Who being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
  But when her lips were ready for his pay,
  He winks, and turns his lips another way.
Never did passenger in summer's heat,
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn^{3 note}:
  O, pity, 'gan she cry, flint-hearted boy;
  'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?
I have been woo'd as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war;
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes, in every jar;
  Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
  And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.
Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton^{4 note}, dally, smile, and jest;
  Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red,
  Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
Thus he that over-rul'd, I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain^{5 note}

Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain^{6 note}
.
  O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
  For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight.
Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,
(Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,)
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine;—
What see'st thou in the ground? hold up thy head;
  Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies:
  Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes^{7 note}?
Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where there are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight^{8 note}



:
  These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean,
  Never can blab, nor know not we mean^{9 note}.

The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shews thee unripe; yet may'st thou well be tasted;
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
  Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime,
  Rot and consume themselves in little time.
Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice^{1 note}

,
O'er-worn, despised, reumatick and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice^{2 note},
  Then might'st thou pause, for then I were not for thee;
  But having no defects, why dost abhor me?
Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are grey^{3 note}, and bright, and quick in turning;

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
  My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
  Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.
Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen^{4 note}


:
  Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
  Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire^{5 note}

And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye^{9 note}

The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me:
  And were I not immortal, life were done^{6 note}
,
  Between this heavenly and earthly sun.
Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
  O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind^{7 note}

What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
  Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
  And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.
Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image, dull and dead,
Statue, contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred;
  Thou are no man, though of a man's complexion,
  For men will kiss even by their own direction.
This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and firy eyes blaze forth her wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause:
  And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
  And now her sobs do her intendments^{1 note} break.
Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band;
She would, he will not in her arms be bound:
  And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
  She locks her lily fingers, one in one^{2 note}

  And this I do^{6 note}, to captivate the eye
  Of the fair breeder that is standing by.
What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering holla^{7 note}

  Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels,
  Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy malecontent,
He vails his tail^{5 note}, that, like a falling plume
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent^{6 note};
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume:
  His love perceiving how he is enrag'd,
  Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd.
His testy master goeth about to take him;
When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
  As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
  Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.
All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits,
Banning^{7 note}
his boist'rous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
  For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,
  When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue^{8 note}


.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage^{9 note};
  But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
  The client breaks^{1 note}

  But now, her cheek was pale, and by and by
  It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.
Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:
  His tend'rer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
  As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.
O, what a war of looks was then between them!
Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
  And all this dumb play had his acts^{4 note}


made plain
  With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain^{5 note}
.
Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
  This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
  Show'd like two silver doves that sit a billing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound^{6 note};

  For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
  Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee.
Give me my hand, saith he, why dost thou feel it?
Give me my heart, saith she, and thou shalt have it;
O give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it^{7 note}
,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it^{8 note}:
  Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
  Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.
For shame, he cries, let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so;
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone;
  For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
  Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.
Thus she replies: Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire.
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:
  The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none^{9 note}

;
  Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.
How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree^{1 note},
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!

But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
  Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
  Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.
Who sees his true love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white^{6 note}

To take advantage on presented joy;
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee:
  O learn to love; the lesson is but plain,
  And, once made perfect, never lost again.
I know not love, (quoth he,) nor will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it^{8 note};
  For I have heard it is a life in death,
  That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath^{9 note}

To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;
  Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips^{9 note}


  Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.
A thousand kisses buys my heart from me^{1 note}

;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches^{2 note} unto thee?
Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone?
  Say, for non-payment that the debt should double^{3 note},
  Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?
Fair queen, quoth he, if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years^{4 note};
Before I know myself, seek not to know me;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:

  The mellow plumb doth fall, the green sticks fast,
  Or being early pluck'd, is sour to taste.
Look, the world's comforter^{5 note}

  He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
  While she takes all she can, not all she listeth^{1 note}
.
What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp'ring,
And yields at last to every light impression^{2 note}

Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
  She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck^{2 note},
  He on her belly falls, she on her back.
Now is she in the very lists of love^{3 note}

,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter:
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her, although he mount her;
  That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy.
  To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy^{4 note}.
Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes^{5 note}

Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw^{6 note}

  The many musits through the which he goes^{8 note}

Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine;
  Wherein she fram'd thee, in high heaven's despite,
  To shame the sun by day, and her by night.
And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies,
To cross the curious workmanship of nature;
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature^{2 note}
;
  Making it subject to the tyranny
  Of mad mischances^{3 note}

Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities,
Whereat the impartial gazer^{6 note} late did wonder,
  Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done^{7 note}

Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity^{2 note}?
  If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
  Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.
So in thyself thyself art made away;
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
Or theirs, whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher-sire^{3 note}, that reaves his son of life.
  Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,
  But gold that's put to use, more gold begets^{4 note}

  Full of respect^{3 note}, yet nought at all respecting:
  In hand with all things, nought at all effecting^{4 note}


.
Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master;
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
  And here she meets another sadly scowling,
  To whom she speaks; and he replies with howling.
When he hath ceas'd^{5 note} his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin vollies out his voice;
Another and another answer him;
  Clapping their proud tails to the ground below.
  Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.
Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz'd,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
  So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath,
  And, sighing it again, exclaims on death.

Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love, (thus chides she death,)
Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean,
To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath,
  Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
  Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?
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,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
  Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart
  Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.
Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And hearing him, thy power had lost his power,
The destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee^{6 note} crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:
  Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
  And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead^{7 note}

Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow;
Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
  But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain^{5 note}

Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,
  To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
  Who is but drunken^{9 note}


, when she seemeth drown'd.
O hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope make thee ridiculous:
  The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
  In likely thoughts^{1 note} the other kills thee quickly.
Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and death is not to blame;
It was not she that call'd him all to nought;
Now she adds honours^{2 note}

to his hateful name;
  She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings;
  Imperious supreme^{3 note}

Who bids them still consort with ugly night^{8 note}
,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
  Who, like a king perplexed in his throne,
  By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,
Whereat each tributary subject quakes^{9 note}


;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground^{1 note}





,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound^{2 note}:
  This mutiny each part doth so surprise,
  That, from their dark beds, once more leap her eyes;
And, being open'd, threw unwilling light^{3 note}
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd^{4 note}

In his soft flank: whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd^{5 note}:
  No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
  But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed.
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, frantickly she doteth^{6 note}

;
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.
Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling^{7 note}


makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be:
  His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
  For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.
My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet, quoth she, behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
  Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire^{8 note}!
  So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is musick now^{9 note}
? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?
  The flowers are sweet^{1 note}, their colours fresh and trim;
  But true-sweet beauty liv'd and died with him^{2 note}.
Bonnet nor veil^{3 note} henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you^{4 note}

  But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
  Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:
And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep,
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone,
Play with his locks^{7 note}; then would Adonis weep:
  And straight in pity of his tender years,
  They both would strive who first should dry his tears.
To see his face, the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him^{8 note}
;
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tyger would be tame^{9 note}

, and gently hear him;
  If he had spoke the wolf would leave his prey,
  And never fright the silly lamb that day.
When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
  Would bring him mulberries, and ripe-red cherries;
  He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.
But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar^{1 note},
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave:

  If he did see his face, why then I know,
  He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so^{2 note}

Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
  Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite^{7 note},
  That, you being dead, the day should yet be light.
Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy,
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;
  Ne'er settled equally, but high or low^{8 note}

Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
  There shall not be one minute in an hour,
  Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.
Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid,
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
  Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
  Means to immure herself and not be seen¹. ^note

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,
  That kings might be espoused to more fame,
  But king nor peer to such a peerless dame^{5 note}

  Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
  Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.
Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator^{9 note}

In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses^{9 note}

For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear^{2 note}

:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
  And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
  Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd:
For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty^{3 note}

  Nor could she moralize his wanton sight^{7 note},
  More than his eyes were open'd to the light.
He stories to her ears her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory^{8 note}

;
  Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express,
  And wordless so, greets heaven for his success.
Far from the purpose of his coming thither,
He makes excuses for his being there.
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
  Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
  And in her vaulty prison stows the day^{9 note}

Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:
Despair to gain, doth traffick oft for gaining;
  And when great treasure is the meed propos'd,
  Though death be adjunct^{5 note}
, there's no death suppos'd.
Those that much covet, are with gain so fond,
That what they have not, that which they possess^{6 note}

  Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,
  That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.
The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With 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.
So that in vent'ring ill^{7 note}

  Doth too too oft betake him to retire^{2 note},
  Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.
His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye^{3 note}
;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly:
  As from this cold flint I enforc'd this fire,
  So Lucrece must I force to my desire^{4 note}


.
Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise,
And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise:
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
  His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust^{5 note},
  And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust.
Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine^{6 note}


!
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot

With your uncleanness that which is divine!
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:
  Let fair humanity abhor the deed
  That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed^{7 note}.
O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!
O foul dishonour to my houshold's grave!
O impious act, including all foul harms!
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave^{8 note}
!
True valour still a true respect should have;
  Then my digression^{9 note}

To cipher me, how fondly I did dote;
That my posterity, sham'd with the note,
  Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
  To wish that I their father had not been.
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^{2 note}

  And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
  But coward-like with trembling terrour die.
Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,
Or lain in ambush to betray my life,
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife;
As in revenge or quittal of such strife:
  But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend^{3 note}

,
  The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.
Shameful it is;—ay, if the fact be known^{4 note}

  All pure effects^{6 note}

  That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
  Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.
Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:
Affection is my captain, and he leadeth;
  And when his gawdy banner is display'd^{2 note},
  The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd.
Then childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age^{3 note}

  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 needle sticks;
He takes it from the rushes where it lies^{5 note}

;
And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks^{6 note}

And they would stand auspicious to the hour^{4 note}

  But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
  Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.
Into the chamber wickedly he stalks^{7 note}

  That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;
  But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.
O, had they in that darksome prison died,
Then had they seen the period of their ill!
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece's side,
In his clear bed might have reposed still:
But they must ope, 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^{1 note},
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss²; ^note

Swelling on either side, to want his bliss;
Between whose hills her head intombed is:
  Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies^{4 note}

And him by oath they truly honoured^{3 note}

  His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,
  Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:
And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,
Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting^{7 note}

Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land^{1 note}

Quick-shifting anticks, ugly in her eyes;
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries^{4 note}

The reason of this rash alarm to know,
Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;
  But she with vehement prayers urgeth still,
  Under what colour he commits this ill.
Thus he replies: The colour in thy face^{9 note}



(That even for anger makes the lily pale,
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace^{1 note}


,)
Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale:
Under that colour am I come to scale
  Thy never-conquer'd fort^{1 note}

My will that marks thee for my earth's delight^{2 note}
,
Which I to conquer sought with all my might;
  But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
  By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.
I see what crosses my attempt will bring;
I know what thorns the growing rose defends;
I think the honey guarded with a sting^{3 note};
All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends:
But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;
  Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
  And dotes on what he looks^{4 note}, 'gainst law or duty.
I have debated^{5 note}






, 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 ensue the deed;
  Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;
  Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a faulcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below^{6 note}

  Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes^{1 note}

Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws^{8 note}

Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding,
Hindering their present fall by this dividing:
  So his unhallow'd haste 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 panteth:
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly^{1 note}
,
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
  No penetrable entrance to her plaining:
  Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face^{2 note};
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd,
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the period often from his place;
  And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks,
  That twice she doth begin, ere once she speaks^{3 note}




.
She cónjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet 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 desire.
Quoth she, reward not hospitality^{4 note}


With such black payment as thou hast pretended^{5 note}

;
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended;
End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended^{6 note}

  Thou back'st reproach against long-lived laud,
  And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd.
Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil,
  When, pattern'd by thy fault^{4 note}
, foul Sin may say,
  He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way?
Think but how vile a spectacle it were,
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear;
Their own transgressions partially they smother:
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
  O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies,
  That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes!
To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier^{5 note}
;
I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal^{6 note}

;
Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire:
His true respect will 'prison false desire,
  And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,
  That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.

Have done, quoth he; my uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide^{7 note}
,
And with the wind in greater fury fret^{8 note}
:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
  To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste,
  Add to his flow, but alter not his taste^{9 note}

Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:
The lesser thing should not the greater hide;
  The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
  But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.
So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state—
No more, quoth he, by heaven, I will not hear thee;
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch^{3 note}, shall rudely tear thee;
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee
  Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,
  To be thy partner in this shameful doom.
This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries^{4 note}

That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed^{5 note}

Ere he can see his own abomination.
While lust is in his pride, no exclamation
  Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,
  Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire^{8 note}


.
And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,
Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with grace,
  For there it revels; and when that decays,
  The guilty rebel for remission prays.
So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,—
That through the length of times he stands disgrac'd:
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defac'd^{9 note}


;
  To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
  To ask the spotted princess how she fares.
She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death, and pain perpetual:
  Which in her prescience she controlled still,
  But her fore-sight could not fore-stall their will.

Even in this thought, through the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victor, that hath lost in gain^{1 note}
;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain;
Leaving his spoil^{2 note}


perplex'd in greater pain.
  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,
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there;
He scouls, and hates himself for his offence,
She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;
  She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;
  He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd, delight.
He thence departs a heavy convertite^{3 note}

,
She there remains a hopeless cast-away^{4 note}
:
He in his speed looks for the morning light,
She prays she never may behold the day:
For day, quoth she, night's scapes doth open lay^{5 note}

  And my true eyes have never practis'd how
  To cloke offences with a cunning brow.
They think not but that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they still in darkness be^{6 note}
,
To have their unseen sin remain untold;
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
  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^{7 note}

.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind^{8 note}



.
  Frantick with grief thus breathes she forth her spite
  Against the unseen secrecy of night.

O, comfort-killing night, image of hell^{9 note}
!
Dim register and notary of shame!
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell^{1 note}!
Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!
  Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator
  With close-tongu'd treason and the ravisher!
O, hateful, vaporous, and foggy night,
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time!
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
  His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
  Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.
With rotten damps ravish the morning air;
Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick
The life of purity, the supreme fair^{2 note}


,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick^{3 note}

  That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light
  May set at noon, and make perpetual night.
Were Tarquin night, (as he is but night's child^{5 note},)
The silver-shining queen he would distain^{6 note}

For it had been dishonour to disdain him:
Besides of weariness he did complain him,
  And talk'd of virtue:—O, unlook'd for evil,
  When virtue is prophan'd in such a devil!
Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud^{2 note}

?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts^{2 note}?
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?
  But no perfection is so absolute^{4 note}

What virtue breeds, iniquity devours:
We have no good that we can say is ours,
  But ill annexed opportunity
  Or kills his life, or else his quality.
O, Opportunity! thy guilt is great:
'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason;
Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season;
'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason;
  And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,
  Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him,
Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath^{7 note}


:
Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd;
Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth;
Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!
Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud:
  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 publick fast;
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name^{8 note}

Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste^{9 note}:
Thy violent vanities can never last^{1 note}

  Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,
  Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.
When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;
They buy thy help: but Sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd^{4 note}
As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
  My Collatine would else have come to me
  When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee.
Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;
Guilty of perjury and subornation;
Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift;
Guilty of incest, that abomination:
An accessary by thine inclination
  To all sins past, and all that are to come,
  From the creation to the general doom.
Mis-shapen Time, copesmate^{5 note}
of ugly night,
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care;
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare;
Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are.
  O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!
  Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,
Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose?
Cancel'd my fortunes, and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Time's office is, to fine the hate of foes^{6 note}

  To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours^{9 note}

  To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel^{4 note},
  And turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel:

To shew the beldame daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child,
To slay the tyger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild;
To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd;
  To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,
  And waste huge stones with little water-drops,
Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou could'st return to make amends?
One poor retiring minute in age^{5 note}
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends:
  O, this dread night, would'st thou one hour come back,
  I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack!
Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
Devise extremes beyond extremity^{6 note}

,

To make him curse this cursed crimeful night:
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;
  And the dire thought of his committed evil
  Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil^{7 note}