Like a white hind under the gripe's fharp claws, Pleads in a wildernefs, where are no laws,
To the rough beaft, 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 mift th' afpiring mountains hiding, From earth's dark womb fome gentle guit doth get, Which blow thefe pitchy vapours from their biding, Hindring their prefent fall by this dividing.
So his unhallow'd hafte her words delays, And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.
Yet foul night-waking cat he doth but dally, While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse pantHer fad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, [eth A fwallowing gulf, that e'en in plenty wanteth. His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth No penetrable entrance to her plaining; [ing. Tears harden luft, tho' marble wear with rain
Her pity-pleading eyes are fadly fix'd
In the remorfelefs wrinkles of his face :
Her modeft eloquence with fighs is mix'd,
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the period often from his place,
And midft the fentence fo her accent breaks,
That 'twice the doth begin e'er once the fpeaks.
She conjures him, by high almighty Jove;
By knighthood, gentry, and fweet friendship's oath;
By her untimely tears, her husband's love;
By holy human law, and common troth;
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both :
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire,
And stoop to honour, not to foul defire.
Quoth fhe, reward not hospitality
With fuch black payment as thou haft pretended;
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee,
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended:
End thy ill aim, before thy fute be ended.
He is no wood-man that doth bend his bow,
To ftrike a poor unfeasonable doe.
My husband is thy friend, for his fake fpare me;
Thyfelf art mighty, for thing own fake leave me;
Myfelf a weakling do not then infnare me;
Thou look'ft not like deceit, do not deceave me,
My fighs like whirlwinds labour hence to heave
If ever man was mov'd with woman's moans,
Be moved with my tears, my fighs, my groans.
All which together, like a troubled ocean,
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threat'ning heart,
To foften it with their continual motion;
For ftones diffolv'd to water do convert.
O! if no harder than a stone thou art,
Melt at my tears, and be compaffionate!
Soft pity enters at an iron gate.
In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee,
Haft thou put on his fhape to do him fhame?
To all the hoft of heaven I complain me;
Thou wrong'ft his honour, wound'ft his princ
Thou art not what thou feem'ft; and if the fame, Thou seem'ft not what thou art, a god, - kɛg; For kings, like gods, should govern every thing.
How will thy fhame be feeded in thine age,
When thus thy vices bud before thy fpring?
If in thy hope thou dar'st do fuch outrage,
What dar'ft thou not, when once thou art a ki
O! be remembred, no outrageous thing
From vaffal actors can be wip'd away,
Then kings mif leeds cannot be hid in clay.
This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear,
But happy monarch's ftill are fear'd for love:
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove:
If but for fear of this, thy will remove.
For princes are the glafs, the fchool, the berk
Where fubjects eyes do learn, do read, do lok
And wilt, thou be the fchool where laft £ learn?
Muft he in thee read lectures of fuch fhame?
Wilt thou be glass wherein it fhall difcern
Authority for fin, warrant for blame?
To privilege difhonoar in thy name,
Thou back'ft reproach against long-living land,
And mak'ft fair reputation but a biwd.
Haft thou command? by him that gave it thee
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy fword to guard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canft thou fulfil,
When pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may
He learn'd to fin, and thou didst teach the wa
Think but how vile a spectacle it were,
To view thy prefent trafpafs in another:
Men's faults do feldom to themselves appear,
Their own tranfgreffions partially they fmother
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy he
ther.
O! how are they wrapt in with infamies, That from their own mildeeds afkaunce the
Thou art (quoth fhe) a fea, a fovereign king, And lo! there falls into thy boundless flood Black luft, difhonour, fhame, mifgoverning, Who seek to ftain the ocean of thy blood. If all these petty ille should change thy good, The sea within a puddle's womb is herfed And not the puddle in thy fea dispersed.
So fhall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;
Thou nobly base, they bafely dignified;
Thou their fair life, and they their fouler grave;
Thou loathed in thy fhame, they in thy pride:
The leffer thing fhould not the greater hide.
The cedar ftoops not to the base shrub's foot,
But low fhrubs wither at the cedar's root.
So let thy thoughts low vaffals to thy ftate.-
No more, quoth he, by heaven I will not hear
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate, [thee:
Instead of love's coy touch, fhall rudely tear thee:
That done, difpitefully I mean to bear thee
Unto the bafe bed of fome rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this fhameful doom.
This faid, he fets his foot upon the light,
For light and luft are deadly enemies :
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unfeen, then most doth tyranize.
The wolf has feiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries,
Till with her own white fleece her voice con-
troul'd,
Intombs her outcry in her lips fweet fold.
For with the nightly linen that she wears,
He pens her piteous clamours in her head,
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears,
That ever modeft eyes with forrow shed.
O that prone luft fhould ftain fo pure a
The spots whereof, could weeping purify, Her tears should drop on them perpetually,
But he hath loft a dearer thing than life, And he hath won what he would lose again; This forced league doth force a further strife, This momentary joy breeds months of pain, This hot defire converts to cold difdain.
Pure chastity is rifled of her ftore,
And luft the thief far poorer than before.
Look as the full-fed hound, or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender fmell, or speedy flight,
Make flow purfuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight:
So furfeit-taking Tarquin fears this night;
His tafte delicious, in digeftion fouring,
Devours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring.
O! deeper fin, than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in ftill imagination!
Drunken Defire muft vomit his receipt,
E'er he can fee his own abomination.
While Luft is in his pride, no exclamation
Can curb his heat, or reign his rafh defire,
Till, like a jade, felf-will himself doth tire.
And then with lank and lean difcolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthlefs pace,
Feeble Defire all recreant, poor and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his cafe :
The flesh being proud, Defire doth fight with
grace.
For there it revels, and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remiffion prays.
So fares it with this fault-full Lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment fo hotly chaf'd;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That through the length of times he stands dif
Befides, his foul's fair temple is defac'd; [grac'd:
To whofe weak ruins mufter troops of cares,
To ask the spotted princefs how the fares.
She fays, her fubjects with foul infurrection
Have batter'd down her confecrated wail,
And by their mortal fault brought in fubjection
Her immortality, and made her thrail
To living death, and pain perpetual:
Which in her prefcience fhe coutrouled flill,
But her forefight could not fore-stall their will
E'en in this thought through the dark night he flealeth,
A captive victor, that hath loft in gain :
Bearing away the wound, that nothing healeth,
The fear that will, defpite of cure, remain :
Leaving his fpoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of luft he left behind,
And ke the burden of a guilty mind.
He like a thievifh dog creeps fadly thence,
She like a weary'd lamb lies panting there:
He fcowls and hates himself for his offence,
She defperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear:
He faintly flies, fweating with guilty fear;
She ftays exclaiming on the direful night,
He runs and chides his vanish'd loath'd delight.
He thence departs a heavy convertite;
She there remains a hopeless cast away:
He in his fpeed looks for the morning-light;
She prays the never may behold the day:
For day (quoth fhe) night-fcapes doth open lay;
And my true eyes have never practis'd how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.
They think not but that every eye can fee
The fame difgrace, which they themselves be-
hold;
And therefore would they ftill in darkness be,
To have their unfeen fin remain untold.
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave, like water that doth eat in fteel,
Upon my cheeks what helplefs fhame they feel.
Here the exclaims against repofe and reft,
And bids her eyes hereafter lill be blind:
She wakes her heart, by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
purer
rer cheft to clofe fo pure a mind.
Where now? have I no one to blufh with me? To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine;
To mask their brows, and hide their infamy.
But I alone, alone muft fit and pine;
Scafoning the earth with fhowers of filver brine;
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with
groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.
O Night! thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke!
Let not the jealous day behold that face,
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloke
Immodeftly lies martyr'd with difgrace.
Keep ftill poffeffion of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults, which in thy reign are
made,
May likewife be fepulchred in thy fhade.
Make me not object to the tell-tale day;
The light will fhew character'd in my brow,
The story of fweet Chastity's decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock's vow.
Yea, the illiterate, that know not how
To cypher what is writ in learned books,
Will quote my loathfome trefpafs in my looks.
The nurse, to ftill her child, will tell my fory, And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name The orator, to deck his oratory,
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's fhame.
Feaft-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
Will tye the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.
Let my good name, that fenfelefs reputation,
For Coliatine's dear love be kept unfpoted;
If that be made a theme for difputation,
The branches of another root are rotted,
And undeferv'd reproach to him allotted,
That is as clear from this attaint of mine,
As 1, e'er this, was pure to Collatine.
O unfeen fhame! invifible difgrace!
O unfelt fore! crefl-wounding private fear!
Reproach is ftampt in Collatinus' face,
And Tarquin's eye may read the mote afar,
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas! how many bears uch shameful blow,
Which not themselves, but he that gives
knows?
If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
From me, by ftrong affault, it is berest:
My honey loft, and I a drone-like bee,
Have no perfection of my fummer left,
But robb'd and ranfack'd by injurious theft:
In thy weak hive a wandring wafp hather
And fuck'd the honey which thy chafte bee big
Yet am I guiltlefs of thy honour's wreck?
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been difhonour to difdain him.
Befides, of wearinefs he did complain him,
And talk'd of virtue: O unlook'd for evil!
When virtue is profan'd in such a devil!
Why fhould the worm intrude the maiden b
Or hateful cuckows hatch in fparrow's nefis!
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?
Or kings be breakers of their own behefts?
But no perfection is fo abfolute,
That fome impurity doth not pollute.
The aged man, that coffers up his gold,
Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and pa
And fearce hath eyes his treasure to behold:
But ftill like pining Tantalus he fits,
And useless bans the harveft of his wits,
Having no other pleasure of his gain,
But torment, that it cannot cure his pain.
So then he hath it, when he cannot use it,
And leaves it to be mafter'd by his young,
Who in their pride do prefently abule it:
Their father was too weak, and they too fr
To hold their curfed bleffed fortune long.
The fweets we wish for, turn to loathed for,
Even in the moment that we call the
Unruly blafts wait on the tender fpring;
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious
flowers;
The adder hiffeth where the fweet birds fing;
What vertue breeds, iniquity devours:
We have no good, that we can say is ours;
But ill-annexed opportunity,
Or kills his life, or elfe his quality.
O! opportunity! thy guilt is great;
'Tis thou, that execut'ft the traitor's treafon :
Thou fet'ft the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the fin, thou point'ft the feafon :
'Tis thou that fpurn'ft at right, at law, at reafon;
And in thy fhady cell, where none may fpy her,
Sits fin to feize the fouls, that wander by her.
Thou mak'ft the veftal violate her oath;
Thou blow'ft the fire when temperance is thaw'd:
Thou fmother'ft honefty, thou murder'ft troth;
Thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd!
Theu planteft fcandal, and difplaceft laud:
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou falfe thief!
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to gricf.
Thy fecret pleasure turns to open fhame;
Thy private feafting to a public faft;
Thy Imoothing titles to a ragged name;
Thy fugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood tafte:
Thy violent vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being fo bad, fuch numbers feck for thee?
When wilt thou be the humble fuppliant's friend,
And bring him where his fuit may be obtain'’d?
When wilt thou fort an hour great ftrifes to end?
Or free that foul, which wretchedncfs hath chain'd?
Give phyfic to the fick, eafe to the pain'd?
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for
thee?
But they ne'er met with Opportunity.
The patient dies while the phyfician fleeps;
The orphan pines while the oppreffor feeds:
Juftice is featting while the widow weeps;
Advice is fporting while infection breeds:
Thou grant'ft no time for charitable deeds.
Wrath, envy, trafon, rape, and murders rages;
Thy heinous hours wait on them, as their
pages.
When truth and vertue have to do with thee,
A thousand croffes keep them from thy aid;
They buy thy help: but fin ne'er gives a fee;
He gratis comes, and thou art well apaid,
As well to hear, as grant what he hath faid:
My Collatine would elfe have come to me,
When Tarquin did; but he was ftaid by thee,
Guilty thou art of murder, and of theft;
Guilty of perjury, and fubornation;
Guilty of treafon, forgery and fhift;
uilty of inceft, that abomination;
An acceffary by thine inclination
To all fins paft, and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom.
Mishanen Time, copesemate of ugly Night;
Swift fubtle Poft, carrier of grilly Care;
Eater of youth, falfe flave to falle Delight, [fnare:
Bafe watch of woes, Sin's pack-horie, Vertue's
Thou nurfeft all, and murdercft all that are.
O! hear me then, injurious fhifting Time!
Be guilty of my death, fince of my crime.
Why hath thy fervant Opportunity
Betray'd the Hours, thou gav'ft me to repofe?
Cancel'd my fortunes, and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Time's office is to find the hate of foes,
To eat up Error by Opinion bred;
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.
Time's glory, is to calm contending kings;
To unmask falfhood, and bring truth to light;
To ftamp the feal of time on aged things;
To wake the morn, and centinel the night;
To wrong the wronger till he render right;
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,
And fmear with duft their glittering golden
To fill with worm-holes ftately monuments;
To feed oblivion with decay of things;
To blot old books, and alter their contents;
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens wings;
To dry the old oak's fap, and cherish springs;
To fpeil antiquities of hammer'd steel.
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel:
To fhew the beldame daughters of her daughter;
To make the child a man, the man a child;
To flay the tyger, that doth live by flaughter;
To tame the unicorn, and lion wild;
To mock the fubtle, in themfelves beguil'd;
To chear the plowman with increafuful crops,
And wafte huge ftones with little water-drops.
Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou could't return to make amends?
One poor retiring minute in an age,
Would purchase thee a thousand thoufand friends;
Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends.
O! this dread night! would't thou one hour
come back,
I could prevent this storm, and fhun this wrack.
Thou ceafelefs lacky to eternity,
With fome naifchance crofs Tarquin in his flight;
Devife extremes beyond extremity,
To make him curfe this curfed crimeful night:
Let ghaftly fhadows his lewd eyes affright;
And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bufh a hideous fhapeless devil.
Disturb his hours of reft with reftlefs trances;
Afflict him in his bed with hedrid groans:
Let there bechance him pitiful mifchances,
To make him moan; but pity not his moans: Stone him with harden'd hearts harder than ftones;
And kt mild women to him lofe their mildnefs;
Wilder to him than tygers in their wildness.
Let him have time to tear his curled hair; Let him have time against himself to rave; Let him have time of time's help to despair; Let him have time to live a loathed flave; Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave,
And time to fee one, that by alms doth live, Difdain to him difdained scraps to give.
Let him have time to fee his friends his foes,
And merry fools, to mock at him refort:
Let him have time to mark how flow time goes,
In time of forrow; and how fwift and fhort
His time of folly, and his time of fport:
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time.
O! Time! thou tutor both to good and bad! Teach me to curfe him, that thou taught'st this ill;
At his own fhadow let the thief run mad,
Himself, himself feek every hour to kill:
The remedy indeed to do me good, Is to let forth my foul defiled blood.
Poor hand why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thy felf to rid me of this shame:
For if I die, my honour lives in thee;
But if I live, thou liv'ft in my defame;
Since thou couldft not defend thy loyal dame,
And waft afraid to scratch her wicked for,
Kill both thy felf, and her for yielding fo.
This faid, from her betumbled couch she starteth, To find fome desperate inftrument of death; But this no flaughter-house, no tool imparteth, To make more vent for paffage of her breath, Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth, As fmoke from Ætna, that in air confumes, Or that which from discharged cannon fume,
In vain (quoth fhe), I live, and feek in vain
Some happy mean to end a hapless life:
I fear'd by Tarquin's fauchion to be flain;
Yet for the felf-fame purpose feek a knife:
But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife;
So am I now: Oh no! that cannot be;
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.
Oh! that is gone, for which I fought to live,
Such wretched hands fuch wretched blood fhould And therefore now I need not fear to die;
For who fo bafe would such an office have, As flanderous deaths-man to fo base a flave?
The bafer is he coming from a king,
To fhame his hope with deeds degenerate;
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing,
That makes him honour'd or begets him hate:
For greateft fcandal waits on greatest state.
The moon being clouded presently is mist;
But little stars may hide them, when they lift.
The crow may bathe his cole-black wings in mire,
And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away;
But if the like the fnow-white swan defire,
The ftain upon his filver down will flay.
Poor grooms are fightless Night, kings glorious
day.
Gnats are unnoted wherefoe'er they fly,
But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye.
Out idle words, fervants to fhallow fools!
Unprofitable founds, weak arbitrators!
Bufy your felves in fkill-contending fchools;
Debate, where leifure ferves, with dull debators:
To trembling clients be you mediators:
For me I force not argument a ftraw,
Since that my cafe is past the help of law.
In vain I rail at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and unfearchful Night!
In vain 1 cavil with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd defpight:
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.
To clear this fpot by death (at least) I give
A badge of fame to Slander's livery,
A dying life to living infamy.
Poor helpless help, the treafure ftol'n away,
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!
Well, well, dear Collatine! thou shalt not know
The ftained taste of violated troth:
I will not wrong thy true affection fo,
To flatter thee with an infringed oath :
This baftard graff shall never come to growth
He fhall not boaft, who did thy ftock pollux,
That thou art doating father of his fruit.
Nor fhall he smile at thee in fecret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state:
But thou fhalt know thy intereft was
bought,
Basely with gold, but stol'n frçm forth thy gate.
For me, I am the miftrefs of my fate,
And with my trefpafs never will dispense,
Till life to death acquit my first offence.
I will not poifon thee with my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleanly coin'd excules;
My fable ground of fin I will not paint,
To hide the truth of this falfe night's abufes:
My tongue fhall utter all; mine eyes, like faces,
As from a mountain fpring that feeds a dale,
Shall gufh pure ftreams to purge my impe
tale.
By this lamenting Philomel had ended
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly forrow:
And folen.n Night with flow fad gate defended
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