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To whom she fobbing speaks! O! eye of eyes !
Why-pry'ft thou thro’my window? leave thy peeping,
Mock with thy tickling beams, eyes that are sleeping:
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
For day hath nought to do what's done by night,
Thus cavils she with every thing she sees: :
True grief is fond, and testy as a child,
Who way.ward once, his mood with nought agrees;
Old woes, not infant forrows bear them mild ;
Continuance tames the one, the other wild,
Like an unpractis'd swimmer, plunging still,
With too much labour, drowns for want of skill.
So the deep drenched in a fea of care;
Holds disputation with each thing the views ;
And to herself all forrow doth compare ;
No object but her passion's strength renewsg
And as one shifts, another strait ensues :
Sometimes her grief is dumb, and hath no words';
Sometimes 'tis mad, and too much talk affords.
The little birds, that tune their morning's joy;
Make her moans mad, with their sweet melody.
· For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ;
Sad souls are slain irr merry company';
Grief best is pleas’d with grief's society.
True forrow then is feelingly surpriz'd,
When with like semblance it is fympathiz'd: “.
'Tis double death to drown in ken of fhore ;
He ten times pines, that pines beholding food:
To see the salve, doth make the wound ake more";.
Great grief grieves moft at that will do it good ;
Deep woes roll forward, like a gentle flood,
Which being stopt, the bounding banks o’erflows; Grief dally'd with, nor law, nor limit knows.
You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes intomb:
Within your hollow-swelling feather'a breasts ;
And in my hearing be you ever dumb,
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests :
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests.
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears,
Distress likes dumps, when times is kept with tears.
Come, Philomel, thou sing'it of ravifhment,
Make thy lad grove in my disheveld hair.
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishmenty
So I at each sad strain will strain my tear,
And with deep groans the Diapason bear :
For burden-wise I'll hum on Tarquin ftill,
While thou on Tereus descants better kill.
And while against a thorn thou bear'ít thy party
To keep thy fharp woes waking; wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye,
Who if it wink, fhall thereon fall and die.
These means, as frets upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languilhment.
And for, poor bird, thou fing'rt not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold;
Some daỊk deep desart seated from the way,
That knows nor parching heat, nor freezing cold,
We will find out; and there we will unfold
To ereatures stern, fad tunes to change their kinds;
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds,
As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly ;
Or one incompass’d with a windmg maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily :
So with herself the is in mutiny,
To live or die, which of the twain were better,
When life is tham'd, and death reproaches debtor:
To kill myself, quoth she, alack! what were it,
But with my body my poor soul's pollution ?
They that lose half, with greater patience bear it,
Than-chey, whose whole is swallow'd in confusion.
That mother tries a merciless conclusion,
Who having two sweet babes, when death takes
Will flay the other, and be nurse to none. [one,
My body or my foul, which was the dearer?
When the one pure, the other made divine,
Whose love of either to myself was nearer,
When both were kept from heaven and Colatine ?
Ah me! the bark peal'd from the lofty pine,
His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;
So must my soul, her bark being pealid away.
Her house is fack’d, her quiet interrupted ij.
Her manfion batter'd by the enemy;
Iter sacred temple sported, fpoild, corrupted,
Grofly ingirt with daring infamy.
Then let it not be call'd impiety,
If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole,
Thro' which I may convey this troubled foul.
Yet die I will not, till my Colatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death :
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,
Revenge on him, that made me ftop my breath ;
My stained blood to Tarquin i bequeath,.
Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent,
And as his due, writ in my testament. !
My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife,
That wounds my body so dishonoured :
"Tis honour to deprive dishonoured life:
The one will live, the other being dead.
So of shame's alhes fhall my fame be bred ;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn,
My shame so dead, my honour is new borna.
Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,..
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee?
My resolution, love, shall be thy boast,
By whose example thou reveng'd may'st be..
How Tarquin must be us’d, read it in me:
Myself thy friend, will kill myself thy foe ;, :
And for my fake, ferve tħou false. Tarquin-for.
This brief 'abridgment of my will I make :
My soul and body to the skies and ground;
My resolution (husband) do you take ; visis
My honour be the knife's, that makes my wounds.
My shame be his, that did my fame confound;
And all my fame that lives, disbursed be
To those that live, and think no shame of me..
When Colatine shall oversee this will;
How was I overseen, that thou shalt see it?
My blood shall wash the flander of mine il ;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but stoully say, So be it :
Yield to my hand, and that shall conquer thee;
Thou dead, that dies, and both shall victors be:
This plot of death, when fadly she had laid.
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyesg.
With untun'd tongue lhe hoarfly call'd her maids
Whore swift obedience to her mistress-hies,
For fleet.wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece cheeks unto her maid seem fo,
As winter meads, when fun does melt their snow.
Her mistress she-doth give demure good' morrow,
With soft flow tongue, true mark of modesty;
. And forts a sad look to her lady's forrow,
(For why, her face wore forrow's livery)-
But durst not ask of her audaciously,
Why her two funs were cloud.eclipfed' fo;
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe.
But as the earth doth weep, the sun being fet,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye ;
E'en fo the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled egne; enforc'd by sympathy
of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky;
Who inea salt-wav'd ocean quench their light;
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.
A pretty while these pretty creatures stand,
Like ivory conduits coral éifterns filling ;
One jusly weeps, the other takes in hand
No cause, but company of her drops "spilling:
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing;
Grieving themselves to guess at other smart's ;
And then they drown'their eyes, or break their