;
while she, the picture of pure piety
like a white hind under the gripe’s sharp claws
pleads in a wilderness where are no laws
to the rough beast that knows no gentle right
nor aught obeys but his foul appetite
but when a black~faced cloud the world doth threat
in his dim mist th’ aspiring mountains hiding
from earth’s dark womb some gentle gust doth get
which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding
hind’ring their present fall by this dividing;
so his unhallowed haste her words delays
and moody pluto winks while orpheus plays
yet, foul night~waking cat, he doth but dally
while in his hold~fast foot the weak mouse panteth
her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly
a swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth
his ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
no penetrable entrance to her plaining;
tears harden l~st, though marble wear with raining
her pity~pleading eyes are sadly fixed
in the remorseless wrinkles of his face
her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed
which to her oratory adds more grace
she puts the period often from his place
and midst the sentence so her accent breaks
that twice she doth begin ere once she speaks
she conjures him by high almighty jove
by knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship’s oath
by her untimely tears, her husband’s love
by holy human law, and common troth
by heaven and earth, and all the power of both
that to his borrowed bed he make retire
and stoop to honour, not to foul desire
quoth she, “reward not hospitality
with such black payment as thou hast pretended;
mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee
mar not the thing that cannot be amended
end thy ill aim before the shoot be ended;
he is no woodman that doth bend his bow
to strike a poor unseasonable doe
“my husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me
thyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me
myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me;
thou look’st not like deceit; do not deceive me
my sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee
if ever man were moved with woman’s moans
be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans
“all which together, like a troubled ocean
beat at thy rocky and wrack~threat’ning heart
to soften it with their continual motion;
for stones dissolved to water do convert
o, if no harder than a stone thou art
melt at my tears and be compassionate!
soft pity enters at an iron gate
“in tarquin’s likeness i did entertain thee
hast thou put on his shape to do him shame?
to all the host of heaven i complain me
thou wrong’st his honour, wound’st his princely name
thou art not what thou seem’st; and if the same
thou seem’st not what thou art, a god, a king;
for kings like gods should govern everything
“how will thy shame be seeded in thine age
when thus thy vices bud before thy spring?
if in thy hope thou dar’st do such outrage
what dar’st thou not when once thou art a king?
o, be remembered, no outrageous thing
from vassal actors can be wiped away;
then kings’ misdeeds cannot be hid in clay
“this deed will make thee only loved for fear
but happy monarchs still are feared for love
with foul offenders thou perforce must bear
when they in thee the like offences prove
if but for fear of this, thy will remove
for princes are the glass, the school, the book
where subjects’ eyes do learn, do read, do look
“and wilt thou be the school where l~st shall learn?
must he in thee read lectures of such shame?
wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern
authority for sin, warrant for blame
to privilege dishonour in thy name?
thou back’st reproach against long~living laud
and mak’st fair reputation but a bawd
“hast thou command? by him that gave it thee
from a pure heart command thy rebel will
draw not thy sword to guard iniquity
for it was lent thee all that brood to k!ll
thy princely office how canst thou fulfill
when, patterned by thy fault, foul sin may say
he learned to sin, and thou didst teach the way?
“think but how vile a spectacle it were
to view thy present trespass in another
men’s faults do seldom to themselves appear;
their own transgressions partially they smother
this guilt would seem death~worthy in thy brother
o how are they wrapped in with infamies
that from their own misdeeds askance their eyes!
“to thee, to thee, my heaved~up hands appeal
not to seducing l~st, thy rash relier
i sue for exiled majesty’s repeal;
let him return, and flatt’ring thoughts retire
his true respect will prison false desire
and wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne
that thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.”
“have done,” quoth he. “my uncontrolled tide
turns not, but swells the higher by this let
small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide
and with the wind in greater fury fret
the petty streams that pay a daily debt
to their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls’ haste
add to his flow, but alter not his taste.”
“thou art,” quoth she, “a sea, a sovereign king
and, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
black l~st, dishonour, shame, misgoverning
who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood
if all these petty ills shall change thy good
thy sea within a puddle’s womb is he~rs~d
and not the puddle in thy sea dispersed
“so shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;
thou n0bly base, they basely dignified;
thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;
thou loathed in their 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, enforced hate
instead of love’s coy touch, shall rudely tear thee
that done, despitefully i mean to bear thee
unto the base bed of some rascal groom
to be thy partner in this shameful doom.”
this said, he sets his foot upon the light
for light and l~st are deadly enemies
shame folded up in blind concealing night
when most unseen, then most doth tyrannize
the wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries
till with her own white fleece her voice controlled
entombs 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 sorrow shed
o, that pr~ne l~st should stain so pure a bed!
the spots whereof could weeping purify
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 further strife;
this momentary joy breeds months of pain;
this hot desire converts to cold disdain
pure chastity is rifled of her store
and l~st, the thief, far poorer than before
look as the full~fed hound or gorged hawk
unapt for tender smell or speedy flight
make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
the prey wherein by nature they delight;
so surfeit~taking tarquin fares this night
his taste delicious, in digestion souring
devours his will, that lived by foul devouring
o deeper sin than bottomless conceit
can comprehend in still imagination!
drunken desire must vomit his receipt
ere he can see his own abomination
while l~st is in his pride no exclamation
can curb his heat or rein his rash desire
till, like a jade, self~will himself doth tire
and then with lank and lean discoloured cheek
with heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace
feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek
like to a bankrout beggar wails his case
the flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace
for there it revels; and when that decays
the guilty rebel for remission prays
so fares it with this faultful lord of rome
who this accomplishment so hotly chased;
for now against himself he sounds this doom
that through the length of times he stands disgraced
besides, his soul’s fair temple is defaced
to whose weak ruins muster troops of cares
to ask the spotted princess how she fares
she says her subjects with foul insurrection
have battered down her consecrated wall
and by their mortal fault brought in subjection
her immortality, and made her thrall
to living death and pain perpetual
which in her prescience she controlled still
but her foresight could not forestall their will
e’en in this thought through the dark night he stealeth
a captive victor that hath lost in gain
bearing away the wound that nothing healeth
the scar that will, despite of cure, remain;
leaving his spoil perplexed in greater pain
she bears the load of l~st he left behind
and he the burden of a guilty mind
he like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;
she like a wearied lamb lies panting there;
he scowls, and hates himself for his offence;
she, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear
he faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;
she stays, exclaiming on the direful night;
he runs, and chides his vanished, loathed delight
he thence departs a heavy convertite;
she there remains a hopeless castaway
he in his speed looks for the morning light;
she prays she never may behold the day
“for day,” quoth she, “night’s scapes doth open lay
and my true eyes have never practised how
to cloak offences with a cunning brow
“they think not but that every eye can see
the same disgrace which they themselves behold;
and therefore would they still in darkness be
to have their unseen sin remain untold
for they their guilt with weeping will unfold
and grave, like water that doth eat in steel
upon my cheeks what helpless shame i feel.”
here she exclaims against repose and rest
and bids her eyes hereafter still be blind
she wakes her heart by beating on her breast
and bids it leap from thence, where it may find
some purer chest, to close so pure a mind
frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite
against the unseen secrecy of night
“o comfort~k!lling night, image of h~ll
dim register and notary of shame
black stage for tragedies and murders fell
vast sin~concealing chaos, nurse of blame
blind m~ffled bawd, dark harbour for defame
grim cave of death, whisp’ring conspirator
with close~tongued treason and the ravisher!
“o hateful, vaporous, and foggy night
since thou art guilty of my cureless crime
muster thy mists to meet the eastern light
make war against proportioned course of time;
or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
his wonted height, yet ere he go to bed
knit poisonous clouds about his golden head
“with rotten damps ravish the morning air;
let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick
the life of purity, the supreme fair
ere he arrive his weary noontide pr~ck
and let thy misty vapours march so thick
that in their smoky ranks his smothered light
may set at noon and make perpetual night
“were tarquin night, as he is but night’s child
the silver~shining queen he would distain;
her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled
through night’s black bosom should not peep again
so should i have co~partners in my pain;
and fellowship in woe doth woe assuage
as palmers’ chat makes short their pilgrimage
“where now i have no one to blush with me
to cross their arms and hang their heads with mine
to mask their brows, and hide their infamy;
but i alone alone must sit and pine
seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine
mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans
poor wasting monuments of lasting moans
“o night, thou furnace of foul reeking smoke
let not the jealous day behold that face
which underneath thy black all~hiding cloak
immodesty lies martyred with disgrace!
keep still possession of thy gloomy place
that all the faults which in thy reign are made
may likewise be sepulchred in thy shade
“make me not object to the tell~tale day
the light will show charactered in my brow
the story of sweet chastity’s decay
the impious breach of holy wedlock vow
yea, the illiterate, that know not how
to cipher what is writ in learned books
will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks
“the nurse, to still her child, will tell my story
and fright her crying babe with tarquin’s name
the orator, to deck his oratory
will couple my reproach to tarquin’s shame
feast~finding minstrels, tuning my defame
will tie the hearers to attend each line
how tarquin wronged me, i collatine
“let my good name, that senseless reputation
for collatine’s dear love be kept unspotted
if that be made a theme for disputation
the branches of another root are rotted
and undeserved reproach to him allotted
that is as clear from this attaint of mine
as i, ere this, was pure to collatine
“o unseen shame, invisible disgrace!
o unfelt sore, crest~wounding, private scar!
reproach is stamped in collatinus’ face
and tarquin’s eye may read the mot afar
how he in peace is wounded, not in war
alas, how many bear such shameful blows
which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!
“if, collatine, thine honour lay in me
from me by strong assault it is bereft
my honey lost, and i, a drone~like bee
have no perfection of my summer left
but robbed and ransacked by injurious theft
in thy weak hive a wand’ring wasp hath crept
and sucked the honey which thy chaste bee kept
“yet am i guilty of thy honour’s wrack;
yet for thy honour did i entertain him
coming from thee, i could not put him back
for it had been dishonour to disdain him
besides, of weariness he did complain him
and talked of virtue. o unlooked~for evil
when virtue is profaned in such a devil!
“why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows’ nests?
or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
or tyrant folly lurk in gentle br~~sts?
or kings be breakers of their own behests?
but no perfection is so absolute
that some impurity doth not pollute
“the aged man that coffers up his gold
is plagued with cramps, and gouts and painful fits
and scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold
but like still~pining tantalus he sits
and useless barns the harvest of his wits
having no other pleasure of his gain
but torment that it cannot cure his pain
“so then he hath it when he cannot use it
and leaves it to be mastered by his young
who in their pride do presently abuse it
their father was too weak, and they too strong
to hold their cursed~blessed fortune long
the sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours
even in the moment that we call them ours
“unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;
unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;
the adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;
what virtue breeds iniquity devours
we have no good that we can say is ours
but ill~annexed opportunity
or k!lls his life or else his quality
“o opportunity, thy guilt is great!
’tis thou that execut’st the traitor’s treason;
thou sets the wolf where he the lamb may get;
whoever plots the sin, thou ’point’st the season
’tis thou that spurn’st at right, at law, at reason;
and in thy shady cell, where none may spy him
sits sin, to seize the souls that wander by him
“thou mak’st the vestal violate her oath;
thou blow’st the fire when temperance is thawed;
thou smother’st honesty, thou murder’st troth
thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd!
thou plantest scandal and displacest laud
thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief
thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief
“thy secret pleasure turns to open shame
thy private feasting to a public fast
thy smoothing titles to a ragged name
thy sugared tongue to bitter wormwood taste
thy violent vanities can never last
how comes it then, vile opportunity
being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?
“when wilt thou be the humble suppliant’s friend
and bring him where his suit may be obtained?
when wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end
or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained?
give physic to the sick, ease to the pained?
the poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;
but they ne’er meet with opportunity
“the patient dies while the physician sleeps;
the orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;
justice is feasting while the widow weeps;
advice is sporting while infection breeds
thou grant’st no time for charitable deeds
wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder’s rages
thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages
“when truth and virtue have to do with thee
a thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;
they buy thy help; but sin ne’er gives a fee;
he gratis comes, and thou art well appaid
as well to hear as grant what he hath said
my collatine would else have come to me
when tarquin did, but he was stayed by thee
“guilty thou art of murder and of theft
guilty of perjury and subornation
guilty of treason, forgery, and shift
guilty of incest, that abomination:
an accessory by thine inclination
to all sins past and all that are to come
from the creation to the general doom
“misshapen time, copesmate of ugly night
swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care
eater of youth, false slave to false delight
base watch of woes, sin’s pack~horse, virtue’s snare!
thou nursest all and murd’rest all that are
o hear me then, injurious, shifting time!
be guilty of my death, since of my crime
“why hath thy servant, opportunity
betrayed the hours thou gav’st me to repose
cancelled my fortunes, and enchained me
to endless date of never~ending woes?
time’s office is to fine the hate of foes
to eat up errors by opinion bred
not spend the dowry of a lawful bed
“time’s glory is to calm contending kings
to unmask falsehood and bring truth to light
to stamp the seal of time in aged things
to wake the morn and sentinel the night
to wrong the wronger till he render right
to ruinate proud buildings with thy hours
and smear with dust their glitt’ring golden towers;
“to fill with worm~holes stately monuments
to feed oblivion with decay of things
to blot old books and alter their contents
to pluck the quills from ancient ravens’ wings
to dry the old oak’s sap and cherish springs
to spoil antiquities of hammered steel
and turn the giddy round of fortune’s wheel;
“to show the beldam daughters of her daughter
to make the child a man, the man a child
to slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter
to tame the unicorn and lion wild
to mock the subtle in themselves beguiled
to cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops
and waste huge stones with little water~drops
“why work’st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage
unless thou couldst return to make amends?
one poor retiring minute in an age
would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends
lending him wit that to bad debtors lends
o, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back
i could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack!
“thou ceaseless lackey to eternity
with some mischance cross tarquin in his flight
devise extremes beyond extremity
to make him curse this cursed crimeful night
let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright
and the dire thought of his committed evil
shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil
“disturb his hours of rest with restless trances
afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
let there bechance him pitiful mischances
to make him moan, but pity not his moans
stone him with hard’ned hearts harder than stones
and let mild women to him lose their mildness
wilder to him than tigers in their wildness
“let him have time to tear his curled hair
let him have time against himself to rave
let him have time of time’s help to despair
let him have time to live a loathed slave
let him have time a beggar’s orts to crave
and time to see one that by alms doth live
disdain to him disdained scr~ps to give
“let him have time to see his friends his foes
and merry fools to mock at him resort;
let him have time to mark how slow time goes
in time of sorrow, and how swift and short
his time of folly and his time of sport;
and ever let his unrecalling crime
have time to wail th’ abusing of his time
“o time, thou tutor both to good and bad
teach me to curse him that thou taught’st this ill!
at his own shadow let the thief run mad
himself himself seek every hour to k!ll
such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill
for who so base would such an office have
as sland’rous deathsman to so base a slave?
“the baser is he, coming from a king
to shame his hope with deeds degenerate
the mightier man, the mightier is the thing
that makes him honoured or begets him hate;
for greatest scandal waits on greatest state
the moon being clouded presently is missed
but little stars may hide them when they list
“the crow may bathe his coal~black wings in mire
and unperceived fly with the filth away;
but if the like the snow~white swan desire
the stain upon his silver down will stay
poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day
gnats are unnoted wheresoe’er they fly
but eagles gazed upon with every eye
“out, idle words, servants to shallow fools
unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!
busy yourselves in sk!ll~contending schools;
debate where leisure serves with dull debaters;
to trembling clients be you mediators
for me, i force not argument a straw
since that my case is past the help of law
“in vain i rail at opportunity
at time, at tarquin, and uncheerful night;
in vain i cavil with mine infamy
in vain i spurn at my confirmed despite
this helpless smoke of words doth me no right
the remedy indeed to do me good
is to let forth my foul defiled blood
“poor hand, why quiver’st thou at this decree?
honour thyself to rid me of this shame
for if i die, my honour lives in thee
but if i live, thou liv’st in my defame
since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame
and wast afeared to scratch her wicked foe
k!ll both thyself and her for yielding so.”
this said, from her betumbled couch she starteth
to find some desp’rate instrument of death;
but this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth
to make more vent for passage of her breath
which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth
as smoke from ætna, that in air consumes
or that which from discharged cannon fumes
“in vain,” quoth she, “i live, and seek in vain
some happy mean to end a hapless life
i feared by tarquin’s falchion to be slain
yet for the self~same purpose seek a knife
but when i feared i was a loyal 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 live
and therefore now i need not fear to die
to clear this spot by death, at least i give
a badge of fame to slander’s livery
a dying life to living infamy
poor helpless help, the treasure stol’n away
to burn the guiltless casket where it lay!
“well, well, dear collatine, thou shalt not know
the stained taste of violated troth;
i will not wrong thy true affection so
to flatter thee with an infringed oath
this b~st~rd graff shall never come to growth;
he shall not boast who did thy stock 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 int’rest was not bought
basely with gold, but stol’n from forth thy gate
for me, i am the mistress of my fate
and with my trespass never will dispense
till life to death acquit my forced offence
“i will not poison thee with my attaint
nor fold my fault in cleanly~coined excuses;
my sable ground of sin i will not paint
to hide the truth of this false night’s abuses
my tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices
as from a mountain~spring that feeds a dale
shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.”
by this, lamenting philomel had ended
the well~tuned warble of her nightly sorrow
and solemn night with slow sad gait descended
to ugly h~ll; when, lo, the blushing morrow
lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow
but cloudy lucrece shames herself to see
and therefore still in night would cloistered be
revealing day through every cranny spies
and seems to point her out where she sits weeping
to whom she sobbing speaks: “o eye of eyes
why pry’st thou through my window? leave thy peeping
mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping
brand not my forehead with thy piercing light
for day hath naught to do what’s done by night.”
thus cavils she with everything she sees
true grief is fond and testy as a child
who wayward once, his mood with naught agrees
old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild
continuance tames the one; the other wild
like an unpractised swimmer plunging still
with too much labour drowns for want of sk!ll
so she, deep~drenched in a sea of care
holds disputation with each thing she views
and to herself all sorrow doth compare;
no object but her passion’s strength renews
and as one shifts, another straight ensues
sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;
sometime ’tis mad and too much talk affords
the little birds that tune their morning’s joy
make her moans mad with their sweet melody
for mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;
sad souls are slain in merry company
grief best is pleased with grief’s society;
true sorrow then is feelingly sufficed
when with like semblance it is sympathized
’tis double death to drown in ken of shore;
he ten times pines that pines beholding food;
to see the salve doth make the wound ache more;
great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood
who, being stopped, the bounding banks o’erflows;
grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows
“you mocking birds,” quoth she, “your tunes entomb
within your hollow~swelling feathered br~~sts
and in my hearing be you mute and dumb;
my restless discord loves no stops nor rests
a woeful hostess brooks not merry guests
relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;
distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears
“come, philomel, that sing’st of ravishment
make thy sad grove in my disheveled hair
as the dank earth weeps at thy languishment
so i at each sad strain will strain a tear
and with deep groans the diapason bear;
for burden~wise i’ll hum on tarquin still
while thou on tereus descants better sk!ll
“and whiles against a th~rn thou bear’st thy part
to keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched i
to imitate thee well, against my heart
will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye
who if it wink shall thereon fall and die
these means, as frets upon an instrument
shall tune our heart~strings to true languishment
“and for, poor bird, thou sing’st not in the day
as shaming any eye should thee behold
some dark deep desert seated from the way
that knows not parching heat nor freezing cold
will we find out; and there we will unfold
to creatures stern sad tunes to change their kinds
since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.”
as the poor frighted deer that stands at gaze
wildly determining which way to fly
or one encompassed with a winding maze
that cannot tread the way out readily;
so with herself is she in mutiny
to live or die which of the twain were better
when life is shamed and death reproach’s debtor
“to k!ll myself,” quoth she, “alack, what were it
but with my body my poor soul’s pollution?
they that lose half with greater patience bear it
than they whose whole is swallowed in confusion
that mother tries a merciless conclusion
who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one
will slay the other, and be nurse to none
“my body or my soul, which was the dearer
when the one pure, the other made divine?
whose love of either to myself was nearer
when both were kept for heaven and collatine?
ay me, the bark pilled from the lofty pine
his leaves will wither and his sap decay;
so must my soul, her bark being pilled away
“her house is sacked, her quiet interrupted
her mansion battered by the enemy
her sacred temple spotted, spoiled, corrupted
grossly engirt with daring infamy
then let it not be called impiety
if in this blemished fort i make some hole
through which i may convey this troubled soul
“yet die i will not till my collatine
have heard the cause of my untimely death
that he may vow, in that sad hour of mine
revenge on him that made me stop my breath
my stained blood to tarquin i’ll bequeath
which by him tainted shall for him be spent
and as his due writ in my testament
“my honour i’ll bequeath unto the knife
that wounds my body so dishonoured
’tis honour to deprive dishonoured life;
the one will live, the other being dead
so of shame’s ashes shall my fame be bred
for in my death i murder shameful scorn;
my shame so dead, mine honour is new born
“dear lord of that dear jewel i have lost
what legacy shall i bequeath to thee?
my resolution, love, shall be thy boast
by whose example thou revenged mayst be
how tarquin must be used, read it in me;
myself, thy friend, will k!ll myself, thy foe
and for my sake serve thou false tarquin so
“this brief abridgement of my will i make:
my soul and body to the skies and ground;
my resolution, husband, do thou take;
mine honour be the knife’s that makes my wound;
my shame be his that did my fame confound;
and all my fame that lives disbursed be
to those that live and think no shame of me
“thou, collatine, shalt oversee this will;
how was i overseen that thou shalt see it!
my blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
my life’s foul deed my life’s fair end shall free it
faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, ‘so be it.’
yield 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 wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes
with untuned tongue she ho~rs~ly called her maid
whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
for fleet~winged duty with thought’s feathers flies
poor lucrece’ cheeks unto her maid seem so
as winter meads when sun doth melt their snow
her mistress she doth give demure good~morrow
with soft slow tongue, true mark of modesty
and sorts a sad look to her lady’s sorrow
for why her face wore sorrow’s livery
but durst not ask of her audaciously
why her two suns were cloud~eclipsed so
nor why her fair cheeks over~washed with woe
but as the earth doth weep, the sun being set
each flower moistened like a melting eye
even so the maid with swelling drops ’gan wet
her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy
of those fair suns set in her mistress’ sky
who in a salt~waved ocean quench their light
which makes the maid weep like the dewy night
a pretty while these pretty creatures stand
like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling
one justly weeps; the other takes in hand
no cause, but company, of her drops spilling
their gentle s~x to weep are often willing
grieving themselves to guess at others’ smarts
and then they drown their eyes or break their hearts
for men have marble, women waxen, minds
and therefore are they formed as marble will;
the weak oppressed, th’ impression of strange kinds
is formed in them by force, by fraud, or sk!ll
then call them not the authors of their ill
no more than wax shall be accounted evil
wherein is stamped the semblance of a devil
their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain
lays open all the little worms that creep;
in men, as in a rough~grown grove, remain
cave~keeping evils that obscurely sleep
through crystal walls each little mote will peep
though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks
poor women’s faces are their own faults’ books
no man inveigh against the withered flower
but chide rough winter that the flower hath k!lled;
not that devoured, but that which doth devour
is worthy blame. o, let it not be hild
poor women’s faults, that they are so fulfilled
with men’s abuses! those proud lords, to blame
make weak~made women tenants to their shame
the precedent whereof in lucrece view
assailed 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 fear through all her body spread;
and who cannot abuse a body dead?
by this, mild patience bid fair lucrece speak
to the poor counterfeit of her complaining:
“my girl,” quoth she, “on what occasion break
those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining?
if 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 stayed
till after a deep groan—“tarquin from hence?”
“madam, ere i was up,” replied the maid
“the more to blame my sluggard negligence
yet with the fault i thus far 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 so 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 called a h~ll
when more is felt than one hath power to tell
“go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen
yet save that labour, for i have them here
what should i say?—one of my husband’s men
bid thou 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 soon 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 fight;
what wit sets down is blotted straight 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 wife that greeteth thee
health to thy person! next vouchsafe 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, though my words are brief.”
here folds she up the tenor of her woe
her certain sorrow writ uncertainly
by this short schedule collatine may know
her grief, but not her grief’s true quality;
she dares not thereof make discovery
lest he should hold it her own gross abuse
ere she with blood had stained her stained excuse
besides, the life and feeling of her passion
she h~~rds, to spend when he is by to hear her;
when sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion
of her disgrace, the better so to clear her
from that suspicion which the world might bear her
to shun this blot, she would not blot the letter
with words, till action might become them better
to see sad 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 sorrow that we hear
deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords
and sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words
her letter now is sealed, and on it writ
“at ardea to my lord with more than haste.”
the post attends, and she delivers it
charging the sour~faced groom to hie as fast
as lagging fowls before the northern blast
speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems;
extremely still urgeth such extremes
the homely villain curtsies to her low
and, blushing on her with a steadfast eye
receives the scroll without or yea or no
and forth with bashful innocence doth hie
but they whose guilt within their bosoms lie
imagine every eye beholds their blame
for lucrece thought he blushed to see her shame
when, silly groom! god wot, it was defect
of spirit, life, and bold audacity
such harmless creatures have a true respect
to talk in deeds, while others saucily
promise more speed, but do it leisurely
even so this pattern of the worn~out age
p~wned honest looks, but laid no words to gage
his kindled duty kindled her mistrust
that two red fires in both their faces blazed;
she thought he blushed, as knowing tarquin’s l~st
and, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed
her earnest eye did make him more amazed
the more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish
the more she thought he spied in her some blemish
but long she thinks till he return again
and yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone
the weary time she cannot entertain
for now ’tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan;
so woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan
that she her plaints a little while doth stay
pausing for means to mourn some newer way
at last she 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
threat’ning cloud~kissing ilion with annoy;
which the conceited painter drew so proud
as heaven, it seemed, to kiss the turrets bowed
a thousand lamentable objects there
in scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life
many a dry drop seemed a weeping tear
shed for the slaughtered husband by the wife
the red blood reeked to show the painter’s strife
the dying eyes gleamed forth their ashy lights
like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights
there might you see the labouring pioneer
begrimed with sweat and smeared all with dust;
and from the towers of troy there would appear
the very eyes of men through loop~holes thrust
gazing upon the greeks with little l~st
such sweet observance in this work was had
that one might see those far~off eyes look sad
in great commanders grace and majesty
you might behold, triumphing in their faces;
in youth, quick bearing and dexterity;
and here and there the painter interlaces
pale cowards marching on with trembling paces
which heartless peasants did so well resemble
that one would swear he saw them quake and tremble
in ajax and ulysses, o, what art
of physiognomy might one behold!
the face of either ciphered either’s heart;
their face their manners most expressly told
in ajax’ eyes blunt rage and rigour rolled
but the mild glance that sly ulysses lent
showed deep regard and smiling government
there pleading might you see grave nestor stand
as ’twere encouraging the greeks to fight
making such sober action with his hand
that it beguiled attention, charmed the sight
in speech, it seemed, his beard, all silver white
wagged up and down, and from his lips did fly
thin winding breath, which purled up to the sky
about him were a press of gaping faces
which seemed to swallow up his sound advice
all jointly list’ning, but with several graces
as if some mermaid did their ears entice;
some high, some low, the painter was so nice
the scalps of many, almost hid behind
to jump up higher seemed to mock the mind
here one man’s hand leaned on another’s head
his nose being shadowed by his neighbour’s ear;
here one being thronged bears back, all boll’n and red;
another smothered seems to pelt and swear;
and in their rage such signs of rage they bear
as, but for loss of nestor’s golden words
it seemed they would debate with angry swords
for much imaginary work was there
conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind
that for achilles’ image stood his spear
griped in an armed hand; himself, behind
was left unseen, save to the eye of mind
a hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head
stood for the whole to be imagined
and from the walls of strong~besieged troy
when their brave hope, bold hector, marched to field
stood many trojan mothers, sharing joy
to see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
and to their hope they such odd action yield
that through their light joy seemed to appear
like bright things stained, a kind of heavy fear
and from the strand of dardan, where they fought
to simois’ reedy banks the red blood ran
whose waves to imitate the battle sought
with swelling ridges, and their ranks began
to break upon the galled shore, and then
retire again till, meeting greater ranks
they join, and shoot their foam at simois’ banks
to this well~painted piece is lucrece come
to find a face where all distress is stelled
many she sees where cares have carved some
but none where all distress and dolour dwelled
till she despairing hecuba beheld
staring on priam’s wounds with her old eyes
which bleeding under pyrrhus’ proud foot lies
in her the painter had anatomized
time’s ruin, beauty’s wrack, and grim care’s reign
her cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguised;
of what she was no semblance did remain
her blue blood, changed to black in every vein
wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed
showed life imprisoned in a body dead
on this sad shadow lucrece spends her eyes
and shapes her sorrow to the beldam’s woes
who nothing wants to answer her but cries
and bitter words to ban her cruel foes
the painter was no god to lend her those
and therefore lucrece swears he did her wrong
to give her so much grief, and not a tongue
“poor instrument,” quoth she, “without a sound
i’ll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue
and drop sweet balm in priam’s painted wound
and rail on pyrrhus that hath done him wrong
and with my tears quench troy that burns so long
and with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
of all the greeks that are thine enemies
“show me the strumpet that began this stir
that with my nails her beauty i may tear
thy heat of l~st, fond paris, did incur
this load of wrath that burning troy doth bear;
thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here
and here in troy, for trespass of thine eye
the sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die
“why should the private pleasure of some one
become the public plague of many moe?
let sin, alone committed, light alone
upon his head that hath transgressed so;
let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe
for one’s offence why should so many fall
to plague a private sin in general?
“lo, here weeps hecuba, here priam dies
here manly hector faints, here troilus swounds;
here friend by friend in bl~~dy channel lies
and friend to friend gives unadvised wounds
and one man’s l~st these many lives confounds
had doting priam checked his son’s desire
troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.”
here feelingly she weeps troy’s painted woes
for sorrow, like a heavy~hanging bell
once set on ringing, with his own weight goes;
then little strength rings out the doleful knell
so lucrece set a~work, sad tales doth tell
to pencilled pensiveness and coloured sorrow;
she lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow
she throws her eyes about the painting round
and who she finds forlorn she doth lament
at last she sees a wretched image bound
that piteous looks to phrygian shepherds lent
his face, though full of cares, yet showed content;
onward to troy with the blunt swains he goes
so mild, that patience seemed to scorn his woes
in him the painter laboured with his sk!ll
to hide deceit and give the harmless show
an humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still
a brow unbent that seemed to welcome woe
cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so
that blushing red no guilty instance gave
nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have
but, like a constant and confirmed devil
he entertained a show so seeming just
and therein so ensconced his secret evil
that jealousy itself could not mistrust
false~creeping craft and perjury should thrust
into so bright a day such black~faced storms
or blot with h~ll~born sin such saint~like forms
the well~sk!lled workman this mild image drew
for perjured sinon, whose enchanting story
the credulous old priam after slew;
whose words like wildfire burnt the shining glory
of rich~built ilion, that the skies were sorry
and little stars shot from their fixed places
when their glass fell wherein they viewed their faces
this picture she advisedly perused
and chid the painter for his wondrous sk!ll
saying some shape in sinon’s was abused;
so fair a form lodged not a mind so ill
and still on him she gazed, and gazing still
such signs of truth in his plain face she spied
that she concludes the picture was belied
“it cannot be,” quoth she, “that so much guile”—
she would have said “can lurk in such a look.”
but tarquin’s shape came in her mind the while
and from her tongue “can lurk” from “cannot” took
“it cannot be” she in that sense forsook
and turned it thus: “it cannot be, i find
but such a face should bear a wicked mind
“for even as subtle sinon here is painted
so sober~sad, so weary, and so mild
as if with grief or travail he had fainted
to me came tarquin armed too, beguiled
with outward honesty, but yet defiled
with inward vice. as priam him did cherish
so did i tarquin; so my troy did perish
“look, look, how listening priam wets his eyes
to see those borrowed tears that sinon sheds!
priam, why art thou old and yet not wise?
for every tear he falls a trojan bleeds
his eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;
those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity
are b~lls of quenchless fire to burn thy city
“such devils steal effects from lightless h~ll
for sinon in his fire doth quake with cold
and in that cold hot~burning fire doth dwell
these contraries such unity do hold
only to flatter fools and make them bold;
so priam’s trust false sinon’s tears doth flatter
that he finds means to burn his troy with water.”
here, all enraged, such passion her assails
that patience is quite beaten from her breast
she tears the senseless sinon with her nails
comparing him to that unhappy guest
whose deed hath made herself herself detest
at last she smilingly with this gives o’er;
“fool, fool!” quoth she, “his wounds will not be sore.”
thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow
and time doth weary time with her complaining
she looks for night, and then she longs for morrow
and both she thinks too long with her remaining
short time seems long in sorrow’s sharp sustaining
though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps
and they that watch see time how slow it creeps
which all this time hath overslipped her thought
that she with painted images hath spent
being from the feeling of her own grief brought
by deep surmise of others’ detriment
losing her woes in shows of discontent
it easeth some, though none it ever cured
to think their dolour others have endured
but now the mindful messenger, come back
brings home his lord and other company;
who finds his lucrece clad in mourning black
and round about her tear~distained eye
blue circles streamed, like rainbows in the sky
these water~galls in her dim element
foretell new storms to those already spent
which when her sad~beholding husband saw
amazedly in her sad face he stares
her eyes, though sod in tears, looked red and raw
her lively colour k!lled with deadly cares
he hath no power to ask her how she fares;
both stood 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 befall’n, that thou dost trembling stand?
sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?
why art thou thus attired in discontent?
unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness
and tell thy grief, that we may give redress.”
three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire
ere once she can discharge one word of woe
at length addressed to answer his desire
she modestly prepares to let them know
her honour is ta’en prisoner by the foe;
while collatine and his consorted lords
with sad attention long to hear her words
and now this pale swan in her wat’ry nest
begins the sad dirge of her certain ending:
“few words,” quoth she, “shall fit the trespass best
where no excuse can give the fault amending
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 say:
dear husband, in the interest of thy bed
a stranger came, and on that pillow lay
where thou wast won’t to rest thy weary head;
and what wrong else may be imagined
by foul enforcement might be done to me
from that, alas, thy lucrece is not free
“for in the dreadful dead of dark midnight
with shining falchion in my chamber came
a creeping creature with a flaming light
and softly cried ‘awake, thou roman dame
and entertain my love; else lasting shame
on thee and thine this night i will inflict
if thou my love’s desire do contradict
“‘for some hard~favoured groom of thine,’ quoth he
‘unless thou yoke thy liking to my will
i’ll murder straight, and then i’ll slaughter thee
and swear i found you where you did fulfil
the loathsome act of l~st, and so did k!ll
the lechers in their deed. this act will be
my fame and thy perpetual infamy.’
“with this, i did begin to start and cry
and then against my heart he sets his sword
swearing, unless i took all patiently
i should not live to speak another word;
so should my shame still rest upon record
and never be forgot in mighty rome
the adulterate death of lucrece and her groom
“mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak
and far the weaker with so strong a fear
my bl~~dy judge forbade my tongue to speak;
no rightful plea might plead for justice there
his scarlet l~st came evidence to swear
that my poor beauty had purloined his eyes;
and when the judge is robbed, the prisoner dies
“o, teach me how to make mine own excuse
or at the least, this refuge let me find:
though my gross blood be stained with this abuse
immaculate and spotless is my mind;
that was not forced; that never was inclined
to accessary yieldings, but still pure
doth in her poisoned closet yet endure.”
lo, here the hopeless merchant of this loss
with head declined and voice dammed up with woe
with sad set eyes and wretched arms across
from lips new~waxen pale begins to blow
the grief away that stops his answer so
but wretched as he is, he strives in vain;
what he breathes out his breath drinks up again
as through an arch the violent roaring tide
outruns the eye that doth behold his haste
yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride
back to the strait that forced him on so fast
in rage sent out, recalled in rage, being past:
even so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw
to push grief on, and back the same grief draw
which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth
and his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
“dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
another power; no flood by raining slaketh
my woe too sensible thy passion maketh
more feeling~painful. let it then suffice
to drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes
“and for my sake, when i might charm thee so
for she that was thy lucrece, now attend me:
be suddenly revenged on my foe
thine, mine, his own. suppose thou dost defend me
from what is past. the help that thou shalt lend me
comes all too late, yet let the traitor die
for sparing justice feeds iniquity
“but ere i name him, you fair lords,” quoth she
speaking to those that came with collatine
“shall plight your honourable faiths to me
with swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;
for ’tis a meritorious fair design
to chase injustice with revengeful arms
knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies’ harms.”
at this request, with n0ble disposition
each present lord began to promise aid
as bound in knighthood to her imposition
longing to hear the hateful foe bewrayed
but she, that yet her sad task hath not said
the protestation stops. “o, speak,” quoth she
“how may this forced stain be wiped from me?
“what is the quality of my offence
being constrained with dreadful circumstance?
may my pure mind with the foul act dispense
my low~declined honour to advance?
may any terms acquit me from this chance?
the poisoned fountain clears itself again
and why not i from this compelled stain?
with this, they all at once began to say
her body’s stain her mind untainted clears
while with a joyless smile she turns away
the face, that map which deep impression bears
of hard misfortune, carved in it with tears
“no, no,” quoth she, “no dame, hereafter living
by my excuse shall claim excuse’s giving.”
here with a sigh, as if her heart would break
she throws forth tarquin’s name: “he, he,” she says
but more than “he” her poor tongue could not speak;
till after many accents and delays
untimely breathings, sick and short assays
she utters this: “he, he, fair lords, ’tis he
that guides this hand to give this wound to me.”
even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
a harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed
that blow did bail it from the deep unrest
of that polluted prison where it breathed
her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed
her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly
life’s lasting date from cancelled destiny
stone~still, astonished with this deadly deed
stood collatine and all his lordly crew
till lucrece’ father that beholds her bleed
himself on her self~slaughtered body threw
and from the purple fountain brutus drew
the murd’rous knife, and, as it left the place
her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;
and bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
in two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
circles her body in on every side
who, like a late~sacked island, vastly stood
bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood
some of her blood still pure and red remained
and some looked black, and that false tarquin stained
about the mourning and congealed face
of that black blood a wat’ry rigol goes
which seems to weep upon the tainted place;
and ever since, as pitying lucrece’ woes
corrupted blood some watery token shows
and blood untainted still doth red abide
blushing at that which is so putrified
“daughter, dear daughter,” old lucretius cries
“that life was mine which thou hast here deprived
if in the child the father’s image lies
where shall i live now lucrece is unlived?
thou wast not to this end from me derived
if children predecease progenitors
we are their offspring, and they none of ours
“poor broken glass, i often did behold
in thy sweet semblance my old age new born;
but now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old
shows me a bare~boned death by time outworn
o, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn
and shivered all the beauty of my glass
that i no more can see what once i was!
“o time, cease thou thy course and last no longer
if they surcease to be that should survive!
shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger
and leave the falt’ring feeble souls alive?
the old bees die, the young possess their hive
then live, sweet lucrece, live again and see
thy father die, and not thy father thee!”
by this starts collatine as from a dream
and bids lucretius give his sorrow place;
and then in key~cold lucrece’ bleeding stream
he falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face
and counterfeits to die with her a sp~ce;
till manly shame bids him possess his breath
and live to be revenged on her death
the deep vexation of his inward soul
hath served a dumb arrest upon his tongue;
who, mad that sorrow should his use control
or keep him from heart~easing words so long
begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
weak words, so thick come in his poor heart’s aid
that no man could distinguish what he said
yet sometime “tarquin” was pr~nounced plain
but through his t~~th, as if the name he tore
this windy tempest, till it blow up rain
held back his sorrow’s tide, to make it more
at last it rains, and busy winds give o’er
then son and father weep with equal strife
who should weep most, for daughter or for wife
the one doth call her his, the other his
yet neither may possess the claim they lay
the father says “she’s mine.” “o, mine she is,”
replies her husband. “do not take away
my sorrow’s interest; let no mourner say
he weeps for her, for she was only mine
and only must be wailed by collatine.”
“o,” quoth lucretius, “i did give that life
which she too early and too late hath spilled.”
“woe, woe,” quoth collatine, “she was my wife
i owed her, and ’tis mine that she hath k!lled.”
“my daughter” and “my wife” with clamours filled
the dispersed air, who, holding lucrece’ life
answered their cries, “my daughter” and “my wife”
brutus, who plucked the knife from lucrece’ side
seeing such emulation in their woe
began to clothe his wit in state and pride
burying in lucrece’ wound his folly’s show
he with the romans was esteemed so
as silly jeering idiots are with kings
for sportive words and utt’ring foolish things
but now he throws that shallow habit by
wherein deep policy did him disguise
and armed his long~hid wits advisedly
to check the tears in collatinus’ eyes
“thou wronged lord of rome,” quoth he, “arise!
let my unsounded self, supposed a fool
now set thy long~experienced wit to school
“why, collatine, is woe the cure for woe?
do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?
is it revenge to give thyself a blow
for his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?
such childish humour from weak minds proceeds
thy wretched wife mistook the matter so
to slay herself, that should have slain her foe
“courageous roman, do not steep thy heart
in such relenting dew of lamentations
but kneel with me, and help to bear thy part
to rouse our roman gods with invocations
that they will suffer these abominations,—
since rome herself in them doth stand disgraced,—
by our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased
“now, by the capitol that we adore
and by this chaste blood so unjustly stained
by heaven’s fair sun that breeds the fat earth’s store
by all our country rights in rome maintained
and by chaste lucrece’ soul that late complained
her wrongs to us, and by this bl~~dy knife
we will revenge the death of this true wife.”
this said, he struck his hand upon his breast
and kissed the fatal knife, to end his vow;
and to his protestation urged the rest
who, wond’ring at him, did his words allow
then jointly to the ground their knees they bow
and that deep vow which brutus made before
he doth again repeat, and that they swore
when they had sworn to this advised doom
they did conclude to bear dead lucrece thence
to show her bleeding body thorough rome
and so to publish tarquin’s foul offence;
which being done with speedy diligence
the romans plausibly did give consent
to tarquin’s everlasting banishment
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