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Were Tarquin night, as he is but night's child,
The silver-thining queen him would disdain ;
Her twinkling handmaids too (by him defild)
Thro' night's black bosom fhould not peep again.
So should I have copartners in my pain :

And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers, that make short their pilgrimage.

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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 ;
Seasoning the earth with fhowers of Glver brine s

Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.

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

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

Make me not object to the rell-tale day :
The light shall shew, character'd in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity's decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock's vow.
Yea, the illiterate, that know not how

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

The nurse, to ftill 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 minttrels, tuning my defame,

Will tye the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Colatine.

Let my good name, that senseless reputation,
For Colatine's dear love he kept unspotted,
If that be made a theme for disputation,
The branches of another root are rotted,
And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted,

That is as clear from this attaint of mine,
As I, ere this, was pure to Colatine.

O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!
O unfelt sore ! crest-wounding private scar!
Reproach is ftampe. in Colatinus? face,
And Tarquin's eye may read the mote 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,

If, Colatine, thine honour lay in me,
From me, by strong affault, it is bereft :
My honey loft; and I a drone-like bee,
Have no perfection of my summer left, i
But robb’d and ransack'd by injurious theft :

In thy weak hive a wand'ring wasp hath crept,
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept.

Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wreck ?
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him ;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonour to disdain him.
Besides, of weariness he did complain him,

And talk'd of virtue : O unlook'd for evil !
When virtue is profan'd in such a devil !

Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckows hatch in sparrows nests?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts !
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?

But no perfection is fo.abfolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.

The aged man, that coffers up his gold,
Is plagu'd with cramps, and.gouts, and painful fits;
And (carce hath eyes "his treasure to behold :
But still like pining Tantalus he fits,
And useless bans 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 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 blefied fortune long.
The sweets we

wish for turn to loathed fours,
E'en in the moment that we call them ours.

Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;
The adder hifreth where the sweet birds fing;
What virtue breeds, iniquity devours :
We have no good, that we can say is ouis.

But ill annexed opportunity,
Or kills his life, or elfe his quality.

O! opportunity! thy guilt is great:
'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason :
Thou set' At the wolf where he the lamb may get,
Whoever plots the fin, 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 her,
Sits fin, to seize the fouls that wander by her.

Thou mak'At the veftal violate her oath ;
Thou blow'st the fire, when temperance is thaw'd ;
Thou smother't honesty, thou murder ft troth :
Thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd!
Thou planteft scandal, and displaceft laud.

Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief !
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief.

Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame;'
Thy private. feasting to a public faft;
Thy fm.othering titles to a ragged name!
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitrer wormwood taste: '!
Thy violent vanities can never laft.

How comes it then, vile opportunity,
Being so bad, fuch numbers feek for thee?

When wilt thou be the humble fuppliant's friend?
And bring him where his fuit may be obtain's ?
When wilt thou fort an hour, great ftrifes to end?
Or free that foul, which wretchedness bath chain'd?
Give phyfic to the fick, ease to the pain'd ?

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for
But they ne'er met with opportunity. [thee,

The patient dies, while the physician feeps ;
The orphan pines, while the oppreffor feeds;

Justice is feasting, while the widow weeps ;
Advice is sporting, while infection breeds ;
Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds.

Wrath, envy, treason, rape and murder rages,
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.

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When truth and virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid ;
They buy thy, help: but sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes, and thou art well apaid,
As well to hear, as grant what he hath said.

My Colatine would elfe have come to me,
When Tarquin did, but he was staid by thee.

Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;
Guilty of perjury and subornation
Guilty of treason, forgery and shift ;
Guilty of incest, that abomination :
An acceffary by thine inclination

To all sins past, and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom,

Mishapen time, copesmate of ugly night;
Swift fubtle post, carrier of grilly care ;
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, fin's pack-horse, virtue's snare ;
Thou nurseft all, and murderest all that are.

O hear me then, injurious shifting time ! -
Be guilty of my death, fince of my crime.

Why hath thy servant opportunity,
Bietrayed the hours thou gav'st me to repose ?.
Cancel'd my fortunes, and inchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Time's office is to find the hate of foesy,

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