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- # THE RAPE OF LYCRECE.
O teach me how to make mine owne excuse,
Or (at the least) this refuge let me finde,
Though my groffé bloud be ftaind with this abuse,
Immaculate, and spotleffe is my mind,
That was not forc’d, that neuer was inclind
To acceffarie yeeldings, but still pure
Doth in her poyfon’d clofef yet endure.
Lo heare the hopeleffe Marchant of this loffe,
WVith head declin’d, and voice dam’d vp with wo,
WVith fad fet eyes and wretched armes acroffe,
From lips new waxen pale, begins to blow.
The griefe away, that ftops his answer fo.
But wretched as he is he ftriues in vaine,
WVhat he breaths out, his breath drinks vp again.
As through an Arch, the violent roaring tide,
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haft:
Yet in the Edie boundeth in his pride,
Backe to the ftrait that forft him on fo faft:
In rage fent out, recald in rage being paft,
Euen fo his fighes, his forrowes make a faw,
To pufh griefe on, and back the fame grief draw.
VVhich
II. 1653—1673
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