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As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies 1029
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the
view,
[drew;
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves with-
Or, as the snail, whose tender horus being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with
pain,

And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth
sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head:

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain; 1040
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
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 ;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation
shakes,

Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound.

This mutiny each part doth so surprise That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;

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And, being open'd, threw unwilling light Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd:

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, franticly she doteth; She thinks he could not die, he is not dead : Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow; Her eyes are mad that they have wept till

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'My tongue cannot express my grief for one, And yet,' quoth she, behold two Adons

dead! 1070 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' rel fire!

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 music now? what canst thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim;

But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him. 1080

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'To see his face the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not
fear him;

To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame 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: 1100 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,

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
''Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.
Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill'd him
But he is dead, and never did he bless 1119
My youth with his the more am I accurst.'
With this, she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood,

so.

1110

first;

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
As if they heard the woeful words she told;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness
lies;

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
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,

That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,

Put fear to valor, courage to the coward.

'It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire; 1160
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire:

Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,

They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.'

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapor from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with

white,

Resembling well his pale cheeks and the

blood

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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 unsavory end, Ne'er settled equally, but high or low,

'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy father's guiseSweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire

That all love's pleasure shall not match his For every little grief to wet his eyes:

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To grow unto himself was his desire,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.

'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
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 flow

er.'

Thus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189 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 seen.

LUCRECE.

(WRITTEN ABOUT 1593-4.)

INTRODUCTION.

Lucrece was entered in the Stationers' register May 9, 1594, and was published the same year. Like the Venus and Adonis, it is dedicated to the Earl of Southampton, having been perhaps the "graver labor" promised in the dedication of that poem. The two poems resemble each other in several respects, especially in the detailed description style, which draws out at length the particulars of a scene, an incident, or an emotion. The poem of later date, however, exhibits far less immaturity than does the "first heire" of Shakespeare's invention. Part of this may be due to the fact that the subject is deeper and more passionate instead of the enamored Venus we have here the pure and noble Lucretia; instead of the boy Adonis, the powerful figure of the evil Tarquin. Lucrece was highly admired by Shakespeare's contemporaries, and was several times republished, though less often than the Venus. The story of Lucretia is told by Livy and Ovid, and was versified by Gower, and again related in Paynter's Palace of Pleasure, 1567.

TO THE

RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.

THE love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honorable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater: meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your lordship's in all duty,

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

THE ARGUMENT.

LUCIUS TARQUINIUS, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus, after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemer of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife: among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humor they all posted to Rome; and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were so moved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to consuls.

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But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those:
His honor, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows
old!

When at Collatium this false lord arrived, 50
Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her
fame:

evil;

Birds never limed no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm ex-
press'd:

91

For that he color'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save something too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for

more.

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes, Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, 100

Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books:
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no
hooks;

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Far from the purpose of his coming hither,
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.

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And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, 120 Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm; 170 Intending weariness with heavy spright; For, after supper, long he questioned

With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night: Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;

And every one to rest themselves betake,

Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds,

that wake.

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Is madly toss'd between desire and dread;
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm;
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul
charm,

Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
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;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly,

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'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire, So Lucrece must I force to my desire.'

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 armor of still-slaughter'd lust,
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:

'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine: 191
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 snowwhite weed.

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