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- # THE RAPE OF LYCRECE.
In him the Painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceipt, and giue the harmlelfe show
An humble gate, calme looks, eyes wayling still,
A brow vrnbent that seem'd to welcome wo,
Cheeks neither red, nor pale, but mingled so,
That blushing red, no guiltie instance gaue,
Nor aßhie pale, the feare that falfe hearts haue.
But like a constant and confirmed Deuill,
He entertain'd a show, so seeming iuß,
And therein so enßonc't his secret euill,
That Iealousie it selfe could not mißtrußt,
Falfe creeping Craft, and Periurie should thrust
Into so bright a daie, such blackfac'd storms,
Or blot with Hell-born fin such Saint-like forms.
The well-skill'd workman this milde Image drew
For periur'd SINON, whose inchaunting storie
The credulous old PRIAM after slew.
VVhofe words like wild fire burnt the shining glorie
Ofrich-built ILLION, that the skies were sorie,
And little stars shot from their fixed places,
VVhë their glas fel, wherin they view'd their faces.
11. 1506—1526
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