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Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy,
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low,
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,
It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.
Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward ;
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.
Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,
By this the boy, that by her side lay kill'd,
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
She bows her head the new-sprung flower to smell, Comparing it to her Adonis' breath;
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise,
unto himself was his desire,
To wither in my breast, as in his blood.
There shall not be one minute in an hour,
Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
“Lvcrece. London. Printed by Richard Field, for Iohn Harrison, and are to be sold at the signe of the white Greyhound in Paules Churh-yard. 1594.” 4to. 47 leaves.
“Lvcrece At London, Printed by P. S. for Iohn Harrison. 1598." 8vo. 36 leaves.
“Lvcrece London. Printed by I. H. for Iohn Harrison. 1600.” 8vo. 36 leaves.
“ Lycrece. At London, Printed be N. 0. for Iohn Harison. 1607." 8vo. 32 leaves.