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- # THE RAPE OF LYCRECE.
O hatefull, vaporous, and foggy night,
Since thou art guilty of my curelese crime:
Muster thy mists to meete the Easterne light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time.
Or if thou wilt permit the Sunne to clime
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poysonous clouds about his golden head.
Vith rotten damps rauish the morning aire,
Let their exhald vnholdsome breaths make sike
The life of puritie, the supreme faire,
Ere he arriue his wearie noone-tide pricke,
And let thy mustie vapours march so thick,
That in their smoakie rankes, his smothred light
May set at noone, and make perpetuall night.
Vvere TARQUIN night, as he is but nights child,
The siluer shining Queene he would distaine;
Hert winckling handmaids to (by him defil'd)
Through nights black bosom should not peep again.
So should I haue coparmers in my paine,
And fellowship in woe doth woe asswage,
As Palmers chat makes short their pilgrimage.
VVhere
II. 771—791
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