- cid
- bafkreicfb7xq435oq5a5pu7lzex2x4z3dcyml4zqdb4qydhjryjssxpqai
- content_type
- image/jpeg
- filename
- 06_poems_pericles_facsimiles_1905_oxford_page_0275.jpg
- height
- 2400
- key
- pdf-page-1769752437952-zk0iglwagpb
- ocr_model
- mistral-ocr-latest
- page_number
- 275
- size
- 341842
- text
- # THE RAPE OF LVCRECE.
Thus ebs and flows the currant of her sorrow,
And time doth wearie time with her complayning,
Shee looks for night, & then shee longs for morrow,
And both shee thinks too long with her remayning.
Short time seems long, in sorrowes sharp sustayning,
Though wo be heauie, yet it se'dome sleepes,
And they that watch, see time, how slow it creeps.
VVhich all this time hath ouerflipt her thought,
That shee with painted Images hath spent,
Being from the feeling of her own griefe brought,
By deepe surmife of others detriment,
Loofing her woes in shews of discontent:
It easeth some, though none it euer cured,
To thinke their dolour others haue endured.
But now the mindfull Messenger come backe,
Brings home his Lord and other companie.
VVho finds his LVCRECE clad in mourning black,
And round about her teare-diftained eye
Blew circles stream'd, like Rain-bows in the skie.
Thefe watergalls in her dim Element,
Foretell new stormes to thofe alreadie spent.
VVhich
11. 1569—1589
- text_extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:15:41.404Z
- text_extracted_by
- ocr-service
- text_has_content
- true
- text_images_count
- 0
- text_source
- ocr
- uploaded
- true
- width
- 1750