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This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,

1“ Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such Through which it enters to surprise her heart,

weeping ? Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,

What may a heavy groan advantage thee? With cold pale weakness numbs each feeling part: Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see? Toey basely ily, and dare not stay the field. Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,

Since her best work is ruind with thy rigour." Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;

Till, cheering up her senses sore-dismay'd, Here overcome, as one full of despair, Sbe tells them, 't is a causeless fantasy,

She veil'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd Apd childish errour that they are afraid ;

The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair Bds them leave quaking, wills them fear no more;- In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd; And with that word she spy'd the hunted boar; But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,

| And with his strong course opens them again. Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,

Like milk and blood being mingled both together, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow! A second fear through all her sinews spread,

Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye; Which madly hurries her she knows not whither; Both crystals where they view'd each other's sorrow, This way she runs, and now she will no further, Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry; But back retires, to rate the boar for murder. But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,

Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;

Sbe treads the paths that she untreads again; Variable passions throng her constant woe, Her inore than haste is mated with delays,

As striving which should best become her grief; Like the proceedings of a drunken brain; All entertain'd, each passion labours so, Fall of respect, yet nought at all respecting,

That every present sorrow seemeth chief, In band with all things, nought at all effecting. But none is best; then join they all together,

Like many clouds cousulting for foul weather. Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound,

And asks the weary caitiff for his master; By this, far off she bears some huntsman bolla ; And there another licking of his wound,

A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well: "Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; The dire imagination she did follow And here she meets another, sadly scowling,

This sound of hope doth labour to expell; To wbom she speaks; and he replies with howling. For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,

And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice. When he had ceas'd his ill-resounding noise,

Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, Against the welkin vollies out his voice;

Being prisond in ber eye, like pearls in glass; Apother and another answer him,

Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass, Shaking their scratcb'd ears bleeding as they go. To wasb the foul face of the sluttish ground,

Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. Look, how the world's poor people are amazed, At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;

Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes, So sbe at these sad signs draws up her breath, Despair and hope make thee ridiculous: And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death.

The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,

With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. * Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,

Hateful divorce of love," thus chides she Death; Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought; “ Grim-grinning ghost, Earth's worm, what dost Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame; thou mean

It was not she that call'd him all to nanght; To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath,

Now she adds honour to his hateful name; Who wben he liv'd, his breath and beauty set She clepés him king of graves, and grave for kings, Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

Imperial supreme of all mortal things.

# If he be dead-O no, it cannot be,

Seeing his beauty, thou should'st strike at it
O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see,

Bat hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble, age; but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.

“ No, no," quoth she, “sweet Death, I did but jest; | Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear, When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,

Which knows no pity, but is still severe; Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess) 1 rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

* Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,

And bearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;

They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower.
Lore's golden arrow at bim should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike bim dead.

T is not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue :

Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander; "T is he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong ;

I did but act, he 's author of thy slander; Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet Could rule them both, without ten women's wit."

Tbus hoping that Adonis is alive,

| "My tongue cannot express my grief for one, Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;

And yet," quoth she, “ behold two Adons dead ! And that his beauty may the better thrive, My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, With Death she humbly doth insinuate;

Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead : Tells him of tropbies, statues, tombs; and stories Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire ! His victories, bis triumphs, and his glories. So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

“ O Jove," quoth she, “ how much a fool was I,

To be of such a weak and silly mind,
To wail his death, wbo lives, and must not die,

Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

“ Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost !

What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music pow? what canst thou boast

Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him.

“ Fie, fie, fond Love, thou art so full of fear, “ Bonnet or veil henceforth no creature wear!

As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves; I Nor Sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,

Having no fair to lose, you need not fear; Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves." The Sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you. Even at this word she hears a merry horn,

But when Adonis liv'd, Sun and sharp air Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn. Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair ;

As faulcon to the lure, away she flies;

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; And in her haste unfortunately spies

The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight; Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew.

" And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
| Under whose brim the gawdy Sun would peep;

The wind would blow it off, and, being gone,
| Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep:
And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry bis tears.

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, “ To see his face, the lion walk'd along

Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, Behind some hedge, because he would not fear And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,

him ; Long after fearing to creep forth again;

To recreate himself, when he hath sung, So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled

The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him : Into the deep dark cabins of her head,

If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,

And never fright the silly lamb that day.
Where they resign'd their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;

“ When he beheld his shadow in the brook, Who bids them still consort with ugly night,

The fishes spread on it their golden gills; And never wound the heart with looks agains When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, Who, like a king perplexed in his throne,

That some would sing, some other in their bills By their suggestion gives a deadly groan.

Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries;

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. Whereat each tributary subject quakes ;

As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, “ But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, Struggling for passage, Earth's foundation shakes, | Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,

Which with cold terrours doth men's mind con- Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore; This mutiny each part doth so surprise, [found: Witness the entertainment that he gave; That from their dark beds, once more, leap hereyes; If he did see his face, why then I know,

He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.

Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd “ 'T is true, 't is true; thus was Adonis slain ; In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white

He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, With purple tears, that his wound wept, was Who would not whet his teeth at him again, drench'd :

But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, | And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed. Sheath'd, unaware, his tusk in his soft groin.

Over one shoulder doth she hang her head; Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;

She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow; Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.

" Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess

With kissing him I should have kill'd him first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless

My youth with his; the more I am accurs'd.”
With this she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

Upon his hurt she looks so stedfastly, (three; She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;

That her sight dazzling makes the wound scem She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; And then she reprehends her mangling eye, [be: She whispers in his ear a heavy tale,

That makes more gashes where no breach should As if he heard the woeful words she told : His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled; She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. Where lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies :

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld • Thus, weary of the world, away she hies,

A thousand times, and now no more reflect; And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies And every beauty robb'd of his effect :

In her light chariot quickly is convey'd, « Wonder of time," quoth she, “this is my spite, Holding their course to Papbos, where their queen That, you being dead, the day should yet be light. Means to immure berself, and not be seen.

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e It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,

Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, (sures.

Plack down the rich, enrich the poor with trea-
It shall be raging mad, and silly-mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.

* It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear;

It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust; It shall be merciful, and too severe,

And most deceiving, when it seems most just; Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward, Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

The love I dedicate to your lordship is without
end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning,
is but a superfluons moiety. The warrant I have
of your honourable disposition, not the worth of
my untutored lines, makes it assured of accept-
ance. 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
show 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,


" It shall be cause of war, and dire events,

And set dissention 'twixt the son and fire ;
Sabject and servile to all discontents,

As dry combustious matter is to fire;
Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,
They that love best, their love shall not enjoy."


By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd,

Was melted like a vapour from her sight, And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,

A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white; Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood Whichi in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,

Comparing it to her Adonis' breath;
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,

Since he himself is reft from her by death :
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

“ Poor flower," quoth she, “ this was thy father's

guise, (Swert issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) For every little grief to wet his eyes :

To grow unto bimself was bis desire, And so 't is tbine; but kuow, it is as good To wither in my breast, as in his blood.

Lucius Tarquinjus (for his excessive pride sur

named Superbus) after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, bad possessed himself of the kingdom ; went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege, the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextns Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife ; among whom, Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome; and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife (though it were late in the night) spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece's beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to tbe camp; from whence he shortly after pri

" Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;

Thou art the next of blood, and 't is thy right:
Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest,

My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
There shall not be one minute of an hour,
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's Power,"


vily withdrew himself, and was (according to Perchance his boast of Lucrece sovereignty
his estate) royally entertained and lodged by Suggested this proud issue of a king;
Lucrece at Collatium. The same night, he For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:
treacherously stealeth into her chamber, vio Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,
lently ravished her, and early in the morning Braving compare, disdainfully did sting (vaunt
speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should
plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to the golden hap which their superiors want.
Rome for her father, another to the camp for
Collatine. They came, the one accompanied But some untimely thought did instigate
with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Va- His all too-timeless speed, if none of those :
Jerius; and finding Lacrece attired in mourning His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
habit demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
first taking an oath of them for her revenge, re To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
vealed the actor, and whole manner of his deal- O rash-false heat, wrapt in repentant cold,
ing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old !
done, with one consent they all vowed to root
out the whole hated family of the Tarquins; When at Collatium this false lord arriv'd,
and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus ac Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame,
quainted the people with the doer and manner Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd
of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against Which of them both should underprop ber fame:
the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame;
were so moved, that with one consent and a ge- When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
neral acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, Virtue would stain that or with silver white.
and the state government changed from kings
to consuls.

But beauty, in that white intituled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field;
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild

Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;

Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,

When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. From the besieged Ardea all in post, Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, . Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white. And to Collatium bears the lightless fire

Of either's colour was the other queen,
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, Proving from world's minority their right :
And girdle with embracing flames the waist Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. The sovereignty of either being so great,

That oft they interchange each other's seat.
Haply that name of chaste uphapp'ly set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite;

This silent war of lilies and of roses
When Collatine unwisely did not let

Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, To praise the clear unmatched red and white

In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,,

Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, Where mortal stars, as bright as Heaven's beauties, The coward captive vanquished doth yield With pure aspects did bim peculiar duties.

To those two armies that would let him go,

Rather than triumph in so false a foe. For be the night before, in Tarquin's tent,

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state ; What priceless wealth the Heaveus had him lent

|(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so)

| In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, In the possession of his beauteous mate;

Which far exceeds his barren skill to show: Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,

Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe, That kings might be espoused to more fame,

Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. O happiness enjoy'd but of a few !

This earthly saint, adored by this devil, And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done

Little suspecteth the false worshipper; As is the morning's silver-melting dew

For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream on evil; Against the golden splendour of the Sun !

Birds never limb'd no secret bushes fear: An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun :

So guiltless she securely gives good cheer Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,

And reverend welcome to her princely guest, Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.

Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd : Beauty itself doth of itself persuade

For that he colour'd with his high estate, The eyes of men without an orator;

Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty; What needeth then apology be made

That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, To set forth that which is so singular?

Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, Or why is Collatine the publisher

Which, having all, all could not satisfy; Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store, From thievish ears, because it is his own?

That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But sbe that never cop'd with stranger eyes, Now stole upon the time the dead of night, Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes; Nor read the subtle-shining secresies

| No comfortable star did lend his light, Writ in the glassy margents of such books; No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boiling cries : She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no books; Now serves the season that they may surprise Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,

The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still, More than his eyes were open'd to the light. While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. He stories to her ears' ber husband's fame, And now this lastful lord leap'd from bis bed, Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;

Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm; And decks with praises Collatine's high dame, Is madly toss'd between desire and dread; Made glorious by his manly chivalry,

The one sweetly Batters, the other feareth harm; With bruised arms and wreaths of victory :

But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm, Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express, Doth too too oft betake him to retire, And, wordless, so greets Heaven for his success, Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire. Far from the purpose of his coming thither, His falchion on a fint he softly smiteth, He makes excuses for his being there.

That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather Whereat a waxen torch forth with he lighteth, Doth yet in his fair welkin once apprar;

Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye; Till sable Night, mother of dread and fear,

And to the flame thus speaks advisedly : Upon the world dim darkness doth display, " As from this cold Mint I enforc'd this fire, And in her vaulty prison stows the day.

So Lucrece must I force to my desire." For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,

Here, pale with fear, he doth premeditate latending weariness with heavy spright;

The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, For, atter supper, long he questioned

And in his inward mind he doth debate ith modest Lucrece, and wore out the night: What following sorrow may on this arise: Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth tight; | Then looking scornfully, he doth despise And every one to rest himself betakes, (wakes. His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust, Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust. As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving “ Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining; To darken her whose light excelleth thine! Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,

And die, unballow'd thoughts, before you blot Though weak-built hopes persuade himn to abstaining: With your uncleanness that which is divine ! Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining; Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine: And when great treasure is the meed proposed, let fair humanity abhor the deed Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed. That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed.

Those that much covet, are with gain so fond, “O shame to knighthood and to shining arms !
That what they have not (that which they possess) O foul dishonour to my household's grave!
They scatter and unloose it from their bond, O impious act, including all foul harms!
And so, by hoping more, they have but less; A martial man to be soft fancy's slave!
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess

True calour still a true respect should have; Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,

Then my digression is so vile, so base, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. That it will live engraven in my face.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life

Tith honour, wealth, and ease, in waining age;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage;
As life for honour, in fell battles' rage ;
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.

“ Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat;
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
To cipher me, how fondly I did dote;
That my posterity, sham'd with the note,
Sball curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
To wish that I their father had not been.

So that in vent'ring ill, we leave to be
The things we are, for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirinity,
In baving much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we bave, and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing, by augmenting it.

« 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?

Sach hazard now must doting Tarquin make, “ If Collatipus dream of my intent,
Pavoing his honour to obtain his last;

Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
And for himself, himself he must forsake:

Post bither, this vile purpose to prevent ? Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust? This siege that hath engirt his marriage, When shall be think to find a stranger just, This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, When he himself himself confounds, betrays | This dying virtue, this surviving shame, To slapderous tongues, and wretched hateful days? Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?

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