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And therefore would they still in darkness be,
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,
Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
'O comfort-killing Night, image of hell!
Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator
'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night! 771
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
With rotten damps ravish the morning air;
780 Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide 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, The silver-shining queen he would distain; Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled,
Through Night's black bosom should not peep
again: So should I have co-partners in my pain;
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, 790
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 'Where now I have no one to blush with me, Tocross their arms and hang their heads with mine, To mask their brows and hide their infamy; But I alone alone must sit and pine, Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with
groaps, Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 'O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, Let not the jealous Day behold that face 800 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!
810 To cipherf what is writ in learned books, tDecipher.
Will quote my loathsonie 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; Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 'Let my good name, that senseless reputation, For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted:
821 If that be made a theme for disputation, The branches of another root are rotted, And undeserved reproach to him allotted
That is as clear from this attaint of mine
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. 'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace! O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar! Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face, And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, 830 How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, Which not themselves, but he that gives them
'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,
'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;* *Wreck.
And talk'd of virtue: O unlook'd-for evil,
When virtue is profaned 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? 850 Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts? Or kings be breakers of their own behests ?
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.
Having no other pleasure of his gain 860
But torment that it cannot cure his pain. So then he hath it wlien he cannot use it, And leaves it to be master'd by his young; Who in their pride do presently abuse it: Their father was too weak, and they too strong, To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours
Even in the moment that we call them ours. 'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;
870 The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; 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 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
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend,
"The patient dies while the physician sleeps;
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,
'When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
My Collatine would else have come to me
"Guilty thou art of murder and of theft,
To all sins past, and all that are to come,
Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night,
O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time! 930 Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.