'Tis double death to drown in ken of fhore;

He ten times pines, that pines beholding food;
To fee the falve doth make the wound ake 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'erflows:
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.

You mocking birds, quoth fhe, your tunes entomb
Within your hollow-fwelling feather'd breasts!
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb!
(My restless discord loves no ftops nor rests;
A woeful hoftefs brooks not merry guests :)
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;
Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.

Come Philomel that fing'ft of ravishment,

Make thy fad grove in my dishevel'd hair.
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each fad ftrain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapafon bear:
For burthen-wife I'll hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus defcant'ft, better skill.

And whiles against a thorn thou bear'ft thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye;
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.
These means, as frets upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heart-ftrings to true languishment.

And for, poor bird, thou fing'st not in the day,
As fhaming any eye fhould thee behold,

Some dark deep defert, feated from the way,
That knows nor 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 stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly,

Or one encompafs'd with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily;

So with herself is fhe in mutiny,

To live or die which of the twain were better, When life is sham'd, and Death Reproaches debtor.

To kill myself, 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 whose whole is swallow'd in confufion.
That mother tries a merciless conclusion,

Who, having two sweet 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 myself were nearer?
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine.
Ah me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine,

His leaves will wither, and his fap decay;
So must my foul, her bark being peel'd away.

Her houfe is fack'd, her quiet interrupted,
Her manfion batter'd by the enemy;

Her facred temple fpotted, fpoil'd, corrupted,
Grofsly engirt with daring infamy:

Then let it not be call'd impiety,

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

Have heard the caufe of my untimely death; That he may vow, in that fad hour of mine, Revenge on him that made me ftop my breath. My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath, Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent, And as his due, writ in my testament.

My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife
That wounds my body fo dishonoured.
'Tis honour to deprive difhonour'd life;
The one will live, the other being dead:
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn:
My shame fo dead, mine honour is new-born.

Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
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:
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,
And, for my fake, ferve thou falfe 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, disbursed be

To those that live, and think no shame of me.

Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this Will;
How was I overfeen that thou shalt fee it!
My blood shall 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, so be it.

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

This plot of death when fadly she had laid,
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,
With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid,
Whofe fwift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece' 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 ask of her audaciously

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

But as the earth doth weep, the fun being fet,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye;
Even fo the maid with fwelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforc'd by fympathy
Of those fair funs, fet in her mistress' sky,
Who in a falt-wav'd ocean quench their light,
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

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

Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts,
And then they drown their eyes, or break their hearts:

For men have marble, women waxen minds,

And therefore are they form'd as marble will;

The weak opprefs'd, the 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 stamp'd the semblance of a devil.

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign 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 cryftal walls each little mote will peep:
Though men can cover crimes with bold ftern looks,
Poor women's faces are their own faults' books.