Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw: Her lively color kill'd with deadly cares. He hath no power to ask her how she fares: But stood, like old acquaintance in a trance, Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. At last, he takes her by the bloodless hand, Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness; Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, Ere once she can discharge one word of woe : While Collatine and his consorted lords, And now this pale swan in her watery nest Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending: • Few words,' quoth she, 'shall fit the trespass best, 1 Ready, prepared. Where no excuse can give the fault amending: In me more woes than words are now depending; And my laments would be drawn out too long. To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. • Then be this all the task it hath to say:- By foul enforcement might be done to me, 'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, On thee and thine this night I will inflict, "For some hard-favor'd groom of thine,' quoth he, The lechers in their deed: this act will be • With this I did begin to start and cry, And then against my heart he set his sword. Swearing, unless I took all patiently, The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. ' Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes, O, teach me how to make mine own excuse! Or, at the least, this refuge let me find; Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse, Immaculate and spotless is my mind: That was not forced; that never was inclined To accessary yieldings; but still pure Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.' Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, woe, With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across, But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain : Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth, • And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, For she that was thy Lucrece, -now attend me: Be suddenly revenged on my foe, Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou dost defend me From what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me Comes all too late; yet let the traitor die: • But ere I name him, you, fair lords,' quoth she. Speaking to those that came with Collatine, • Shall plight your honorable faiths to me, With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine; For 'tis a meritorious, fair design, |