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To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child,
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild;
To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd;

To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,

And waste huge stones with little water-drops.
Why work'st thou mischief in tby pilgrimage,
Unless thou could'st return to make amends?
One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends:

0, this dread night, would'st thou one hour come back,

I could prevent this storm, and shan this wrack!
Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
Devise extremes beyond extremity,
To make bim curse this cursed crimeful night:
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;

Avd the dire thought of his committed evil,

Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.
Disturb bis hours of rest with restless trances,
AMict bim in his bed with bedrid groans;
Let there bechance bim pitiful mischances,
To make him moan, but pity not bis moans :
Stone bim with harden'd hearts, harder than stones;

And let mild women to him lose their mildness,

Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.
Let bim have time to tear his curled hair,
Let him have time against himself to rave,
Let bim bave time of time's help to despair;
Let him bave time to live a loathed slave,
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave ;

And time to see one that by alms doth live,
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.

Let bim bave time to see his friends his foes,
And merry fools to mock at him resort:
Let bim bave 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:

And ever let bis unrecalling crime
Have time to wail the abusing of his tinje.

O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Teach me to curse bim that thou taught'st this ill!
At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
Himself himself seek every hour to kill !
Such wretched bands such wretched blood should spill :

For who so base would such an office have
As slanderous death's-mau to so base a slave ?

The baser is be, coming from a king,
To shame bis hope with deeds degenerate.
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes bim honour'd, or begets him bate ;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.

The moon being clouded presently is miss'd,

But little stars may bide them when they list.
The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,
And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away;
But if the like the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon bis silver down will stay.
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day.

Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly,

But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye.
Out idle words, servants to shallow fools!
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools,
Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters;
To trembling clients be you mediators :

For me, I force not argument a straw,

Since that my case is past the help of law.
In vain I rail at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;
In vain I cavil with my infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm’d despite :
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.

The remedy indeed to do me good,

Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood.
Poor band, why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame;
For if I die, my bonour lives in thee,
But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame:
Since thou could’st not defend thy loyal daine,

And wast afraid to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,
To find some desperate instrument of death.
But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth,
To make more vent for passage of her breath,
Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth

As smoke from Ætna, that in air consumes,

Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.
In vain, quoth she, I live, and seek in vain
Some happy mean to end a hapless life.
I fear'd by Tarquio's falchion to be slain,
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife :
But when I fear’d, I was a loyal wife;

So am I now:-O no, that cannot be ;

Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.
0! that is gone, for which I sought 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 belp, the treasure stolen away,

To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!
Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know
The stained taste of violated troth;
I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter thee with an infringed oath ;
This bastard graff shall never come to growth:

He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute,

That thou art doting father of his fruit.
Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state;
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate,

And with my trespass never will dispense,

Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence.
I will not poison thee with my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleaply-coin'd excuses ;
My sable ground of sin I will not paint,
To bide the truth of this false night's abuses :
My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes like sluices,

As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.
By this, lamenting Philomel bad ended
The well-tun'd 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 cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,

And therefore still in nigbt would cloister'd be. Revealing day through every cranny spies, And seems to point her out where she sits weeping; To whom she sobbing speaks : 0 eye of eyes, Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy peeping; Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:

Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,

For day bath nought to do what's done by night.
Thus cavils she with every thing she sees :
True grief is fond and testy as a child,
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ;
Continuance tames the one; the other wild,

Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still,
With too much labour drowns for want of skill.

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to herself all sorrow doth compare ;
No object but her passion's strength renews;
And as one sbifts, another straight ensues :

Sometime ber grief is dumb, and hath no words ;

Sometime’tis mad, and too much talk affords.
The little birds that tune their morning's joy,
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody.
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;
Sad souls are slain in merry company;
Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society:

True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd,

When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd.
"Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;
He ten times pines, that pines beholding food;
Po see the salve doth make the wound ache more ;
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,

Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er-flows :
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows,

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You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomb
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb!
(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;
À woeful hostess brooks not merry guests :)

Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ;

Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.
Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell’d bair.
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapason bear :

For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,

While thou on Tercas descant'st, better skill.
And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my beart
Will fix a sharp kuife, to affright mine eye ;
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.

These means, as frets upon an instrument,

Shall tune our heart.strings to true languishment.
And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way,
That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold,
Will we find out; and there we will apfold

To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kiads:

Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.
As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly,
Or one encompass'd with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily ;
So with herself is she in mutiny,

To live or die wbich of the twain were better,

When life is sham'd, and Death Reproach's debtor.
To kill myself, quoth she, alack! what were it,
But with my body my poor soul's pollution ?
They that lose balf, with greater patience bear it,
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion.
That mother tries a merciless conclusion,

Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,
Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.

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