- cid
- bafkreig5ld6x4yua72icy6r6gj6atzn5tmafkbuchpzbx55h3uhmerstxy
- content_type
- image/jpeg
- filename
- 06_poems_pericles_facsimiles_1905_oxford_page_0249.jpg
- height
- 2400
- key
- pdf-page-1769752437929-1nvj7e03j0m
- ocr_model
- mistral-ocr-latest
- page_number
- 249
- size
- 311449
- text
- # THE RAPE OF LVCRECE.
In vaine I raile at oportunitie,
At time, at TARQVIN, and vncheârfull night,
In vaine I cauill with mine infamie,
In vaine I spurne at my confirm'd despight,
This helpeleffe smoake of words doth me no right:
The remedie indeede to do me good,
Is to let forth my fowle defiled blood.
Poore hand why quiuerft thou at this decree?
Honor thy selfe to rid me of this shame,
For if I die, my Honor liues in thee,
But if I liue thou liuft in my defame;
Since thou couldft not defend thy loyall Dame,
And waft affeard to scratch her wicked Fo,
Kill both thy selfe, and her for yeelding so.
This said, from her betombled couch shee starteth,
To finde some desp'rat Instrument of death,
But this no slaughter house no toole imparteth,
To make more vent for passage of her breath,
VWhich thronging through her lips so vanisheth,
As smoake from ÆTNA, that in aire consumes,
Or that which from discharged Cannon fumes.
In
ll. 1023—1043
- text_extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:15:23.305Z
- text_extracted_by
- ocr-service
- text_has_content
- true
- text_images_count
- 0
- text_source
- ocr
- uploaded
- true
- width
- 1750