The cedar ftoops not to the base fhrub's foot,
But low fhrubs wither at the cedar's root.

So let thy thoughts low vaffals to thy ftate.-
No more, quoth he, by heav'n I will not hear thee:
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, fhall rudely tear thee:
That done, defpitefully I mean to bear thee
Unto the bafe bed of fome rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this fhameful doom.

This faid, he fets his foot upon the light,
For light and luft are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unfeen, then moft doth tyrannize.
The wolf has feiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries,
Till with her own white fleece her voice controul'd,
Intombs her outcry in her lips fweet fold.

For with the nightly linen, that she wears,
He pens her piteous clamours in her head,
Cooling his hot face in the chafteft tears,
That ever modeft eyes with forrow shed.
O that foul luft fhould ftain fo pure a bed!
The spots whereof, could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

But she hath loft a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again;
This forced league doth force a further itrife,
This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
This hot defire converts to cold difdain.

Pure chastity is rifled of her ftore,
An luft, the thief, far poorer than before.

Look as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, dbr
Unapt for tender fmell, or fpeedy flight,
Make flow purfuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight:
So furfeit-taking Tarquin fears this night;
His tafte delicious, in digeftion fouring,
Devours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring.

O! deeper fin, than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in ftill imagination!
Drunken defire, muft vomit his receit,
Ere he can see his own abomination.
While luft is in his pride, no exclamation.
Can curb his heat, or rein his rafh defire,
Till, like a jade, felf-will himself doth tire.

And then with lank and lean difcolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and ftrengthless pace,
Feeble defire all recreant, poor and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his cafe:
The flesh being proud, defire does fight with grace.
For there it revels, and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remiffion prays.

So fares it with this fault-full lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd:
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That thro' the length of time he ftand's difgrac'd:
Befides, his foul's fair temple is defac'd

H

109

To whofe weak ruins mufter troops of cares,
To afk the spotted princefs how the fares.

And by their mortal fault brought in, fubjection I Her immortality, and made her thrallt to ta To living death, and pain perpetual :

Which in her prefcience the controuled ftill, But her forefight could not fore-stall their will.

E'en in this thought thro' the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victor, that hath loft in gain:
Bearing away the wound, that nothing healeth,
The fear that will, defpite of cure, remain:
Leaving his fpoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of luft he left behind,
And he the burden of a guilty mind.

He like a thievifh dog creeps fadly thence,
She like a weary'd lamb lies panting there:
He fcowls and hates himself for his offence,
She defperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear :
He faintly flies, fweating with guilty fear:
She ftays exclaiming on the direful night,
He runs and chides his vanish'd loath'd delight.

He thence departs a heavy convertite;
She there remains a hopeless caft-away:
He in his speed looks for the morning-light;
She prays the never may behold the day:
For day (quoth fhe) night-scapes doth open lay:
And my true eyes have never practis'd how
To cloke offences with a cunning brow.

They think not but that every eye can fee
The fame difgrace, which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they ftill in darkness lie,
To have their unfeen fin remain untold...
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,

And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,
Upon their cheeks what helpless shame they feel.

Here he exclaims againft repofe and reft,
And bids her eyes hereafter ftill be blind :
She wakes her heart, by beating on her breaft,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find.
Some purer cheft to close so pure a mind.

Frantic with grief, thus breathes fhe forth her fpight
Against the unfeen fecrecy of night.

O comfort-killing night! image of hell!
Dim regifter! and notary of fhame!
Black ftage for tragedies! and murders fell!
Vaft fin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour of defame!
Grim cave of death! whifpering confpirator
With clofe-tongued treafon and the ravifher!

O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Mufter thy mifts to meet the eastern light,
Make war againft proportion'd courfe of time:
Or if thou wilt permit the fun to climb

His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head..

With rotten damps ravifh the morning air,
Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make fick
The life of purity, the fupreme fair,

Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick:
And let thy mifty vapours march fo thick,

That in their fmoaky ranks his fmother'd light
May fet at noon, and make perpetual night.

1

Were Tarquin night, as he is but night's child, A
The filver-fhining queen him would difdain go
Her twinkling handmaids too (by him defil'd)
Thro' night's black bofom fhould not peep again. i
So fhould I have copartners in my pain:

And fellowship in woe doth woe affuage,

As palmers, that make short their pilgrimage.

Where now ? have I no one to blush with me? :
To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine;
To mask their brows, and hide their infamy.
But I alone, alone must fit and pine;

Seafoning the earth with fhowers of filver brine;
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wafting monuments of lafting moans.

O night! thou furnace of foul-recking smoke!
Let not the jealous day behold that face,
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloke
Immodeftly lies martyr'd with difgrace.
Keep ftill poffeffion of thy gloomy place,

That all the faults, which in thy reign are made,
May likewise be fepulchred in thy shade.

Make me not object to the tell-tale day;
The light fhall fhew, character'd in my brow,
The ftory of fweet chastity's decay,

The impious breach of holy wedlock's vow.
Yea, the illiterate, that know not how

To cypher what is writ in learned books,
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.

The nurse, to ftill her child, will tell my ftory,
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name :