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- # THE RAPE OF LYCRECE.
My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me,
Thy selfe art mightie, for thine own sake leaue me:
My selfe a weakling, do not then infnare me.
Thou lookst not like deceipt, do not deceiue me.
My sighes like whirlewindes labor hence to heaue
If euer man were mou'd with womäs mones, (thee.
Be moued with my teares, my sighes, my grones.
All which together like a troubled Ocean,
Beat at thy rockie, and wracke-threaming heart,
To soften it with their continuall motion:
For stones diffolu'd to water do convert.
O if no harder then a stone thou art,
Melt at my teares and be compassionate,
Soft pittie enters at an iron gate.
In TARQVING likenesse I did entertaine thee,
Hast thou put on his shape, to do him shame?
To all the Host of Heaven I complaine me.
Thou wrongst his honor, woudst his princely name:
Thou art not what thou seemst, and if the same,
Thou seemst not what thou art, a God, a King,
For kings like Gods should gourme euery thing.
E 3
11. 582—602
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