Page images

Then for thy husband, and thy children's sake, In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee:
Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot

Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame!
The shame that from them uo device can take, To all the host of heaven I complain me,
The blerfsh that will never be forgot;

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.
Look, when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear,
From carth's dark womb some gentle dust doth get, But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love:
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding, With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
Hindering their present fall by this dividing: When they in thee the like offences prove :
So his un hallow'd haste her words delays,

If but for fear of this, thy will remove;
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. For princes are the glass, the school, the book,

Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look.
Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally,
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth: And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,

Must he in thee read lectures of such shame ?
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth: Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern
His car her prayers admits, but his heart granteth Authority for sin, warrant for blame,
No penetrable entrance to her plaining :

To privilege dishonour in thy name ?
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining. Thou back'st reproach against long-lived laud,

And mak’st fair reputation but a bawd.
Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix’d
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ;

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
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified;

Have batter'd down her consecrated wall,
Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave: And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride : Her immortality, and made her tbrall
The lesser thing should not the greater hide; To living death, and pain perpetual:
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, Which in her prescience she controlled still,
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.

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.
This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:

He, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly thence,
Shame folded up in blind concealing night, She like a weary'd lamb lies panting there;
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannise. He scowls, and hates himself for his offence,
The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries; She desperate with her nails ber flesh doth tear;
Till with her own white fleece her voice controllid He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold: She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;

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.
Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight,

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk

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 deeper sin than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination !

O, comfort-killing night, image of hell!
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt,

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 ?
The silver-shining queen he would distain ; Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests?
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defild, Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Through night's black bosom skuld not peep again : Ur tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ?
So should I have copartners in my pain :

Or kings he breakers of their own bebests?
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,

But no perfection is so absolute,
As palmers' chat make short their pilgrimage. That some impurity doth not pollute.
Where now I have no one to blush with me, The aged man that coffers up his gold,
To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine, Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful Els;
To mask their brows, and hide their infamy; And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But I alone, alone must sit and pine,

But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine; And useless barns the harvest of his wits;
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, Having no other pleasure of his gain,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. But torment that it cannot cure his pain.
O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, So then he hath it, when he cannot use it,
Let not the jealous day behold that face

And leaves it to be master'd by his young;
Which underneath thy black all-biding cloak Who in their pride do presently abuse it :
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace!

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,
To 'cipher what is writ in learned books,

But ill annexed opportunity,
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. Or kills his life, or else his quality.
The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, 0, Opportunity! thy guilt is great:
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name; 'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason ;
The orator, to deck his oratory,

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,
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.

Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!
O unseen shame! invisible disgrace !
O unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar!

Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face,

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.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,
Which not themselves, but he that gives them, Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?

How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
knows !
If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,

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.
Yet am I guiltless of thy honour's wreck, The patient dies while the physician sleeps ;
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;

The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back, Justice is feasting while the widow weeps;
For it had been dishonour to disdain him :

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,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid; Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
They buy thy help: but Sin ne'er gives a fee, Let there bechance him pitiful mischances,
He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd, To make him moan; but pity not his moans;
As well to hear as grant what he hath said. Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones;
My Collatine would else have come to me

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,
From the creation to the general doom.

Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.
Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night, Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care;

And merry fools to mock at him resort :
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, (snare; Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are. His time of folly, and his time of sport :
O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!

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 ?
Time's glory is to calm contending kings,
To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, The baser is he, coming from a king,
To stamp the seal of time in aged things,

To shame his hope with deeds degenerate.
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night, The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
To wrong the wronger till he render right; That makes him honour'd, or begets him bate;
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers : The moon being clouded presently is missid,

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.
To shew the beldame daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child, Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools !
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!
To tame the unicorn and lion wild;

Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools ;
To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd; Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters;
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, To trembling clients be you mediators :
And waste huge stones with little water-drops. For me, I force not argument a straw,

Since that my case is past the help of law.
Why work’st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless tbou could'st return to make amends ? In vain I rail at opportunity,
One poor retiring minute in an age

At time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, In vain I cavil with mine infamy,
Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends : In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite :
O, this dread night, would'st thou one hour come This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.

The remedy indeed to do me good,
I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack ! Is to let forth my foul, defiled, blood.
Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,

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,
To find some desperate instrument of death : Holds disputation with each thing she views,
But this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth,

And to herself all.sorrow doth compare ;
To make more vent for passage of her breath; No object but her passions strength renews;
Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth And as one shifts, another straight ensues :
As smoke from Ætna, that in air consumes, Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words;
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords.
In vain, quoth she, I live, and seek in vain The little birds that tune their morning's joy,
Some happy mean to end a hapless life.

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
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.

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.

« PreviousContinue »