Now thinks he, that her husband's fhallow tongue,
The niggard prodigal, that prais'd her fo,
In that high tak hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren fkill to show.
Therefore that praife, which Collatine doth owe,
Inchanted Tarquin anfwers with furmile,
In filent wonder of till gazing eyes.

This earthly faint, adored by this devil,
Little fufpected the falfe worthipper.
"For thoughts unftain'd do feldom dream of evil,
"Birds never lim'd, no fecret bushes fear:
So guiltlefs the fecurely gives good chear,
And reverend welcome to her princely gueft,
Whofe inward ill no outward harm

expreft.

For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding bafe fin in pleats of majefty,
That nothing in him feem'd inordinate,
Save fometime too much wonder of his eye:
Which having all, all could not fatisly;

But poorly rich fo wanteth in his store,

That cloy'd with much, he pineth ftill for

more.

But the that never cop'd with ftranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks;
Nor read the fubtle thining fecrecies

Writ in the glaffy margents of fuch books.
She touch'a no unknown baits, nor fear'd no
hooks;

Nor could the moralize his wanton fight
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.

He ftories to her cars her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praifes Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry,
With bruifed arms and wreaths of victory.

Her joy with heav'd up hand the doth exprefs,
And wordlefs, fo greets heav'n for his fuccefs.

Far from the purpose of his coming thither,
He makes excufes for his being there;
No cloudy show of ftormy bluftring weather,
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear,
Till fable night, mother of dread and fear,

Upon the world dim darknefs doth display,
And in her vaulty prifon fhuts the day.

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, Intending wear.nels with heavy sprite;

For after fupper long he queftioned

With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night. Now leaden flumber with life's ftrength doth fight,

And every one to reft themselves betake,

Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that wake.

As one of which, doth Tarquin lie revolving
The fundry dangers of his will's obtaining,
Yet ever to obtain his will refolving,
Though weak-built hopes perfuade him to abftain-
ing;

Defpair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining :

And when great treasure is the meed propofed, Though death be adjunct, there's no death fuppofed.

Thofe that much covet are of gain fo fond,
That what they have not (that which they possess;)
They fcatter and unloofe it from their bond,
And fo by hoping more, they have but lefs;
Or gaining more, the profit of excefs

Is but to furfcit, and fuch griefs sustain,
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich
gain.

"The guilt being great, the fear doth ftill exceed,
"And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
"But coward-like with trembling terror die.

"Had Collatinus kill'd my fon or fire,
"Or lain in ambush to betray my life;
"Or were he not my dear friend, this defire
"Might have excufe to work upon his wife,
"As in revenge or quital of fuch ftrife;

"But as he is my kinfman, my dear friend,
"The fhame and fault finds no excufe, nor
"end.

Sad pause, and deep regard befeems the sage; My part is youth, and beats thefe from the stage Defire my pilot is, beauty my prize;

Then who fears finking where fuch treasure lies?

As corn o'er-grown by weeds, fo heedful fear
Is almost choak'd by unrefifted luft.
Away he steals with open lift'ning ear,
Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;
Both which, as fervitors to the unjust,

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

Within his thought her heavenly image fits,
And in the felf-fame feat fits Collatine:
That eye which looks on her, confounds his wit;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view fo false will not incline :

But with a pure appeal feeks to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worfer part.

And therein heartens up his fervile powers, Who flatter'd by their leaders jocund show, Stuff up his luft, as minutes fill up hours; And as their captain so their pride doth grow, Paying more flavish tribute than they owe.

By reprobate defire thus madly led,

The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.

So, fo, quoth he, thefe lets attend the time,
Like little frofts, that fometime threat the Spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
And give the fneaped birds more cause to fing,
Pain pays the income of each precious thing;
Huge rocks, high winds, ftrong pirates, fhelves

and fands.

The merchant fears, e'er rich at home he lands.

Now is he come unto the chamber-door,

That huts him from the heaven of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more,
Hath barr'd him from the bleffed thing he fought.
So from himself impiety hath wrought;

That for his prey to pray he doth begin,
As if the heavens fhould countenance his fin.

. But in the mid ft of his unfruitful prayer,
Having follicited th' eternal power,
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,
And they would ftand auspicious to the hour;
Even there he farts, quoth he, I muft deflour!
The powers to whom I pray, abhor this fact,
How can they then afiift me in the act?

Then love and fortune be my gods, my guide,
My will is back'd with refolution:
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be
try'd,

The blackeft fin is clear'd with abfolution;
Against love's fire, fear's froft hath diffolution.

The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the fhame, that follows fweet delight.

This faid, the guilty hand pluck'd up the latch,
And with his knee the door he opens wide;
The dove fleeps faft, that this night-owl will
catch;

Thus treafon works e'er traitors be efpy'd.
Who fces the lurking ferpent, fteps aside;

But the found-fleeping, fearing no fuch thing,
Lics at the mercy of his mortal fting.

Into the chamber wickedly he ftalks,
And gazeth on her yet unftained bed:
The curtains being clofe, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head,
By their high treafon in his heart mifled;

Then Collatine again by Lucrece' fide,
In his clear bed might have reposed still.
But they must ope, this bleffed league to ki;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece, to their fight
Muft fell her joy, her life, her world's deg

Her lilly hand her rofy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;
Who therefore angry, feems to part in funder,
Swelling on either fide to want his blifs:
Between whofe hills, her head intombed is;

Where like a virtuous monument fhe lies,
To be admir'd of leud unhailow'd eyes.

Without the bed her other fair hand was
On the green coverlet, whofe perfect white
Shew'd like an April daify on the grafs,
With pearly fweat, refen bling dew of night.
Her eyes like marigolds had fheath'd their g
And canopy'd in darkness sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair like golden threads play'd with breath;

O modeft wantons! wanton modefty! Shewing life's triumph in the map of death, And death's dim look in life's mortality. Each in her fleep themselves fo beautify,

As if between them twain there were no fr But that life liv'd in death, and death in

Her breafts like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord, no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
Thefe worlds in Tarquin, new ambition bred,
Who like a foul ufurper went about,

From this fair throne to have the owner of

What could he fee, but mightily he noted?
What did he note, but ftrongly he desired?
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 alabafter skin,
Her coral lips, her fnow-white dimpled ch

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey,

foon,

To draw the cloud that hides the filver moon.

Look as the fair, and fiery-pointed fun,
Rufhing from forth a cloud, bereaves our fight;
Even fo the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light:
Whether it is, that the refle&s so bright,

That dazzleth them, or elfe fome fhame fuppofed;

But blind they are, and keep themselves inclofed.

O had they in that darkfome rifon died! Then had they feen the period of their ill;

So o'er this fleeping foul doth Tarquin flay,
His rage of luft by gazing qualify'd,
Slack'd, not fuppreft; for standing by her fi,
His eye which late this mutiny refirains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins.

And they, like ftraggling flaves for pillage fight
Obdurate vaffals, fell exploits effecing,
In bloody death and ravishment delighting,
Nor childrens tears, nor mothers groans ep

His drumming heart chears up his burning eye;
His cye commends the leading to his hand;
His hand, as pround of fuch a dignity,
Smoaking with pride, march'd on to make his
ftand

On her bare breafts, the heart of all her land; Whofe ranks of blue veins, as his hand did feale,

Left their round turrets deflitute and pale.

They muft'ring to the quiet cabinet,
Where their dear governefs and lady lics,
Do tell her fhe is dreadfully befet,
And fright her with confufion of their cries.
She much amaz'd, breaks up her lock'd-up eyes;
Who peeping forth, this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dim'd and controul'd.

Imagine her as one in dead of night,

From forth dull fleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks the hath beheld fome ghaftly sprite,
Whole grim afpe&t fets every joint a fhaking,
What terror 'tis? but fhe in worfer taking,
From fleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The fight, which makes fuppofed terror true,

Wrapt and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird fhe trembling lies:
She dares not look, yet winking their appears
Quick-fhifting anticks ugly in her eyes,
Such fhadows are the weak brain's forgeries;
Who angry that the eyes Ay from their lights,
In darknefs daunts them with more dreadful
fights.

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,
(Rude ram to batter fuch an ivory wall)
May feel her heart (poor citizen!) distrest,
Wounding it felf to death, rife 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 fheet peers her whiter chin,
The reafon of this rafh alarm to know,
Which he by dumb demeanor feeks to fhew;
But the with vehement prayers urgeth still,
Under what colour he commits this ill.

Thus he replies: The colour in thy face,
That ev'n for anger makes the lilly pale,
And the red-rofe blufh at her own disgrace,
Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale.
Under that colour am I come to feale

Thy never-conquer'd fort, the fault is thine,
For thofe thine eyes betray thee unto mine.
Thus I forestal thee, if thou mean to chide :
Thy beauty hath infnar'd thee to this night,
Where thou with patience muft my will abide;
My will, that marks thee for my earth's delight,
Which I to conquer fought with all my night.

But as reproof and reafon beat it dead, By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.

I see what croffes my attempt will bring;
I know what thorns the growing rofe defends;
I think the honey guarded with a fting.
All this before-hand 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, 'gainit law or duty.

I have debated even in my foul,

What wrong, what fhame, what forrow I fhall breed;

But nothing can affection's courfe controul,
Or ftop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears infue the deed,
Reproach, difdain, and deadly enmity;
Yet ftrive I to embrace mine infamy..

This faid, he fakes aloft his Roman blade,
Which like a faulcon tew'ring in the skies,
Couch.eth 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 fowls hear faulcon's bells.

Lucrece, quoth he, this night I must enjoy thee,
If thou deny, then force muft work my way;
For in thy bed I purpose to deftroy thee.
That done, some worthless flave of thine I'll slay,
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay;

And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I flew him, feeing thee embrace him.

So thy furviving husband fhall remain
The fcornful mark of every open eye;
Thy kinfmen hang their heads at this difdain,
Thy iffae blur'd with nameless baftardy;
And thou the author of their obloquy,

Shalt have thy trefpafs cited up in thimes,
And fung by children in fucceeding times,
But if thou yield, I reft thy fecret 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 apply'd,
His venom in effect is purify'd.

Then for thy husband, and thy children's fake,
Tender my fuit, bequeath not to their lot
The fhame, that from them no device can take,
The blenish that will never be forgot,
Worfe than a flavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot:
For marks defcrib'd in mens nativity,
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.

Here with a cockatrice, dead-killing eye,
He roufeth up himfelf, and makes a paufe;
While fhe, the picture of pure picty,