Then for thy husband, and thy children's sake, In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee: Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame! Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot: name. For marks descried in men's nativity Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same, Are nature's faults, not their own infamy. Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king; For kings like gods should govern every thing. Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye, He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause; How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, While she, the picture of pure piety, When thus thy vices bud before thy spring ? Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws, If in thy hope thou dar’st do such outrage, Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws, What dar'st thou not, when once thou art a king ? To the rough beast that knows no gentle right, O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite. Prom vassal actors can be wip'd away; Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. If but for fear of this, thy will remove; Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. Must he in thee read lectures of such shame ? To privilege dishonour in thy name ? And mak’st fair reputation but a bawd. Hast thou command ? by him that gave it thee, Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd, From a pure heart command thy rebel will : Which to her oratory adds more grace. Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, She puts the period often from his place ; For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. And midst the sentence to her accent breaks, Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil, That twice she doth begin, ere once she speaks When, pattern’d by thy fault, foul Sin may say, He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way? She cónjures him by high almighty Jove, By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship’s oath, Think but how vile a spectacle it were, By her untimely tears, her husband's love, To view thy present trespass in another. By holy human law, and common troth, Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear; By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, Their own transgressions partially they smother : That to his borrow'd bed he make retire, This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies, That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes! Quoth she, reward not hospitality With such black payment as thou hast pretended; To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal, Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee; Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier; Mar not the thing that cannot be amended; I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal; End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended; Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire: He is no wood-man that doth bend bis bow His true respect will 'prison false desire, To strike a poor unseasonable doe. And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine. My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me; Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me ; Have done, quoth he; my uncontrolled tide Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me : Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me: Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to leave And with the wind in greater fury fret : thee. The petty streams that pay a daily debt If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans, To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste, Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans; Add to his flow, but alter not his taste. All which together, like a troubled ocean, Thou art, quoth she, a sea, a sovereign king Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threat’ning heart, And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood To soften it with their continual motion; Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, For stones dissolv'd to water do convert Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. 0, if not harder than a stone thou art, If all these petty ills shall change thy good, Melt at my tears and be compassionate ! | Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hers'd, Soft pity enters at an iron gate And not the puddle jo thy sea dispers'd. So shail these slaves be king, and thou their siave ; She says, her subjects with fuul insurrection Have batter'd down her consecrated wall, But her fore-sight could not fore-stall their wil.. So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state Even in this thought, through the dark night be No more, quoth he, by heaven, I will not hear thee; stealeth, Yield to my love; if not, enforced bate, A captive victor, that hath lost in gain; Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee; Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee The scar that will, despite of cure, remain; Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. To be thy partner in this shameful doom. She bears the load of lust he left behind, And he the burthen of a guilty mind. He, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly thence, He runs, and chides his vanish’d, loath’d, delight. For with the nightly linen that she wears, He pens her piteous clamours in her head; He thence departs a heavy convertite, Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears She there remains a hopeless cast-away: That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. He in his speed looks for the morning light, O, that prope lust should stain so pure a bed ! She prays she never may behold the day: The spots whereof could weeping purify, For day, quoth she, night's scapes doth open lay Her tears should drop on them perpetually. And my true eyes have never practis'd how To cloke offences with a cunning brow. But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, And he hath won what he would lose again ; They think not but that every eye can see This forced league doth force a further strife; The same disgrace which they themselves bebold; This momentary joy breeds months of pain; And therefore would they still in darkness be, This hot desire converts to cold disdain : To have their unseen sin remain untold; Pure chastity is rifled of her store, For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, And lust, the thief, far poorer than before. and grave, like water that doth eat in steel, Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel. Here she exclaims against repose and rest, And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. The prey wherein by nature they delight; She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night: And bids it leap from thence, where it may find His taste delicious, in digestion souring, Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. Deyours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring. Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spito Against the unseen secrecy of night. O, comfort-killing night, image of hell! Dim register ard notary of shame! Ere he can see his own abomination. Black stage for tragedies and murders fell ! Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame ! While lust is in his pride, no exclamation Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame! Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire, Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. With close-tongu'd treason and the ravisher! And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, 0, hateful, vaporous, and foggy night, With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : Make war against proportion'd course of time! The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with grace, Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb For there it revels; and when that decays, His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, The guilty rebel for remission prays. Knit poisonous clouds about his golden bead. So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, With rotten damps ravish the morning air; Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd; Let their exhald unwbolesome breaths make sich For now against himself he sounds this doom,- The life of purity, the supreme fair, That through the length of times he stands disgrac'd: Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick; Besides, his soul's fair temple is defac’d; And let thy misty vapours march so thick, To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light 1o ask the spotted princess how she fares. May set at noon and make perpetual night. Were Tarquin night, (as be is but night's child,) Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud ? Or kings he breakers of their own bebests? But no perfection is so absolute, But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, And leaves it to be master'd by his young; Their father was too weak, and they too strong, Keep still possession of thy gloomy place To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. That all the faults which in thy reign are made, The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, May likewise be sepulcher'd in thy shade! Even in the moment that we call them ours. Make me not object to the tell-tale day! Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; The light will shew, charácter'd in my brow, Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers; The story of sweet chastity's decay, The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; The impious breach of holy wedlock vow What virtue breeds, iniquity devours : Yea, the illiterate that know not how We have no good that we can say is ours, But ill annexed opportunity, Thou set'st the wolf where be the lamb may get; Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame: Whoever plots the sin, thou point'st the season; Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, 'Tis tbou that spurn’st at right, at law, at reason ; Will tie the hearers to attend each line, And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. Let my good name, that senseless reputation Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath : For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted : Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd; If that be made a theme for disputation, Thou smother’st honesty, thou murder’st troth; The branches of another root are rotted; Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd! And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted, Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud : That is as clear from this attaint of mine, Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, Thy private feasting to a public fast; And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name; How he in peace is wounded, not in war. Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste : Thy violent vanities can never last. How comes it then, vile Opportunity, When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, From me by strong assault it is bereft. And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd ? My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end ? Have no perfection of my summer left, Or free that soul which wretchedness bath chain'd? But robb’d and ransack'd by injurious theft : Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd? In thy weak bive a wandering wasp hath crept, The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; Advice is sporting while infection breeds; Besides of weariness he did complain him, Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds : And talk'd of virtue:-0, unlook’d-for evil, Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages, When virtue is profan'd in such a devil. Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, And let mild women to him lose their mildness, When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. Guilty thou art of murder and of theft ; Let him have time to tear his curled hair, Guilty of perjury and subornation; Let him have time against himself to rave, Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift; Let hịm have time of Time's help to despair, Guilty of incest, that abomination : Let him have time to live a loathed slave, An accessary by thine inclination Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave; To all sins past, and all that are to come, And time to see one that by alms doth live, Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. And merry fools to mock at him resort : And ever let his unrecalling crime Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. Have time to wail the abusing of his time. Why hath thy servant, Opportunity, O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose ? Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill! Cancel'd my fortunes, and enchained me At his own shadow let the thief run mad, To endless date of never-ending woes ? Himself, himself seek every hour to kill ! Time's office is, to fine the hate of foes; Such wretched hands such wretched blood should To eat up errors by opinion bred, spill: Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. For who so base would such an office have As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave ? To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. But little stars may hide them when they list. To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, To feed oblivion with decay of things, The crow may bathe bis coal-black wings in mire, To blot old books, and alter their contents, And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away; To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings; But if the like the snow-white swan desire, To dry the old oak’s sap, and cherish springs; The stain upon his silver down will stay. To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day. And turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel: Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools ; Since that my case is past the help of law. At time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night; The remedy indeed to do me good, Poor hand, why quiver’st thou at this decree? With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight : Honour thyself to rid me of this shame; Devise extremes beyond extremity, For if I die, my honour lives in thee, To make him curse this cursed crimeful night: But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame; Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright; Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame, And the dire thought of his committed evil And wast afear'd to scratch her wicked foe, Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. Kill both thyself and her for yielding so This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth, So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, And to herself all.sorrow doth compare ; Make her moans mad with their sweet melody; I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain, For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy; Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife : Sad souls are slain in merry company; But when I fear'd, I was a loyal wife; Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society: So am I now :-( no, that cannot be ; True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed, Or that true type bath Tarquin rifled me. When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. 0! that is gone, for which I sought to live, 'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore. And therefore now I need not fear to die. He ten times pines, that pines beholding food; To clear this spot by death, at least I give To see the salve doth make the wound ake inore; A badge of fame to slander's livery; Great grief grieves most at that would do it good: A dying life to living infamy: Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away, Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows; To burn the guiltless casket where it lay! Grief dallied with nur law nor limit knows. Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomo The stained taste of violated troth; Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts! I will not wrong thy true affection so, And in my hearing be you mute and dumb ! To flatter thee with an infringed oath; (My restless discord loves no stops nor rests; This bastard graff shall never come to growth : À woeful hostess brooks not merry guests :) He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute, Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears; That thou art doating father of his fruit. Distress like dumps when time is kept with tears Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, Nor laugh with his companions at thy state; Make thy sad grove in my dishevel'd hair. But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought, As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. So I at each sad strain wili strain a tear, For me, I am the mistress of my fate ; And with deep groans the diapason bear: And with my trespass never will dispense, For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence. While thou on Tereus descant'st, better skill. I will not poison thee with my attaint, And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses ; To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, My sable ground of sin I will not paint, To imitate thee well, against my heart To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye: My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices, Who, if it wiak, shall thereon fall and die. As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, These means, as frets upon an instrument, Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale. Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment By this, lamenting Philomel had ended The well-tuned warble of her vightly sorrow, And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended As shaming any eye should thee behold, To ugly hell; when lo, the blushing morrow Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow : That knows not parching beat nor freezing cold, Will we find out; and there we will unfold To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds; Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds. Revealing day through erery cranny spies, And seems to point her out where she sits weeping ; As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, To whom she sobbing speaks: O eve of eyes, Wildly determining which way to fiy; Why pry’st thou through my window?' leave thy Or one incompass'd with a winding maze, peeping; That cannot tread the way out readily; Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping: So with herself is she in mutiny, Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, To live or die which of the twain were better, For day hath nought to do what's done by night. When life is sham'd, and death reproaches debtor. Thus cavils she with every thing she sees : To kill myself, quoth she, alack! what were it, True grief is fond and testy as a child, But with my body my poor soul's pollution ? Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees. They that lose half, with greater patience bear it, Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild; Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion Continuance tames the one; the other wild, That mother tries a merciless conclusion, Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still, Who having two sweet babes, wben death takes one, With too much labour drowns for want of skill Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. |