The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.
'Shameful it is: ay, if the fact239 be known,
Hateful it is: there is no hate in loving.
I'll beg her love, but she is not her own241:
The worst is but denial and reproving.
My will243 is strong, past reason's weak removing:
Who244 fears a sentence or an old man's saw
Shall by a painted cloth245 be kept in awe.'
Thus, graceless246, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot burning will,
And with good thoughts make dispensation248,
Urging the worser sense for vantage still249,
Which in a moment doth confound250 and kill
All pure effects251, and doth so far proceed
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.
Quoth253 he, 'She took me kindly by the hand
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes,
Fearing some hard255 news from the warlike band,
Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
O, how her fear did make her colour rise!
First red as roses that on lawn258 we lay,
Then white as lawn, the roses took259 away.
'And how her hand, in my hand being locked,
Forced it261 to tremble with her loyal fear!
Which262 struck her sad and then it faster rocked,
Until her husband's welfare she did hear,
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer
That, had Narcissus265 seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drowned him in the flood.
'Why hunt I then for colour267 or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth,
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses269,
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:
Affection271 is my captain and he leadeth,
And when his gaudy272 banner is displayed,
The coward273 fights and will not be dismayed.
'Then, childish fear, avaunt274! Debating, die!
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age!
My heart shall never countermand276 mine eye;
Sad277 pause and deep regard beseems the sage:
My part is youth and beats these from the stage.
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize:
Then who fears sinking280 where such treasure lies?'
As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful281 fear
Is almost choked by unresisted282 lust:
Away he steals with open list'ning ear,
Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust284,
Both which, as servitors285 to the unjust,
So cross286 him with their opposite persuasion
That now he vows a league287 and now invasion.
Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the selfsame seat sits Collatine.
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits290,
That eye which him beholds, as more divine291,
Unto a view292 so false will not incline,
But with a pure appeal seeks293 to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part,
And therein heartens up295 his servile powers,
Who, flattered by their leader's jocund296 show,
Stuff up297 his lust, as minutes fill up hours,
And as their captain, so their pride298 doth grow,
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate300 desire thus madly led,
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.
The locks between her chamber302 and his will,
Each one by him enforced, retires his ward303,
But as they open they all rate his ill304,
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard305:
The threshold grates the door to have him heard306,
Night-wand'ring weasels307 shriek to see him there,
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.
As each unwilling portal309 yields him way,
Through little vents and crannies of the place,
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay311
And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct313 in this case.
But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch,
And, being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle317 sticks.
He takes it from the rushes318 where it lies,
And gripping it, the needle his finger pricks,
As who should320 say, 'This glove to wanton tricks
Is not inured321. Return again in haste,
Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments322 are chaste.'
But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him.
He in the worst sense consters324 their denial:
The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial326,
Or as those bars327 which stop the hourly dial,
Who with a ling'ring stay his course doth let328
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.
'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend330 the time,
Like little frosts that sometime threat331 the spring
To add a more332 rejoicing to the prime
And give the sneaped333 birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income334 of each precious thing:
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves335 and sands,
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.'
Now is he come unto the chamber door
That shuts him from the heaven338 of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch and with no more
Hath barred him from the blessed thing340 he sought.
So from341 himself impiety hath wrought
That for his prey to pray he doth begin,
As if the heavens should countenance his sin.
But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,
Having solicited th'eternal power
That his foul346 thoughts might compass his fair fair,
And they347 would stand auspicious to the hour,
Even there he starts348. Quoth he, 'I must deflow'r.
The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact:
How can they then assist me in the act350?
'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide.
My will is backed with resolution:
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried,
The blackest sin is cleared354 with absolution,
Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution355.
The eye of heaven356 is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.'
This said, his guilty hand plucked up the latch,
And with his knee the door he opens wide359.
The dove sleeps fast360 that this night owl will catch.
Thus treason works361 ere traitors be espied.
Who362 sees the lurking serpent steps aside,
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal364 sting.
Into the chamber wickedly he stalks365
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed:
The curtains367 being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head.
By their high treason369 is his heart misled,
Which gives the watchword370 to his hand full soon
To draw the cloud371 that hides the silver moon.
Look as372 the fair and fiery-pointed sun,
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves373 our sight,
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink375, being blinded with a greater light.
Whether it is that she reflect
s so bright376
That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed,
But blind they are and keep themselves enclosed378.
O, had they in that darksome prison379 died
Then had they seen the period380 of their ill:
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side,
In his clear382 bed might have reposed still.
But they must ope383 this blessed league to kill,
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.
Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Coz'ning387 the pillow of a lawful kiss,
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder388,
Swelling389 on either side to want his bliss,
Between whose hills her head entombed is,
Where like a virtuous monument391 she lies,
To be admired of392 lewd unhallowed eyes.
Without393 the bed her other fair hand was
On the green coverlet, whose perfect white
Showed like an April daisy on the grass
With pearly sweat resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light397
And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay
Till they might open to adorn the day.
Her hair like golden threads played with her breath --
O modest wantons, wanton modesty! --
Showing life's triumph in the map402 of death
And death's dim look in life's mortality403.
Each404 in her sleep themselves so beautify,
As if between them twain405 there were no strife,
But that life lived in death and death in life.
Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden408 worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke409 they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred,
Who like a foul usurper went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.
What could he see but mightily he noted?
What did he note but strongly he desired?
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will417 his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure419 veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.
As the grim421 lion fawneth o'er his prey,
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay423,
His rage of lust by gazing qualified424,
Slaked425, not suppressed, for standing by her side,
His eye, which late426 this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar427 tempts his veins.
And they, like straggling slaves428 for pillage fighting,
Obdurate429 vassals fell exploits effecting,
In bloody death and ravishment430 delighting,
Nor431 children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting,
Swell in their pride432, the onset still expecting.
Anon433 his beating heart, alarum striking,
Gives the hot charge434 and bids them do their liking.
His drumming heart cheers up435 his burning eye,
His eye commends436 the leading to his hand,
His hand, as proud of such a dignity,
Smoking with pride, marched on to make his stand438
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land,
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale440,
Left their round turrets destitute and pale.
They, must'ring442 to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset444
And fright her with confusion of their cries.
She, much amazed, breaks ope her locked-up eyes,
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimmed and controlled.
Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly451 sprite,
Whose grim aspect452 sets every joint a-shaking --
What terror 'tis! But she, in worser taking453,
From sleep disturbed, heedfully454 doth view
The sight which makes supposed455 terror true.
Wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-killed bird she trembling lies:
She dares not look, yet winking458 there appears
Quick-shifting459 antics, ugly in her eyes:
Such shadows460 are the weak brain's forgeries,
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts462 them with more dreadful sights.
His hand that yet remains upon her breast --
Rude ram464 to batter such an ivory wall --
May feel her heart (poor citizen465) distressed,
Wounding itself to death466, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk467 that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity
To make the breach469 and enter this sweet city.
First like a trumpet doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley471 to his heartless foe,
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm473 to know,
Which he by dumb demeanour474 seeks to show.
But she with vehement prayers urgeth475 still
Under what colour476 he commits this ill.
Thus he replies, 'The colour in thy face,
That even for anger makes the lily pale
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,
Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale480.
Under that colour am I come to scale
Thy never-conquered fort: the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.
'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide484:
Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will486 abide,
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
Which488 I to conquer sought with all my might,
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred490.
'I see what crosses491 my attempt will bring,
I know what thorns the growing rose defends,
I think the honey493 guarded with a sting:
All this beforehand counsel494 comprehends.
But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends,
Only he hath496 an eye to gaze on beauty,
And dotes on what he looks, gainst law or duty.
'I have debated, even in my soul,
What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed
But nothing can affection's course control
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue502 the deed,
Reproach, disdain and deadly enmity,
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy504.'
This said, he shakes505 aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a falcon506 tow'ring in the skies,
Coucheth507 the fowl below with his wings' shade,
Whose508 crooked beak threats if he mount he dies.
So under his insulting509 falchion lies
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcons' bells511.
'Lucrece,' quoth he, 'this night I must enjoy thee.
If thou deny513, then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy514 thee.
That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay,
To kill thine honour with thy li
fe's decay,
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I slew him seeing thee embrace him.
'So thy surviving husband shall remain
The scornful mark520 of every open eye,
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blurred522 with nameless bastardy;
And thou, the author of their obloquy523,
Shalt have thy trespass524 cited up in rhymes
And sung by children in succeeding times.
'But if thou yield, I rest526 thy secret friend:
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted,
A little harm done to a great good end
For lawful policy remains enacted529.
The poisonous simple530 sometime is compacted
In a pure compound, being so applied
His venom in effect is purified.
'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake,
Tender my suit534, bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device535 can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot,
Worse than a slavish wipe537 or birth-hour's blot:
For marks descried538 in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.'
Here with a cockatrice540' dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself541 and makes a pause,
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind543 under the gripe's sharp claws,
Pleads544 in a wilderness where are no laws
To the rough beast that knows no gentle545 right
Nor aught546 obeys but his foul appetite.
But when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist th'aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get549,
Which blows these pitchy550 vapours from their biding,
Hind'ring their present fall551 by this dividing,
So his unhallowed552 haste her words delays,
And moody Pluto553 winks while Orpheus plays.
Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally554,
While in his holdfast555 foot the weak mouse panteth.
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly556,
A swallowing gulf557 that even in plenty wanteth.