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- # THE RAPE OF LYCRECE.
Her house is fackt, her quiet interrupted,
Her mansion battered by the enemy,
Her sacred temple spotted, spoiled, corrupted,
Groslie ingirt with daring infamie.
Then let it not be cald impietie,
If in this blenish fort I make some hole,
Through which I may connay this troubled foule.
Yet die I will not, till my **COLATINE**
Haue heard the cause of my vntimelie death,
That he may vow in that sad house of mine,
Reuenge on him that made me stop my breath,
My stained cloud to **TARQVIN** ile bequeath,
V Vhich for him tainted, shall for him be spent,
And as his due writ in my testament.
My Honor ile bequeath vnto the knife
That wounds my bodie so dishonored,
Tis Honor to deprive dishonord life,
The one will liue, the other being dead.
So ofshames ashes shall my Fame be bred,
For in my death! murther shamefull scorne,
My shame so dead, mine honor is new borne.
I
II. 1170—1190
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