The Rape of Lucrece | Page 7

treason works ere traitors be espied.?Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside;?But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,?Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.
Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,?And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.?The curtains being close, about he walks,?Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:?By their high treason is his heart misled;?Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon?To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.
Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,?Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;?Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun?To wink, being blinded with a greater light:?Whether it is that she reflects so bright,?That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;?But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.
O, had they in that darksome prison died,?Then had they seen the period of their ill!?Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side?In his clear bed might have reposed still:?But they must ope, this blessed league to kill;?And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight?Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.
Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,?Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;?Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,?Swelling on either side to want his bliss;?Between whose hills her head entombed is:?Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,?To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes.
Without the bed her other fair hand was,?On the green coverlet; whose perfect white?Show'd like an April daisy on the grass,?With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night,?Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light,?And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,?Till they might open to adorn the day.
Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath;?O modest wantons! wanton modesty!?Showing life's triumph in the map of death,?And death's dim look in life's mortality:?Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,?As if between them twain there were no strife,?But that life liv'd in death, and death in life.
Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,?A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,?Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,?And him by oath they truly honoured.?These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred:?Who, like a foul usurper, went about?From this fair throne to heave the owner out.
What could he see but mightily he noted??What did he note but strongly he desir'd??What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,?And in his will his wilful eye he tir'd.?With more than admiration he admir'd?Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,?Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.
As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey,?Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,?So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,?His rage of lust by grazing qualified;?Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side,?His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,?Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:
And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,?Obdurate vassals. fell exploits effecting,?In bloody death and ravishment delighting,?Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting,?Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting:?Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,?Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.
His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,?His eye commends the leading to his hand;?His hand, as proud of such a dignity,?Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand?On her bare breast, the heart of all her land;?Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,?Left their round turrets destitute and pale.
They, mustering to the quiet cabinet?Where their dear governess and lady lies,?Do tell her she is dreadfully beset,?And fright her with confusion of their cries:?She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes,?Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,?Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd.
Imagine her as one in dead of night?From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,?That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,?Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking:?What terror 'tis! but she, in worser taking,?From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view?The sight which makes supposed terror true.
Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,?Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies;?She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears?Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:?Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries:?Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,?In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.
His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,?(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)?May feel her heart, poor citizen, distress'd,?Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,?Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.?This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,?To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.
First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin?To sound a parley to his heartless foe,?Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,?The reason of this rash alarm to know,?Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;?But she with vehement prayers urgeth still?Under what colour he commits this ill.
Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face,?(That even for anger makes the lily pale,?And the red rose blush at her own disgrace)?Shall plead for me and tell my loving