At last he takes her by the bloodless hand,
And thus begins: What uncouth ill event
Hath thee befall'n, that theu doft trembling ftand?
Sweet love! what fpite hath thy fair colour
spent?

Why art thou thus attir'd in difcontent?

Unmask, dear Dear! this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief that we may give redress.

Three times with fighs the gives her forrows fire,
B'er once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length addrefs'd to anfwer his defire,
She modeftly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prifoner by the foe;
While Collatine and his conforted lords
With fad attention long to hear her words.

And now this pale fwan, in her wat'ry neft,
Begins the fad dirge of her certain ending.
Few words, quoth fhe, fhall fit the trefpafs beft,
Where no excufe 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 intereft of thy bed
A ftranger came, and on that pillow lay,
Where thou waft wont to reft thy weary head;
And what wrong elfe may be imagined

By foul inforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.

For fome hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he,
Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
I'll murder freight, and then I'll flaughter thee,
And fwear I fonnd you where you did fulfil
The loathfome act of luft; and fo did kill

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 againft my heart he fet his fword,
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
I fhould not live to speak another word :
So fhould my fhame ftill reft upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rome,
Th' adult'rate death of Lucrece, and her groom.

Mine enemy was ftrong, my poor felf weak,
(And far the weaker with fo ftrong a fear)
My bloody judge forbad my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might plead for juftice there:
His fearlet luft came evidence to fwear,

That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes;
And when the judge is robb'd, the prifoner

dies.

O! teach me how to make mine own excufe,
Or, at the leaft, this refuge let me find;
Though my grofs blood be ftain'd with this ab
Immaculate and fpotlefs is my mind:
That was not forc'd, that never was inclin'd
To acceflary yieldings; but ftill pure,
Doth in her poifon'd closet yet endure.

Lo! here the hopeless merchant of this lofs,
With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up va

woe,

With fad fet eyes and wretched arms across, From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow The grief away, that stops his answer fo,

But wretched as he is, he ftrives in vain; What he breathes out, his breath drink: again.

As through an arch the violent roaring tide Out-runs the eye, that doth behold his hafte; Yet in the eddie boundeth in his pride Back to the ftrait, that forc'd him on fo faf, In rage fent out, recall'd in rage being paft: Even fo his fighs, his forrows make a law, To push grief on, and back the fame g draw.

Which speechlefs woe of his, poor the attend
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
Dear Lord! thy forrow to my forrow lender
Another power, no flood by raining flacketh;
My woc too fenfible, thy paflion maketh

More feeling painful; let it then fuffice
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping y

And for my fake, when I might charm thee is For fhe, that was thy Lucrece-now attend Be fuddenly revenged on my foe,

Thine, mine, his own; fuppofe thon doft deze

me

From what is paft, the help that thou fhat

me

Comes all too late; yet let the traitor die;
For fparing justice feeds iniquity.

But e'er I name him, you fair Lords, quoth is
(Speaking to thofe, that came with Collatine,
Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
With fwift purfuit to venge this wrong of m
For 'tis a meritorions fair defign,

To chafe injuftice with revengeful arms; Knights by their oaths fhould right pour harms.

At this requeft, with noble difpofition,
Each prefent lord began to promife aid,
As bound in knighthood to her impofition,
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd:
But the that yet her fad task hath not faid,
The proteftation ftops. O fpeak: quoth Brit
How may this forced fain be wip'd from =

What is the quality of mine offence,
Being constrain'd with dreadful circumftant

my pure mind with the foul act difpence, low declined honour to advance? yany terms acquit me from this chance? The poifon'd fountain clears itself again; nd why not I from this compelled ftain?

h this they all at once began to fay, body's ftain her mind untainted clcars; ile with a joylefs fmile fhe turns away face, that map, which deep impreffion bears ard misfortune carv'd in with tears. lo, no, quoth fhe, no dame hereafter living, y my excufe fhall clain excufes giving.

e with a figh, as if her heart would break, throws forth Tarquin's name. He, he, she fays:

more than he, her poor tongue could not fpeak,

after many accents and delays,

imely breathings, fick and short afsays, he utters this, He, he, fair Lord, 'tis he

hat guides this hand to give this wound to me.

here the fheathed in her harmless breast rmful knife, that hence her foul unfheathed; blow did bail it from the deep unrest hat polluted prifon where it breathed: contrite fighs unto the clouds bequeathed winged fpright, and through her wounds doth fly

fe's lafting date from cancel'd deftiny.

ftill, aftonifh'd with this deadly deed, I Collatine and all his lordly crew, Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed, -elf on her felf-flaughter'd body threw : from the purple fountain Brutus drew e murd'rous knife, and as it left the place, r blood in poor revenge held it in chase.

bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
70 flow rivers, that the crimson blood
es her body in on every fide,

like the late fack'd island vaftly flood
and unpeopled in this fearful flood.
me of her blood ftili pure and red remain'd,
ad fome look'd black, and that falfe Tarquin

ftain'd.

it the mourning and congealed face
hat black blood, a watry rigol goes,
ch feems to weep upon the tainted place;
ever fince, as pitying Lucrece' woes,
upted blood fome wat'ry token shows,
nd blood untainted fill doth red abide,
Jufhing at that which is fo putrify'd.

ghter! dear daughter! old Lucretius cries,
tlife was mine, which thou haft here de-
the child the father's image lies,
[priv'd;
ere fhall I live, now Lucrece is unliv'd?
waft not to this end from me deriv'd.
children predeceafe progenitors,

Ve are their offspring, and they none of ours.

Poor broken glafs! I often did behold

In thy fweet femblance my old age new-born;
But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,
Shews me a bare-bon'd death by time out-worn.
O from my cheeks my image thou haft torn!
And fhiver'd all the beauty of my glass,
That I no more can fee, what once i was.

O Time, ceafe thou thy course, and last no longer,

If they furceafe to be, that should survive;
Shall rotten death make conqueft of the stronger,
And leave the faitring feeble fouls alive?
The old bees die, the young poffefs the hive:
Then live fweet Lucrece, live again, and fee
Thy father die, and not thy father thee.

By this starts Collatine as from a dream,
And bids Lucretius give his forrow 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 space;

Till manly fhame bids him poffefs his breath,
And live to be revenged on her death.

The deep vexation of his inward foul
Hath ferv'd a dumb arreft upon his tongue :
Who mad that forrow should his ufe controul,
Or keep him from heart-eafing words fo long
Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, fo thick come in his poor heart's
aid,

That no man could distinguish what he said.

As filly jeering idiots are with kings,

Now by the capital, that we adore!

But now he throws that shallow habit by,
Wherein deep policy did him difguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise;
Let my unfounded self, suppos'd a fool,
Now fet thy long-experienc'd wit to school.
Why Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous
Is it revenge to give thyfelf a blow [deeds?
For his foul act, by whom thy fair wife bleeds?
Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds.
Thy wretched wife miftook the matter fo,
Te flay herself, that fhould have flain her foe.

By heaven's fair fun, that breeds the fat an

ftore!

By all our country's rites in Rome maintain' And by chafte Lucrece' foul, that late compl. Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody k We will revenge the death of this true w

This faid, he ftruck his hand upon his break,
And kifs'd the fatal knife to end his vow;
And to his proteftation urg'd the rest,
Who wondring at him did him words allow:
Then jointly to the ground their knes 27
bow,

And that deep vow which Brutus made

fore,

He doth again repeat, and that they fwere

When they had fworn to this advised doom, They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece the To shew the bleeding body throughout Rem And fo to publish Tarquin's foul offence, Which being done, with speedy diligence, The Roman's plaufibly did give confent, To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.

T T.

I.

ROM fairest creatures we defire increase, hat thereby beauty's rose might never die, ut as the riper fhould by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, leed'ft thy light's flame with felf-fubftantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyfelf thy foe, to thy fweet felf too cruel.

Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud burieft thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

* i. e. Thomas Thorpe, in whofe name the fonnets were firft entered in Stationers Hall.

II.

When forty winters fhall befiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, fo gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of fmall worth held :
Then being afk'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lufty days;
To fay, within thine own deep-funken eyes,
Were an all-eating fhame, and thriftlefs praife.
How much more praise deferv'd thy beauty's ufe,
If thou could't anfwer-" This fair child of mine
"Shall fum my count, and make my old excufe-"
Proving his beauty by fucceffion thine.

This were to be new made when thou art old, And fee thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

III.

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face fhould form another;
Whofe fresh repair if now thou not reneweft;
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is fhe fo fair, whofe un-eard womb
Difdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he fo fond, will be the tomb
Of his felf-love, to stop pofterity?
Thou art thy mother's glafs, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age fhalt fee,
Defpite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.

But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

IV.

Unthrifty lovelinefs, why doft thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequeft gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank, fhe lends to thofe are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why doft thou abuse
The bounteous largefs given thee to give?
Profitlefs ufurer, why doft thou ufe
So great a fum of fums, yet canft not live?
For having traffic with thyfelf alone,
Thou of thyfelf thy fweet felf doft deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canft thou leave?

Thy unuf'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
Which, ufed, lives thy executor to be.

V.

Thofe hours, that with gentle work did frame,
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very fame,
And that unfair which fairly doth excell;
For never-refting time leads fummer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with froft, and lufty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'erfnow'd, and bareness every where:
Then, were not fummer's diftillation left,
A liquid prifoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was.

But flowers diftill'd, though they with winter

meet, [fweet. Leefe but their fhew; their fubftance ftill lives

VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy fummer, e'er thou be distili'd:
Make sweet some phial, treasure thou fome pla
With beauty's treafure, e'er it be felf-kill'd
That use it not forbidden ufury,
Which happies those that pay the willing len;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyfelf were happier than the art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
Then, what could death do if thou should't d
Leaving thee living in pofterity?

Be not felf-will'd, for thou art much too far
To be death's conqueft, and make worms
heir.

VII.

Lo in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing fight,
Serving with looks his facred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly
Refembling ftrong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty ftill,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from high-moft pitch, with weary
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on dieft, unless thou get a for.

Vill.

Mufic to hear, why hear'ft thou mufic fady?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv't not
Or elfe receiv'ft with pleasure thine annoy!
If the true concord of well-tuned founds,
By unions married, do offend thire ear,
They do but fweetly chide thee, who conica
In fingleness the parts that thou should't be
Mark how one ftring, fweet hufband to anotac
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Refembling fire and child and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleafing note do king:

Who fpeechlefs fong, being many, feening *.
Sings this to thee, "thou fingle wilt prove mo
IX.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou confum'ft thyself in fingle life?
Ah! if thou iffuclefs fhalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee, like a makelefs w
The world will be thy widow and ftill weep,
That thou no form of thee haft left behind,
When every private widow well may kep
By children's eyes, her husband's fhape in
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth i
Shifts but his place, for fill the world enjoys,
But beauty's wafte hath in the world an end,
And keep unus'd, the ufer fo defroys it.

No love toward others in that bofom ft That on himself fuch murderous fhams you mits.