Properties
- end_line
- 4484
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:24:48.288Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4391
- text
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# THE RAPE OF LVCRECE.
The ayme of all is but to nourfe the life,
V Vith honor, wealth, and ease in wainying age:
And in this ayme there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage:
As life for honour, in fell battalles rage,
Honor for wealth, and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and altogether lost.
So that in ventring ill, we leave to be
The things we are, for that which we expect:
And this ambitious foule infirmitie,
In hauing much torments vs with defeat
Of that we haue: so then we doe neglect
The thing we haue, and all for want of wit,
Make something nothing, by augmenting it.
Such hazard now must doting T A R Q V I N make,
Pawning his honor to obtaine his lust,
And for himselfe, himselfe he must forfake.
Then where is truth if there be no selfe trust?
V Vhen shall he thinke to find a stranger iust,
V Vhen he himselfe, himselfe confounds, betraies,
To sclandrous tongues & wretched hateful daies?
Now
II. 141—161
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# THE RAPE OF LYCRECE.
Now stole vppon the time the dead of night,
VV hen heauie fleecep had clofd vp mortall eyes,
No comfortable ftarre did lend his light,
No noise but Owles, & wolues death-boding cries:
Now serues the season that they may surprise
The fillie Lambes, pure thoughts are dead & still,
VVhile Luft and Murder wakes to staine and kill.
And now this luftfull Lord leapt from his bed,
Throwing his mantle rudely ore his arme,
Is madly toft betweene defire and dred;
Th'one sweetely flatters, th'other feareth harme,
But honest feare, bewicht with luftes foule charme,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
Beaten away by brainefickie rude defire.
- His Faulchon on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the could ftone sparkes of fire doe flie,
VVhereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
VVhich muft be lodeftarre to his luftfull eye.
And to the flame thus speakes aduifedlie;
As from this cold flint I enforft this fire,
So Lycrece muft I force to my defire.
C
ll. 162—182
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# THE RAPE OF LVCRECE.
Here pale with feare he doth premeditate,
The daungers of his lothsome enterprise:
And in his inward mind he doth debate,
VVhat following sorrow may on this arise.
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armour of still slaughtered lust,
And lustly thus controlls his thoughts vniust.
Faire torch burne out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine:
And die vnhallowed thoughts, before you blot
VVith your vncleannesse, that which is deuine:
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:
Let faire humanitie abhor the deede,
That spots & stains loues modest snow-white weed.
O shame to knighthood, and to shining Armes,
O foule dishonor to my houthoulds graue:
O impious act including all foule harmes.
A martial man to be soft fancies slaue,
True valour still a true respect should haue,
Then my digression is so vile, so base,
That it will liue engrauen in my face.
Yea
11. 183—203
- title
- Chunk 3