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- # THE RAPE OF LYCRECE.
Here with a Cockeatrice dead killing eye,
He rowfeth vp himfelfe, and makes a pause,
VWhile thee the picture of pure pietie,
Like a white Hinde vnder the grypes fharpe clawes,
Pleades in a wilderneffe where are no lawes,
To the rough beaft, that knowes no gentle right,
Nor ought obayes but his fowle appetite.
But when a black-fac'd clowd the world doth thret,
In his dim mift th'afpiring mountaines hiding:
From earths dark-womb, some gentle guft doth get,
VWhich blow thefe pitchie vapours fro their biding:
Hindring their present fall by this deuding,
So his vnhallowed haft her words delayes,
And moodie Plyro winks while Orpheus playes.
Yet fowle night-waking Cat he doth but dallie,
VWhile in his hold-faft foot the weak mouse pareth,
Her sad behauiour feedes his vulture follic,
A swallowing guffe that euen in plentie wanteth.
His eare her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
No penetrable entrance to her playning,
"Tears harden luft though marble were with ray-
E 2 (ning.
II. 540—560
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