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When he had ceas'd his ill-resounding noise, Despair and hope make thee ridiculous :
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
Against the welkin vollies out his voice ;

With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. Another and another answer him,

Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought; Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Adonis lives, and death is not to blame ;

Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. It was not she that call’d him all to naught; Look, how the world's poor people are amazed

Now she adds honour to his hateful name ; At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,

She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings, Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, Imperial supreme of all mortal things. Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ; So she at these sad signs draws up her breath,

No, no, (quoth she) Sweet death, I did but jest ;

Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear,
And, sighing it again, exclaims on death. When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,

Which knows no pity, but is still severe ;
Hateful divorce of love (thus chides she death) Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess)
Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.
To stife beauty, and to steal his breath, (mean 'Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue ,

Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set Be wreak’d on him, invisible commander ;
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; If he be dead,-0 no, it cannot be,

I did but acı, he's author of thy slander : Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it- Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 0 yes,

it
may ; thou hast no eyes to see,

Could rule them both, without ten women's wit. But hatefully at random dost thou hit.

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, Thy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart

Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.

And that his beauty inay the better thrive, Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, With death she humbly doth insinuate ; And hearing him, thy power had lost his power. Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs ; and stories The destinies will curse thee for this stroke;

His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a Rower :

O Jove, quoth she, how much a fool was I, Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,

To be of such a weak and silly mind, And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. To wail his death, who lives, and must not die, Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weep. Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! What may a heavy groan advantage thee ? (ing? For he being dead, with him is beauty slain. Why hasi thou cast into eternal sleeping

And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. l'hose eyes that taught all other eyes to see? Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear,

Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves ;

Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour. Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, Here overcome, as one full of despair,

Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. She veil'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd Éven at this word she hears a merry horn, l'he crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn. In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd; As faulcon to the lure, away she flies ;

But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;

And with his strong course opens them again. And in her haste unfortunately spies
O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow! The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye ;

Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view. Bóth crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow, Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew. Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry; Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,

But like a stormy day, now wind now rain, Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,

Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. And there, all smother'd up in shade doth sit,
Variable passions throng her constant woe, Long after fearing to creep forth again ;
As striving which should best become her grief ; So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,

Into the deep dark cabins of her head,
Chat every present sorrow seemeth chief,

Where they resign their office and their light But none is best ; then join they all together,

To the disposing of her troubled brain ; Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

Who bids them still consort with ugly night, By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla; And never wound the heart with looks again; A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well : Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, The dire imagination she did follow

By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. This sound of hope doth labour to expell ;

Whereat each tributary subject quakes ; For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,

As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice,

Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes, Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,

Which with cold terrors doth men's mind confound. Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ; This mutiny each part doth so surprize, Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,

That from their dark beds, once more, leap her eyes; Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass, And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight

To wash the foul face of the sluitish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. Upon the wide wound that the boar had trencad

In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
O haru-believing love, how strange it seems With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd
Rot to believe and yet too credulous !

No fower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, why weal and woe are both of them extremes,

But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed.

Shis solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;

As if he heard the woeful words she told : Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;

She lifts the coffer. lids that close his eyes, Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth ;

Where, lo ! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies She thinks he could not die, he is not dead.

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow; A thousand times, and now no more reflect;

Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,

And every beauty robb’d of his effect : That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three; Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite, And then she reprehends her mangling eye,

That, you being dead, the day should yei be light That makes more gashes where no breach should be : Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy,

His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled, Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend ;

For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. It shall be waited on with jealousy,
My tongue cannot express my grief for one, Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end ;
And yet, quoth she, behold two Adons dead ! Ne'er settled equally, to high or low;
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead : It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud,

Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire ! And shall be blasted in a breathing-while ;
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! With sweets, that shall the sharpest sight beguile :
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing ? The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Whose tongue is music now! what canst thou boast Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.
Of things long since, or anything ensuing ? It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,

The Rowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ;
But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him.

The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Bonnet or veil benceforth no creature wear! Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures :
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : It shall be -raging-mad, and silly-mild,
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ;

Make the young old, the old become a child. The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you: It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear ;

But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust;

Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair ; It shall be merciful, and too severe,
And therefore would he put his bonnet on, And most deceiving, when it seems most just ;
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep ; Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward,
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone, Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.
Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep : It shall be cause of war, and dire events,
And straight, in pity of his tender years,

And set dissention 'twixt the son and sire;
They both would strive who first should dry his tears. Subject and servile to all discontents,
To see his face, the lion walk'd along

As dry combustious matter is to fire;
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him; Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,
To recreate himself, when he hath sung,

They that love best, their love shall not enjoy. The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him:

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill’d, If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey, Was melted like a vapour from her sight,

And never fright the silly lamb that day. And in his blood that on the ground lay spillid, When he beheld his shadow in the brook,

A purple flower sprung up, chequerid with white; The fishes spread on it their golden gills;

Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. That some would sing, some other in their bills

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell. Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries ; Comparing it to her Adonis' breath;

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, Since he himself is reft from her by death : Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,

She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. Witness the entertainment that he gave ;

Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise. If he did see his face, why then I know,

(Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. For every little grief to wet his eyes : 'Tis true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain ; To grow unto himself was his desire, He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,

And so 'tis thine ; but know, it is as good Who would not whet his teeth at hiin again,

To wither in my breast, as in his blood. But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;

And nuzzling in his fank, the loving swine Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:

Sheathild, unaware, his tusk in his soft groin. Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night: With kissing him I should have kill'd him first; There shall not be one minute of an hour, But he is dead, and never did he bless

Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flowes. My youth with his ; the more I am accurst.

Thus weary of the world, away she hies, With this she falleth in the place she stood, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid

And stains her face with his congealed blood. Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;

In her light chariot quickly is convey'd, She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ;

Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen She whispers in his ear, a heavy tale,

Means to immure herself, and not be seen.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,

Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Titchfield. The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end ; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lincs, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would shew greater : mean time, as it is it is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your Lordship's in all duty, William SKAKSPEARE.

THE ARGUMENT. Lucius TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed , whence be shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was (sc Superbus) after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius cording to his estate) royally entertained and lodged by Locrece Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and,

contrary to the Roman at Collatium. The same night, he treacherously stealeth into laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suf. her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning frages, had possessed himself of the kingdom; went, accompa- speedeth away. Lucrece in this lamentable plight, hastily dis pied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege patched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the Ardea. During which siege, the principal men of the army camp for Collative. They came, the one accompanied with meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius ; and finding son, in their discourses after supper, every one commended the Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her yirtues of his own wife;

among whom Collatinus extolled the sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, reincomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant vealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealiny, and witbal humour they all posted to Rome; and intending by their se suddenly stabbed herself. Which dope, with ove consent they cret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the larquins ; had before avouched, only Collatimus finds his wife (though it and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the peo were late in the night) spinning amongst her maids: the other ple with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several dis. invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people ports. Whereupon the boblepien yielded Collatinus the victory, were so noved, that with one consent and a general acclamaand his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being tjun the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for changed from kings to consuls. the present, departed with the rest back to the camp; from

From the besieg'd Ardea all in post,

Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, Braving compare, disdainfully did sting (vaunt Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should And to Collatium bears the lightless fire,

The golden hap which their superiors want. Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire,

But some untimely thought did instigate And girdle with embracing flames the waist

His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those : of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, Haply that name of chaste unhapp’ly set

Neglected all, with swift intent he goes This bateless edge on his keen appetite ;

To quench the coal which in his liver glows. When Collatine unwisely did not let

Oʻrash-false heat, wrapt in repentant cold, To praise the clear unmatched red and white

Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, When at Collatium this false lord arrived,

Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame.

With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. Within whose face beauty and virtue strived For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,

Which of them both should underprop her fame: Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state ;.

When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame, What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent

When beauty boasted blushes, in despite

Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. In the possession of his beauteous mate ; Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, But beauty, in that white intituled,

That kings might be espoused to more fame, From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field; But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,

Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild O happiness enjoy'd but of a few!

Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield; And, if possess'd, as soon decayed and done

Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, As is the morning's silver-melting dew

When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. Against the golden splendour of the sun! An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun :

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, Honour and beauty in the owner's arms,

Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white. Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.

of either's colour was the other queen,

Proving from world's minority their right: Beauty itself doth of itself persuade

Yet their ambition makes them still to fight; The eyes of men without an orator ;

The sovereignty of either being so great,
What needeth then apology be made

That oft they intercharge each other's seat.
To set forth that which is so singular ?
Or why is Collatine the publisher

This silent war of lilies and of roses

Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own?

In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ;

Where, lest between them both it should be killa, l'erchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty The coward captive vanquished doth yield Suggested this proud issue of a king ;

To those two armies that would let him gn, For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:

Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue So that in vent'ring ill, we leave to be {The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so)

The things we are, for that which we expect , In that high task bath done her beauty wrong,

And this ambitious foul infirmity, Which far exceeds his barren skill to shew :

In having much, torments us with defect Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe, Of that we have so then we do neglect Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,

The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, la silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

Make something nothing, by augmenting it. This earthly saint, adored by this devil,

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, Little suspecteth the false worshipper ;

Pawning his honour to obtain his lust; For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream on evil; And for himself, himself he must forsake: Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear :

Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust? So guiltless sbe securely gives good cheer

When shall he think to find a stranger just, And reverend welcome to her princely guest, When he himself himself confounds, betrays

Whose inward ill no outward harin express'd. To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days ! For that he colour'd with his high estate,

Now stole upon the time the dead of night, Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ;

When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ; That nothing in him seemd inordinate,

No comfortable siar did lend his light, Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries: Which, having all, all could not satisfy;

Now serves the season that they may surprise But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,

The silly lambs ; pure thoughts are dead and still, lhat cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. But she that never cop'd with stranger eyes, And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm, Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies

Is madly toss'd between desire and dread; Writ in the glassy margents of such books; The one sweetly flatters, the other feareth harm, She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks; But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm, Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,

Doth too too oft betake him to retire, More than his eyes were open'd to the light. Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. He stories to her ears her husband's fame,

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;

That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly. And decks with praises Collatine's high name, Whertat a waxen torch forth with he lighteth, Made glorious by his manly chivalry,

Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye :
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory: And to the flame thus speaks advisedly:
Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express,

As from this cold flini I euforc'd this fire,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. So Lucrece must I force to my desire
Far from the purpose of his coming thither, Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
He makes excuses for his being there.

The dangers of his loathsome enterprize,
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather

And in his inward mind he doth debate Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;

What following sorrow may on this arise :
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, Then looking scornfully, he doth despise

Upon the world dim darkness doth display, His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust,
And in her vaulty prison stows the day.

And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,

Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not Intending weariness with heavy spright;

To darken her whose light excelleth thine! For, after supper, long he questioned

And die unhallow'd thoughts, before you plot With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : With your uncleanness that which is divine' Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight; Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine :

And every one to rest himself betakes, (wakes. Let fair humanity abhor the deed (weed.

Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that That spots and stains love's modest snow-white As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ;

O foul dishonour to my household's grave ! Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,

O impious act, including all foul harms ! Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining; A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining ; True valour still a true respect should have ;

And when great treasure is the meed proposed, Then my digression is so vile, so base,

Tho' death be abjunct, there's no death supposed. That it will live engraven in my face.
Those that much covet, are with gain so fond, Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,
That what they have not (that which they possess) And be an eye-sore in my golden coat :
They scatter and unlose it from their bond, Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less; To cipher me, how fondly I did dote ;
Or gaining more, the profit of excess

That my posterity, sham'd with the note,
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,

Shall curse my bones, and hold il for no sin That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

To wish that I their father had not been. The aim of all is but to nurse the life

What win 1, if I gain the thing I seek? With honour, wealth, and ease, in waining age ;

A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy : And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week ? That one for all, or all for one we gage ;

Or sells eternity, to get a toy? As life for honour, in fell battles' rage :

For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Honour for wealtb ; and oft that wealth doth cost Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, The death of all, and altogether lost.

Would with the sceptre straight be sururken down? If Collatinus dream of my intent,

Within his thought her heavenly image site, Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage

And in the self-same seat sits Collatine : Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ?

That eye which looks on her, confounds his wits, This siege that hath engirt his marriage,

That eye which him beholds, as more divine, This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,

Unto a view so false will not incline ; This dying virtue, this surviving shame.

But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame ? Which once corrupted, takes the worser part; O what excuse can my invention make,

And therein heartens up his servile powers, When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed ? Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show, Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake ? Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed ? And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,

By reprobate desire thus madly led, But coward-like with trembling terror die.

The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,

The locks between her chamber and his will, Or lain in ambush to betray my life,

Each one by him enforc'd, retires his ward ; Or were he not my dear friend, this desire

But as they open, they all rate his ill, Might have excuse to work upon his wife ;

Which drives the creeping thief to some regard : As in revenge or quittal of such strife :

The threshold grates the door to have hiin heard ; But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,

Nighl-wand'ring weesels shriek to see him there The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. Shameful it is ;-ay, if the fact be known :

As each unwilling portal yields him way, Hateful it is there is no hate in loving : Through little vents and crannies of the place I'll beg her love ;--- she is not her own:

The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay, l'he worst is but deniai, aud reproving :

And blows the smoke of it into his face, My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. Extinguishing his cor.duct in this case ; Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw,

But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.

Piiffs forth another wind that fires the torch Thus graceless, holds he disputation

And being lighted, by the light be spies "Tween frozen conscience, and hot burning will, Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks; And with good thoughts makes dispensation,

He takes it from the rushes where it lies; Urging the worser sense for vantage still :

And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks: Which in a moment doth confound and kill As who would say, this glove to wanton tricks All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,

Is not inur'd ; return again in haste; That what is vile shews like a virtuous deed.

Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste. Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand,

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes,

Ile in the worst sense construes their denial; Fearing some hard news from the warlike band The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, Where her beloved Collatinus lies.

He takes for accidental things of trial ; O how her fear did make her colour rise !

Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, First red as roses, that on lawn we lay,

Who with a ling'ring stay his course doth let, Then white as lawn, the roses took away.

Till every minute pays the hour his debt. And how her hand, in my hand being lock’d, So, so, quoth he, these lets attend the time, Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear!

Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd. To add a more rejoicing to the prime, Until her husband's welfare she did hear ;

And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,

Pain pays the income of each precious thing; (sands, That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,

Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands. Why hunt I then for colour or excuses ?

Now is he come unto the chamber door Allorators are dumb, when beauty pleadeth ;

That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth : Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. Affection is iny captain, and he leadeth ;

So from himself impiety hath wrought, And when his gaudy banner is diplay'd,

That for his prey to pray he doth begia, The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd.

As if the heaven should countenance his sia. Then childish fear avaunt! debating die!

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age ! Having solicited the eternal power,
My heart shall never countermand mine eye :

That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage ;

And they would stand auspicious to the hour, My part is youth, and beats these from the stage : Even there he starts :-quoth he, I must deflower; Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ;

The powers to whom I pray, abhor this fact, Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies ? How can they then assist me in the act ? As corn o ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide ! Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust.

My will is back'd with resolution : Away he steals with open listening ear,

Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried, Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust; The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ; Poth which, as servitors to the unjust,

Against love's fire, fear's frost hath dissolution. So cross hun with their opposite persuasion. The eye of heaven is out, and misty night That now he vows a league, and now invasion. Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.

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