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As life for honour, in fell battle's rage,
Honour for wealth, and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all and altogether lost.

So that in venturing all, we leave to be
The things we are, for that which we expect ;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,

In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have; so then we do neglect

The thing we have, and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing, by augmenting it.
Such hazard now must doating Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust;

And for himself, himself he must forsake ;
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just,
When he himself, himself confounds, betrays
To sland'rous tongues the wretched hateful lays ?
Now stole upon the time the dead of night
When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes;
No comfortable star did lend his light,

No noise but owls, and wolves' death-boding cries!
Now serves the season, that they may surprize

The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.

And now this lustful lord leapt from his bed,
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm,
Is madly tost between desire and dread ;
Th' one sweetly flatters, the other feareth harm;
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm,
Doth too, too oft betake him to retire, 4
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire.

His fauchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly,
Whereat a waxen torch forth with he lighteth,
Which must be load-star to his lustful eye;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly;

"As from this cold flint I enforc'd this fire,
"So Lucrece must I force to my desire."

Here pale with fear, he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprize;

[4] That is, Fear betakes himself to flight.

MALONE.

1-7

VOL. IX.

And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise;
Then looking scornfully he doth despise

His naked armour of still slaughter'd lust,
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust.
Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her, whose light excelleth thine;
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness, that which is divine.
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine ;

Let fair humanity abhor the deed,

That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed.

O shame to knighthood, and to shining arms!
O foul dishonour to my houshold's grave!
O impious act, including all foul harms!
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave!
True valour still a true respect should have,
Then my digression is so vile, so base,
That it will live engraven in my face.

Yes, tho' I die, the scandal will survive,
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat:
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive
To cypher me how fondly I did dote ;
That my posterity shamed with the note,

Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin,
To wish that I their father had not been.

What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy,
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?

For one sweet grape, who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down ?

If Colatinus dream of my intent,

Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent?
This siege, that hath ingirt his marriage,

[5] Digression; i. e. deviation from virtue.

MALONE.

[6] In the books of heraldry a particular mark of disgrace is mentioned by which the escutcheons of those persons were anciently distinguished who "discourteously used a widow, maid, or wife, against her will." There were likewise formerly marks of disgrace for him that revoked a hallenge, or went from his word; for him who fled from his colours, &c.

MALONE.

This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,
This dying virtue, this surviving shame,
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame.
O what excuse can my invention make,
When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed!
Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake!
Mine eyes forget their light, my false heart bleed?
The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed,
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
But coward-like with trembling terror die.
Had Colatinus kill'd my son or sire;
Or lain in ambush to betray my life;
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife ;
As in revenge or 'quital of such strife:

But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.
Shameful it is, if once the fact be known;
Hateful it is, there is no hate in loving.
I'll beg her love, but it is not her own;
The worst is but denial and reproving;
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw,
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation,
'Tween frozen conscience and hot burning will;
And with good thoughts make dispensation,
Urging the worser sense for 'vantage still,
Which in a moment doth confound and kill

All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,
That what is vile shews like a virtuous deed.

Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand,
And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes,
Fearing some bad news from the warlike band,
Where her beloved Colatinus lies.

O how her fear did make her colour rise !

First, red as roses, that on lawn we lay,
Then white as lawn the roses took away.

And now her hand in my hand being lock❜d,
Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear,

Which strook her sad, and then it faster rock'd,
Until her husband's welfare she did hear;
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.
Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleads.
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;
Love thrives not in the heart, that shadows dreads.
Affection is my captain, and he leads;

And when his gaudy banner is display'd,
The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd.

Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die !
Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age !7
My heart shall never countermand mine eye,
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage ;
My part is youth, and beats them from the stage,&
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;

Then who fears sinking, where such treasure lies.
As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
Is almost cloak'd by unresisted lust.

Away he steals, with open, list'ning ear,
Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;
Both which, as servitors to the unjust,

So cross him with their opposite persuasion,
That now he vows a league, and now invasion.

Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the self-same seat sits Colatine.
That eye which looks on her, confounds his wits;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view so false will not incline;

But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part.
And therein heartens up his servile powers,
Who flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;
And as their captain so their pride doth grow,

MAL.

[7] Respect means cautious prudence, weighing all consequences. [8] Sad formerly signified grave; deep regard is profound meditation or consideration.

MALONE.

[9] The poet seems to have had the conflicts between the devil and the vice of the old moralities in his thoughts. In these the vice was always' victorious and drove the devil roaring off the stage. MALONE.

Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led,

The Roman lord doth march to Lucrece' bed.

The locks between her chamber and his will,
Each one by him enforc'd, recites his ward;
But as they open, they all rate his ill,

Which drives the creeping thief to some regard;
The threshold grates the door to have him heard,
Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him there,
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.

As each unwilling portal yields him way,
Through little vents and crannies of the place,
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay,
And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct in this case.

But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch.

I

And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, wherein the needle sticks;
He takes it from the rushes where it lies,
And griping it, the needle his finger pricks ;
As who should say, this glove to wanton tricks
Is not inur'd; return again in haste,

Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste.

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him,
He in the worst sense construes their denial;
The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial,

Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial,

Which with a ling'ring stay his course doth let,2*
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.

So, so, (quoth he,) these lets attend the time,
Like little frosts, that sometime threat the spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime,

And give the sneaped birds3 more cause to sing,
Pain pays the income of each precious thing;

Huge rocks,high winds,strong pirates,shelves and sands, The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.

[1] The apartments in England being strewed with rushes in our author's time, he has given Lucretia's chamber the same covering. MALONE [2] To let formerly signified to hinder, to prevent. ANON. 13 Sneaped, checked. MALONE.

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