« PreviousContinue »
At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, 0! teach me how to make mine own escake,
That was not forc'd, that never was inclin'd Why are thou thus attir'd in discontent?
To accesary yieldings; but still pure, Unmask, dear Dear! this moody heaviness, Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure. And tell thy grief that we may give redress.
Lo! here the hopeless merchant of this loss, Three times with fighs she gives her sorrows fire, with head declin'd, and voice damm'd up B'er once she can discharge one word of woe :
woe, At length address'd to answer his desire,
With sad fet eyes and wretched arms acros, She modestly prepares to let them know
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe;
The grief away, that itops his answer fo, While Collatine and his consorted lords
But wretched as he is, he strives in vain; With fad attention long to hear her words. What he breathes out, his breath drink: e
again. And now this pale swan, in her wat'ry nest, Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending.
As through an arch the violent roaring tide Few words, quoth the, shall fit the trespals belt,
Out-runs the eye, that doch behold his halle; Where no excuse can give the fault amending; Yet in the eddie boundeth in his pride In me more woes than words are now depending : Back to the strait, that forc'd him on lo fai,
And my laments would be drawn out too long, In rage sent out, recall'd in rage being paf :
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. Even fo his lighs, his forrows make a law, Then be this all the talk it hath to say,
To push grief on, and back the fame
draw. Dear husband, in the intereft of thy bed A stranger came, and on that pillow lay,
Which speechless woe of his, poor she atecedente Where thou waft wont to rest thy weary head; And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh: And what wrong else may be imagined
Dear Lord! chy sorrow to my forrow landet By foul inforcement might be done to me, Another power, no flood by raining flacketh ; From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.
My woc too sensible, thy passion maketh
More feeling painful ; let it then fuffice For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, To drown one woe, one pair of weeping och With shining faulchion in my chamber came A creeping creature with a flaming light, And for my fake, when I might charm the i And softly cry'd, awake thou Roman dame !
For she, that was thy Lucrece now attends, And entertain my love else lasting Name
Be suddenly revenged on my foe, On thee and thine this night I will inflict, Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou dol dis If thou my love's desire do contradict,
From what is past, the help that thou fha: 6 For some hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he, Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
Comes all too late; yet let the traitor dic; I'll murder streight, and then I'll Daughter thee, For sparing justice feeds iniquity. And swear I fonnd you where you did fulfil The loathsome act of luft; and so did kill
But e'er I name him, you fair Lords, quosh for The lechers in their deed : this act will be
(Speaking to chuse, that came with Collais My fame, and thy perpetual infamy.
Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, With this I did begin to start and cry,
With Twist pursuit to venge this wrong of 13
For 'tis a meritorions fair defign, And then against my heart he let his sword, To chase injustice with revengeful arm'; Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
Knights by their oaths should right pour les I should not live to speak another word :
harms. So fhould my shame still rest upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rume,
At this request, with noble disposition,
As bound in knighthood to her impolition, Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
Longing to bear the hateral fue bewraş'd: (And far the weaker with so strong a sear) But the that yet her fad talk hath not faid, My bloody judge forbad my tongue to speak; The proteftation' Itops. O speak! qored No rightful plea might plead for justice there :
How may this forced lain be wip'd from His fcarler luft came evidence to swear, That my poor beauty had purloin'd his cyes;
What is the quality of mine offence, And when the judge is robb’d, the prisoner Being constrain'd with dreadful circunr:Mara.
my pure mind with the foul ad difpence, Poor broken glass! I often did behold Low declined honour to advance?
In thy sweet semblance my old age new-born; any terms acquit me from this chance? But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, ne poison'd fountain clears itself again ; Shews me a bare-bon'd death by time out-worn. ad why not I from this compelled stain? 0: from my cheeks my image thou hast torn!
And thiver'd all the beauty of my glass, - this they all at once began to say,
That I no nrore can see, what once I was. Sody's stain her mind untainted cicars; le with a joyless smile she turns away
O! Time, cease thou thy course, and last no face, that map, which deep impression bears
longer, Erd misfortune carv'd in with tears.
If they furcease to be, that should survive; o, no, quoth she, no da me hereafter living, Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, my excuse thall claina excuses giving.
And leave the faltring feeble souls alive?
The old bees die, the young possess the hive : with a ligh, as if her heart would break, Then live sweet Lucrece, live again, and see hrows forth Tarquin's name. He, he, he Thy father die, and not thy father thee.
says: more than he, her poor tongue could not
By this starts Collatine as from a dream, speak,
And bids Lucretius give his forrow place ; after many accents and delays,
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream mely breathings, sick and short assays, He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, e utters this, He, he, fair Lord, 'tis he
And counterfeits to die with her a space ; hat guides this hand to give this wound to me.
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,
And live to be revenged on her death. here the theathed in her harmless breast rmful knife, that hence her soul unsheathed; The deep vexation of his inward soul blow did bail it from the deep unrest
Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue : aat polluted prison where it breathed : Who mad that sorrow should his use controul, contrite lighs unto the clouds bequeathed Or keep him from heart-easing words so long winged spright, and through her wounds Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's e's lasting date from cancel'd destiny.
That no man could diftinguish what he said. still, astonish'd with chis deadly deed, Collatine and all his lordly crew,
Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain, Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed, But through his teeth, as if the name he tore, elf on her self-taughter'd body threw : This windy tempeft, till it blow up rain, From the purple fountain Brutus drew
Held back his forrow's tide to make it more. e murd'rous knife, and as it left the place, At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er: = blood in poor revenge held it in chale. Then son and father weep with equal ftrife,
Who should weep molt for daughter, or for Bubbling from her breast, it doh divide
wife. flow rivers, that the crimson blood s her body in on every fide,
The one doth call her his, the other his; ike the late fack'd island vastly stood
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. and unpeopled in this fearful flood.
The father says, she's mine; O mine the is, ne of her blood ftili pure and red remain’d,
Replies her husband ; do not take away some look'd black, and that false Tarquin
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say, ftain'd.
He weeps for her ; for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine. the mourning and congealed face at black blood, a wairy rigol goe,
0! quoth Lucretius, I did give that life, seems to weep upon the tainted place;
Which she too early and too late hath spilld. ver since, as pi:ying Lucrece' woes,
Woe! woe! quoth Collatine, she was my wife, Oted blood some wat'ry token shows,
I owned her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd. blood untainıcd fill doth red abide,
My daughter and my wife with clamours fill'd hing at that which is so putrify'd.
The difperft air, who holding Lucrece' life,
Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side, shall I live, now Lucrece is unliv'd ?
Secing such emulation in their woe, evast not to this end from me deriv'd. Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, hildren predecease progenitors,
Burying in Lucrece's wound his folly's lhew ; are their offspring, and they none of ours.
He with the Romaus was esteemed so,
As filly jeering idiots are with kings,
Now by the capital, that we adore! For sportive words, and uttering foolish things. And by this chalte blood so unjusily fiain'd!
By heaven's fair fun, that breeds the fat cara But now he throws that shallow habit by,
store! Wherein deep policy did him disguise ;
By all our country's rites in Rome maintain'!, And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
And by chalte Lucrece' fiul, that late companie To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody tre: Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise ; We will revenge the death of this true w..
Let my unfounded self, suppor'd a fool,
And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow;
bow, Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds. And that deep vow which Brutus made by Thy wretched wife mistook the matter fo,
fore, To flay herself, that should have sain her foe. He doch again repeat, and that they (ware. Courageous Roman! do not steep thy heart When they had sworn to this advised doom, In such relenting dew of lamentations ;
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece theo But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, To Thew the bleeding body throughout Room, To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence, That they will suffer these abominations
Which being done, with speedy diligence, (Since Rome herself in them doth stand dif The Roman's plausibly did give conscat, grac'd)
[chas'd. To Tarquini's everlasting banishment. By our Itrong arms from forth her fair streets
S O N
Ν Ν Ε Τ T S.
TO THE ONLY BEGETTER OF THESE ENSUING SONNETS,
MR. W. H.
AND THAT ETERNITY PROMISED BY OUR EVER-LIVING POET,
Vi. When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, Then let not winter's ragged hand delne And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, In thee thy summer, e'er thou be diftili'd: Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, Make sweet some phial, treasure thou some pia Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held : With beauty's treasure, e'er it be felf-Lill's. Then being afk'd where all thy beauty lics, That use it not forbidden usury, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
Which happies those that pay the willing lezen To say, within thine own deep-funken eyes, That's for thyself to breed another thee, Were an all-eating shame, and thriftlefs praise. Or ten times happier, be it ten for ope; How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, Ten times thyself were happier than the art, If thou could't answer-" This fair child of mine If ten of thine ten times refigur'd chee: “ Shall fum my count, and make my old excufe
Then, what could death do if thou should't do.com Proving his beauty by succession thine.
Leaving thee living in posterity? This were to be new made when thou art old, Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too And see thy blood warm when thou feel it ic To be death's conqueft, and make warm cold.
VII. Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest, Lo in the orient when the gracious light Now is the time that face should form another; Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest;
Doth homage to his new-appearing light, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless fome mother. Serving with looks his facred majelty; For where is the so fair, whose un-eard womb And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly be Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Or who is he so fond, will be the comb
Yet mortal looks adure his beauty ftill, Of his self-love, to stop pofterity?
Attending on his goldin pilgrimage; Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee But when from high-molt pitch, with wearya Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
From his low tract, and look another way: But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, Die single, and thine image dies with thee. Unlook'd on dieít, unless thou get a fo.
Vill. Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Music to hear, why hear'st thou mufic sady? Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights is gone Nature's bequeft gives nothing, but doth lend,
W'hy lov'st thou that which thou receiv'inot -And being frank, she lends to those are free.
Or else recciv'it with pleasure thine annoy! Then, beauteous niggard, why doft thou abuse
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, The bounteous largess given thee to give ?
By unions married, do offend thire car, Profitless usurer, why doft thou use
They do but sweetly chide thee, who coach So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? In fingleness the parts that thou should't be For having traffic with thyself alone,
Mark how one string, sweet husband to an ** Thou of thyself thy sweet self doft deceive. Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
Resembling fire and child and happy mother, What acceptable audit canst thoa leave?
Who all in one, one pleasing note do kog : Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Who speechless song, being many, seerung. Which, used, lives thy cxecutor to be.
Sings this to thee, “thou livgle wilt prove
IX. Those hours, that with gentle work did frame,
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
That thou consum'st thyself in lingle life? Will play the tyrants to the very same,
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die, And that unfair which fairly doth excell;
The world will wail thee, like a makeleis wa For never-resting time leads summer on
The world will be thy widow and ftill weet, To hideous winter, and confounds him there; That thou no form of thee haft left behind Sap check'd with frost, and lulty leaves quite gone,
When every private widow well may bers, Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness every where : By children's eyes, her husband's fhape in is Then, were not summer's distillation left,
Look, what an unthrift in the world doch so A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Shifts but his place, for fill the world enjeks, Beauty's effcet with beauty were berest,
But beauty's waste hath in the world an cando Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was,
And keep unus'd, the user lo defroys is. But fowers distillid, though they with winter
No love toward others in that bosom fita meet,
(sweet. That on himself such murderous fum: ita Leese but their shew; their substance ftill lives mits,