The precedent whereof in Lucrece view. That dying fear through all her body spread; By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak 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 stay'd Till after a deep groan) 'Tarquin from hence ?' 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 call'd a hell, When more is felt than one hath power to tell. Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen :— Yet save that labor, for I have them here. What should I say ?—One of my husband's men 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, before. At last she thus begins :- Thou worthy lord So I commend me from our house in grief: know Here folds she up the tenor of her woe, Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd ex cuse. Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 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. '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 seal'd, and on it writ.— Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast Extremity still urgeth such extremes. The homely villein 1 courtesies to her low; For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame; When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect Such harmless creatures have a true respect Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, That two red fires in both their faces blazed; She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust. 1 Slave. 1 And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed; 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, That she her plaints a little while doth stay, At last, she calls to mind where hangs a piece Which the conceited 2 painter drew so proud, A thousand lamentable objects there, In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life: Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife: Attentively. 2 Fanciful, ingenious. |