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 tale; 480
Under that colour am I come to scale

Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.
"Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide: 484
Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will abide,
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
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.

488

493

'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;
I know what thorns the growing rose defends;
I think the honey guarded with a sting;
All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends:
But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, 496
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, 500
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue the deed,

528

532

But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend: The fault unknown is as a thought unacted; A little harm done to a great good end, For lawful policy remains enacted. The poisonous simple sometimes 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 suit: bequeath not to their lot The shame that from them no device can take, The blemish that will never be forgot; Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's blot:

536

To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,

Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.

But when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat,

In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth

Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding,

Hindering their present fall by this dividing;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, 552
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.

640

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,

He pens her piteous clamours in her head,
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O! that prone lust should stain so pure a bed,
The spots whereof could weeping purify, 685
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

692

696

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again;
This forced league doth force a further strife;
This momentary joy breeds months of pain;
This hot desire converts to cold disdain:
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.
Look! as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight,
The prey wherein by nature they delight;
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
Devours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring.
O! deeper sin than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination;
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt,
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.
And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless
pace,

701

704

709

Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with
Grace,

For there it revels; and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.

712

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd; 716
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;

To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 721 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 foresight could not forestall their will. 728

725

732

A captive victor that hath lost in gain;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will despite of cure remain;
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left behind,
And he the burden of a guilty mind.
He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence, 736
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there;
He scowls and hates himself for his offence,
She desperate with her nails her flesh doth tear;
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear, 740
She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd
delight.

Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick

780

The life of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary noontide prick;
And let thy misty vapours march so thick,
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, 785

The silver-shining queen he would distain;
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defil'd,
Through Night's black bosom should not peep
again:
788

So should I have co-partners in my pain;
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrim-
age.

'Where now I have no one to blush with me, To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,

793

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 curseless crime, 772 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, 776 Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.

813

The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story,

And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name;

The orator, to deck his oratory,

Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame;
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, 817
Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.

'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonour to disdain him: 844
Besides, of weariness he did complain him,

And talk'd of virtue: O! unlook'd-for evil,
When virtue is profan'd in such a devil.
'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?

Or kings be breakers of their own behests? 852
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.

'The aged man that coffers-up his gold

Is plagu'd with cramps and gouts and painful fits;

And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
And useless barns the harvest of his wits;
Having no other pleasure of his gain
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.

856

860

him,

Sits Sin to seize the souls that wander by him. "Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath; Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd; 884

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! 889
Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast,
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last.

892

How comes it, then, vile Opportunity, Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee? 'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend,

897

And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd? When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?

Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd?

900

Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd?
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for

thee;

But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.

"The patient dies while the physician sleeps; 904 The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; Justice is feasting while the widow weeps; Advice is sporting while infection breeds: Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds: 908 Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,

Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.