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- # THE RAPE OF LYCRECE
Now thinkes he that her husbands shallow tongue,
The niggard prodigall that praisde her so:
In that high taske hath done her Beauty wrong.
V Vhich farre exceedes his barren skill to show.
Therefore that praise which **COLATINE** doth owe,
Inchaunted **TAQUIN** aunfwers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still gazing eyes.
This earthly fainct adored by this deuill,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper:
“For vnstaind thoughts do seldom dream on euill.
“Birds neuer him’d, no secret but he seare:
So guiltless shee securely giues good cheare,
And neuerend welcome to her princely guest,
V Vhose inward ill no outward harme exprest.
For that he colourd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in pleats of Maiestie:
That nothing in him seemd inordinate,
Saue sometime too much wonder of his eye,
V Vhich hauing all, all could not fasistie;
But poorly rich so wanteth in his store,
That cloyd with much, he pineth still for more.
B 3
II. 78—98
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