The Phoenix: mythical bird that is the only one of its kind, perpetually regenerating itself from its own ashes, sometimes serving in the period as an image of Queen Elizabeth, but perhaps also suggesting the regenerative power of poetic art.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLEY, Earl of Southampton and Baron of Titchfield
The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end: whereof this pamphlet without beginning is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours, being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater: meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life still lengthened with all happiness.
Your lordship’s in all duty,
William Shakespeare
THE ARGUMENT
Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus) after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murdered and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people’s suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king’s son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife: among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humor they posted to Rome, and intending by their secret and sudden arrival to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and reveling or in several disports, whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius, being inflamed with Lucrece’ beauty yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp, from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself and was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius, and, finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor and whole manner of his dealing and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins, and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were so moved that, with one consent and a general acclamation, the Tarquins were all exiled and the state government changed from kings to consuls.
From the besiegèd Ardea all in post,1
Borne by the trustless2 wings of false desire,
Lust-breathèd3 Tarquin leaves the Roman host
And to Collatium bears the lightless4 fire
5 Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire5
And girdle6 with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine’s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.
Haply8 that name of ‘chaste’ unhapp’ly set
This bateless9 edge on his keen appetite,
10 When Collatine unwisely did not let10
To praise the clear unmatchèd red and white,11
Which triumphed12 in that sky of his delight,
Where mortal stars,13 as bright as heaven’s beauties,
With pure aspects14 did him peculiar duties.
15 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 rate19
20 That kings might be espousèd20 to more fame,
But21 king nor peer to such a peerless dame.
O, happiness enjoyed but of22 a few
And, if possessed, as soon decayed and done23
As is the morning’s silver-melting dew
25 Against25 the golden splendour of the sun,
An expired26 date, cancelled ere well begun.
Honour and beauty in the owner’s arms
Are weakly fortressed28 from a world of harms.
Beauty itself doth of29 itself persuade
30 The eyes of men without an orator:
What needeth then apology31 be made
To set forth that which is so singular?32
Or why is Collatine the publisher33
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
35 From thievish ears because it is his own?
Perchance36 his boast of Lucrece’ sov’reignty
Suggested37 this proud issue of a king,
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be.
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,
40 Braving compare,40 disdainfully did sting
His high-pitched41 thoughts that meaner men should vaunt
That golden hap42 which their superiors want.
But some untimely43 thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless44 speed, if none of those:
45 His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,45
Neglected all, with46 swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver47 glows.
O rash false heat,48 wrapped in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts49 and ne’er grows old!
50 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 underprop53 her fame.
When Virtue bragged, Beauty would blush for shame,
55 When Beauty boasted blushes, in despite55
Virtue would stain that o’er with silver white.
But Beauty, in that white intitulèd,57
From Venus’ doves58 doth challenge that fair field.
Then Virtue59 claims from Beauty Beauty’s red,
60 Which Virtue gave the golden age60 to gild
Their silver cheeks and called it then their shield,61
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight:
When shame assailed,63 the red should fence the white.
This heraldry64 in Lucrece’ face was seen,
65 Argued65 by Beauty’s red and Virtue’s white:
Of either’s colour was the other queen,
Proving from world’s minority67 their right.
Yet their ambition makes them still68 to fight,
The sov’reignty of either being so great
70 That oft they interchange each other’s seat.70
This silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin viewed in her fair face’s field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses,73
Where, lest between them both it should be killed,
75 The coward captive vanquishèd doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go
Rather than triumph in77 so false a foe.
Now thinks he that her husband’s shallow tongue,
The niggard prodigal79 that praised her so,
80 In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show.
Therefore that praise, which Collatine doth owe,82
Enchanted Tarquin answers83 with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing84 eyes.
85 This earthly saint, adorèd by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper:
For unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil.
Birds never limed88 no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely89 gives good cheer
90 And reverend90 welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm expressed.
For that92 he coloured with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in pleats93 of majesty,
That94 nothing in him seemed inordinate,
95 Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so97 wanteth in his store
That, cloyed with much, he pineth98 still for more.
But she that never coped99 with stranger eyes
100 Could pick no meaning from their parling100 looks,
Nor read the subtle shining secrecies101
Writ in the glassy margents102 of such books:
She touched no103 unknown baits, nor feared no hooks,
Nor could she moralize104 his wanton sight
105 More105 than his eyes were opened to the light.
He stories106 to her ears her husband’s fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy,
And decks108 with praises Collatine’s high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry
110 With bruisèd arms110 and wreaths of victory.
Her joy with heaved-up111 hand she doth express,
And wordless so greets112 heaven for his success.
Far from the purpose of his coming thither,
He makes excuses for his being there.
115 No cloudy show of stormy blust’ring weather
Doth yet in his fair116 welkin once appear
Till sable117 night, mother of dread and fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display
And in her vaulty119 prison stows the day.
120 For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending121 weariness with heavy sprite,
For after supper long he questionèd122
With modest Lucrece and wore out123 the night.
Now leaden slumber with life’s strength doth fight
125 And everyone to125 rest themselves betake,
Save thieves and cares126 and troubled minds that wake.
As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving127
The sundry128 dangers of his will’s obtaining,
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
130 Though weak-built hopes130 persuade him to abstaining:
Despair to gain doth traffic131 oft for gaining
And when great treasure132 is the meed proposed,
Though death be adjunct,133 there’s no death supposed.
Those that much covet are with gain so fond134
135 That135 what they have not, that which they possess
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so by hoping137 more they have but less,
Or gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit,139 and such griefs sustain
140 That they prove bankrupt 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 one144 for all or all for one we gage:
145 As145 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’ring148 ill, we leave to be
The things we are for that which we expect:149
150 And this ambitious foul infirmity,150
In having much, torments us with defect151
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have and, all for want of wit,153
Make something nothing by augmenting154 it.
155 Such hazard155 now must doting Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust,
And for himself himself he must forsake.157
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just,
160 When he himself himself confounds,160 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 comfortable164 star did lend his light,
165 No noise but owls’ and wolves’ death-boding cries.165
Now serves the season166 that they may surprise
The silly167 lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wakes to stain and kill.
And now this lustful lord leapt from his bed,
170 Throwing his mantle170 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 lust’s foul charm,
175 Doth too too oft betake174 him to retire,
Beaten away by brainsick rude175 desire.
His falchion176 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 lodestar179 to his lustful eye,
180 And to the flame thus speaks advisedly,180
‘As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.’
Here pale with fear he doth premeditate183
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise,
185 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 lust188
And justly189 thus controls his thoughts unjust:
190 ‘Fair torch, burn out thy light and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine,
And die, unhallowed192 thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness that which is divine.
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine.
195 Let fair humanity abhor the deed
That spots and stains love’s modest snow-white weed.196
‘O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!
O foul dishonour to my household’s grave!198
O impious act, including all foul harms!
200 A martial man to be soft200 fancy’s slave!
True valour still201 a true respect should have,
Then my digression202 is so vile, so base,
That it will live engraven in my face.
‘Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive
205 And be an eyesore in my golden coat:205
Some loathsome dash206 the herald will contrive
To cipher me207 how fondly I did dote,
That my posterity, shamed with the note,208
Shall curse my bones and hold it for209 no sin
210 To wish that I their father had not been.
‘What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth212 of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?214
215 For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight217 be strucken down?
‘If Collatinus dream of my intent,
Will he not wake and in a desp’rate rage
220 Post220 hither, this vile purpose to prevent?
This siege that hath engirt221 his marriage,
This blur222 to youth, this sorrow to the sage,
This dying virtue, this surviving shame,
Whose crime will bear an ever-during224 blame?
225 ‘O, what excuse can my invention225 make,
When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?
Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake,
Mine eyes228 forgo their light, my false heart bleed?
The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed,229
230 And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,230
But coward-like with trembling terror die.
‘Had Collatinus killed my son or sire,232
Or lain in ambush to betray my life,
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
235 Might have excuse to work upon235 his wife,
As in revenge or quittal236 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 fact239 be known,
240 Hateful it is: there is no hate in loving.
I’ll beg her love, but she is not her own:241
The worst is but denial and reproving.
My will243 is strong, past reason’s weak removing:
Who244 fears a sentence or an old man’s saw
245 Shall by a painted cloth245 be kept in awe.’
Thus, graceless,246 holds he disputation
’Tween frozen conscience and hot burning will,
And with good thoughts make dispensation,248
Urging the worser sense for vantage still,249
250 Which in a moment doth confound250 and kill
All pure effects,251 and doth so far proceed
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.
Quoth253 he, ‘She took me kindly by the hand
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes,
255 Fearing some hard255 news from the warlike band,
Where her belovèd Collatinus lies.
O, how her fear did make her colour rise!
First red as roses that on lawn258 we lay,
Then white as lawn, the roses took259 away.
260 ‘And how her hand, in my hand being locked,
Forced it261 to tremble with her loyal fear!
Which262 struck her sad and then it faster rocked,
Until her husband’s welfare she did hear,
Whereat she smilèd with so sweet a cheer
265 That, had Narcissus265 seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drowned him in the flood.
‘Why hunt I then for colour267 or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth,
Poor269 wretches have remorse in poor abuses,
270 Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:
Affection271 is my captain and he leadeth,
And when his gaudy272 banner is displayed,
The coward273 fights and will not be dismayed.
‘Then, childish fear, avaunt!274 Debating, die!
275 Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age!
My heart shall never countermand276 mine eye;
Sad277 pause and deep regard beseems the sage:
My part is youth and beats these from the stage.
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize:
280 Then who fears sinking280 where such treasure lies?’
As corn o’ergrown by weeds, so heedful281 fear
Is almost choked by unresisted282 lust:
Away he steals with open list’ning ear,
Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust,284
285 Both which, as servitors285 to the unjust,
So cross286 him with their opposite persuasion
That now he vows a league287 and now invasion.
Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the selfsame seat sits Collatine.
290 That eye which looks on her confounds his wits,290
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,291
Unto a view292 so false will not incline,
But with a pure appeal seeks293 to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part,
295 And therein heartens up295 his servile powers,
Who, flattered by their leader’s jocund296 show,
Stuff up297 his lust, as minutes fill up hours,
And as their captain, so their pride298 doth grow,
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
300 By reprobate300 desire thus madly led,
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece’ bed.
The locks between her chamber302 and his will,
Each one by him enforced, retires his ward,303
But as they open they all rate his ill,304
305 Which drives the creeping thief to some regard:305
The306 threshold grates the door to have him heard,
Night-wand’ring weasels307 shriek to see him there,
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.
As each unwilling portal309 yields him way,
310 Through little vents and crannies of the place,
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay311
And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct313 in this case.
But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
315 Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch,
And, being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia’s glove,317 wherein her needle sticks.
He takes it from the rushes318 where it lies,
And gripping it, the needle his finger pricks,
320 As who should320 say, ‘This glove to wanton tricks
Is not inured.321 Return again in haste,
Thou see’st our mistress’ ornaments322 are chaste.’
But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him.
He in the worst sense consters324 their denial:
325 The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial,326
Or as those bars327 which stop the hourly dial,
Who with a ling’ring stay his course doth let328
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.
330 ‘So, so,’ quoth he, ‘these lets attend330 the time,
Like little frosts that sometime threat331 the spring
To add a more332 rejoicing to the prime
And give the sneapèd333 birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income334 of each precious thing:
335 Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves335 and sands,
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.’
Now is he come unto the chamber door
That shuts him from the heaven338 of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch and with no more
340 Hath barred him from the blessèd thing340 he sought.
So from341 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,
345 Having solicited th’eternal power
That his foul346 thoughts might compass his fair fair,
And they347 would stand auspicious to the hour,
Even there he starts.348 Quoth he, ‘I must deflow’r.
The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact:
350 How can they then assist me in the act?350
‘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 cleared354 with absolution,
355 Against love’s fire fear’s frost hath dissolution.355
The eye of heaven356 is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.’
This said, his guilty hand plucked up the latch,
And with his knee359 the door he opens wide.
360 The dove sleeps fast360 that this night owl will catch.
Thus treason works361 ere traitors be espied.
Who362 sees the lurking serpent steps aside,
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal364 sting.
365 Into the chamber wickedly he stalks365
And gazeth on her yet unstainèd bed:
The curtains367 being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head.
By their high treason369 is his heart misled,
370 Which gives the watchword370 to his hand full soon
To draw the cloud371 that hides the silver moon.
Look as372 the fair and fiery-pointed sun,
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves373 our sight,
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
375 To wink,375 being blinded with a greater light.
Whether it is that she reflects so bright376
That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed,
But blind they are and keep themselves enclosed.378
O, had they in that darksome prison379 died
380 Then had they seen the period380 of their ill:
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece’ side,
In his clear382 bed might have reposèd still.
But they must ope383 this blessèd league to kill,
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
385 Must sell her joy, her life, her world’s delight.
Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Coz’ning387 the pillow of a lawful kiss,
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,388
Swelling389 on either side to want his bliss,
390 Between whose hills her head entombèd is,
Where like a virtuous monument391 she lies,
To be admired of392 lewd unhallowed eyes.
Without393 the bed her other fair hand was
On the green coverlet, whose perfect white
395 Showed like an April daisy on the grass
With pearly sweat resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds,397 had sheathed their light
And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay
Till they might open to adorn the day.
400 Her hair like golden threads played with her breath —
O modest wantons, wanton modesty! —
Showing life’s triumph in the map402 of death
And death’s dim look in life’s mortality.403
Each404 in her sleep themselves so beautify,
405 As if between them twain405 there were no strife,
But that life lived in death and death in life.
Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden408 worlds unconquerèd,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke409 they knew,
410 And him by oath they truly honourèd.
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?
415 What did he note but strongly he desired?
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will417 his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure419 veins, her alabaster skin,
420 Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.
As the grim421 lion fawneth o’er his prey,
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,
So o’er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,423
His rage of lust by gazing qualified,424
425 Slaked,425 not suppressed, for standing by her side,
His eye, which late426 this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar427 tempts his veins.
And they, like straggling slaves428 for pillage fighting,
Obdurate429 vassals fell exploits effecting,
430 In bloody death and ravishment430 delighting,
Nor431 children’s tears nor mothers’ groans respecting,
Swell in their pride,432 the onset still expecting.
Anon433 his beating heart, alarum striking,
Gives the hot charge434 and bids them do their liking.
435 His drumming heart cheers up435 his burning eye,
His eye commends436 the leading to his hand,
His hand, as proud of such a dignity,
Smoking with pride, marched on to make his stand438
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land,
440 Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,440
Left their round turrets destitute and pale.
They, must’ring442 to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset444
445 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
450 From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly451 sprite,
Whose grim aspect452 sets every joint a-shaking —
What terror ’tis! But she, in worser taking,453
From sleep disturbèd, heedfully454 doth view
455 The sight which makes supposèd455 terror true.
Wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-killed bird she trembling lies:
She dares not look, yet winking458 there appears
Quick-shifting459 antics, ugly in her eyes:
460 Such shadows460 are the weak brain’s forgeries,
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts462 them with more dreadful sights.
His hand that yet remains upon her breast —
Rude ram464 to batter such an ivory wall —
465 May feel her heart (poor citizen465) distressed,
Wounding466 itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk467 that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity
To make the breach469 and enter this sweet city.
470 First like a trumpet doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley471 to his heartless foe,
Who o’er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm473 to know,
Which he by dumb demeanour474 seeks to show.
475 But she with vehement prayers urgeth475 still
Under what colour476 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,
480 Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale.480
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:484
485 Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will486 abide,
My will that marks thee for my earth’s delight,
Which488 I to conquer sought with all my might,
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
490 By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.490
‘I see what crosses491 my attempt will bring,
I know what thorns the growing rose defends,
I think the honey493 guarded with a sting:
All this beforehand counsel494 comprehends.
495 But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends,
Only he hath496 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
500 But nothing can affection’s course control
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue502 the deed,
Reproach, disdain and deadly enmity,
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.504’
505 This said, he shakes505 aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a falcon506 tow’ring in the skies,
Coucheth507 the fowl below with his wings’ shade,
Whose508 crooked beak threats if he mount he dies.
So under his insulting509 falchion lies
510 Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcons’ bells.511
‘Lucrece,’ quoth he, ‘this night I must enjoy thee.
If thou deny,513 then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy514 thee.
515 That done, some worthless slave of thine I’ll slay,
To kill 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
520 The scornful mark520 of every open eye,
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blurred522 with nameless bastardy;
And thou, the author of their obloquy,523
Shalt have thy trespass524 cited up in rhymes
525 And sung by children in succeeding times.
‘But if thou yield, I rest526 thy secret friend:
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted,
A little harm done to a great good end
For529 lawful policy remains enacted.
530 The poisonous simple530 sometime 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,534 bequeath not to their lot
535 The shame that from them no device535 can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot,
Worse than a slavish wipe537 or birth-hour’s blot:
For marks descried538 in men’s nativity
Are nature’s faults, not their own infamy.’
540 Here with a cockatrice’540 dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself541 and makes a pause,
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind543 under the gripe’s sharp claws,
Pleads544 in a wilderness where are no laws
545 To the rough beast that knows no gentle545 right
Nor aught546 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,549
550 Which blows these pitchy550 vapours from their biding,
Hind’ring their present fall551 by this dividing,
So his unhallowed552 haste her words delays,
And moody Pluto553 winks while Orpheus plays.
Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally,554
555 While in his holdfast555 foot the weak mouse panteth.
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,556
A swallowing gulf557 that even in plenty wanteth.
His ear her prayers admits,558 but his heart granteth
No penetrable559 entrance to her plaining:
560 Tears harden560 lust, 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.
565 She puts565 the period often from his place,
And midst the sentence so her accent566 breaks
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.
She conjures him by568 high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry569 and sweet friendship’s oath,
570 By her untimely570 tears, her husband’s love,
By holy human law and common troth,571
By heaven and earth and all the power of both,
That to his borrowed573 bed he make retire
And stoop574 to honour, not to foul desire.
575 Quoth she, ‘Reward not hospitality
With such black payment as thou hast pretended,576
Mud577 not the fountain that gave drink to thee,
Mar578 not the thing that cannot be amended,
End thy ill aim579 before thy shoot be ended.
580 He is no woodman580 that doth bend his bow
To strike581 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.
585 Thou look’st not like deceit, do not deceive me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave586 thee.
If ever man were moved587 with woman’s moans,
Be movèd with my tears, my sighs, my groans,
‘All which together, like a troubled ocean,
590 Beat at thy rocky and wrack-threat’ning590 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:
595 Soft pity enters at an iron gate.
‘In Tarquin’s likeness I did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his shape597 to do him shame?
To all the host of heaven I complain me.
Thou wrong’st his honour, wound’st his princely name:
600 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.602
‘How will thy shame be seeded603 in thine age
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring?
605 If in thy hope605 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 actors608 can be wiped away,
Then kings’ misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.609
610 ‘This deed will make thee only loved for610 fear,
But happy611 monarchs still are feared for love.
With612 foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove.
If but for fear of this, thy will remove.614
615 For princes are the glass,615 the school, the book,
Where subjects’ eyes do learn, do read, do look.
‘And wilt thou be the school where lust shall learn?
Must he in thee read lectures618 of such shame?
Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern
620 Authority for sin, warrant620 for blame,
To privilege621 dishonour in thy name?
Thou back’st622 reproach against long-living laud
And mak’st fair reputation but a bawd.623
‘Hast thou command?624 By him that gave it thee,
625 From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,626
For it was lent thee all that brood627 to kill.
Thy princely office628 how canst thou fulfil,
When, patterned by629 thy fault, foul sin may say,
630 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.
635 This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
O, how are they wrapped in with infamies636
That from their own misdeeds askance637 their eyes!
‘To thee, to thee, my heaved-up638 hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier.639
640 I sue for exiled majesty’s repeal:640
Let him return and flatt’ring641 thoughts retire.
His true respect642 will prison false desire
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,643
That thou shalt see thy state644 and pity mine.’
645 ‘Have done’, quoth he. ‘My uncontrollèd tide
Turns not, but swells646 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
650 To their salt sovereign650 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 lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
655 Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.655
If all these petty ills shall change thy good,
Thy sea within a puddle’s womb is hearsed,657
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.
‘So shall these slaves659 be king and thou their slave,
660 Thou nobly base, they basely dignified,
Thou their fair life and they thy fouler grave,
Thou loathèd 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,
665 But low shrubs wither at the cedar’s root.
‘So let thy thoughts, low vassals666 to thy state —’
‘No more’, quoth he, ‘by heaven, I will not hear thee.
Yield to my love. If not, enforcèd hate
Instead of love’s coy669 touch shall rudely tear thee.
670 That done, despitefully670 I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom671
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.672’
This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
675 Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seized677 his prey, the poor lamb cries,
Till with her own white fleece678 her voice controlled
Entombs her outcry in her lips’ sweet fold.679
680 For with the nightly linen680 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 prone684 lust should stain so pure a bed,
685 The spots whereof could weeping685 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 forcèd league689 doth force a further strife,
690 This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
This hot desire converts to cold disdain,
Pure chastity is rifled692 of her store,
And lust, the thief, far poorer than before.
Look as the full-fed hound or gorgèd694 hawk,
695 Unapt695 for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk696
The prey wherein by nature they delight:
So surfeit-taking698 Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
700 Devours his will that lived by foul devouring.
O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit701
Can comprehend in still imagination!702
Drunken desire must vomit his receipt,703
Ere he can see his own abomination.
705 While lust is in his pride,705 no exclamation
Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire,
Till like a jade707 self-will himself doth tire.
And then with lank and lean discoloured cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow and strengthless pace,
710 Feeble desire, all recreant,710 poor and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The712 flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace,
For there713 it revels and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission714 prays.
715 So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased,
For now against himself he sounds this doom,717
That through the length of times he stands disgraced.
Besides, his soul’s fair temple is defaced,
720 To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
To ask the spotted princess721 how she fares.
She says her subjects722 with foul insurrection
Have battered down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal724 fault brought in subjection
725 Her immortality and made her thrall725
To living death and pain perpetual,
Which in her prescience727 she controllèd still,
But728 her foresight could not forestall their will.
Ev’n in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,
730 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 spoil733 perplexed in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust734 he left behind,
735 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,739 with her nails her flesh doth tear.
740 He faintly flies,740 sweating with guilty fear,
She stays, exclaiming on741 the direful night.
He runs and chides his vanished, loathed delight.
He thence departs a heavy convertite,743
She there remains a hopeless castaway.744
745 He in his speed looks for the morning light,
She prays she never may behold the day.
‘For day’, quoth she, ‘Night’s scapes747 doth open lay,
And my true eyes have never practised how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.749
750 ‘They think not but750 that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold,
And therefore would752 they still in darkness be,
To have their unseen sin remain untold.
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
755 And grave,755 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
760 And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest to close761 so pure a mind.
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite762
Against the unseen secrecy of night:
‘O comfort-killing Night! Image of hell!
765 Dim register765 and notary of shame!
Black stage766 for tragedies and murders fell!
Vast sin-concealing chaos!767 Nurse of blame!
Blind, muffled bawd! Dark harbour for defame!768
Grim cave of death! Whisp’ring conspirator
770 With close-tongued770 treason and the ravisher!
‘O hateful, vaporous and foggy Night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster773 thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportioned774 course of time,
775 Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His wonted776 height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit777 poisonous clouds about his golden head.
‘With rotten damps778 ravish the morning air,
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick
780 The life780 of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive781 his weary noontide prick,
And let thy musty vapours march so thick
That in their smoky ranks his smothered light
May set at noon and make perpetual night.
785 ‘Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night’s child,
The silver-shining queen786 he would distain.
Her twinkling handmaids787 too, by him defiled,
Through Night’s black bosom should not peep again.
So should I have co-partners in my pain,
790 And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers’791 chat makes short their pilgrimage.
‘Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms793 and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy,
795 But I alone alone must sit and pine,795
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting798 monuments of lasting moans.
‘O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking799 smoke,
800 Let not the jealous day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyred with disgrace.
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy reign are made
805 May likewise be sepulchred805 in thy shade.
‘Make me not object806 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.
810 Yea, the illiterate, that know not how
To cipher811 what is writ in learnèd books,
Will quote812 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.
815 The orator, to deck815 his oratory,
Will couple816 my reproach to Tarquin’s shame.
Feast-finding minstrels,817 tuning my defame,
Will tie818 the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wrongèd me, I Collatine.819
820 ‘Let my good name, that senseless reputation,820
For Collatine’s dear love be kept unspotted.
If that be made a theme for disputation,822
The branches823 of another root are rotted,
And undeserved reproach to him allotted
825 That is as clear825 from this attaint of mine
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.
‘O unseen shame! Invisible disgrace!
O unfelt sore! Crest-wounding,828 private scar!
Reproach is stamped in Collatinus’ face,
830 And Tarquin’s eye may read the mot830 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,
835 From me by strong assault it is bereft:835
My honey lost and I, a drone-like836 bee,
Have no perfection837 of my summer left,
But robbed and ransacked by injurious838 theft.
In thy weak hive a wand’ring wasp hath crept
840 And sucked the honey which thy chaste bee kept.
‘Yet am I guilty of thy honour’s wrack,841
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him:842
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,843
For it had been dishonour to disdain844 him.
845 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 worm848 intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos849 hatch in sparrows’ nests?
850 Or toads infect fair founts850 with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly851 lurk in gentle breasts?
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?852
But no perfection is so absolute
That some impurity doth not pollute.
855 ‘The agèd man that coffers up855 his gold
Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful fits
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining858 Tantalus he sits
And useless barns859 the harvest of his wits,
860 Having no other pleasure of his gain
‘So then he hath it when he cannot use it
And leaves it to be mastered by his young,
Who in their pride do presently864 abuse it:
865 Their father was too weak and they too strong
To hold their cursèd-blessèd fortune long.
The sweets we wish for turn to loathèd sours
Even in the moment that we call them ours.
‘Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring,
870 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-annexèd Opportunity874
875 Or875 kills his life or else his quality.
‘O Opportunity, thy guilt is great!
’Tis thou that execut’st877 the traitor’s treason:
Thou sets878 the wolf where he the lamb may get.
Whoever plots the sin, thou point’st879 the season.
880 ’Tis thou that spurn’st880 at right, at law, at reason,
And in thy shady cell,881 where none may spy him,
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.
‘Thou mak’st the vestal883 violate her oath,
Thou blow’st the fire when temperance884 is thawed,
885 Thou smother’st honesty;885 thou murd’rest troth:
Thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd,
Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud.887
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
Thy honey turns to gall,889 thy joy to grief.
890 ‘Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast,
Thy smoothing892 titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugared tongue to bitter wormwood893 taste:
Thy violent vanities894 can never last.
895 How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?
‘When wilt thou be the humble suppliant’s897 friend
And bring him where his suit may be obtained?
When wilt thou sort899 an hour great strifes to end?
900 Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained?
Give physic901 to the sick? Ease to the pained?
The poor, lame, blind, halt,902 creep, cry out for thee,
But they ne’er meet with Opportunity.
‘The patient dies while the physician sleeps,
905 The orphan pines905 while the oppressor feeds.
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps,
Advice907 is sporting while infection breeds.
Thou grant’st no time for charitable deeds.
Wrath, envy, treason, rape and murder’s rages,
910 Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.910
‘When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses912 keep them from thy aid.
They buy thy help, but Sin ne’er gives a fee:
He gratis914 comes and thou art well apaid
915 As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
My Collatine would else916 have come to me
When Tarquin did, but he was stayed917 by thee.
‘Guilty thou art of murder and of theft,
Guilty of perjury and subornation,919
920 Guilty of treason, forgery and shift,920
Guilty of incest, that abomination:
An accessary by thine inclination922
To all sins past and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom.924
925 ‘Misshapen Time, copesmate925 of ugly Night,
Swift subtle post,926 carrier of grisly care,
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes,928 sin’s packhorse, virtue’s snare,
Thou nursest all and murd’rest all that are.
930 O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time,
Be guilty of my death, since of931 my crime.
‘Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,
Betrayed the hours thou gav’st me to repose?
Cancelled my fortunes and enchainèd me
935 To endless date935 of never-ending woes?
Time’s office936 is to fine the hate of foes,
To eat up errors by opinion937 bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.
‘Time’s glory is to calm contending939 kings,
940 To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light,
To stamp the seal of time in agèd things,
To wake the morn and sentinel942 the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right,
To ruinate944 proud buildings with thy hours
945 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 quills949 from ancient ravens’ wings,
950 To dry the old oak’s sap and cherish springs,950
To spoil antiquities of hammered steel
And turn the giddy round of Fortune’s wheel,952
‘To show the beldame953 daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child,954
955 To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,
To mock the subtle957 in themselves beguiled,
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful958 crops
And waste959 huge stones with little water drops.
960 ‘Why work’st thou mischief960 in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou couldst return to make amends?
One poor retiring962 minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending964 him wit that to bad debtors lends.
965 O, this dread Night, wouldst thou one hour come back,
I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack.
‘Thou ceaseless lackey967 to eternity,
With some mischance cross968 Tarquin in his flight,
Devise extremes beyond extremity
970 To make him curse this cursèd crimeful night,
Let ghastly971 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,974
975 Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans,
Let there bechance976 him pitiful mischances
To make him moan, but pity not his moans.
Stone him with hardened hearts harder than stones,
And let mild women to him lose their mildness,
980 Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.
‘Let him have time to tear his curlèd 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 loathèd slave,
985 Let him have time a beggar’s orts985 to crave,
And time to see one986 that by alms doth live
Disdain987 to him disdainèd scraps to give.
‘Let him have time to see his friends his foes
And merry fools to989 mock at him resort,
990 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.992
And ever let his unrecalling993 crime
Have time to wail th’abusing994 of his time.
995 ‘O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Teach me to curse him that996 thou taught’st this ill.
At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
Himself himself seek every hour to kill:
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill,
1000 For who so base would such an office have
As sland’rous deathsman1001 to so base a slave?
‘The baser is he, coming1002 from a king,
To shame his hope1003 with deeds degenerate.
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
1005 That makes him honoured or begets him hate:1005
For greatest scandal waits on1006 greatest state.
The moon being clouded presently1007 is missed,
But little stars may hide them when they list.
‘The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire1009
1010 And unperceived fly with the filth away,
But if the like1011 the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon his silver down will stay.
Poor grooms1013 are sightless night, kings glorious day,
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe’er they fly,
1015 But eagles gazed upon with every eye.
‘Out,1016 idle words, servants to shallow fools,
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!1017
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools,1018
Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters,
1020 To trembling clients be you mediators.
For me, I force1021 not argument a straw,
Since that my case1022 is past the help of law.
‘In vain I rail1023 at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin and uncheerful Night,
1025 In vain I cavil1025 with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn1026 at my confirmed despite:
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.
The remedy indeed to do me good
Is to let1029 forth my foul defilèd blood.
1030 ‘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
1035 And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.’
This said, from her betumbled couch1037 she starteth,
To find some desp’rate instrument of death.
But this, no slaughterhouse, no tool imparteth1039
1040 To make more vent for passage of her breath,
Which thronging1041 through her lips, so vanisheth
As smoke from Aetna1042 that in air consumes
Or that which from dischargèd cannon fumes.1043
‘In vain,’ quoth she, ‘I live and seek in vain
1045 Some happy mean to end a hapless1045 life.
I feared by Tarquin’s falchion1046 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!
1050 Of that true type1050 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 spot1053 by death, at least I give
A badge1054 of fame to slander’s livery,
1055 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 stainèd taste of violated troth,
1060 I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter1061 thee with an infringèd oath.
This bastard graff1062 shall never come to growth:
He shall not boast who did thy stock1063 pollute,
That thou art doting father of his fruit.
1065 ‘Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state,
But thou shalt know thy int’rest1067 was not bought
Basely with1070 gold, but stol’n from forth thy gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate,
1070 And with my trespass never will dispense
Till life to death acquit my forced offence.
‘I will not poison thee with my attaint1072
Nor fold my fault in cleanly coined1073 excuses.
My sable ground1074 of sin I will not paint
1075 To hide the truth of this false night’s1075 abuses.
My tongue shall utter all, mine eyes like sluices,
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,1077
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.’
By this,1079 lamenting Philomel had ended
1080 The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemn night with slow, sad gait descended
To ugly hell, when, lo, the blushing morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow.
But cloudy1084 Lucrece shames herself to see,
1085 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 thou1089 through my window? Leave thy peeping,
1090 Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping,
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
For day hath nought to do1092 what’s done by night.’
Thus cavils she with everything she sees:
True grief is fond1094 and testy as a child,
1095 Who wayward1095 once, his mood with nought agrees:
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild,1096
Continuance1097 tames the one, the other wild,
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still,
With too much labour drowns for want of skill.
1100 So she, deep-drenchèd1100 in a sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she views
And to herself all sorrow doth compare.
No1103 object but her passion’s strength renews,
And as one shifts, another straight1104 ensues.
Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words,
Sometime ’tis mad and too much talk affords.
1105 The little birds that tune their morning’s joy
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody,
For mirth1109 doth search the bottom of annoy.
1110 Sad souls are slain in merry company,
Grief best is pleased with grief’s society:
True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed1112
When with1113 like semblance it is sympathized.
’Tis double death to drown in ken1114 of shore,
1115 He ten times pines1115 that pines beholding food,
To see the salve1116 doth make the wound ache more,
Great grief grieves most at that1117 would do it good,
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who, being stopped, the bounding1119 banks o’erflows:
1120 Grief dallied1120 with nor law nor limit knows.
‘You mocking-birds,’ quoth she, ‘your tunes entomb
Within your hollow-swelling feathered breasts,
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb,
My restless1124 discord loves no stops nor rests:
1125 A woeful hostess brooks1125 not merry guests.
Relish1126 your nimble notes to pleasing ears:
Distress likes dumps1127 when time is kept with tears.
‘Come, Philomel, that sing’st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevelled1129 hair.
1130 As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,1130
So I at each sad strain will strain1131 a tear
And with deep groans the diapason1132 bear:
For burden-wise1133 I’ll hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus1134 descants better skill.
1135 ‘And whiles against1135 a thorn 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,1139 shall thereon fall and die.
1140 These means, as frets1140 upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heartstrings to true languishment.
‘And for,1142 poor bird, thou sing’st not in the day,
As shaming1143 any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert,1144 seated from the way,
1145 That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold
Will we find out, and there we will unfold
To creatures stern,1147 sad tunes to change their kinds:
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.’
As the poor frighted deer that stands at gaze,1149
1150 Wildly determining which way to fly,
Or one encompassed1151 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,
1155 When life is shamed and death reproach’s debtor.1155
‘To kill myself,’ quoth she, ‘alack, what were it
But1157 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.1159
1160 That mother tries1160 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?1164
1165 Whose1165 love of either to myself was nearer
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine?
Ay me! The bark peeled from the lofty pine,
His leaves will wither and his sap decay,
So must my soul, her bark being peeled away.
1170 ‘Her house is sacked,1170 her quiet interrupted,
Her mansion battered by the enemy,
Her sacred temple spotted, spoiled, corrupted,
Grossly engirt1173 with daring infamy.
Then let it not be called impiety,
1175 If in this blemished fort1175 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,
1180 Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
My stainèd blood to Tarquin I’ll bequeath,
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,1182
And as his due writ in my testament.1183
‘My honour I’ll bequeath unto the knife
1185 That wounds my body so dishonourèd.
’Tis honour to deprive1186 dishonoured life:
The one will live, the other being dead.
So of shame’s ashes shall my fame1188 be bred,
For in my death I murder shameful scorn:
1190 My shame so dead, mine honour is newborn.
‘Dear lord of that dear jewel1191 I have lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee?
My resolution,1193 love, shall be thy boast,
By whose example thou revenged may’st be.
1195 How Tarquin must be used,1195 read it in me:
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so.
‘This brief abridgement of my will I make:
My soul and body to1199 the skies and ground,
1200 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,1202
And all my fame that lives disbursèd1203 be
To those that live and think no shame of me.
1205 ‘Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee1205 this will —
How was I overseen1206 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.”
1210 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 pearl1213 from her bright eyes,
With untuned1214 tongue she hoarsely calls her maid,
1215 Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies,1215
For fleet-winged duty with thought’s feathers1216 flies.
Poor Lucrece’ cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads1218 when sun doth melt their snow.
Her mistress she doth give demure good morrow
1220 With soft, slow tongue, true mark of modesty,
And sorts1221 a sad look to her lady’s sorrow,
For why1222 her face wore sorrow’s livery,
But durst not ask of her audaciously1223
Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsèd so,
1225 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 gan1228 wet
Her circled eyne,1229 enforced by sympathy
1230 Of those fair suns set in her mistress’ sky,
Who in a salt-waved ocean quench their light,
Which makes the maid weep like1234 the dewy night.
A pretty while these pretty creatures stand,
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:
1235 One justly1235 weeps, the other takes in hand
No cause, but company,1236 of her drops spilling.
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing,
Grieving themselves to1238 guess at others’ smarts,
And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.
1240 For men have marble, women waxen minds,
And therefore are they formed as marble will:1241
The weak oppressed, th’impression of strange kinds1242
Is formed in them by force, by fraud, or skill.1243
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
1245 No more than wax shall be accounted evil
Wherein is stamped the semblance1246 of a devil.
Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign1247 plain,
Lays open1248 all the little worms that creep.
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
1250 Cave-keeping1250 evils that obscurely sleep.
Through crystal walls each little mote1251 will peep,
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,
Poor women’s faces are their own faults’ books.
No man inveigh against1254 the withered flow’r,
1255 But chide1255 rough winter that the flow’r hath killed:
Not that devoured, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild1257
Poor women’s faults, that they are so fulfilled
With men’s abuses: those proud lords, to blame,
1260 Make weak-made women tenants to their1260 shame.
The precedent1261 whereof in Lucrece’ view,
Assailed1262 by night with circumstances strong
Of present death and shame that might ensue
By that1264 her death, to do her husband wrong.
1265 Such danger to resistance did belong
That dying fear1266 through all her body spread,
And who cannot abuse a body dead?
By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit1269 of her complaining:
1270 ‘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,1272
Know, gentle wench, it small avails1273 my mood:
If tears could help, mine own would do me good.
1275 ‘But tell me, girl, when went’ — and there she stayed1275
Till after a deep groan — ‘Tarquin from hence?’ ‘
Madam, ere I was up’, replied the maid,
‘The more to blame my sluggard1278 negligence.
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense:1279
1280 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.1283’
‘O, peace!’ quoth Lucrece. ‘If it should be told,
1285 The repetition cannot make it less:
For more it is than I can well express,
And that deep torture may be called a hell
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.
‘Go, get me hither paper, ink and pen —
1290 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.
1295 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.
Conceit1298 and grief an eager combat fight:
What wit1299 sets down is blotted straight with will.
1300 This is too curious good,1300 this blunt and ill:
Much like a press of people at a door
Throng her inventions1302 which shall go before.
At last she thus begins: ‘Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
1305 Health to thy person. Next vouchsafe t’afford1305 —
If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see —
Some present speed to come and visit me.
So I commend me,1308 from our house in grief:
My woes are tedious1309 though my words are brief.’
1310 Here folds she up the tenor1310 of her woe,
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule1312 Collatine may know
Her grief, but not her grief’s true quality:
She dares not thereof make discovery,1314
1315 Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,
Ere1316 she with blood had stained her stained excuse.
Besides, the life and feeling of her passion1317
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her,
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion
1320 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 action1323 might become them better.
To see sad sights moves more than hear them told,
1325 For then the eye interprets to the ear
The heavy motion1326 that it doth behold,
When every part1327 a part of woe doth bear.
’Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:
Deep sounds1329 make lesser noise than shallow fords,
1330 And sorrow ebbs, being1330 blown with wind of words.
Her letter now is sealed and on it writ
‘At Ardea to my lord with more than haste’.
The post1333 attends and she delivers it,
Charging1334 the sour-faced groom to hie as fast
1335 As lagging1335 fowls before the northern blast.
Speed1336 more than speed but dull and slow she deems:
Extremity still urgeth such extremes.
The homely villain1338 curtsies to her low,
And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye
1340 Receives the scroll without or yea1340 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,
1345 When, silly1345 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.
1350 Even so this pattern1350 of the worn-out age
Pawned1351 honest looks, but laid no words to gage.
His kindled1352 duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red fires in both their faces blazed.
She thought he blushed, as knowing Tarquin’s lust,
1355 And, blushing with him, wistly1355 on him gazed.
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed.1356
The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish,
The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.
But long she thinks1359 till he return again,
1360 And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain,1361
For now ’tis stale1362 to sigh, to weep and groan:
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tirèd moan,
That she her plaints1364 a little while doth stay,
1365 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,1367
Before the which is drawn1368 the power of Greece,
For Helen’s rape1369 the city to destroy,
1370 Threat’ning cloud-kissing Ilion1370 with annoy,
Which the conceited1371 painter drew so proud
As heaven, it seemed, to kiss the turrets bowed.
A thousand lamentable objects there,
In scorn1374 of nature, art gave lifeless life.
1375 Many a dry drop seemed a weeping tear
Shed for the slaughtered husband by the wife.
The red blood reeked,1377 to show the painter’s strife,
And dying eyes gleamed forth their ashy lights,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.
1380 There might you see the labouring pioneer1380
Begrimed with sweat and smearèd all with dust,
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loopholes1383 thrust,
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust:1384
1385 Such sweet observance1385 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, quick1389 bearing and dexterity.
1390 And here and there the painter interlaces1390
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,1394 O, what art
1395 Of physiognomy1395 might one behold!
The face of either ciphered1396 either’s heart.
Their face their manners most expressly told:
In Ajax’ eyes blunt1398 rage and rigour rolled,
But the mild glance that sly1399 Ulysses lent
1400 Showed deep regard1400 and smiling government.
There pleading1401 might you see grave Nestor stand,
As ’twere encouraging the Greeks to fight,
Making such sober action1403 with his hand,
That it beguiled1404 attention, charmed the sight.
1405 In speech, it seemed, his beard, all silver white,
Wagged up and down and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath which purled1407 up to the sky.
About him were a press of gaping faces,
Which seemed to swallow up his sound advice,
1410 All jointly list’ning, but with several graces,1410
As if some mermaid did their ears entice,
Some high, some low — the painter was so nice.1412
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
To jump up higher seemed, to mock the mind.1414
1415 Here one man’s hand leaned on another’s head,
His nose being shadowed by his neighbour’s ear.
Here one, being thronged,1417 bears back, all boll’n and red.
Another smothered seems to pelt1418 and swear,
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear
1420 As, but1420 for loss of Nestor’s golden words,
It seemed they would debate with angry swords.
For much imaginary work was there:
Conceit deceitful,1423 so compact, so kind,
That for1424 Achilles’ image stood his spear,
1425 Gripped in an armèd 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 imaginèd.
And from the walls of strong besiegèd Troy,
1430 When their brave hope, bold Hector,1430 marched to field,
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield,
And to their hope they such1433 odd action yield
That through their light joy seemèd to appear,
1435 Like bright things stained, a kind of heavy fear.
And from the strand of Dardan,1436 where they fought,
To Simois’1437 reedy banks the red blood ran,
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
With swelling ridges1439 and their ranks began
1440 To break upon the gallèd1440 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.1444
1445 Many she sees where cares have carvèd some,1445
But none where all distress and dolour1446 dwelled
Till she despairing Hecuba1447 beheld,
Staring on Priam’s wounds, with her old eyes,
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus’ proud foot lies.
1450 In her the painter had anatomized1450
Time’s ruin, beauty’s wrack and grim care’s reign.
Her cheeks with chaps1452 and wrinkles were disguised:
Of what she was1453 no semblance did remain.
Her blue1454 blood changed to black in every vein,
1455 Wanting the spring1455 that those shrunk pipes had fed,
Showed life imprisoned in a body dead.
On this sad shadow1457 Lucrece spends her eyes
And shapes her sorrow to the beldame’s1458 woes,
Who nothing wants1459 to answer her but cries
1460 And bitter words to ban1460 her cruel foes.
The1461 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,
1465 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
1470 Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.
‘Show me the strumpet1471 that began this stir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of lust, fond1473 Paris, did incur
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear.
1475 Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here,
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,
The sire, the son, the dame,1477 and daughter die.
‘Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the public plague of many moe?1479
1480 Let sin, alone committed, light1480 alone
Upon his head that hath transgressèd so.
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe.
For one’s offence why should so many fall,
To plague1484 a private sin in general?
1485 ‘Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus1486 swoons,
Here friend by friend in bloody channel1487 lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvisèd1488 wounds,
And one man’s lust these many lives confounds.
1490 Had doting1490 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;1494
1495 Then little strength rings out the doleful knell.1495
So Lucrece, set a-work,1496 sad tales doth tell
To pencilled1497 pensiveness and coloured sorrow:
She lends them words and she their looks doth borrow.
She throws her eyes about the painting round,
1500 And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament.
At last she sees a1501 wretched image bound,
That piteous1502 looks to Phrygian shepherds lent.
His face, though full of cares, yet showed content.
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains1504 he goes,
1505 So mild, that patience seemed to scorn his woes.
In him the painter laboured with his skill
To hide deceit and give the harmless show1507
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,1508
A brow unbent1509 that seemed to welcome woe,
1510 Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance1511 gave,
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.
But, like a constant and confirmèd devil,
He entertained a show1514 so seeming just,
1515 And therein so ensconced1515 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 hell-born sin such saint-like forms.
1520 The well-skilled workman1520 this mild image drew
For perjured Sinon whose enchanting1521 story
The credulous old Priam after slew,
Whose words like wildfire1523 burnt the shining glory
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,
1525 And little stars shot from their fixèd places,
When their glass1526 fell wherein they viewed their faces.
This picture she advisedly1527 perused
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill,
Saying, some1529 shape in Sinon’s was abused:
1530 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 plain1532 face she spied
That she concludes the picture was belied.1533
‘It cannot be,’ quoth she, ‘that so much guile’ —
1535 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 it1539 thus, ‘It cannot be, I find,
1540 But1540 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 travail1543 he had fainted,
To me came Tarquin armèd to beguild1544
1545 With outward honesty but yet defiled
With inward vice: as Priam him1546 did cherish,
So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.
‘Look, look, how list’ning Priam wets his eyes
To see those borrowed tears that Sinon sheds!
1550 Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise?
For every tear he falls1551 a Trojan bleeds:
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds.
Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity
Are balls1554 of quenchless fire to burn thy city.
1555 ‘Such devils steal effects1555 from lightless hell,
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:
1560 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 senseless1564 Sinon with her nails,
1565 Comparing him to that unhappy1565 guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest.
At last she smilingly with this gives o’er:1567
‘Fool, fool!’ quoth she, ‘His wounds will not be sore.’
Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,
1570 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 in1573 sorrow’s sharp sustaining:
Though woe be heavy,1574 yet it seldom sleeps,
1575 And they that watch1575 see time how slow it creeps.
Which all this time hath overslipped1576 her thought
That she with painted images hath spent,
Being from1578 the feeling of her own grief brought
By deep surmise of others’ detriment,1579
1580 Losing her woes in shows1580 of discontent.
It easeth some, though none it ever cured,
To think their dolour others have endured.
But now the mindful1583 messenger come back
Brings home his lord and other company,
1585 Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black,
And round about her tear-distainèd1586 eye
Blue circles streamed,1587 like rainbows in the sky.
These water-galls1588 in her dim element
Foretell new storms to those already spent.
1590 Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her sad face he stares.
Her eyes, though sod1592 in tears, looked red and raw,
Her lively colour killed with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how she fares.
1595 Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wond’ring each other’s chance.1596
At last he takes her by the bloodless hand
And thus begins: ‘What uncouth1598 ill event
Hath thee befall’n, that thou dost trembling stand?
1600 Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?
Why art thou thus attired in discontent?1601
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.’
Three times with sighs1604 she gives her sorrow fire,
1605 Ere once she can discharge one word of woe.
At length addressed1606 to answer his desire,
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta’en prisoner by the foe,
While Collatine and his consorted1609 lords
1610 With sad attention long to hear her words.
And now this pale swan1611 in her wat’ry nest
Begins the sad dirge1612 of her certain ending:
‘Few words,’ quoth she, ‘shall fit the trespass best,
Where no excuse can give the fault amending.
1615 In me more woes than words are now depending,1615
And my laments would be drawn out too long
To tell them all with one poor tirèd tongue.
‘Then be this all the task it hath to say:
Dear husband, in1619 the interest of thy bed
1620 A stranger came and on that pillow lay
Where thou was wont1621 to rest thy weary head,
And what wrong else may be imaginèd
By foul enforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free.
1625 ‘For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight
With shining falchion1626 in my chamber came
A creeping creature with a flaming light
And softly cried, “Awake, thou Roman dame,
And entertain1629 my love, else lasting shame
1630 On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love’s desire do contradict.
“ ‘For some hard-favoured groom1632 of thine,” quoth he,
“Unless thou yoke thy liking1633 to my will,
I’ll murder straight and then I’ll slaughter thee
1635 And swear I found you where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust and so 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,
1640 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 still1643 rest upon record
And never be forgot in mighty Rome
1645 Th’adulterate1645 death of Lucrece and her groom.
‘Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
And far the weaker with so strong a fear.
My bloody1648 judge forbade my tongue to speak,
No rightful plea might plead for justice there.
1650 His scarlet1650 lust came evidence to swear
That my poor beauty had purloined1651 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:
1655 Though my gross1655 blood be stained with this abuse,
Immaculate and spotless is my mind:
That was not forced, that never was inclined
To accessary yieldings,1658 but still pure
Doth in her poisoned closet1659 yet endure.’
1660 Lo, here, the hopeless merchant1660 of this loss,
With head declined,1661 and voice dammed up with woe,
With sad set eyes and wretched arms across,1662
From lips new-waxen1663 pale begins to blow
The grief away that stops his answer so.
1665 But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain:
What1666 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 eddy1669 boundeth in his pride
1670 Back to the strait1670 that forced him on so fast,
In rage sent out, recalled in rage, being past:
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw,1672
To push grief on and back the same grief draw.
Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,1674
1675 And his untimely frenzy1675 thus awaketh:
‘Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power,1677 no flood by raining slaketh.
My woe too sensible1678 thy passion maketh
More feeling-painful. Let it then suffice
1680 To drown on1680 woe, one pair of weeping eyes.
‘And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,
For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend1682 me:
Be suddenly1683 revengèd on my foe,
Thine,1684 mine, his own. Suppose thou dost defend me
1685 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,
1690 ‘Shall plight1690 your honourable faiths to me,
With swift pursuit to venge1691 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.’
1695 At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition,1697
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewrayed.1698
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said,1699
1670 The protestation1700 stops. ‘O, speak,’ quoth she,
‘How may this forcèd stain be wiped from me?
‘What is the quality1702 of my offence,
Being constrained with dreadful circumstance?
May my pure mind with1704 the foul act dispense,
1675 My low-declinèd honour to advance?1705
May any terms1706 acquit me from this chance?
The poisoned fountain clears itself again,
And why not I from this compellèd stain?’
With this, they all at once began to say,
1680 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, ‘no1714 dame, hereafter living,
1685 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,
1685 Untimely1720 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 sheathèd in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed.
1690 That blow did bail1725 it from the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison1726 where it breathed.
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed
Her wingèd sprite,1728 and through her wounds doth fly
Life’s1729 lasting date from cancelled destiny.
1730 Stone-still, astonished with this deadly deed,
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew,1731
Till Lucrece’ father, that beholds her bleed,
Himself on her self-slaughtered body threw,
And from the purple fountain Brutus1734 drew
1735 The murd’rous knife and, as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held1736 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,
1740 Who, like a late-sacked1740 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 congealèd face
1745 Of that black blood a wat’ry rigol1745 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,
1750 Blushing at that which is so putrefied.
‘Daughter, dear daughter,’ old Lucretius1751 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?
1755 Thou wast not to this end from me derived.
If children predecease progenitors,1756
We are their offspring and they none of ours.
‘Poor broken glass,1758 I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new born,
1760 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 shivered1763 all the beauty of my glass,
That I no more can see what once I was.
1765 ‘O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,
If they surcease1766 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.
1770 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,1773
And then in key-cold1774 Lucrece’ bleeding stream
1775 He falls and bathes the pale fear in his face,
And counterfeits1776 to die with her a space,
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath
And live to be revengèd on her death.
The deep vexation1779 of his inward soul
1780 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 come1784 in his poor heart’s aid,
1785 That no man could distinguish what he said.
Yet sometime ‘Tarquin’ was pronouncèd plain,
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain,
Held back his sorrow’s tide, to make it more.
1790 At last it rains and busy winds give o’er.1790
Then son and father weep with equal strife1791
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.
1795 The father says, ‘She’s mine’. ‘O, mine she is,’
Replies her husband. ‘Do not take away
My sorrow’s interest,1797 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 owed1803 her and ’tis mine that she hath killed.’
‘My daughter’ and ‘my wife’ with clamours filled
1805 The dispersed1805 air, who, holding Lucrece’ life,
Answered their cries, ‘my daughter’ and ‘my wife’.
Brutus,1807 who plucked the knife from Lucrece’ side,
Seeing such emulation1808 in their woe,
Began to clothe his wit1809 in state and pride,
1810 Burying in Lucrece’ wound his folly’s show.1810
He with the Romans was esteemèd so
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,
For sportive words and utt’ring foolish things,
But now he throws that shallow habit1814 by,
1815 Wherein deep policy1815 did him disguise,
And armed his long-hid wits advisedly,
To check the tears in Collatinus’ eyes.
‘Thou wrongèd lord of Rome,’ quoth he, ‘arise!
Let my unsounded1819 self, supposed a fool,
1820 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?
1825 Such childish humour1825 from weak minds proceeds.
Thy wretched1826 wife mistook the matter so,
To slay herself that should have slain her foe.
‘Courageous Roman, do not steep1828 thy heart
In such relenting1829 dew of lamentations,
1830 But kneel with me and help to bear thy part
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations,1831
That they will suffer1832 these abominations —
Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced —
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased.
1835 ‘Now, by the Capitol1835 that we adore,
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained,
By heaven’s fair sun that breeds the fat1837 earth’s store,
By all our country rights in Rome maintained,
And by chaste Lucrece’ soul that late complained
1840 Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody 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 protestation1844 urged the rest,
1845 Who, wond’ring1845 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 advisèd doom,1849
1850 They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence,
To show her bleeding body thorough1851 Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin’s foul offence;
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly1854 did give consent
1855 To Tarquin’s everlasting banishment.
The Phoenix: mythical bird that is the only one of its kind, perpetually regenerating itself from its own ashes, sometimes serving in the period as an image of Queen Elizabeth, but perhaps also suggesting the regenerative power of poetic art.