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Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
And softly cry'd, Awake, thou Roman dame,
And swear I found you where you did fulfil
I should not live to speak another word:
And never be forgot in mighty Rome Fool! fool! quoth she, his wounds will not be sore. The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, And time doth weary time with her complaining. And far the weaker with so strong a fear: She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak; And both she thinks too long with her remaining: No rightful plea miglit plead for justice there Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining. His scarlet lust came evidence to swear Though wo be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ; That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes, And they that watch, see time how slow it creeps. And when the judge is robid, the prisoner dics. Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, O, teach me how to make mine own excuse ! That she with painted images hath spent ; Or, at the least, this refuge let me find; Being from the feeling of her own grief brought Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse, By deep surmise of others detriment;
Immaculate and spotless is my mind;. Losing her woes in shows of discontent.
That was not fore'd; that never was inclin'd It easeth some, though none it ever curd,
To accessary yieldings, but still pure To think their dolour others have endur'd. Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure. But now the mindful messenger, come back, Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, Brings home his lord and other company;. With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with wo, Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black : With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across, And round about her tear-distained eye
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky; The grief away, that stops his answer so: These water galls in her dim element
But wretched as he is, he strives in vain ;
Out-runs the eye that doth behold his haste,
Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast;
My wo too sensible thy passion maketh Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, More feeling-painful : let it then suffice And tell thy grief, that we may give redress. To drown one wo, one pair of weeping eyes. Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, Ere once she can discharge one word of wo: For she that was thy Lucrece,-now attend mo; At length address'd to answer his desire,
Be suddenly revenged on my foe, She modestly prepares to let them know
Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou dost defend me Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe;
From what is past; the help that thou shalt lend me While Collatine and his consorted lords
Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die : With sad attention long to hear her words. For sparing justice feeds iniquity. And now this pale swan in her watery nest But ere I name him, you fair tords, quath she, Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending : (Speaking to those, that came with Collatine, Few words, quoth she, shall fit the trespass best, Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, Where no excuse can give the fault amending : With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine : In me more woes than words are now depending; For 'tis a meritorious fair design, And my laments would be drawn out too long, To chase injustice with revengeful arms: [harms. To tell them ail with one poor tired tongue. Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' Then be this all the task it hath to say:
At this request, with noble disposition Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed
Each present lord began to promise aid, A stranger came, and on that pillow lay
As bound in knighthood to her imposition, Wherr ihou wast wont to rest thy weary head; Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. And what wrong else may be imagined
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, By foul enforceinent might be done to me,
The protestation stops. O, speak, quoth she, From that, alas ! thy Lucrece is not free.' How may this forced stain be wip'd from me'
What is the quality of mine offence,
The deep vexation of his inward soul
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long
Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain,
Replies the husband : Do not take away
I ow'd her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd,
Answer'd their cries, my daughter and my wife,
Seeing such emulation in their wo,
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
Why, Collatine, is wo the cure for wo? [deeds?
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous
For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds ?
Such childish humour from weak mirds proceeds ;
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. Å
But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,
Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac'd,
Now by the Capitol that we adore,
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
the death of this true wife.
Who wondering at him, did his words allow :
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.
When they had sworn to this advised doom,
Which being done with speedy diligence,
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment,
th her a space;
TO THE ONLY BEG ETTER OF THESE ENSUING SONNETS,
MR. W. H.
ALL HAPPINESS, AND THAT ETERNITY PROMISED BY OUR EVER-LIVING POET,
WELL-WISHING ADVENTURER IN SETTING FORTH,
Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Frox fairest creatures we desire increase,
Which, used, lives thy executor to be. That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
V. But as the riper should by time decease, Those hours, that with gentle work did frame, His lender heir might bear his mentory:
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Will play the tyrants to the very same, Feed'st thy light's fame with self-substantial fuel. And ihai unfair, which fairly doth excel; Making a famine where abundance lies,
For never-resting time leads summer on Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel, To hideous winter and confounds him there; Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Beauty o'er-snow'd, and bareness every where : Within thine own bud buriest thy content, Then, were not summer's distillation left, And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding. A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Pity' the world, or else this glutton be,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was : II.
But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
Lose but their show; their substance still livos When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
sweet, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
Make sweet some phial, treasure thou some placa To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan ;
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, Proving his beauty by succession thine. This were to be new made, when thou art old,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee :
Leaving thee living in posterity ?
Be not self-will’d, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest, and make worms thine heir. Now is the time that face should form another;
Serving with looks his sacred majesty ;.
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hilla of his sell-love, to stop posterity ?
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
But when from high-most pitch, with weary car, Despite of wrinkles, this the golden time,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
'fore duteous, now converted are Die single, and thine image dies with thee. From his low tract, and look another way :
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? And being frank, she lends to those are free.
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly? The bounteous largess given thee to give ?
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
By unions married, do offend thine ear, For having traffic with thyself alone,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear. Then how, when nature calls thee to be
gone, *i. e. Thomas Thorpe, in whose name the Sonnets What acceptable audit canst thou leave
I were first entered in Stationers' Hall.
Mark, how one string, sweet husband to another, Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ;
But not to tell of good, or evil luck,
If from thyself to store thou would'st convert : No love towards others in that bosom sits,
Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
Holds in perfection but a little moment;
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,, Which to repair should be thy chief desire. And wear their brave state out of memory; 0, change thy thought, that I may change my mind! Then the conceit of this inconstant stay, Shall hate be fairer lodg’d than gentle love? Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, Where wasteful time debateth with decay, Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove : To change your day of youth to sullied night; Make thee another self, for love of me,
And, all in war with time, for love of you, That beauty still may live in thine or theo. As he takes from you, I engraft you new. XI.
XVI. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st But wherefore do not you a mightier way. In one of thine, from that which thou departest;. Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, And fortify yourself in your decay Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth con. With means more blessed than my barren: rhyme ?! Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase ; (vertest. Now stand you on the top of happy hours ; Without this, folly, age, and cold decay:
And many maiden gardens, yet unset, If all were minded so, the times should cease, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, And threescore years would make the world away. Much liker than your painted counterfeit : Let those whom nature hath not made for store, So should the lines of life that life repair, Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish : Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, Look, whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more; Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair, Which bounteous gift thou 'should'st in bounty Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. cherish:
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still;
Who will believe my verse in time to como,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts ?
Though yet heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.. And sable curls, all silverd o'er with white;
If I could write the beauty of your eyes, When lofty trees I see harren of leaves,
And in frush numbers number all your graces, Which eret from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
The age to conne would say, this poet lies, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd eartály facet, Then of thy beauty do I question make,
So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tonguo ;That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,
And stretched metre of an antique song : And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can make defence, But were some child of yours alive thai timo, Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence. You should live twico ;-in it, and in my rhyme.. XIII.
XVIII. 0, that you were yourself! but, love, you aro Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? No longor yours, ihan you yourself here live : Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Against this coming end you should prepare, Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And your sweet semblance to some other give. And summer's lease hath all too short a date : Sn should that beauty which you hold in lease, Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, Find no determination: then you were
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; Yourself again, after yourself's decease,
And every fair from fair sometime declinos, When yoar sweet issuo your sweet form should bear. By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd', But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Who plead for love, and look for recompence,
Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath steeld
For through the painter must you see his skill, Make glad and sorry seasons as thou Pret'st,
To find where your true image pictur'd lies; And do whate'er thou wilt, swifi-footed Time,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, To the wide world, and all her fading sweets;
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done; 0, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Hirn in thy course untainted do allow,
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart. My love shall in my verse ever live young.
Let those who are in favour with their stars,
of public honour and proud titles boast, Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour mosi.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
For at a frown they in their glory die. Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls ama- The painful warrior famoused for fight, And for a woman weri thou first created ;
After a thousand victories once foil'd; Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
Is from the book of honour razed quite, And by addition me of thee defeated,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd. By adding one thing to my purpose nothing,
Then happy I, that love and am belor'd,
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit :
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine Making a couplement of proud compare,
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it:
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter'd lovmg,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect :
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; (me. Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
Till then, not show my head where thou may'st prove I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tir'd; My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
But then begins a journey in my head, So long as youth and thou are of one date ;
To work my mind, when body's work's expir'd: But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) Then look I death my days should expiaté.
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Looking on darkness which the blind do sce: Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me;
Save that my soul's imaginary sight How can I then be elder than thou art?
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary,
Which like a jewel hung in ghastly night, As I not for myself but for thee will;
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new, Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Lo thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, Presume not on thy heart, when mine is slain ;
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? As an unperfect actor on the stage,
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, Who with his fear is put besides his part,
But dav by night, and night by day, oppress'd ? Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, And each, though enemies to either's reign, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own Do in consent shake hands to torture me; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say [heart ; | The one bv toil, the other to complain The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
How far l toil, still farther off from thee. And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, I tell the dav, to please him, thon art bright, O'er-charg'd with burthen of mine own love's might. And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven. 0, let my books be then the eloquence
So Aalter I the swart-complexion'd night And dumb presagers of my speaking breast; When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the eveni