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Now is he come unto the chamber-door,
That for his prey to pray he doch begin,
As if the heavens should countenance his sin.
The powers to whom I pray, abhor this fact,
How can they then assist me in the act !
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, 5 And gazeth on her yet unstained bed : The curtains being close, about he walks, Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head, By their high treason in his heart misled :
Which gives the watch-word to his hand too soon,
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. book, as the fair and fiery pointed sun, Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ;  Our author has here rather prematurely made Tarquin a disciple of  The poet meant by the word stalk to convey the notion not of a boisterous, but quiet movement. A person apprehensive of being discovered, naturally takes lung steps, the sooner to arrive at his point, whether he is approaching or retiring, and thus shorten the moments of danger. MAE).
Even so the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
That dazzleth them, or else some shame suppos'd ;
But blind they are, and keep themselves inclos'd.
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.
Where like a virtuous monument she lies, 6
To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes.
And canopy'd 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 ! Shewing 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.
 On our ancient monuments the heads of the persons represented are commonly reposed on pillows. STEEVENS.
Who like a foul usurper went about,
From this fair throne to have the owner out,
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.
His eye which late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins.
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, Smoaking 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.
Who peeping forth, this tumult to behold,
 To tire is a term in falconry. He glutted his lustful eye in the imagination of what he had resolved to do. Perhaps we should read-And on his will, &c. STEEVENS.
Imagine her as one in dead of night,
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The sight, which makes supposed terror true.
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 ! distrest, Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, Beating her hulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,
To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.
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 tale. Upder that colour am I come to scale
Thy never-conquer'd fort, the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine,
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
I see what crosses my attempts will bring,
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
And doats on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. I have debated, even in my soul, What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed ; But nothing can affection's course control, Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. I know repentant tears ensue the deed,
Reproach, disdain, and deadly, enmity ;
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowls hear falcons' bells.
And in thy dead arms do i mean to place him,
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.
Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhimes,
And sung by children in succeeding times.
 Read wings. To couch the fowl may mean to make it couch; as, to brave a man, in our author's language, signifies either to insult him, or to make him brave ; i. e. fine.