in awe.'
Thus, graceless, holds he disputation?'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,?And with good thoughts makes dispensation,?Urging the worser sense for vantage still;?Which in a moment doth confound and kill?All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,?That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.
Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand,?And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes,?Fearing some hard news from the warlike band,?Where her beloved Collatinus lies.?O how her fear did make her colour rise!?First red as roses that on lawn we lay,?Then white as lawn, the roses took away.
'And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd,?Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear;?Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd,?Until her husband's welfare she did hear;?Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,?That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,?Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.
'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses??All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;?Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;?Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:?Affection is my captain, and he leadeth;?And when his gaudy banner is display'd,?The coward fights and will not be dismay'd.
'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!?Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age!?My heart shall never countermand mine eye;?Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;?My part is youth, and beats these from the stage:?Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;?Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?'
As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear?Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust.?Away he steals with opening, listening ear,?Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;?Both which, as servitors to the unjust,?So cross him with their opposite persuasion,?That now he vows a league, and now invasion.
Within his thought her heavenly image sits,?And in the self-same seat sits Collatine:?That eye which looks on her confounds his wits;?That eye which him beholds, as more divine,?Unto a view so false will not incline;?But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,?Which once corrupted takes the worser part;
And therein heartens up his servile powers,?Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,?Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;?And as their captain, so their pride doth grow.?Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.?By reprobate desire thus madly led,?The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.
The locks between her chamber and his will,?Each one by him enforc'd retires his ward;?But, as they open they all rate his ill,?Which drives the creeping thief to some regard,?The threshold grates the door to have him heard;?Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him there;?They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.
As each unwilling portal yields him way,?Through little vents and crannies of the place?The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay,?And blows the smoke of it into his face,?Extinguishing his conduct in this case;?But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,?Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:
And being lighted, by the light he spies?Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks;?He takes it from the rushes where it lies,?And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks:?As who should say this glove to wanton tricks?Is not inur'd: return again in haste;?Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste.
But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;?He in the worst sense construes their denial:?The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,?He takes for accidental things of trial;?Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial,?Who with a lingering stay his course doth let,?Till every minute pays the hour his debt.
'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time,?Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring.?To add a more rejoicing to the prime,?And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.?Pain pays the income of each precious thing;?Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands, The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.'
Now is he come unto the chamber door,?That shuts him from the heaven of his thought,?Which with a yielding latch, and with no more,?Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought.?So from himself impiety hath wrought,?That for his prey to pray he doth begin,?As if the heavens should countenance his sin.
But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,?Having solicited the eternal power,?That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,?And they would stand auspicious to the hour,?Even there he starts:--quoth he, 'I must de-flower;?The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,?How can they then assist me in the act?
'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!?My will is back'd with resolution:?Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried,?The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution;?Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.?The eye of heaven is out, and misty night?Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.'
This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch,?And with his knee the door he opens wide:?The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch;?Thus
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