'Hard-favor'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, Hateful divorce of love,'-thus chides she Death, 'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean To stifle beauty and to steal his breath, Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ? 'If he be dead,-O no, it cannot be, O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see, 940 Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart. 'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power. The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke; They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower: [fled, Love's golden arrow at him should have And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such weeping? What may a heavy groan advantage thee? Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 951 Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigor, Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigor.' Here overcome, as one full of despair, She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt; But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, And with his strong course opens them again. 960 The dire imagination she did follow Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, 981 Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass, To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. O hard-believing love, how strange it seems [ly. In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickNow she unweaves the web that she hath wrought; 991 Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame; She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings, Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest; Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. "Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue; Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander; 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; I did but act, he's author of thy slander: Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet Could rule them both without ten women's wit.' 1010 Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, His victories, his triumphs and his glories. For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, 1019 And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear As one with treasure laden, hemm'd thieves; Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.' Even at this word she hears a merry horn, Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn. As falcon to the lure, away she flies; The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; And in her haste unfortunately spies 1029 The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight; Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, [drew; Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withOr, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit, Long after fearing to creep forth again; So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled Into the deep dark cabins of her head: Where they resign their office and their light To the disposing of her troubled brain; 1040 Who bids them still consort with ugly night, And never wound the heart with looks again; Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, By their suggestion gives a deadly groan, Whereat each tributary subject quakes; As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes, Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound. This mutiny each part doth so surprise her eyes; 1050 And, being open'd, threw unwilling light Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd: No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed. This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth Over one shoulder doth she hang her head'; Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth; She thinks he could not die, he is not dead : Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow: Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three: And then she reprehends her mangling eye, That makes more gashes where no breach should be: His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled; For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead: Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' rel fire! So shall I die by drops of hot desire. C Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim; But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him. 1080 'Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain : He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, Who did not whet his teeth at him again, But by a kiss thought to persuade him there; And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess, With kissing him I should have kill'd him first; 1119 But he is dead, and never did he bless lies; Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward, Put fear to valor, courage to the coward. 'It shall be cause of war and dire events, Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy, They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.' By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. LUCRECE. (WRITTEN ABOUT 1593–4.) 66 INTRODUCTION. Lucrece was entered in the Stationers' register May 9, 1594, and was published the same year. Like the Venus and Adonis, it is dedicated to the Earl of Southampton, having been perhaps the graver labor" promised in the dedication of that poem. The two poems resemble each other in several respects, especially in the detailed description style, which draws out at length the particulars of a scene, an incident, or an emotion. The poem of later date, however, exhibits far less immaturity than does the "first heire" of Shakespeare's invention. Part of this may be due to the fact that the subject is deeper and more passionate instead of the enamored Venus we have here the pure and noble Lucretia; instead of the boy Adonis, the powerful figure of the evil Tarquin. Lucrece was highly admired by Shakespeare's contemporaries, and was several times republished, though less often than the Venus. The story of Lucretia is told by Livy and Ovid, and was versified by Gower, and again related in Paynter's Palace of Pleasure, 1567. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. THE love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honorable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness. Your lordship's in all duty, LUCIUS TARQUINIUS, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus, after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemer of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife: among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humor they all posted to Rome; and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning. speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were so moved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to consuls. FROM the besieged Ardea all in post, And girdle with embracing flames the waist 10 Haply that name of 'chaste' unhappily set With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state; What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent In the possession of his beauteous mate; Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, 19 That kings might be espoused to more fame, O happiness enjoy'd but of a few! That golden hap which their superiors want. But some untimely thought did instigate O'rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold, Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! When at Collatium this false lord arrived, 50 Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame, Within whose face beauty and virtue strived Which of them both should underprop her fame: When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame; When beauty boasted blushes, in despite Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. But beauty, in that white intituled, From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field : Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, Which virtue gave the golden age to gild 60 Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield; Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, The coward captive vanquished doth yield 71 To those two armies that would let him go, Rather than triumph in so false a foe. Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue, The niggard prodigal that praised her so,- This earthly saint, adored by this devil, Birds never limed no secret bushes fear : press'd : 91 Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies hooks; |