And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest to close761 so pure a mind.
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite762
Against the unseen secrecy of night:
‘O comfort-killing Night! Image of hell!
Dim register765 and notary of shame!
Black stage766 for tragedies and murders fell!
Vast sin-concealing chaos767! Nurse of blame!
Blind, muffled bawd! Dark harbour for defame768!
Grim cave of death! Whisp’ring conspirator
With close-tongued770 treason and the ravisher!
‘O hateful, vaporous and foggy Night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster773 thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportioned course of time774,
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His wonted776 height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit777 poisonous clouds about his golden head.
‘With rotten damps778 ravish the morning air,
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick
The life780 of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive781 his weary noontide prick,
And let thy musty vapours march so thick
That in their smoky ranks his smothered light
May set at noon and make perpetual night.
‘Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night’s child,
The silver-shining queen786 he would distain.
Her twinkling handmaids787 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,
As palmers791’ chat makes short their pilgrimage.
‘Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms793 and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy,
But I alone alone must sit and pine795,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans798.
‘O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking799 smoke,
Let not the jealous day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyred with disgrace.
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy reign are made
May likewise be sepulchred805 in thy shade.
‘Make me not object806 to the tell-tale day:
The light will show, charactered in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity’s decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock vow.
Yea, the illiterate, that know not how
To cipher811 what is writ in learnèd books,
Will quote812 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 deck815 his oratory,
Will couple816 my reproach to Tarquin’s shame.
Feast-finding minstrels817, tuning my defame,
Will tie818 the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wrongèd me, I Collatine819.
‘Let my good name, that senseless reputation820,
For Collatine’s dear love be kept unspotted.
If that be made a theme for disputation822,
The branches of another root823 are rotted,
And undeserved reproach to him allotted
That is as clear825 from this attaint of mine
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.
‘O unseen shame! Invisible disgrace!
O unfelt sore! Crest-wounding828, private scar!
Reproach is stamped in Collatinus’ face,
And Tarquin’s eye may read the mot830 afar,
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,
Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows.
‘If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
From me by strong assault it is bereft835:
My honey lost and I, a drone-like836 bee,
Have no perfection837 of my summer left,
But robbed and ransacked by injurious838 theft.
In thy weak hive a wand’ring wasp hath crept
And sucked the honey which thy chaste bee kept.
‘Yet am I guilty of thy honour’s wrack841,
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him842:
Coming from thee, I could not put him back843,
For it had been dishonour to disdain844 him.
Besides, of weariness he did complain him
And talked of virtue — O unlooked-for evil
When virtue is profaned in such a devil!
‘Why should the worm848 intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos849 hatch in sparrows’ nests?
Or toads infect fair founts850 with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly851 lurk in gentle breasts?
Or kings be breakers of their own behests852?
But no perfection is so absolute
That some impurity doth not pollute.
‘The agèd man that coffers up855 his gold
Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful fits
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining858 Tantalus he sits
And useless barns859 the harvest of his wits,
Having no other pleasure of his gain
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.
‘So then he hath it when he cannot use it
And leaves it to be mastered by his young,
Who in their pride do presently864 abuse it:
Their father was too weak and they too strong
To hold their cursèd-blessèd fortune long.
The sweets we wish for turn to loathèd sours
Even in the moment that we call them ours.
‘Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring,
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers,
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-annexèd Opportunity874
Or875 kills his life or else his quality.
‘O Opportunity, thy guilt is great!
’Tis thou that execut’st877 the traitor’s treason:
Thou sets878 the wolf where he the lamb may get.
Whoever plots the sin, thou point’st879 the season.
’Tis thou that spurn’st880 at right, at law, at reason,
And in thy shady cell881, where none may spy him,
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.
‘Thou mak’st the vestal883 violate her oath,
Thou blow’st the fire when temperance884 is thawed,
Thou smother’st honesty885; thou murd’rest troth:
Thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd,
Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud887.
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
Thy honey turns to gall889, thy joy to grief.
‘Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast,
Thy smoothing892 titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugared tongue to bitter wormwood893 taste:
Thy violent vanities894 can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?
‘When wilt thou be the humble suppliant’s897 friend
And bring him
where his suit may be obtained?
When wilt thou sort899 an hour great strifes to end?
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained?
Give physic901 to the sick? Ease to the pained?
The poor, lame, blind, halt902, creep, cry out for thee,
But they ne’er meet with Opportunity.
‘The patient dies while the physician sleeps,
The orphan pines905 while the oppressor feeds.
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps,
Advice907 is sporting while infection breeds.
Thou grant’st no time for charitable deeds.
Wrath, envy, treason, rape and murder’s rages,
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages910.
‘When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses912 keep them from thy aid.
They buy thy help, but Sin ne’er gives a fee:
He gratis914 comes and thou art well apaid
As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
My Collatine would else916 have come to me
When Tarquin did, but he was stayed917 by thee.
‘Guilty thou art of murder and of theft,
Guilty of perjury and subornation919,
Guilty of treason, forgery and shift920,
Guilty of incest, that abomination:
An accessary by thine inclination922
To all sins past and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom924.
‘Misshapen Time, copesmate925 of ugly Night,
Swift subtle post926, carrier of grisly care,
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes928, sin’s packhorse, virtue’s snare,
Thou nursest all and murd’rest all that are.
O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time,
Be guilty of my death, since of931 my crime.
‘Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,
Betrayed the hours thou gav’st me to repose?
Cancelled my fortunes and enchainèd me
To endless date935 of never-ending woes?
Time’s office936 is to fine the hate of foes,
To eat up errors by opinion937 bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.
‘Time’s glory is to calm contending939 kings,
To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light,
To stamp the seal of time in agèd things,
To wake the morn and sentinel942 the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right,
To ruinate944 proud buildings with thy hours
And smear with dust their glitt’ring golden towers,
‘To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books and alter their contents,
To pluck the quills949 from ancient ravens’ wings,
To dry the old oak’s sap and cherish springs950,
To spoil antiquities of hammered steel
And turn the giddy round of Fortune’s wheel952,
‘To show the beldame953 daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child954,
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,
To mock the subtle957 in themselves beguiled,
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful958 crops
And waste959 huge stones with little water drops.
‘Why work’st thou mischief960 in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou couldst return to make amends?
One poor retiring962 minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends964.
O, this dread Night, wouldst thou one hour come back,
I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack.
‘Thou ceaseless lackey967 to eternity,
With some mischance cross968 Tarquin in his flight,
Devise extremes beyond extremity
To make him curse this cursèd crimeful night,
Let ghastly971 shadows his lewd eyes affright,
And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.
‘Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances974,
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans,
Let there bechance976 him pitiful mischances
To make him moan, but pity not his moans.
Stone him with hardened hearts harder than stones,
And let mild women to him lose their mildness,
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.
‘Let him have time to tear his curlèd hair,
Let him have time against himself to rave,
Let him have time of Time’s help to despair,
Let him have time to live a loathèd slave,
Let him have time a beggar’s orts985 to crave,
And time to see one that by alms doth live986
Disdain to him987 disdainèd scraps to give.
‘Let him have time to see his friends his foes
And merry fools to mock at him resort989,
Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
In time of sorrow and how swift and short
His time of folly and his time of sport992.
And ever let his unrecalling993 crime
Have time to wail th’abusing994 of his time.
‘O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Teach me to curse him that996 thou taught’st this ill.
At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
Himself himself seek every hour to kill:
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill,
For who so base would such an office have
As sland’rous deathsman1001 to so base a slave?
‘The baser is he, coming1002 from a king,
To shame his hope1003 with deeds degenerate.
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him honoured or begets him hate1005:
For greatest scandal waits on1006 greatest state.
The moon being clouded presently1007 is missed,
But little stars may hide them when they list.
‘The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire1009
And unperceived fly with the filth away,
But if the like1011 the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon his silver down will stay.
Poor grooms1013 are sightless night, kings glorious day,
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe’er they fly,
But eagles gazed upon with every eye.
‘Out1016, idle words, servants to shallow fools,
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrator1017s!
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools1018,
Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters,
To trembling clients be you mediators.
For me, I force not argument a straw1021,
Since that my case1022 is past the help of law.
‘In vain I rail1023 at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin and uncheerful Night,
In vain I cavil1025 with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn1026 at my confirmed despite:
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.
The remedy indeed to do me good
Is to let forth my foul defilèd blood1029.
‘Poor hand, why quiver’st thou at this decree?
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame,
For if I die my honour lives in thee,
But if I live thou liv’st in my defame.
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame
And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.’
This said, from her betumbled couch1037 she starteth,
T
o find some desp’rate instrument of death.
But this, no slaughterhouse, no tool imparteth1039
To make more vent for passage of her breath,
Which thronging1041 through her lips, so vanisheth
As smoke from Aetna1042 that in air consumes
Or that which from dischargèd cannon fumes1043.
‘In vain,’ quoth she, ‘I live and seek in vain
Some happy mean to end a hapless1045 life.
I feared by Tarquin’s falchion1046 to be slain,
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife;
But when I feared I was a loyal wife.
So am I now — O no, that cannot be!
Of that true type1050 hath Tarquin rifled me.
‘O, that is gone for which I sought to live,
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot1053 by death, at least I give
A badge of fame to slander’s1054 livery,
A dying life to living infamy:
Poor helpless help, the treasure stol’n away,
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay.
‘Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know
The stainèd taste of violated troth,
I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter1061 thee with an infringèd oath.
This bastard graff1062 shall never come to growth:
He shall not boast who did thy stock1063 pollute,
That thou art doting father of his fruit.
‘Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state,
The Sonnets and Other Poems Page 10