Revealing day through every cranny fpies, And feems to point her out where fhe fits weeping;

To whom the fobbing speaks, O! eye of eyes!
Why pry'st thou through my window? Leave thy
peeping;
[fleeping.
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light;
For day hath nought to do what's done by
night.

Thus cavils she with every thing the fees.
True grief is fond, and tefty as a child,
Who way-ward once, his mood with nought
agrees.

Old woes, not infant forrows bear them mild;
Continuance tames the one, the other wild

Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still,
With too much labour drowns for want of
fkill.

So I at each fad ftrain will ftrain à tear,
And with deep groans the Diapafon bear.
For burden-wife I'll hum on Tarquin ftill,
While thou on Tereus defcant'ft better skill.

And while against a thorn thou bear'ft thy part,
To keep thy fharp woes waking; wretched 1,.
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a fharp knife, to affright mine eye,
Who, if it wink, fhall thereon fall and die.

These means, as frets upon an inftrument,
Shall tune our heart-ftrings to true languish-

To kill my felf, quoth fhe, alack! what were it, But with my body my poor foul's pollution? They that lofe half, with greater patience bear it, Than they whofe whole is fwallow'd in confufion. That mother tries a merciless conclufion,

Who having two fweet babes, when death takes one,

Will flay the other, and be nurse to none.

My body, or my foul, which was the dearer,
When the one pure, the other made divine?
Whofe love of either to my felf was nearer,
When both were kept from heaven. and Collatine?
Ay me! the bark peal'd from the lofty pine,
His leaves will wither, and his fap decay;
So muft my foul, her bark being peal'd away.

Her houfe is fack'd, her quiet interrupted;
Her mansion batter'd by the enemy,
Her facred temple spotted, fpoil'd, corrupted,
Grofly ingirt with daring infamy.
Then let it not be call'd impiety,

If in this blemish'd fort I make fome hole,
Through which I may convey this troubled foul.

Yet die I will not, till my Collatine
Have heard the caufe of my untimely death;
That he may vow, in that fad hour of mine,
Revenge on him, that made me ftop my breath,
My ftained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath,

Which by him tainted fhall for him be spent,
And as his due, writ in my teftament.

My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife,
That wounds my body fo dithonoured:
'Tis honour to deprive difhonour'd life;
The one will live, the other being dead:
So of fhame's afhes fhall my fame be bred.

For in my death I murder shameful fcorn;
My fhame fo dead, mine Honour is new born.

Dear lord of that dear Jewel I have loft!
What legacy fhall I bequeath to thee?
My refolution, love, shall be thy boast,
By whofe example thou reveng'd may'st be :
How Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me.

My felf thy friend, will kill my self thy foe;
And for my fake ferve thou falle Tarquin fo.

This brief abridgment of my will I make :
My foul and body to the fkies, and ground;
My refolution (Hufband) do you take.;
Mine honour be the knife's, that makes my wound;
My fhame be his, that did my fame confound;

And all my fame that lives, difburfed be
To thofe that live, and think no fhame of me.

Thou Collatine fhall overfee this will,
How was I overfeen, that thou shalt fee it?
My blood fhall wash the flander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end fhall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but ftoutly fay, fo be it;

Yield to my hand, my hand fhall conquer thee;
Thou dead, both die, and both fhall victors be.

This plot of death when fadly she had laid,
And wip'd the brinith pearl from her bright eyes;
With untun'd tongue the hoarfly call'd her maid,
Whofe fwift obedience to her miftrefs hies;
For ficet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers
flies,

Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid feem fo, As winter meads, when fun doth melt their inow.

Her mistress the doth give demure good-morrow,
With foft flow tongue, true mark of modesty;
And forts a fad look to her lady's forrow,
(For why, her face wore forrow's livery)
But durft not afk of her audaciously,

Why her two funs were cloud-eclipfed fo:
Nor why her fair cheeks over-waili'd with woe.

But as the earth doth weep, the fun being fet,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye :
Even fo the maid with fwelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforc'd by fympathy
Of thofe fair funs, fet in her miftrefs' sky;

Who in a falt-wav'd ocean queuch'd their light, Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

A pretty while thefe pretty creatures ftand,
Like ivory conduits coral cifterns filling:
One juftly weeps, the other takes in hand
No caufe, but company, of her drops fpilling;
Their gentle fex to weep are often willing;

Grieving themfelves to guefs at other smarts: And then they drown their eyes, or break that hearts.

For men have marble, women waxen minds,
And therefore they are form'd as marble will:
The weak oppreft, th' impreffion of strange kind
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or iil.
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
No more than wax fhall be accounted evil,
Wherein is ftampt the femblance of a devil

Their fmoothnefs, like a goodly champain plan,
Lays open all the little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove remain
Cave-keeping evils, that obfcurely fleep;
Through chrystal walls each little mote will pe
Tho' men can cover crimes with bold t

looks,

Poor womens faces are their own faults books

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower,
But chides rough winter, that the flower has k
Not that's devour'd, but that which doth devour
Is worthy blame: O let it not be hild
Poor womens faults, that they are fo fulfii'd
With mens abufes; thofe proud lords to Mare,
Make weak-made women tenants to the

fhame.

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, Affail'd by night with circumstances Atrong Of prefent death and fhame that might erfur, By that her death to do her husband wrong; Such danger to resistance did belong,

That dying fear through all her body spra And who cannot abufe a body dead?

By this mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak To the poor Counterfeit of her complaining My girl, quoth fee, on what occafion break Thole tears from thee, that down thy cheeks raining?

If thou doft weep for grief of my fuftaining, Know, gentle wench, it mail avails my m If tears could help, nine own would do good.

But tell me, girl, when went (and there ftaid

Till after a deep groan) Tarquin from bence!
Madam, e'er I was up (reply'd the maid)
The more to blame my fluggard negligence:
Yet with the fault I thus far can difpente;
My felf was firring e'er the break of day,
And e'er I role was Tarquin gone away.

But lady, if your maid may be fo beld,
She would requeft to know your heavines
O peace! (quoth Lucrece if it should be told,
The repetition cannot make it lefs;
For more it is than I can well express:

And that deep torture may be call'd a hell,
When more is felt, than one hath power to tel

And here and there the painter interlaces
Pale cowards marching on with trembling paces;
Which heartless peasants did fo well refemble
That one would fwear he saw them quake and
tremble.

In Ajax, and Ulyffes, O! what art
Of phyfiognomy might one behold!
The face of either cypher'd either's heart;
Their face, their manners most exprefly told.
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roll'd.

But the mild glance that fly Ulyffes lent,
Shew'd deep regard, and failing government.

There pleading might you fee grave Neftor ftand,
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight,
Making fuch fober action with his hand,
That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the fight:
In fpeech it feem'd, his beard all filver white,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the
íky.

About him were a prefs of gaping faces,
Which feem'd to fwallow up his found advice;
All jointly liftning, but with feveral graces,
As if fome mermaid did their ears entice;
Some high, fome low, the painter was fo nice.
The fcalps of many almoft hid behind,
To jump up higher feem'd to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His note being fhadow'd by his neighbour's car ;
Here one being throng'd bears back all blown and
red;

Another mother'd, feems to pelt and fwear;
And in their rage, (fuch figns of rage they bear),
As but for lofs of Neftor's golden words,
It leem'd they would debate with angry swords.

For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, fo compact fo kind,
That for Achilles' image flood his fpear,
Grip'd in an armed hand, himself behind
Was left unfeen, fave to the eye of mind;
A hand, a foot, a face, a lcg, a head,
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of ftrong-befieged Troy, When their brave hope, bold Hector march'd to field,

Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To fee their youthful fons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they fuch odd action yield,

That thro' their Eght joy feemed to appear,
(Like bright things ftain'd) a kind of heavy
fear.

And from the ftrond of Dardan, where they fought,

'To Simois' recdy banks, the red blood ran;
Whose waves to imitate the battel fought
With fwelling ridges; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled fhore, and than

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

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

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

Only to flatter Fools and make them bold :

So Priam's truft talfe Sinons tears doth flatter, That he finds means to burn his Troy with.

water.

Here all enrag'd fuch paffion her affails,
That patience is quite beaten from her breast;
She tears the fenfeless Sinon with her nails,
Comparing him to that unhappy guest,
Whofe deed hath made herfelf, herielf detest.
At last the fmilingly with this gives o'er,
Fool! fool! quoth fhe, his wounds will not be
fore.

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her forrow, And time doth weary time with her complaining She looks for night, and then the longs for mor

row,

And both the thinks too long with her remaining; Short time feems long, in forrows sharp fuftaining.

Tho' we be heavy, yet it feldom fleeps,
And they that watch, fee time how flow it-
creeps.

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

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

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

Which when her fad-beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her fad face he ftares :

Her eyes though fod in tears, look red, and raw,
Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how the fares:

But ftood like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wondring each other's

chance.

S f