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- # THE RAPE OF LVCRECE.
Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state,
But thou shalt know thy intrest was not bought
Bassely with gold, but stolne from foorth thy gate.
For me I am the mistress of my fate,
And with my trespass neuer will dispence,
Till life to death acquit my forst offence.
I will not poy son thee with my attain,
Nor sold my fault in cleanly coin'd excuses,
My sable ground of sinne I will not paint,
To hide the truth of this false nights abuses.
My tongue shall ytter all, mine eyes like fluces,
As from a mountaine spring that feeds a dale,
Shal gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.
By this lamenting Philomele had ended
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemne night with flow sad gate descended
To ouglie Hell, when loe the blushing morrow
Lends light to all faire eyes that light will borrow.
But cloudie LVCRECE shames her selfe to see,
And therefore still in night would cloistered be.
Reuealing
II. 1065—1085
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