Of Collatine’s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Haply that name of chaste unhapp’ly set

This bateless edge on his keen appetite,

When Collatine unwisely did not let

To praise the clear unmatched red and white

Which triumphed in that sky of his delight,

Where mortal stars as bright as heaven’s beauties

With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

For he the night before in Tarquin’s tent

Unlocked the treasure of his happy state,

What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent

In the possession of his beauteous mate,

Reck’ning his fortune at such high-proud rate

That kings might be espoused to more fame,

But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoyed but of a few,

And, if possessed, as soon decayed and done

As is the morning’s silver melting dew

Against the golden splendour of the sun,

An expired date cancelled ere well begun!

Honour and beauty in the owner’s arms

Are weakly fortressed from a world of harms.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade

The eyes of men without an orator.

What needeth then apology be made

To set forth that which is so singular?

Or why is Collatine the publisher

Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown

From thievish ears, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece’ sov’reignty

Suggested this proud issue of a king,

For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be.

Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,

Braving compare, disdainfully did sting

His high-pitched thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt

That golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate

His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those.

His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state

Neglected all, with swift intent he goes

To quench the coal which in his liver glows.

O rash false heat, wrapped in repentant cold,

Thy hasty spring still blasts and ne’er grows old!

When at Collatium this false lord arrived,

Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,

Within whose face beauty and virtue strived

Which of them both should underprop her fame.

When virtue bragged, beauty would blush for shame;

When beauty boasted blushes, in despite

Virtue would stain that or with silver white.

But beauty, in that white entitulèd

From Venus’ doves, doth challenge that fair field.

Then virtue claims from beauty beauty’s red,

Which virtue gave the golden age to gild

Their silver cheeks, and called it then their shield,

Teaching them thus to use it in the fight:

When shame assailed, the red should fence the

white.

This heraldry in Lucrece’ face was seen,

Argued by beauty’s red and virtue’s white.

Of either’s colour was the other queen,

Proving from world’s minority their right.

Yet their ambition makes them still to fight,

The sovereignty of either being so great

That oft they interchange each other’s seat.

This silent war of lilies and of roses

Which Tarquin viewed in her fair face’s field

In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses,

Where, lest between them both it should be killed,

The coward captive vanquished doth yield

To those two armies that would let him go

Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband’s shallow tongue,

The niggard prodigal that praised her so,

In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,

Which far exceeds his barren skill to show.

Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe

Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise

In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint adored by this devil

Little suspecteth the false worshipper,

For unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil.

Birds never limed no secret bushes fear,

So guiltless she securely gives good cheer

And reverent welcome to her princely guest,

Whose inward ill no outward harm expressed,

For that he coloured with his high estate,

Hiding base sin in pleats of majesty,

That nothing in him seemed inordinate

Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,

Which, having all, all could not satisfy,

But poorly rich so wanteth in his store

That, cloyed with much, he pineth still for more.

But she that never coped with stranger eyes

Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,

Nor read the subtle shining secrecies

Writ in the glassy margins of such books.

She touched no unknown baits nor feared no hooks,

Nor could she moralize his wanton sight

More than his eyes were opened to the light.

He stories to her ears her husband’s fame

Won in the fields of fruitful Italy,

And decks with praises Collatine’s high name

Made glorious by his manly chivalry

With bruised arms and wreaths of victory.

Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express,

And wordless so greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming thither

He makes excuses for his being there.

No cloudy show of stormy blust’ring weather