10.

Lucrece refolved to kill

her felf, deter mines first to Send her Hufband word.

This Plot of Death, when fadly fhe had laid,

And wip'd the brinish Pearl from her bright Eyes,

With untun'd Tongue the hoarfly call'd her Maid,

Whofe swift Obedience to her Mif-
tress bies,

For fleet-wing'd Duty withThought's Feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece Cheeks unto her Maid seem so,
As Winter-Meads when Sun dos melt their Snow.

Her Mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,
With foft flow Tongue, true Marks of Modesty,
And forts a fad look to her Lady's Sorrow,
(For why her Face wore Sorrow's Livery)
But durft not ask of her audaciouдly,

Why her two Sons were Cloud-eclipsed fo,
Nor why her fair Cheeks over-wafht with Woe.

But as the Earth doth weep, the Sun being fet,
Each Flower moiftned like a melting Eye :
E'en fo the Maid with fwelling Drops gan wet
Her circled Eyne enforc'd, by fimpathy
Of those fair Suns fet in her Mistress Sky,
Who in a falt-wav'd Ocean quench their Light,
Which makes the Maid weep like the dewyNight,

A pretty while thefe pretty Creatures stand,
Like Ivory Conduits Coral Cifterns filling:
One juftly weeps, the other takes in hand
No Caufe, but company of her Drops fpilling,
Their gentle Sex to weep are often willing,

Grieving themselves to guess at other Smarts, And then they drown their Eyes, or break their (Hearts.

For

For Men have Marble, Women waxen Minds,
And therefore are they form'd as Marble will:
The Weak oppreft, th' Impression of strange kinds
Is for m'd in them by Force, by Fraud or Skill.
Then call them not the Authors of their Ill,

No more than Wax fhall be accounted Evil,
Wherein is ftampt the femblance of a Devil.

Their smoothness like a Champain Plain,
Lays open all the little Worms that creepe
In Men, as a rough grown Grove remain
Cave, keeping Evils that obfcurely sleep;
Thro Christal Walls each little Mote will peep...
'Tho Men can cover Crimes with bold ftern Look,
Poor Womens Faces are their own Faults Books.

No Man inveighs against the wither'd Flower,
But chides rough Winter that the Flower has kil'd:
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour
Is worthy blame, O let it not be held

Poor Womens Faults, that they are so fulfil'd
With Mens Abules,those proud Lords to blame,
Make weak-mad Women Tenants to their fhame.

The Prefident whereof in Lucrece view,
Affail'd by Night, with Circumstances strong
Of present Death and Shame that might enfue,
By that her Death to do her Husband wrong;
Such Danger to resistance did belong.

The dying Fear thro all her Body spread,
And who cannot abufe a Body dead?

By this mild Patience did fair Lucrece speak
To the poor Counterfeit of her complaining:
My Girl,quoth fhe, on what occafion break (raining?
Thofe Tears from thee, that down thy Cheeks are

If thou doft weep for Grief of my fuftaining,
Know gentle Wench, it fmall avails my Mood,
If Tears could help mine,own would do me good.

But tell me, Girl, when went (and there she staid,
Till after a deep Groan) Tarquin from hence?
Madam, e'er I was up (reply'd the Maid)
The more to blame my fluggard Negligence:
Yet with the Fault I thus far can difpenfe,
My felf was stirring e'er the break of day,
And e'er I rofe was Tarquin gone away.

But, Lady, if your Maid may be fo bold,
She would request to know your Heaviness.
O peace (quoth Lucrece) if it should be told,
The Repetition cannot make it lefs:
For more it is than I can well express,

And that deep Torture may be call'd a Hell,
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.

Go get me hither Paper, Ink, and Pen;
Yet fave that labour, for I have them here:
(What should I fay?) one of my Husband's men
Bid thou be ready by and by to bear

A Letter to my Lord, my Love, my Dear;
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it,

The Caufe craves haft, and it will foon be writ.

1

Her Maid is gon, and the prepares to write, First hovering o'er the Paper with her Quill; Conceit and Grief an eager Combat fight, What Wit fets down is blotted ftill with Will, This is too curious good, this blunt and ill; Much like a Prefs of People at a Door, Throng her Inventions which fhall go before.

At laft fhe thus begins: Thou worthy Lord
Of that unworthy Wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy Perfon, next vouchsafe t'afford
(If ever, Love, thy Lucrece thou wilt fee)
Some present speed to come and visit me.

So I commend me from our House in grief,
My Woes are tedious, tho my Words are brief.

Here folds the up the Tenor of her Woe,
Her certain Sorrow writ uncertainly;
By this short Schedule Colatine may know
Her Grief, but not her Grief's true Quality;
She dares not therefore make discovery,

Left he should hold it her own grofs abuse,
E'er the with Blood had ftain'd her ftain'd Excufe.

Befides the life and feeling of her Passion,
She hoards to spend, when he is by to hear her,
When Sighs, and Groans, and Tears may grace the
Of her Difgrace, the better fo to clear her (fashion
From that fufpicion which the World might bear
(her:

To fhun this Blot she would not blot the Letter
With Words, till Action might become them

(better.

To fee fad Sights, moves more than hear them told;
For then the Eye interprets to the Ear
The heavy Motion that it doth behold:
When every Part a part of Woe doth bear,
Tis but a part of Sorrow that we hear. (Fords,
Deep Sounds make leffer Noife than fhallow
And Sorrow ebbs being blown with Wind of

(Words,

Her

Her Letter now is feal'd, and on it writ,
At Ardea to my Lord with more than halt;
The Poft attends, and the delivers it,

Charging the four-fac'd Groom to hie as fast,
As lagging Souls before the Northern Blast.
Speed, more than Speed, but dull and flow fhe
Extremity ftill urgeth fuch Extremes. (deems,

The homely Villain curfies to her low,
And blushing on her with a stedfast Eye,
Receives the Scroll without or Yea or No,
And forth with bafhful Innocence doth lie.
But they whofe Guilt within their Bosoms lie,
Imagine every Eye beholds their blame,
For Lucrece thought he blusht to see her shame.

When filly Groom (God wot) it was defect
Of Spirit, Life, and bold Audacity;
Such harmless Creatures have a true refpe&
To talk in Deeds, while others faucily
Promife more fpeed, but do it leifurely.

Even fo this Pattern of the worn-out Age
Pawn'd honest Looks,but laid no Words to gage.

10350

His kindled Duty kindled her Miftrust,

That two red Fires in both their Faces blaz'd:
She thought he blufht as knowing Tarquin's Luft;
And blufhing with him, wiftly on him gaz'd,
Her earnest Eye did make him more amaz❜d:
The more fhe faw the Blood his Cheeks replenish,
The more he thought he fpy'd in her fome blemish.
a (

But long fhe thinks till he return again,c
And yet the duteous Vaffal scarce is gone;
The weary Time she cannot entertain,
For now 'tis stale to figh, to weep, and groan.'

So