And therefore would they still in darkness be, For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, Here she exclaims against repose and rest, Against the unseen secrecy of night: 'O comfort-killing Night, image of hell! Black stage for tragedies and murders fell! 'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night! His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, 771 'With rotten damps ravish the morning air; Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick The life of purity, the supreme fair, Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick; And let thy misty vapours march so thick, 780 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, The silver-shining queen he would distain; Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled, Through Night's black bosom should not peep again: 790 So should I have co-partners in my pain; Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, groans, 800 Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 'O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, Let not the jealous Day behold that face Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace! Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, That all the faults which in thy reign are made May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade! 'Make me not object to the tell-tale Day! The light will show, character'd* in my brow, The story of sweet chastity's decay, The impious breach of holy wedlock vow: Yea, the illiterate, that know not how *Written. 810 To ciphert what is writ in learned books, †Decipher. Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. '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 ; 'Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 821 That is as clear from this attaint of mine 830 'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace! 'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, 'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;* *Wreck. 'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud? Or kings be breakers of their own behests? That some impurity doth not pollute. 'The aged man that coffers-up his gold Is plagued 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 So then he hath it when he cannot use it, The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours 860 'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers; The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; We have no good that we can say is ours, Or kills his life or else his quality. 'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great! 870 'Tis thou that executest 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 makest the vestal violate her oath; Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, 'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 890 When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, 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? Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd? 901 The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee; But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. 'The patient dies while the physician sleeps; Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages, 'When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, 'Guilty thou art of murder and of theft, To all sins past, and all that are to come, 920 'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night, Thou nursest all and murder'st all that are: snare; O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time! 930 |