At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, And thus begins: 'What uncouth ill event Hath thee befall'n.that thou dost trembling stand?
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?
Why art thou thus attired in discontent?
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.'
Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire Ere once she can discharge one word of woe;At length addressed to answer his desire, She modestly prepares to let them know Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe;While Collatine and his consorted lords With sad attention long to hear her words.
And now this pale swan in her wat'ry nest Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending.
'Few words', quoth she, 'shall fit the trespass best, Where no excuse can give the fault amending:
In me moe woes than words are now depending;And my laments would be drawn out too long, To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.
'Then be this all the task it hath to say:
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed A stranger came, and on that pillow lay Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;And what wrong else may be imagined By foul enforcement might be done to me, From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free.
'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, With shining falchion in my chamber came:
A creeping creature with a flaming light, And softly cried "Awake, thou Roman dame, And entertain my love; else lasting shame On thee and thine this night I will inflict, If thou my love's desire do contradict.
"'For some hard-favoured groom of thine," quoth he, "Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee, And swear I found you where you did fulfill The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill The lechers in their deed: this act will be My fame, and thy perpetual infamy."'With this, I did begin to start and cry, And then against my heart he set his sword, Swearing, unless I took all patiently, I should not live to speak another word;So should my shame still rest upon record, And never be forgot in mighty Rome Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.
'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, And far the weaker with so strong a fear.
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;No rightful plea might plead for justice there.
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear That my poor beauty had purloined his eyes, And when the judge is robbed, the prisoner dies.
'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!
Or, at the least, this refuge let me find:
Though my gross blood be stained with this abuse, Immaculate and spotless is my mind;That was not forced; that never was inclined To accessary yieldings, but still pure Doth in her poisoned closet yet endure.'
Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, With head declined, and voice damned up with woe, With sad-set eyes and wreathed arms across, From lips new waxen pale begins to blow The grief away that stops his answer so;But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain;What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.
As through an arch the violent roaring tide Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste, Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride Back to the strait that forced him on so fast, In rage sent out, recalled in rage, being past;Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw, To push grief on and back the same grief draw.
Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
'Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth Another power; no flood by raining slaketh.
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh More feeling-painful.Let it then suffice To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.
'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me:
Be suddenly revenged on my foe, Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou dost defend me From what is past.The help that thou shalt lend me Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;"For sparing justice feeds iniquity.
'But ere I name him, you fair lords', quoth she, Speaking to those that came with Collatine, 'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;For 'tis a meritorious fair design To chase injustice with revengeful arms:
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' harms.'
At this request, with noble disposition Each present lord began to promise aid, As bound in knighthood to her imposition, Longing to hear the hateful foe bewrayed.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, The protestation stops.'O, speak,' quoth she, 'How may this forced stain be wiped from me?
'What is the quality of my offence, Being constrained with dreadful circumstance?
May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, My low-declined honour to advance?
May any terms acquit me from this chance?
The poisoned fountain clears itself again;And why not I from this compelled stain?'
With this, they all at once began to say, Her body's stain her mind untainted clears;While with a joyless smile she turns.away The face, that map which deep impression bears Of hard misfortune, carved in it with tears.
'No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame hereafter living By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.'
Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, She throws forth Tarquin's name: 'He, he,' she says, But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not speak;Till after many accents and delays, Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, She utters this: 'He, he, fair lords, 'tis he, That guides this hand to give this wound to me.'
Even here, she sheathed in her harmless breast A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed:
