- cid
- bafkreieq3bnxcjntsypivw6x7wwojhotmtqjzdcqlbmqcuosak4idntcmy
- content_type
- image/jpeg
- filename
- 06_poems_pericles_facsimiles_1905_oxford_page_0224.jpg
- height
- 2400
- key
- pdf-page-1769752437918-auhqifusv1a
- ocr_model
- mistral-ocr-latest
- page_number
- 224
- size
- 325710
- text
- # THE RAPE OF LYGRECE.
I haue debated euen in my foule,
VV hat wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed,
But nothing can affections course controull,
Or stop the headlong furie of his speed.
I know repentant teares infowe the deed,
Reproch, disdaine, and deadly enmity,
Yet striue I to embrace mine infamy.
This said, hee shakes aloft his Romaine blade,
VV hich like a Faulcon towing in the skies,
Cowcheth the fowle below with his wings sha de,
VV hose crooked beake threats, if he mount he dies.
So vnder his insulting Fauchion lies
- Harmeleffe Lycretia marking what he tels,
VV ith trembling feare: as fowl hear Faulcōs bels.
Lycrece, quoth he, this night I must enjoy thee,
If thou deny, then force must worke my way:
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee.
That done, some worthleffe flaue of thine ile flay.
To kill thine Honour with thy liues decaie.
And in thy dead armes do I meane to place him,
Swearing I flue him seeing thee imbrace him.
E
11. 498—518
- text_extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:15:03.385Z
- text_extracted_by
- ocr-service
- text_has_content
- true
- text_images_count
- 0
- text_source
- ocr
- uploaded
- true
- width
- 1750