From sleep disturbèd, heedfully454 doth view
The sight which makes supposèd455 terror true.
Wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-killed bird she trembling lies:
She dares not look, yet winking458 there appears
Quick-shifting459 antics, ugly in her eyes:
Such shadows460 are the weak brain’s forgeries,
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts462 them with more dreadful sights.
His hand that yet remains upon her breast —
Rude ram464 to batter such an ivory wall —
May feel her heart (poor citizen465) distressed,
Wounding itself to death466, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk467 that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity
To make the breach469 and enter this sweet city.
First like a trumpet doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley471 to his heartless foe,
Who o’er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm473 to know,
Which he by dumb demeanour474 seeks to show.
But she with vehement prayers urgeth475 still
Under what colour476 he commits this ill.
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 tale480.
Under that colour am I come to scale
Thy never-conquered fort: the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.
‘Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide484:
Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will486 abide,
My will that marks thee for my earth’s delight,
Which488 I to conquer sought with all my might,
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred490.
‘I see what crosses491 my attempt will bring,
I know what thorns the growing rose defends,
I think the honey493 guarded with a sting:
All this beforehand counsel494 comprehends.
But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends,
Only he hath496 an eye to gaze on beauty,
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
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue502 the deed,
Reproach, disdain and deadly enmity,
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy504.’
This said, he shakes505 aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a falcon506 tow’ring in the skies,
Coucheth507 the fowl below with his wings’ shade,
Whose508 crooked beak threats if he mount he dies.
So under his insulting509 falchion lies
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcons’ bells511.
‘Lucrece,’ quoth he, ‘this night I must enjoy thee.
If thou deny513, then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy514 thee.
That done, some worthless slave of thine I’ll slay,
To kill thine honour with thy life’s decay,
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I slew him seeing thee embrace him.
‘So thy surviving husband shall remain
The scornful mark520 of every open eye,
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blurred522 with nameless bastardy;
And thou, the author of their obloquy523,
Shalt have thy trespass524 cited up in rhymes
And sung by children in succeeding times.
‘But if thou yield, I rest526 thy secret friend:
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted,
A little harm done to a great good end
For lawful policy remains enacted529.
The poisonous simple530 sometime 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 suit534, bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device535 can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot,
Worse than a slavish wipe537 or birth-hour’s blot:
For marks descried538 in men’s nativity
Are nature’s faults, not their own infamy.’
Here with a cockatrice540’ dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself541 and makes a pause,
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind543 under the gripe’s sharp claws,
Pleads544 in a wilderness where are no laws
To the rough beast that knows no gentle545 right
Nor aught546 obeys but his foul appetite.
But when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist th’aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth’s dark womb some gentle gust doth get549,
Which blows these pitchy550 vapours from their biding,
Hind’ring their present fall551 by this dividing,
So his unhallowed552 haste her words delays,
And moody Pluto553 winks while Orpheus plays.
Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally554,
While in his holdfast555 foot the weak mouse panteth.
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly556,
A swallowing gulf557 that even in plenty wanteth.
His ear her prayers admits558, but his heart granteth
No penetrable559 entrance to her plaining:
Tears harden560 lust, though marble wear with raining.
Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face.
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed,
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the565 period often from his place,
And midst the sentence so her accent566 breaks
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.
She conjures him by568 high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry569 and sweet friendship’s oath,
By her untimely570 tears, her husband’s love,
By holy human law and common troth571,
By heaven and earth and all the power of both,
That to his borrowed573 bed he make retire
And stoop574 to honour, not to foul desire.
Quoth she, ‘Reward not hospitality
With such black payment as thou hast pretended576,
Mud577 not the fountain that gave drink to thee,
Mar578 not the thing that cannot be amended,
End thy ill aim579 before thy shoot be ended.
He is no woodman580 that doth bend his bow
To strike581 a poor unseasonable doe.
‘My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me.
Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me:
Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me.
Thou look’st not like deceit, do not deceive me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave586 thee.
If ever man were moved587 with woman’s moans,
Be movèd with my tears, my sighs, my groans,
‘All which together, like a troubled ocean,
Beat at thy rocky and wrack-threat’ning590 heart,
To soften it with their continual motion,
For stones dissolved to
water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art,
Melt at my tears and be compassionate:
Soft pity enters at an iron gate.
‘In Tarquin’s likeness I did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his shape597 to do him shame?
To all the host of heaven I complain me.
Thou wrong’st his honour, wound’st his princely name:
Thou art not what thou seem’st, and if the same,
Thou seem’st not what thou art, a god, a king,
For kings like gods should govern everything602.
‘How will thy shame be seeded603 in thine age
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring?
If in thy hope605 thou dar’st do such outrage,
What dar’st thou not when once thou art a king?
O, be remembered, no outrageous thing
From vassal actors608 can be wiped away,
Then kings’ misdeeds cannot be hid in clay609.
‘This deed will make thee only loved for610 fear,
But happy611 monarchs still are feared for love.
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove612.
If but for fear of this, thy will remove614.
For princes are the glass615, the school, the book,
Where subjects’ eyes do learn, do read, do look.
‘And wilt thou be the school where lust shall learn?
Must he in thee read lectures618 of such shame?
Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern
Authority for sin, warrant620 for blame,
To privilege621 dishonour in thy name?
Thou back’st622 reproach against long-living laud
And mak’st fair reputation but a bawd623.
‘Hast thou command624? By him that gave it thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity626,
For it was lent thee all that brood627 to kill.
Thy princely office628 how canst thou fulfil,
When, patterned by629 thy fault, foul sin may say,
He learned to sin and thou didst teach the way?
‘Think but how vile a spectacle it were
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men’s faults do seldom to themselves appear:
Their own transgressions partially they smother.
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
O, how are they wrapped in with infamies636
That from their own misdeeds askance637 their eyes!
‘To thee, to thee, my heaved-up638 hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier639.
I sue for exiled majesty’s repeal640:
Let him return and flatt’ring641 thoughts retire.
His true respect642 will prison false desire
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne643,
That thou shalt see thy state644 and pity mine.’
‘Have done’, quoth he. ‘My uncontrollèd tide
Turns not, but swells646 the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide
And with the wind in greater fury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
To their salt sovereign650 with their fresh falls’ haste
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.’
‘Thou art’, quoth she, ‘a sea, a sovereign king,
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood655.
If all these petty ills shall change thy good,
Thy sea within a puddle’s womb is hearsed657,
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.
‘So shall these slaves659 be king and thou their slave,
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified,
Thou their fair life and they thy fouler grave,
Thou loathèd in their shame, they in thy pride.
The lesser thing should not the greater hide.
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub’s foot,
But low shrubs wither at the cedar’s root.
‘So let thy thoughts, low vassals666 to thy state —’
‘No more’, quoth he, ‘by heaven, I will not hear thee.
Yield to my love. If not, enforcèd hate
Instead of love’s coy669 touch shall rudely tear thee.
That done, despitefully670 I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom671
To be thy partner in this shameful doom672.’
This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seized677 his prey, the poor lamb cries,
Till with her own white fleece678 her voice controlled
Entombs her outcry in her lips’ sweet fold679.
For with the nightly linen680 that she wears
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 prone684 lust should stain so pure a bed,
The spots whereof could weeping685 purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually!
But she hath lost a dearer thing than life
And he hath won what he would lose again:
This forcèd league689 doth force a further strife,
This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
This hot desire converts to cold disdain,
Pure chastity is rifled692 of her store,
And lust, the thief, far poorer than before.
Look as the full-fed hound or gorgèd694 hawk,
Unapt695 for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk696
The prey wherein by nature they delight:
So surfeit-taking698 Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
Devours his will that lived by foul devouring.
O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit701
Can comprehend in still imagination702!
Drunken desire must vomit his receipt703,
Ere he can see his own abomination.
While lust is in his pride705, no exclamation
Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire,
Till like a jade707 self-will himself doth tire.
And then with lank and lean discoloured cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow and strengthless pace,
Feeble desire, all recreant710, poor and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The flesh being proud712, desire doth fight with grace,
For there713 it revels and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission714 prays.
So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased,
For now against himself he sounds this doom717,
That through the length of times he stands disgraced.
Besides, his soul’s fair temple is defaced,
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
To ask the spotted princess721 how she fares.
She says her subjects722 with foul insurrection
Have battered down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal724 fault brought in subjection
Her immortality and made her thrall725
To living death and pain perpetual,
Which in her prescience727 she controllèd still,
But728 her foresight could not forestall their will.
Ev’n in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victo
r that hath lost in gain,
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain,
Leaving his spoil733 perplexed in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust734 he left behind,
And he the burden of a guilty mind.
He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence,
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there.
He scowls and hates himself for his offence,
She, desperate739, with her nails her flesh doth tear.
He faintly flies740, sweating with guilty fear,
She stays, exclaiming on741 the direful night.
He runs and chides his vanished, loathed delight.
He thence departs a heavy convertite743,
She there remains a hopeless castaway744.
He in his speed looks for the morning light,
She prays she never may behold the day.
‘For day’, quoth she, ‘Night’s scapes747 doth open lay,
And my true eyes have never practised how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow749.
‘They think not but750 that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold,
And therefore would they still in darkness be752,
To have their unseen sin remain untold.
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave755, like water that doth eat in steel,
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.’
Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
The Sonnets and Other Poems Page 9