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 come in his poor heart's aid,

That no man could distinguish what he said.

Yet sometime 6 Tarquin' was pronounced 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;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er:

Then son and father weep with equal strife Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.

The one doth call her kis the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says
She's mine.' O, mine she
is,'
Replies her husband: 'do not take away
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.'

'O,' quoth Lucretius, 'I did give that life 1800 Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.' 'Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, she was my wife,

I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.' 'My daughter' and 'my wife' with clamors fill'd

The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece' life,

Answer'd their cries, my daughter' and 'my wife.'

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side,

Seeing such emulation in their woe,
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride,
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,
For sportive words and uttering foolish
things:

But now he throws that shallow habit by,
Wherein deep policy did him disguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.

1811

Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so, To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.

'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart In such relenting dew of lamentations; 1829 But kneel with me and help to bear thy part, To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, That they will suffer these abominations, Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced,

By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased.

'Now, by the Capitol that we adore, And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd, By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store,

By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd, And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late com. plain'd

1839

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 kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow; And to his protestation urged the rest, Who, wondering 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 advised doom, They did conclude to bear dead Lucréc thence; 1850

To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence: Which being done with speedy diligence, The Romans plausibly did give consent To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an osier growing by a brook,

A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen :
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green
brim :
80

The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, Yet not so wistly as this queen on him.

He, spying her, bounced in, whereas he stood:

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!'

VII.

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:

A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined, Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!

How many tales to please me hath she coined, Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!

Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings, Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were

jestings.

VIII.

If music and sweet poetry agree,

As they must needs, the sister and the brother Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,

Because thou lovest the one, and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch

Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 110
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music,
makes ;

And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd
When as himself to singing he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee re-
main.

Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,

Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!

See, in my thigh,' quoth she, 'here was the

sore.'

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd soon vaded,

Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!

Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will:
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why I craved nothing of thee still: 140

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

XI.

Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him: She told the youngling how god Mars did try

her,

And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather;

Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. 160

Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; Youth is nimble, age is lame;

Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame.

Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee; O, my love, my love is young!

Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,

For methinks thou stay'st too long,

XIII.

170

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently:

A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,

So beauty blemish'd once 's for ever lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.

XIV.

Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share: 181 She bade good night that kept my rest away; And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care, To descant on the doubts of my decay. 'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again tomorrow :' [row. Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorYet at my parting sweetly did she smile, In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: 'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 'T may be, again to make me wander thither : 'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself, As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

210

That nothing could be used to turn them both 226 to gain,

For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain :

Alas, she could not help it!

Thus art with arms contending was victor of

the day,

Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away:

Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;

For now my song is ended.

XVII.

On a day, alack the day!

Love, whose month was ever May

When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
†As well as fancy partial might :

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed.

And when thou comest thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell,-
A cripple soon can find a halt ;-

But plainly say thou lovest her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night:
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight;

And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say,
'Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.'
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anew:
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,

301

310

320

330

A woman's nay doth stand for nought? 340 †Think women still to strive with men, To sin and never for to saint:

There is no heaven, by holy then,

When time with age doth them attaint,

Were kisses all the joys in bed,

One woman would another wed