'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me: Be suddenly revenged on my foe, Thine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me [lend me From what is past: the help that thou shalt 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, Shall plight your honorable faiths to me, With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of 1691

mine;

For 'tis a meritorious fair design

To chase injustice with revengeful arms: Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' harms.'

At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition,
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said,
The protestation stops. O, speak,' quoth
she,
'How may this forced stain be wiped from

me?

،

What is the quality of mine offence,

1700

[Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance? May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, My low-declined honor to advance? May any terms acquit me from this chance ? The poison'd fountain clears itself again; And why not I from this compelled stain?' With this, they all at once began to say, 1709 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, 'no dame, hereafter living,

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,

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed, Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew; 1731 Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed, Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw; And from the purple fountain Brutus drew The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,

Her blood, in poor revenge, held 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, Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood. 1741 Some of her blood still pure and red re

main'd,

And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd.

About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood a watery rigol 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,
Blushing at that which is so putrified. 1750
'Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius
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 ?
Thou wast not to this end from me derived.
If children pre-decease progenitors,
We are their offspring, and they none of

ours.

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 his the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says She's mine.' 'O, mine she

Is it revenge to give thyself a blow
For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?
Such childish humor from weak minds pro-

ceeds:

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 complain'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 :

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

1811

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,

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 Lucrece 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.

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 Phœbus' 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.

Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild; Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill: 121 Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ; She, silly queen, with more than love's good will,

Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds:

'Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth 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.'

She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,

And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 130

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

jestings.

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth;

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

She burn'd out love, as soon as straw out

burneth;

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,

'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god embraced me,' And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms; 'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god unlaced me,'

XIV.

Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share:

149

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,

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 sor

Yet 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.

[XVI.]

210

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

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,

226

That liked of her master as well as well might be,

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

Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that

Alas, she could not help it ! Thus art with arms contending was victor of

eye could see,

the day,

Her fancy fell a-turning.

Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid

Long was the combat doubtful that love with

away:

love did fight,

Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the

To leave the master loveless, or kill the gal

lady gay;

laut knight:

For now my song is ended.

To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite

Unto the silly damsel!

But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain