To make him moan; but pity not his moans: Stone him with harden'd hearts harder than ftones;

And let mild women to him lofe their mildnefs;

Wilder to him than tygers in their wildness.

Let him have time to tear his curled hair; Let him have time against himself to rave; Let him have time of time's help to defpair; Let him have time to live a loathed flave; Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave,

And time to fee one, that by aims doth live, Difdain to him difdained fcraps to give.

Let him have time to fee his friends his foes,
And merry fools, to mock at him refort:
Let him have time to mark how flow time goes,
In time of forrow; and how fwift and fhort
His time of folly, and his time of fport:

And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail th' abufing of his time.

O! Time! thou tutor both to good and bad! Teach me to curse him, that thou taught'ft this ill;

At his own fhadow let the thief run mad,
Himself, himself feek every hour to kill :
Such wretched hands fuch wretched blood should
fpill!

For who fo bafe would fuch an office have,
As flanderous deaths-man to fo base a flave?

The bafer is he coming from a king,
To fhame his hope with deeds degenerate;
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing,
That makes him honour'd or begets him hate :
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.

The moon being clouded prefently is mist;
But little ftars may hide them, when they lift.

The crow may bathe his cole-black wings in mire,

And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away;
But if the like the fnow-white fwan defire,
The flain upon his filver down will stay.
Poor grooms are fightlefs Night, kings glorious
day.

Gnats are noted wherefoe'er they fly,
But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye.

Out idle words, fervants to fhallow fools!
Unprofitable founds, weak arbitrators!
Bufy your felves in fkill-contending fchools;
'Debate, where leifure ferves, with dull debators:
To trembling clients be you mediators:

For me 1 force not argument a straw,
Since that my cafe is past the help of law.

In vain I rail at Opportunity,

At Time, at Tarquin, and unfearchful Night!
In vain 1 cavil with mine infamy,
In vain I fpurn at my confirm'd defpight:
This helplefs fmoke of words doth me no right.

The remedy indeed to do me good, Is to let forth my foul defiled blood.

Poor hand why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thy felf to rid me of this shame :
For if I die, my honour lives in thee;
But if I live, thou liv'ft in my defame;
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,
And waft afraid to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thy felf, and her for yielding so.

This faid, from her betumbled couch she starteth, To find fome desperate inftrument of death; But this no flaughter houfe, no tool imparteth, To make more vent for passage of her breath, Which thronging through her lips fo vanisheth, As fmoke from Etna, that in air confumes, Or that which from discharged cannon fumes,

In vain (quoth fhe) I live, and feek in vain
Some happy mean to end a hapless life :
I fear'd by Tarquin's fauchion to be flain;
Yet for the felf-fame purpose feek a knife:
But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife;

So am I now: Oh no! that cannot be;
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.

Oh! that is gone, for which I fought to live,
And therefore now I need not fear to die;
To clear this spot by death (at least) I give
A badge of fame to Slander's livery,
A dying life to living infamy.

Poor helpless help, the treasure ftol'n away,
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!

Well, well, dear Collatine! thou shalt not know
The ftained tafte of violated troth:

I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter thee with an infringed oath :
This battard graff thall never come to growth.
He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute,
That thou art doating father of his fruit.

o ugly hell; when lo! the blushing morrow
ends light to all fair eyes, that light will
borrow :

But cloudy Lucrece fhames her felf to see,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.

evealing day through every cranny fpies,

nd feems to point her out where the fits weeping;

o whom the fobbing fpeaks, O! eye of eyes! Why pry'st thou through my window? Leave thy peeping; [fleeping.

lock with thy tickling beams eyes that are Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light; For day hath nought to do what's done by night.

hus cavils fhe with every thing fhe fees. ue grief is fond, and testy as a child,

ho way-ward once, his mood with nought agrees.

ld woes, not infant forrows bear them mild; ontinuance tames the one, the other wild Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still, With too much labour drowns for want of fkill.

fhe deep-drenched in a fea of care,

olds difputation with each thing the views; nd to her felf all forrow doth compare, o object but her paffions ftrength renews, nd as one fhifts, another ftraight enfues. Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words;

Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords.

he little birds, that tune their mornings joy, ake her moans mad with their fweet melody. r mirth doth fearch the bottom of annoy? d fouls are flain in merry company; rief beft is pleaf'd with grief's fociety. True forrow then is feelingly furpriz'd, When with like femblance it is fympathiz'd.

is double death to drown in ken of fhore; ten times pines, that pines beholding food: o fee the falve doth make the wound ake more; reat grief grieves moft at that will do it good; Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, Which, being ftopt, the bounding banks o'erflows:

Grief dallied with, nor law, nor limit knows.

ou mocking birds, quoth fhe, your tunes intomb Vithin your hollow fwelling feather'd breafts; And in my hearing be you mute and dumb; My reft efs difcord loves no ftops nor refts: i woeful hoftefs brooks not merry guests. Relish your nimble notes to pleafing ears, Diftrefs likes dumps, when time is kept with

tears.

Cume Philomel, that fing'ft of ravishment,
Make thy fad grove in my dithevel & hair :
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,

So I at each fad ftrain will ftrain a tear,
And with deep groans the Diapafon bear.
For burden-wife I'll hum on farquin ftill,
While thou on Tereus defcant'st better skill.

And while against a thorn thou bear'ft thy part,
To keep thy harp woes waking; wretched 1,
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a fharp knife, to affright mine eye,
Who, if it wink, fhall thereon fall and die.

Thefe means, as frets upon an inftrument,
Shall tune our heart-ftrings to true langui

ment.

And for, poor bird, thou fing'ft not in the day,
As fhaming any eye fhould thee behold;
Some dark deep defart feated from the way,
That knows not parching heat, nor freezing cold,
Will we find out; and there we will unfold

To creatures ftern, fad tunes to change their kinds :

Since men prove beafts, let beafts bear gentle minds.

As the poor frighted deer, that ftands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly;
Or one incompaft with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily:
So with her felf is fhe in mutiny,

To live or die, which of the twain were better, When life is fham'd, and death reproaches debtor.

To kill my felf, quoth fhe, alack! what were it, But with my body my poor foul's pollution? They that lofe half, with greater patience bear it, Than they whofe whole is fwallow'd in confusion. That mother tries a merciless conclufion,

Who having two fweet babes, when death takes one

Will flay the other, and be nurse to none.

My body, or my foul, which was the dearer,
When the one pure, the other made divine?
Whofe love of either to my felf was nearer,
When both were kept from heaven, and Collatine?
Ay me the bark peal'd from the lofty pine,
His leaves will wither, and his fap decay;
So must my foul, her bark being peal'd away.

Her houfe is fack'd, her quiet interrupted;
Her manfion batter'd by he enemy,
Her facred temple fpotted, fpoil'd, corrupted,
Grofly ingirt with daring infamy.
Then let it not be call'd impicty,

If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole,
Through which I may convey this troubled foul.

Yet die I will not, till my Collatine

Have heard the cause of my unti ely death; That he may vow, in that fad hour of mine, Revenge on him, that n.ade me flop my breath. My ftained blood to Tarquin I'li bequeath,

Which by him tainted fhall for him be spent, And as his due, writ in my tellament.

My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife,
That wounds my body fo difhonoured:
'Tis honour to deprive difhonour'd life;
The one will live, the other being dead:
So of fhame's afhes fhall my fame be bred.

For in my death I murder shameful scorn;
My fhame fo dead, mine Honour is new born.

Dear lord of that dear Jewel I have loft!
What legacy fhall I bequeath to thee?
My refolution, love, shall be thy boast,
By whofe example thou reveng'd may'st be :
How Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me.

My felf thy friend, will kill my self thy foe;
And for my fake ferve thou falle Tarquin fo.

This brief abridgment of my will I make :
My foul and body to the fkies, and ground;
My refolution (Husband) do you take;
Mine honour be the knife's, that makes my wound;
My shame be his, that did my fame confound;

And all my fame that lives, difburfed be
To those that live, and think no fhame of me.

Thou Collatine fhall overfee this will,
How was I overfeen, that thou shalt fee it?
My blood fhall wash the flander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end fhall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but ftoutly fay, fo be it;

Yield to my hand, my hand shall conquer thee;
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.

This plot of death when fadly fhe had laid,
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes;
With untun'd tongue the hoarily call'd her maid,
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers
flies,

Poor Lucréce' cheeks unto her maid feem fo, As winter meads, when fun doth melt their fnow,

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,
With foft flow tongue, true mark of modesty ;
And forts a fad look to her lady's forrow,
(For why, her face wore forrow's livery)
But durft not afk of her audaciously,

Why her two funs were cloud-eclipsed fo:
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wath'd with woe.

But as the earth doth weep, the fun being set,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye:
Even fo the maid with fwelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy
Of thofe fair funs, fet in her mistress' sky;

Who in a falt-wav'd ocean queuch'd their light, Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

A pretty while thefe pretty creatures stand,
Like ivory conduits coral cifterns filling:
One juftly weeps, the other takes in hand
No caufe, but company, of her drops fpilling;
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ;

Grieving themselves to guefs at other smarts; And then they drown their eyes, or break ther hearts.

For men have marble, women waxen minds,
And therefore they are form'd as marble will:
The weak oppreft, th' impreffion of strange kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill.
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
No more than wax fhall be accounted evil,
Wherein is ftampt the semblance of a devil.

Their smoothness, like a goodly champain plain,
Lays open all the little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove remain
Cave-keeping evils, that obfcurely fleep;
Through chrystal walls each little mote will peep.
Tho men can cover crimes with bold ftern
looks,

Poor womens faces are their own faults books.

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower,
But chides rough winter, that the flower has kill'd:
Not that's devour'd, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame : O let it not be hild
Poor womens faults, that they are so fulfill'd

With mens abuses; thofe proud lords to blame,
Make weak-made women tenants to their

fhame.

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, Affail'd by night with circumstances strong Of prefent death and shame that might enfue, By that her death to do her husband wrong; Such danger to refistance did belong,

That dying fear through all her body spread, And who cannot abufe a body dead?

By this mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor Counterfeit of her complaining.
My girl, quoth fhe, on what occafion break
Thole tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are
raining?

If thou doft weep for grief of my sustaining,
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood;
If tears could help, mine own would do me

good.

But tell me, girl, when went (and there the ftaid

Till after a deep groan) Tarquin from hence?
Madam, e'er I was up (reply'd the maid)
The more to blame my fluggard negligence:
Yet with the fault I thus far can difpenfe;

My felf was ftirring e'er the break of day,
And e'er I rofe was Tarquin gone away.

But lady, if your maid may be fo bold,
She would request to know your heaviness.
O peace! (quoth Lucrece if it should be told,
The repetition cannot make it lefs;
For more it is than I can well express:

And that deep torture may be call'd a hell,
When more is felt, than one hath power to tell.

Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen; 'et fave that labour, for I have them here: What should I fay ?) one of my husband's men fid thou be ready by and by, to bear

letter to my lord, my love, my dear; Bid him with fpeed prepare to carry it,

The cause craves hafte, and it will foon be writ.

Her maid is gone, and the prepares to write, irft hovering o'er the paper with her quill; onceit and grief an eager combat fight, That wit fets down is blotted ftraight with will; his is too curious good, this blunt and ill : Much like a prefs of people at a door, Throng her inventions, which fhall go before.

t laft the thus begins: Thou, worthy lord f that unworthy wife, that greeteth thee; ealth to thy person, next vouchfafe t'afford fever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt fee) me present speed to come, and visit me. So I commend me from our house in grief; My woes are tedious, tho' my words are brief.

ere folds fhe up the tenor of her woe, er certain forrow writ uncertainly:

this short schedule Colatine may know er grief but not her grief's true quality;

ie dares not thereof make difcovery,

Left he should hold it her own grofs abufe, E'er fhe with blood had ftain'd her ftrain'd excufe.

fides, the life and feeling of her pafhon

e hords, to spend when he is by to hear her; hen fighs, and groans, and tears may grace the fashion

her difgrace, the better fo to clear her

om that fufpicion, which the world might bear her:

To fhun this blot fhe would not blot the letter With words, till action might become them better.

fee fad fights moves more, than hear them told;

r then the eye interprets to the ear
he heavy motion, that it doth behold:
hen every part a part of woe doth bear,
is but a part of forrow that we hear.

Deep founds make leffer noife, than fhallow fords;

And forrow ebbs being blown with wind of words.

er letter now is feal'd, and on it writ,

t Ardea to my lord with more than haste; The post attends, and fhe delivers it, harging the four-fac'd groom to hie as faft, s lagging fouls before the northern blast. Speed more than speed, but dull and flow the deems;

Extremity ftill urgeth such extremes,

But long fhe thinks till he return again,
And yet the duteous vaffal scarce is gone;
The weary time she cannot entertain,
For now 'tis ftale to figh, to weep, and groan;
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,

That the her plaints a little while doth stay,
Paufing for means to mourn fome newer way.

At laft fhe calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting made for Priam's Troy;
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece,
For Helen's rape the city to destroy,
Threatning cloud-kiffing Ilion with annoy;

Which the conceited painter drew fo proud,
As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thousand lamentable objects there,
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life:
Many a dire drop feem'd a weeping tear
Shed for the flaughter'd husband by the wife.
The red blood reek'd to fhew the painter's ftrife,
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their afhy lights,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you fee the labouring pioneer
Begrim'd with fweat, and fmeared all with duft;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men thro' loop-holes thrust,
Gazing upon the Greeks with little luft.

Such fweet observance in this work was had,
That one might fee thofe far-off eyes look fad.

In great commanders, grace and majesty, You might behold triumphing in their faces: In youth quick-bearing and dexterity:

And here and there the painter interlaces
Pale cowards marching on with trembling paces;
Which heartless pealants did fo well refemble
That one would fwear he faw them quake and
tremble.

In Ajax, and Ulyffes, O! what art
Of hyfiognomy aight one behold!
The face of either cypher d either's heart;
Their face, their manners most exprefly told.
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roll'd.

But the mild glance that fly Ulyffes lent,
Shew'd deep regard, and fmiling government.

There pleading might you fee grave Neftor ftand,
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight,
Making fuch fiber action with his hand,
That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the fight:
In fpeech it feem'd, his beard all filver white,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the
fky.

About him were a prefs of gaping faces,
Which feem'd to swallow up his found advice;
All jintly liftning, but with leveral graces,
As if fome mermaid did their ears entice;
Some high, fome low, the painter was so nice.
The fcalps of many almost hid behind,
To jump up higher feem'd to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His note being fhadow'd by his neighbour's ear;
Here one being throng'd bears back all blown and
red;

Another mother'd, feems to pelt and swear;
And in their rage, (fuch figns of rage they bear),
As but for lofs of Neftor's golden words,
It feem'd they would debate with angry fwords.

For much imaginary work was there; Conceit deceitful, fo compact fo kind, That for Achilles' image flood his fpear, Grip'd in an armed hand, himself behind Was left unfeen, fave to the eye of mind; A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of ftrong-befieged Troy, When their brave hope, bold Hector march'd to field,

Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To fee their youthful fons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they fuch odd action yield,

That thro' their light joy feemed to appear,
(Like bright things ftain'd) a kind of heavy
fear.

And from the ftrond of Dardan, where they fought,

To Simois' reedy banks, the red blood ran;
Whofe waves to imitate the battel fought
With fwelling ridges; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled fhore, and than ·

Of what he was, no femblance did remain;
Her blue blood chang'd to black in every vein.
Wanting the fpring, that those shrunk pipes had
fed,

Shew'd life imprifon'd in a body dead.

On this fad fhadow Lucrece fpends her eyes,
And fhapes her forrow to the beldam's woes;
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries,
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes.
The painter was no god to lend her those;
And therefore Lucrece fwears he did her
wrong,

To give her fo much grief, and not a tongue.

Poor Inftrument (quoth she) without a found! I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue; And drop fweet balm in Priam's painted wound, And rail on Pyrrhus, that hath done him wrong, And with my tears quench Troy, that burnsis long;

And with my knife fcracht out the angry ey Of all the Greeks, that are thine enemies.

Shew me the ftrumpet, that began this ftir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of luft, fond Paris did incur
This load of wrath, that burning Troy did bear;
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here:

And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,
The fire, the fon, the dame, and daughter die.

Why should the private pleasure of fome one
Become the public plague of many moe?
Let fin alone committed, light alone
Upon his head, that hath tranfgreffed fo.
Let guiltlefs fouls be freed from guilty woe.
For one's offence why fhould fo many fall,
To plague a private fin in general ?

Lo! here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies!
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus founds!
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies!
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds!
And one man's luft thefe many lives confounds!

Had dotting Priam check'd his fon's defire, Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire.