What could he fee, but mightily he noted?
What did he note, but strongly he defired?
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her fnow-white dimpled chin.
As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey,
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,
So o'er this fleeping foul doth Tarquin stay,
His rage of luft by gazing qualified;
Slack'd, not fupprefs'd; for standing by her fide,
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:
And they, like ftraggling flaves for pillage fighting,
Obdurate vaffals, fell exploits effecting,
In bloody death and ravishment delighting,
Nor children's tears, nor mothers' groans refpecting,
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting:
Anon his beating heart, alarum ftriking,
Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their liking.
His drumming heart chears up his burning eye,
His eye commends the leading to his hand;
His hand, as proud of fuch a dignity,
Smoaking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ;
Whofe ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,
Left their round turrets deftitute and pale.
They mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully befet,
And fright her with confufion of their cries:
She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes,
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and control'd.
Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull fleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld fome gastly sprite,
Whose grim aspect fets every joint a shaking;
What terrour 'tis ! but she, in worfer taking,
From fleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The fight which makes fuppofed terrour true.
Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird fhe trembling lies;
She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting anticks, ugly in her eyes:
Such fhadows are the weak brain's forgeries;
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful fights,
His hand that yet remains upon her breast,
(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)
May feel her heart (poor citizen!) distress'd,
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage, and leffer pity,
To make the breach, and enter this fweet city.
First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To found a parley to his heartless foe,
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reafon of this rash alarm to know,
Which he by dumb demeanour feeks to show;
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still,
Under what colour he commits this ill.
Thus he replies: The colour in thy face
(That even for anger makes the lily pale,
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace)
Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale:
Under that colour am I come to scale
Thy never-conquer'd fort; the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.
Thus I foreftall thee, if thou mean to chide:
Thy beauty hath enfnar'd thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will abide,
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
Which I to conquer fought with all my might;
But as reproof and reafon beat it dead,
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.
I fee what croffes my attempt will bring;
I know what thorns the growing rose defends
I think the honey guarded with a fting;
All this, beforehand, counfel comprehends:
But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainft law or duty.
I have debated, even in my foul,
What wrong, what shame, what forrow I fhall breed
But nothing can affection's course control,
Or ftop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears enfue the deed,
Reproach, difdain, and deadly enmity;
Yet ftrive I to embrace mine infamy.
This faid, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,
Which like a faulcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' fhade,
Whofe crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:
So under the infulting falchion lies
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells,
With trembling fear, as fowl hear faulcons' bells.
Lucrece, quoth he, this night I must enjoy thee :
If thou deny, then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to deftroy thee;
That done, fome worthless flave of thine I'll flay,
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay;
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I flew him, seeing thee embrace him.
So thy furviving husband shall remain
The fcornful mark of every open eye;
Thy kinfmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy iffue blurr'd with nameless bastardy:
And thou, the author of their obloquy,
Shall have thy trespass cited up in rhimes,
And fung by children in fucceeding times.
But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend :
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted;
A little harm, done to a great good end,
For lawful policy remains enacted.
The poisonous fimple fometimes is compacted
In a pure compound; being fo applied,
His venom in effect is purified.
Then for thy husband's and thy children's fake,
Tender my fuit: bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot;
Worse than a flavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot:
For marks defcried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.
Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye,
He roufeth up himself, and makes a pause,
While fhe, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws,
Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws,
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,
Nor ought obeys but his foul appetite.
Look, when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get,
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding,
Hindering their prefent fall by this dividing;
So his unhallow'd hafte her words delays,
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.
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