The Rape of Lucrece by William Shakespeare ~ Full Audiobook
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Domestic data roaming at 2G speeds. Price guarantee applies to then current base monthly rate. Additional terms and conditions apply. The Rape of Lucrece by William Shakespeare. Recording by Martin Giesen. The dedication to the Right Honourable Henry Risely, Earl of Southampton and Baron of Titchfield. The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end.

whereof this pamphlet without beginning is but a superfluous moiety the warrant i have of your honourable disposition not the worth of my untutored lines makes it assured of acceptance

what i have done is yours what i have to do is yours being part in all i have devoted yours were my worth greater my duty would show greater

meantime as it is it is bound to your lordship to whom i wish long life still lengthened with all happiness your lordship's in all duty william shakespeare the argument lucius tarquinius for his excessive pride surnamed superbus

after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be cruelly murdered, and contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome to besiege Ardea.

During which siege the principal men of the army, meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of his own wife, among whom Colatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia.

In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome, and intending by their secret and sudden arrival to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Colotinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids.

the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling or in several disports whereupon the nobleman yielded collatinus the victory and his wife the fame

at that time sextus tarquinius being inflamed with lucrece's beauty yet smothering his passions for the present departed with the rest back to the camp

from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself and was according to his estate royally entertained and lodged by lucris at collatium the same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber violently ravished her

and early in the morning speedeth away luc in this lamentable plight hastily despatch'd messengers one to rome for her father another to the camp for collatine they came the one accompanied with junius brutus the other with publius valerius

and finding lucrece attired in mourning habit demanded the cause of her sorrow she first taking an oath of them for her revenge revealed the actor and whole manner of his dealing and withal suddenly stabbed herself

which done with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the tarquins and bearing the dead body to rome brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king

wherewith the people were so moved that with one consent and a general acclamation the tarquins were all exiled and the state government changed from kings to consuls the argument by martin giessen in hazlemere surrey

section one of the rape of lucrece this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin geason the rape of lucrece by william shakespeare section one from the besieged ardea all in post borne by the trustless wings of false desire

Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, And to Collatium bears the lightless fire, Which in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire And girdle with embracing flames The waist of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Happily that name of chaste Unhappily set this baitless edge On his keen appetite, When Colatine 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.

Reckoning 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 fortress'd from a world of harms

beauty itself doth of itself persuade the eyes of men without an orator what needeth then apologies 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 lucre's sovereignty suggested this proud issue of a king for by our ears our hearts oft tainted

perchance that envy of so rich a thing brave incompaire disdainfully did sting his high-pitched thoughts that meaner men should vaunt that golden hap which their superiors won but some untimely thought did instigate his all too timeless speed if none of those

his honor 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 wrapp'd 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 oar with silver white but beauty in that white intitulid 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 beauties red and virtues 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

their silent war of lilies and of roses which tarquin view'd in her fair face is feel'd 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 unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil, Birds never lim'd, no secret bushes fear. So guiltless she securely gives good cheer, And reverend welcome to her princely guest, Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd.

for that he coloured with his high estate hiding base sin in plats of majesty that nothing in him seem'd 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 cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But she that never coped with stranger eyes Could pick no meaning from their palling looks, Nor read the subtle shining secrecies Written the glassy margints 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, One in the fields of fruitful Italy, And decks with praises Colatine'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 hither, He makes excuses for his being there. No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear.

till sable night mother of dread and fear upon the world dim darkness doth display and in her vaulty prison stows the day for then is tarquin brought unto his bed intending weariness with heavy sprite

for after supper long he questioned with modest lucrece and wore out the night now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight and every one to rest themselves betake save thieves and cares and troubled minds that wake

as one of which doth tarquin lie revolving the sundry dangers of his wills obtaining yet ever to obtain his will resolving though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining

and when great treasure is the meed proposed though death be adjunct there's no death supposed

those that much covet are with gain so fond for what they have not that which they possess they scatter and unloose it from their bond and so by hoping more they have but less or gaining more the profit of excess is but to surfeit

and such griefs sustain that they prove bankrupt in this poor rich gain the aim of all is but to nurse the life with honour wealth and ease in waning age and in this aim there is such thwarting strife

that one for all or all for one we gauge as life for honour in fell battles rage honour for wealth and oft that wealth doth cost the death of all and altogether loss so that in venturing ill we leave to be the things we are for that which we expect

and this ambitious foul infirmity in having much torments us with defect of that we have so then do we neglect the thing we have and all for want of wit make something nothing by augmenting it such hazard now must doting tarquin make

Pawning his honour to obtain his lust, And for himself, himself he must forsake. Then where is truth if there be no self-trust? When shall he think to find a stranger just, When he himself, himself confounds, betrays, To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?

End of section one. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere, Surrey. Six months from now, you could be running a 5K, booking that dream trip, or seeing thicker, fuller hair every time you look in the mirror. Through HERS, you can get dermatologist-trusted, clinically proven prescriptions with ingredients that go beyond what over-the-counter products offer.

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section two of the rape of lucrece this librivox recording is in the public domain the rape of lucrece by william shakespeare section two now stole upon the time the dead of night when heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes

no comfortable star did lend his light no noise but owls and wolves death-boding cries now serves the season that they may surprise the silly lambs pure thoughts are dead and still while lust and murder wake to stain and kill

and now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm is madly toss'd between desire and dread the one sweetly flatters the other feareth harm

but honest fear bewitched with lust's foul charm doth too too oft betake him to retire beaten away by brain-sick rude desire his fortune on a flint he softly smiteth that from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly

whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth which must be lodestar to his lustful eye and to the flame thus speaks advisedly as from this cold flint i enforced this fire so lucrece must i force to my desire

here pale with fear he doth premeditate the dangers of his loathsome enterprise and his inward mind he doth debate what following sorrow may on this arise

then looking scornfully he doth despise his naked armour of still slaughter'd lust and justly thus controls his thoughts unjust fair torch burn out thy light and lend it not to darken her whose light excelleth thine

and die unhallowed thoughts before you blot with your uncleanness that which is divine offer pure incense to so pure a shrine let fair humanity abhor the deed that spots and stains love's modest snow-white

O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! O foul dishonour to my household's grave! O impious act, including all foul harms! A martial man to be soft fancy's slave! True valour still a true respect should have.

then my digression is so vile so base that it will live engraven in my face yea though i die the scandal will survive and be an eyesore in my golden coat some loathsome dash the herald will contrive to cipher me how fondly i did dote

that my posterity shamed with the note shall curse my bones and hold it for no sin to wish that i their father had not been what win i if i gain the thing i seek a dream a breath a froth of fleeting joy who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week

or sells eternity to get a toy for one sweet grape who will the vine destroy or what fond beggar but to touch the crown would with the sceptre straight be strucken down

If Colotinus dream of my intent, will he not wake, and in a desperate rage post hither, this vile purpose to prevent, this siege that hath engirt his marriage, this blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage?

this dying vertue this surviving shame whose crime will bear an ever-during blame oh what excuse can my invention make when thou shalt charge me with so black a deed

will not my tongue be mute my frail joints shake mine eyes forego their light my false heart bleed the guilt being great the fear doth still exceed and extreme fear can neither fight nor fly but coward-like with trembling terror die

had collatinus killed my son or sire or lain in ambush to betray my life or were he not my dear friend this desire might have excuse to work upon his wife

as in revenge or quittle of such strife but as he is my kinsman my dear friend the shame and fault finds no excuse nor end shameful it is if the fact be known hateful it is there is no hate in loving i'll beg her love but she is not her own

the worst is but denial and reproving my will is strong past reasons weak removing who fears a sentence or an old man's sore shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe thus graceless holds he disputation between frozen conscience and hot burning will

and with good thoughts makes dispensation, urging the worse ascents for vantage still, which in a moment doth confound and kill all pure effects, and doth so far proceed that what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand,

And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes, Fearing some hard news from the warlike band Where her beloved Colotinus lies. Oh, how her fear did make her colour rise! First red as roses that on lawn we lay, Then white as lawn the roses took away.

And how her hand, in my hand being locked, Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear.

which struck her sad and then it faster rocked until her husband's welfare did she hear whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer that had narcissus seen her as she stood self-love had never drowned him in the flood

why hunt i then for colour or excuses all orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth

affection is my captain and he leadeth and when his gaudy banner is displayed the coward fights and will not be dismayed then childish fear avaunt debating die respect and reason wait on wrinkled age my heart shall never countermand mine eye

sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage my part is youth and beats these from the stage desire my pilot is beauty my prize then who fears sinking where such treasure lies

RAPE OF LUCRES by William Shakespeare. Section 3.

as corn or grown by weeds so heedful fear is almost choked by unresisted lusts away he steals with opening listening ear full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust

both which as servitors to the unjust so cross him with their opposite persuasion that now he vows a league and now invasion within his thought her heavenly image sits and in the self-same seat sits colatine

That eye which looks on her confounds his wits, That eye which him beholds as more divine, Unto a view so false will not incline, But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, Which once corrupted takes the worse apart.

and therein heartens up his servile powers who flatter'd by their leader's jocund show stuff up his lust as minutes fill up hours and as their captain so their pride doth grow paying more slavish tribute than they owe

by reprobate desire thus madly led the roman lord marcheth to lucrece bed the locks between her chamber and his will each one by him enforc'd retires his ward but as they open they all rate his ill which drives the creeping thief to some regard

The threshold grates the door to have him heard. Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him there. They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. As each unwilling portal yields him way, Through little vents and crannies of the place The wind wars with his torch to make him stay.

and blows the smoke of it into his face extinguishing his conduct in this case but his hot heart which fond desire doth scorch puffs forth another wind that fires the torch

And being lighted, by the light He spies Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks. He takes it from the rushes where it lies, And gripping it, the kneel'd his finger pricks, As who should say this glove to wanton tricks Is not inured?

Return again in haste; Thou seest our mistress ornaments are chaste. But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; He in the worst sense construes their denial; The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, He takes for accidental things of trial.

or as those bars which stop the hourly dial who with a lingering stay his course doth let till every minute pays the hour his debt so so quoth he

These lets attend the time, Like little frosts that sometimes threat the spring, To add a more rejoicing to the prime, And give the sneeped birds more cause to sing. Pain pays the income of each precious thing,

Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, Shelves and sands, the merchant fears, Ere rich at home he lands. Now he is come unto the chamber door That shuts him from the heaven of his thought With a yielding latch, and with no more Hath barred him from the blessed thing he sought.

So from himself impiety hath wrought, That for his prey to pray he doth begin, As if the heavens should countenance his sin; But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, Having solicited the eternal power, That his foul thoughts might compass his fair face,

and they would stand auspicious to the hour even there he starts quoth he i must deflower the powers to whom i pray abhor this fact how can they then assist me in the act

Then love and fortune be my gods, my guide. My will is back'd with Resolution; Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried; The blackest sin is clear'd with Absolution; Against love's fire fierce frost hath Dissolution.

the eye of heaven is out and misty night covers the shame that follows sweet delight this said his guilty hand plucked up the latch and with his knee the door he opens wide the dove sleeps fast that this night owl will catch

thus treason works ere traitors be espied who sees the lurking serpent steps aside but she sound sleeping fearing no such thing lies at the mercy of his mortal sting

into the chamber wickedly he stalks and gazeth on her yet unstained bed the curtains being close about he walks rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head by their high treason is his heart misled

Which gives the watchword to his hand full soon To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. Look! as the fair and fiery pointed sun, Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight, Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun to wink, Being blinded with a greater light.

whether it is that she reflect so bright that dazzleth them or else some shame suppos'd but blind they are and keep themselves enclosed o had they in that darksome prison died then had they seen the period of their ill

then collatine again by lucrece's side in his clear bed might have repos'd it still but they must oh this blessed league to kill and wholly thoughted lucrece to their sight must sell her joy her life her world's delight

Her lily hand, her rosy cheek, lies under, Cousining the pillow of a lawful kiss, Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, Swelling on either side to want his bliss, Between whose hills her head entombed is.

Where like a virtuous monument she lies To be admired of lewd unhallowed eyes. Without her bed her other fair hand was On the green coverlet, whose perfect white Showed like an April daisy on the grass, With pearly sweat resembling dew of night.

Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light, and canopied in darkness sweetly lay, till they might open to adorn the day. Her hair, like golden threads, played with her breath, O modest wantons, wanton modesty, showing life's triumph in the map of death.

and death's dim look in life's mortality each in her sleep themselves so beautify as if between them twain there were no strife but that life lived in death and death in life

her breasts like ivory globes circled with blue a pair of maiden worlds unconquered save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew and him by oath they truly honoured these worlds in tarquin new ambition bred

who like a foul usurper went about from this fair throne to heave the owner out what could he see but mightily he noted what did he note but strongly he desired what he beheld on that he firmly doted and in his will his wilful eye he tired

with more than admiration he admired her azure veins her alabaster skin her coral lips her snow-white dimpled chin as the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied

So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, His rage of lust by grazing qualified, Slacked, not suppressed, for standing by her side, His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins.

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting, In bloody death and ravishment delighting, Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respecting, Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting.

anon his beating heart alarum striking gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking his drumming heart cheers up his burning eye his eye commends the leading to his hand

his hand as proud of such a dignity smoking with pride march'd on to make his stand on her bare breast the heart of all her land whose ranks of blue veins as his hand did scale left their round turrets destitute and pale

they mustering to the quiet cabinet where their dear governess and lady lies do tell her she is dreadfully beset and fright her with confusion of their cries

she much amaz'd breaks ope her lock'd up eyes who peeping forth this tumult to behold are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd

imagine her as one in dead of night from forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking that thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking

what terror tis but she in worser taking from sleep disturbed heedfully doth view the sight which makes supposed terror true wrapt and confounded in a thousand fears like to a new-killed bird she trembling lies she dares not look

yet winking there appears quick-shifting antics ugly in her eyes such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries who angry that the eyes fly from their lights in darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights his hand that yet remains upon her breast

rude ram to batter such an ivory wall may feel her heart poor citizen distressed wounding itself to death rise up and fall beating her bulk that his hand shakes withal

this moves in him more rage and lesser pity to make the breach and enter this sweet city first like a trumpet doth his tongue begin to sound a parley to his heartless foe who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin

the reason of this rash alarm to know which he by dumb demeanour seeks to shew but she with vehement prayers urgeth still under what colour he commits this ill

Thus he replies: The colour in thy face, That even for anger makes the lily pale, And the red rose blush at her own disgrace, Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale: Under that colour am I come to scale Thy never-conquered fort.

the fault is thine for those thine eyes betray thee unto mine thus i forestall thee if thou mean to chide thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night where thou with patience must my will abide my will that marks thee for my earth's delight which i to conquer sought with all my might

but as reproof and reason beat it dead by thy bright beauty was it newly bred

I see what crosses my attempt will bring, I know what thorns the growing rose defends. I think the honey guarded with a sting, All this beforehand counsel comprehends. But Will is deaf, and he has no heedful friends,

only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty and dotes on what he looks gainst law or duty i have debated even in my soul what wrong what shame what sorrow i shall breed

but nothing can affections course control or stop the headlong fury of his speed i know repentant tears ensue the deed reproach disdain and deadly enmity yet strike i to embrace mine infamy

this said he shakes aloft his roman blade which like a falcon towering in the skies coucheth the fowl below with his wings shade

Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies. So under his insulting fortune Lies harmless Lucretia, Marking what he tells with trembling fear, As foul hear falcons' bells. End of section three.

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Domestic data roaming at 2G speeds. Price guarantee applies to then current base monthly rate. Additional terms and conditions apply. Section 4 of The Rape of Lucrece. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. The Rape of Lucrece by William Shakespeare. Section 4. Lucrece, quoth he, this night I must enjoy thee.

If thou deny, then force must work my way, For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee. That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay, To kill thine honour with thy life's decay. And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him, Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.

so thy surviving husband shall remain the scornful mark of every open eye thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain thy issue blurred with nameless bastardy and thou the author of their obloquy shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes and sung by children in succeeding times

but if thou yield i wrest thy secret friend the fault unknown is as a thought unacted a little harm done to a great good end for lawful policy remains enacted the poisonous simple sometimes is compacted in a pure compound

being so applied his venom in effect is purified then for thy husband and thy children's sake tender my suit bequeath not to their lot the shame that from them no device can take the blemish that will never be forgot worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hours blot

for marks descried in men's nativity are nature's faults not their own infamy here with a cockatrice dead killing eye he rouseth up himself and makes a pause while she the picture of pure piety like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws

pleads in a wilderness where are no laws to the rough beast that knows no gentle right nor ought obeys but his foul appetite

but when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat in his dim mist th aspiring mountains hiding from earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding hindering their present fall by this dividing

So his unhallowed haste her words delays, And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.

yet foul night-working cat he doth but dully while in his holdfast foot the weak mouse panteth her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly a swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth

his ear her prayers admits but his heart granteth no penetrable entrance to her plaining tears harden lust though marble wear with raining her pity pleading eyes are sadly fixed in the remorseless wrinkles of his face

her modest eloquence with sighs is mixt which to her oratory adds more grace she puts the period often from his place and midst the sentence so her accent breaks that twice she doth begin ere once she speaks

she conjures him by high almighty jove by knighthood gentry and sweet friendship's oath by her untimely tears her husband's love

by holy human law and common troth by heaven and earth and all the power of both that to his borrow'd bed he make retire and stoop to honour not to foul desire quoth she

reward not hospitality with such black payment as thou hast pretended mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee mar not the thing that cannot be amended end thy ill aim before the shoot be ended he is no woodman that doth bend his bow to strike a poor unseasonable doe

my husband is thy friend for his sake spare me thyself art mighty for thine own sake leave me myself a weakling do not then ensnare me thou look'st not like deceit do not deceive me my sighs like whirlwinds labour hence to heave thee

if ever man were moved with woman's moans be moved with my tears my sighs my groans all which together like a troubled ocean beat at thy rocky and wreck threatening heart to soften it with their continual motion for stones dissolved to water do convert oh if no harder than a stone thou art melt at my tears and be compassionate soft pity enters at an iron gate

In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee. Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame? To all the host of heaven I complain me. Thou wrong'st his honor, wounds his princely name. Thou art not what thou seem'st. And if the same, thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king. For kings like God should govern everything. How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, when thus thy vices bud before thy spring?

if in thy hope thou darest do such outrage what darest thou not when once thou art a king oh be remembered no outrageous thing from vassal actors can be wiped away then king's misdeeds cannot be hid in clay this deed will make thee only loved for fear but happy monarchs still are feared for love with foul offenders thou perforce must bear when they in thee the like offenses prove

if but for fear of this thy will remove for princes are the glass the school the book where subjects eyes do learn do read do look and wilt thou be the school where lust shall learn must he in thee read lectures of such shame wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern authority for sin warrant for blame to privilege dishonour in thy name

Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud, And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. Hast thou command? By him that gave it thee, From a pure heart command thy rebel will. Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. Thy princely office how canst thou fulfill, When patterned by thy fault foul sin may say He learned to sin, and thou didst teach the way?

think but how vile a spectacle it were to view thy present trespass in another men's faults do seldom to themselves appear their own transgressions partially they smother this guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother oh how are they wrapt in with infamies that from their own misdeeds askance their eyes

To thee, to thee my heaved uphand's appeal, Not to seducing lust thy rash relier, I sue for exiled majesty's repeal. Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire, His true respect will prison false desire, And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.

Have done, quoth he, my uncontrolled tide turns not, but swells the higher by this let. Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, and with the wind in greater fury fret. The petty streams that pay a daily debt to their salt sovereign with their fresh falls haste add to his flow, but alter not his taste. Thou art, quoth she, a sea, a sovereign king, but

and lo there falls into thy boundless flood black lust dishonour shame misgoverning who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood if all these petty ills shall change thy good thy sea within a puddle's womb is hurst and not the puddle in thy sea dispersed

so shall these slaves be king and thou their slave thou nobly base they basely dignified thou their fair life and they thy fouler grave thou loathed in their shame they in thy pride the lesser thing should not the greater hide the cedar stoops not to the base shrubs foot but low shrubs wither at the cedar's root

So let thy thoughts low vassals to thy state. No more, quoth he, by heaven I will not hear thee. Yield to my love. If not, enforced hate, instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee. That done, despitefully, I mean to bear thee unto the base bed of some rascal groom, to be thy partner in this shameful doom. This said, he sets his foot upon the light.

for light and lust are deadly enemies shame folded up in blind concealing night when most unseen then most doth tyrannize the wolf hath seized his prey the poor lamb cries till with her own white fleece her voice controlled entombs her outcry in her lips sweet fold

for with the nightly linen that she wears he pens her piteous clamors in her head cooling his hot face in the chastest tears that ever modest eyes with sorrow shed oh that prone lust should stain so pure a bed the spots whereof could weeping purify her tears should drop on them perpetually but she hath lost a dearer thing than life

and he hath won what he would lose again this forced league doth force a further strife this momentary joy breeds months of pain this hot desire converts to cold disdain pure chastity is rifled of her store and lust the thief far poorer than before

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorget hawk, Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk The prey wherein by nature they delight, So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night. His taste delicious, indigestion souring, Devours his will that lived by foul devouring.

O deeper sin than bottomless conceit Can comprehend in still imagination! Drunken desire must vomit his receipt, Ere he can see his own abomination. While lust is in his pride, No exclamation can curb his heat Or rain his rash desire, Till like a jade self-will himself doth tire.

and then with lank and lean discolored cheek with heavy eye knit brow and strengthless pace feebly desire all recreant poor and meek like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case the flesh being proud desire doth fight with grace for there it revels and when that decays the guilty rebel for remission prays

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, Who this accomplishment so hotly chaste; For now against himself he sounds this doom, That through the length of times he stands disgraced, Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced, To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, To ask the spotted princess how she fares.

she says her subjects with foul insurrection have batter'd down her consecrated wall and by their mortal fault brought in subjection her immortality and made her thrall to living death and pain perpetual which in her prescience she controll'd still but her foresight could not forestall their will

even in this thought through the dark night he stealeth a captive victor that has lost in gain bearing away the wound that nothing healeth the scar that will despite of cure remain leaving his spoil perplexed in greater pain she bears the load of lust he left behind and he the burden of a guilty mind the

V. The Rape of Lucrece. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. The Rape of Lucrece. By William Shakespeare. Section 5. He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence. She like a wearied lamb lies panting there. He scowls and hates himself for his offense. She desperate with her nails her flesh doth tear.

he faintly flies sweating with guilty fear she stays exclaiming on the direful night he runs and chides his vanished loathed delight he thence departs a heavy convertite she there remains a hopeless castaway he in his speed looks for the morning light she prays she never may behold the day for day quoth she night's scapes doth open lay

And my true eyes have never practised how To cloak offences with a cunning brow. They think not but that every eye can see The same disgrace which they themselves behold, And therefore would they still in darkness be To have their unseen sin remain untold, For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, And grave like water that doth eat and steal, Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.

here she exclaims against repose and rest and bids her eyes hereafter still be blind she wakes her heart by beating on her breast and bids it leap from thence where it may find some purer chest to close so pure a mind frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite against the unseen secrecy of night

O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame, Blind muffled bawd, dark harbor for defame, Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator With close-tongued treason and the ravisher,

o hateful vaporous and foggy night since thou art guilty of my cureless crime muster thy mists to meet the eastern light make war against proportioned course of time or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb his wonted height yet ere he go to bed knit poisonous clouds about his golden head

with rotten damps ravish the morning air let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick the life of purity the supreme fair ere he arrive his weary noontide prick and let thy misty vapors march so thick that in their smoky ranks his smothered light may set at noon and make perpetual night

Were Tarquin knight, as he is but knight's child, The silver-shining queen he would disdain, Her twinkling handmaids too by him defiled, Through knight's black bosom should not peep again, So should I have co-partners in my pain, And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, As Palmer's chat makes short their pilgrimage.

Where now I have no one to blush with me, To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine, To mask their brows and hide their infamy, But I alone must sit and pine, Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. O night, thou furnace of foul-wreaking smoke,

Let not the jealous day behold that face which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak immodesty lies martyred with disgrace. Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, that all the faults which in thy reign are made may likewise be sepulchred in thy shade. Make me not object to the tell-tale day. The light will show, character'd in my brow, the story of sweet chastity's decay.

the impious breach of holy wedlock vow yea the illiterate that know not how to cipher what is writ in learned books will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks the nurse to steal her child will tell my story and fright her crying babe with tarquin's name the orator to deck his oratory will couple my reproach to tarquin's shame

feast finding minstrels tuning my defame will tie the hearers to attend each line how tarquin wronged me i collatine let my good name that senseless reputation for collatine's dear love be kept unspotted

if that be made a theme for disputation the branches of another root are rotted and undeserved reproach to him allotted that is as clear from this attaint of mine as i ere this was pure to collatine o unseen shame invisible disgrace o unfelt sore crest wounding private scar

Reproach is stamped in Colotinus' face, And Tarquin's eye may read the Moe afar, How he in peace is wounded, not in war. Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows! If, Colotine, thine honor lay in me, From me by strong assault it is bereft,

My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, Have no perfection of my summer left, But robbed and ransacked by injurious theft. In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, And sucked the honey which thy chaste bee kept. Yet am I guilty of thy honour's rack, Yet for thy honour did I entertain him,

Coming from thee I could not put him back, For it had been dishonour to disdain him. Besides, of weariness he did complain him, And talked of virtue. O unlooked-for evil, When virtue is profaned in such a devil! Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud? Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests? Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud? Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?

Or kings be breakers of their own behests, But no perfection is so absolute That some impurity doth not pollute. The aged man that coffers up his gold Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful fits, And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, But like still pining tantalus he sits, And useless barns the harvest of his wits.

having no other pleasure of his gain but torment that it cannot cure his pain so then he hath it when he cannot use it and leaves it to be mastered by his young who in their pride do presently abuse it their father was too weak and they too strong to hold their cursed blessed fortune long the sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours even in the moment that we call them ours

unruly blasts wait on the tender spring unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers the adder hisses where the sweet birds sing what virtue breeds iniquity devours we have no good that we can say is ours but ill annexed opportunity or kills his life or else his quality end of section five

You're listening to Classic Audiobook Collection. Give us five stars and share with a friend who likes free audiobooks as much as we do. Now back to the show. Section 6 of The Rape of Lucrece. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. The Rape of Lucrece by William Shakespeare. Section 6. Oh, opportunity, thy guilt is great. Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason.

thou set the wolf where he the lamb may get whoever plots the sin thou point the season tis thou that spurn'st at right at law at reason and in thy shady cell where none may spy him sits sin to seize the souls that wander by him

Thou makest the vestal violate her oath, Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd, Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth, Thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd, Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud, Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief,

thy secret pleasure turns to open shame thy private feasting to a public fast thy smoothing titles to a ragged name thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste thy violent vanities can never last how comes it then vile opportunity being so bad such numbers seek for thee when wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend and bring him where his suit may be obtained

when wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained give physic to the sick ease to the pained the poor lame blind halt creep cry out for thee but they ne'er meet with opportunity

The patient dies while the physician sleeps, The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds, Justice is feasting while the widow weeps, Advice is sporting while infection breeds. Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds, Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages, Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. When truth and virtue have to do with thee, A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid,

they by thy help but sin ne'er gives a fee he gratis comes and thou art well a paid as well to hear as grant what he hath said my collatine would else have come to me when tarquin did but he was stayed by thee

Guilty thou art of murder and of theft, guilty of perjury and subornation, guilty of treason, forgery and shift, guilty of incest that abomination, an accessory by thine inclination to all sins past and all that are to come, from the creation to the general doom.

Mishapen time, copse-mate of ugly night, Swift, subtle post, carrier of grisly care, Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare, Thou nursest all and murderest all that are. O hear me then, injurious, shifting time, Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

why hath thy servant opportunity betrayed the hours thou gavest me to repose cancelled my fortunes and enchained me to endless date of never-ending woes time's office is to find the hate of foes to eat up heirs by opinion bred not spend the dowry of a lawful bed

Time's glory is to calm contending kings, To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light, To stamp the seal of time in aged things, To wake the morn and sentinel the night, To wrong the wronger till he render right, To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, And smear with dust their glittering golden towers.

to fill with wormholes stately monuments to feed oblivion with decay of things to blot old books and alter their contents to pluck the quills from ancient ravens wings to dry the old oak sap and cherish springs to spoil antiquities of hammered steel and turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel

To show the beldam daughters of her daughter, To make the child a man, the man a child, To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, To tame the unicorn and lion wild, To mock the subtle and themselves beguiled, To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, And waste huge stones with little water-drops. Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, Unless thou couldst return to make amends?

One poor retiring minute in an age Would purchase thee a thousand, thousand friends, Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends. O this dread night! wouldst thou one hour come back, I could prevent this storm, and shun thy rack. Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity, With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight, Devise extremes beyond extremity, To make him curse this cursed, crimeful night,

Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright, And the dire thought of his committed evil Shape every bush a hideous, shapeless devil.

Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, Afflict him in his bed with bed-rid groans, Let there bechance him pitiful mischances to make him moan, But pity not his moans. Stone him with hardened hearts, harder than stones, And let mild women to him lose their mildness, Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.

let him have time to tear his curled hair let him have time against himself to rave let him have time of times helped to despair let him have time to live a loathed slave let him have time a beggar's orts to crave and time to see one that by alms doth live disdain to him disdain'd scraps to give let him have time to see his friends his foes and merry fools to mock at him resort

let him have time to mark how slow time goes in time of sorrow and how swift and short his time of folly and his time of sport and ever let his unrecalling crime have time to wail the abusing of his time

O time, thou tutor both to good and bad, teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill. At his own shadow let the thief run mad, himself, himself seek every hour to kill. Such wretched hand, such wretched blood should spill, for who so base would such an office have as slanderous deathsman to so base a slave?

The baser is he, coming from a king, To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. The mightier man, the mightier is the thing That makes him honoured or begets him hate; For greatest scandal waits on greatest state; The moon being clouded presently is mist, But little stars may hide them when they list. The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, And unperceived fly with the filth away,

but if the like the snow-white swan desire the stain upon his silver down will stay poor grooms are sightless night kings glorious day gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly but eagles gazed upon with every eye howt idle words servants to shallow fools unprofitable sounds weak arbitrators

Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools, debate where leisure serves with dull debaters. To trembling clients be you mediators. For me, I force not argument a straw, since that my case is past the help of law.

the rape of lucrece by william shakespeare section seven in vain i rail at opportunity at time at tarquin and uncheerful night in vain i cavil with mine infamy in vain i spurn at my confirm'd despite this helpless smoke of words doth me no right the remedy indeed to do me good is to let forth my foul defil'd blood

Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree? Honor thyself to rid me of this shame. For if I die, my honor lives in thee. But if I live, thou livest in my defame. Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame, and wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe, kill both thyself and her for yielding so.

this said from her betumbled couch she starteth to find some desperate instrument of death but this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth to make more vent for passage of her breath which thronging through her lips so vanisheth as smoke from etna that in air consumes or that which from discharged cannon fumes

in vain quoth she i live and seek in vain some happy mean to end a hapless life i feared by tarquin's falchion to be stain yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife but when i feared i was a loyal wife so am i now o no that cannot be of that true type hath tarquin rifled me

O, that is gone for which I sought to live, And therefore now I need not fear to die. To clear this spot by death at least I give a badge of fame to slander's livery, A dying life to living infamy. Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away, To burn the guiltless casket where it lay. Well, well, dear Colatine, Thou shalt know the stained taste of violated troth,

I will not wrong thy true affection so, To flatter thee with an infringed oath. This bastard Graff shall never come to growth. He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute, That thou art doting father of his fruit. Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, Nor laugh with his companions at thy state. But thou shalt know thy interest Was not bought basely with gold, But stolen from forth thy gate. For me...

i am the mistress of my fate and with my trespass never will dispense till life to death acquit my forced offence i will not poison thee with my attaint nor fold my fault in cleanly coined excuses my sable ground of sin i will not paint to hide the truth of this false knight's abuses

my tongue shall utter all mine eyes like sluices as from a mountain spring that feeds a dale shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale by this lamenting philomel had ended the well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow and solemn night with slow sad gait descended to ugly hell when lo the blushing morrow lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow

but cloudy lucrece shames herself to see and therefore still in night would cloister'd be revealing day through every cranny spies and seems to point her out where she sits weeping to whom she sobbing speaks

O eye of eyes, why pry'st thou through my window? Leave thy peeping. Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping. Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, for day hath naught to do what's done by night. Thus cavils she with everything she sees. To grief is fond and testy as a child, who wayward wants his mood with naught agrees. Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild.

continuance tames the one the other wild like an unpractised swimmer plunging still with too much labour drowns for want of skill so she deep drenched in a sea of care holds disputation with each thing she views and to herself all sorrow doth compare no object but her passion's strength renews and as one shifts another strait ensues

sometimes her grief is dumb and hath no words sometimes his mad and too much talk affords the little birds that tune their morning's joy make her moans mad with their sweet melody for mirth doth search the bottom of annoy sad souls are slain in merry company grief best is pleased with grief's society true sorrow then is feelingly sufficed when with like semblance it is sympathized

tis double death to drown in ken of shore he ten times pines that pines beholding food to see the salve doth make the wound ache more great grief grieves most at that would do it good deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood who being stopt the bounding banks or flows grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows

You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomb within your hollow-swelling feathered breasts, and in my hearing be you mute and dumb. My restless discord loves no stops nor rests. A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests. Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears. Distress like dumps when time is kept with tears. Come, Philomel, that singst of ravishment.

make thy sad grove in my dishevel'd hair as the dank earth weeps at thy languishment so i at each sad strain will strain a tear and with deep groans the diapason bear for burden wise i'll hum untarquined still while thou on tereus descants better skill

and whiles against a thorn thou bearest thy part to keep thy sharp woes waking wretched i to imitate thee well against my heart will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye who if it wink shall thereon fall and die these means as frets upon an instrument shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment

And for, poor bird, thou sink'st not in the day, As shaming any eye should thee behold, Some dark, deep desert, seated room the way, That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold, Will we find out, and there we will unfold To creatures' stern, sad tunes to change their kinds, Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.

as the poor frightened deer that stands at gaze wildly determining which way to fly or one encompassed with a winding maze that cannot tread the way out readily so with herself is she in mutiny to live or die which of the twain were better when life is shamed and death reproaches debtor to kill myself quoth she alack what were it but my body my poor soul's pollution

they that lose half with greater patience bear it than they whose whole is swallowed in confusion that mother tries a merciless conclusion who having two sweet babes when death takes one will slay the other and be nurse to none

my body or my soul which was the dearer when the one pure the other made divine whose love of either to myself was nearer when both were kept for heaven and collatine ay me the bark peeled from the lofty pine his leaves will wither and his sap decay so must my soul her bark being peeled away

her house is sacked her quiet interrupted her mansion battered by the enemy her sacred temple spotted spoiled corrupted grossly engirt with daring infamy then let it not be call'd impiety if in this blemish'd fort i make some hole through which i may convey this troubled soul yet die i will not till my collatine have heard the cause of my untimely death

That he may vow in that sad hour of mine Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath, Which by him tainted shall for him be spent, And as his due writ in my testament. My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife That wounds my body so dishonoured. Tis honour to deprive dishonoured life. The one will live, the other being dead. So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred.

For in my death I murder shameful scorn, My shame so dead, mine honor is new-born.

Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, What legacy shall I bequeath to thee? My resolution, love, shall be thy boast, By whose example thou revenged mayst be. How Tarquin must be used, read it in me. Myself thy friend will kill myself thy foe, And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so.

this brief abridgment of my will i make my soul and body to the skies and ground my resolution husband do thou take mine honour be the knife that makes my wound my shame be his that did my fame confound and all my fame that lives dispersd be to those that live and think no shame of me

Thou, Colatine, shalt oversee this will. How was I overseen that thou shalt see it? My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill. My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, so be it. Yield to my hand, my hand shall conquer thee. Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.

this plot of death when sadly she had laid and wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes with untun'd tongue she hoarsely calls her maid whose swift obedience to her mistress hies for fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies poor lucrece cheeks unto her maid seem so as winter meads when sun doth melt their snow

her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow with soft slow tongue true mark of modesty and sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow for why her face wore sorrow's livery but durst not ask of her audaciously why her two sons were cloud eclipsed so nor why her fair cheeks overwashed with woe

but as the earth doth weep the sun being set each flower moistened like a melting eye even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet her circled eyne enforced by sympathy of those fair suns set in her mistress sky who in a salt waved ocean quench their light which makes the maid weep like the dewy night

a pretty while these pretty creatures stand like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling one justly weeps the other takes in hand no cause but company of her drops spilling their gentle sex to weep are often willing grieving themselves to guess at others smarts and then they drown their eyes or break their hearts

for men have marble women waxen minds and therefore are they formed as marble will the weak oppress'd the impression of strange kinds is form'd in them by force by fraud or skill then call them not the authors of their ill no more than wax shall be accounted evil wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil

their smoothness like a goodly campaign plain lays open all the little worms that creep in men as in a rough-grown grove remain cave keeping evils that obscurely sleep through crystal walls each little mote will peep though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks poor women's faces are their own false books no man in vain against the withered flower but chide rough winter that the flower hath killed

not that devour'd but that which doth devour is worthy blame o let it not be hill'd poor women's faults that they are so fulfill'd with men's abuses those proud lords to blame make weak made women tenants to their shame

the precedent whereof in lucrece view assail'd by night with circumstances strong of present death and shame that might ensue by that her death to do her husband wrong such danger to resistance did belong the dying fear thro all her body spread and who cannot abuse a body dead by this mild patience bid fair lucrece speak to the poor counterfeit of her complaining

my girl quoth she on what occasion break those tears from thee that down thy cheeks are raining if thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining no gentle wench its small avails my mood if tears could help mine own would do me good but tell me girl when went and there she stayed till after a deep groan tarquin from hence

"'Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid, "'the more to blame my sluggard negligence. "'Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense, "'myself was stirring ere the break of day, "'and ere I rose was Tarquin gone away. "'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold, "'she would request to know your heaviness.' "'Oh, peace,' quoth Lucrece, "'if it should be told, the repetition cannot make it less.'

For more it is than I can well express, And that deep torture may be call'd a hell, When more is felt than one hath power to tell. Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen; Yet save that labour, for I have them here. What should I say? One of my husband's men bid thou be ready, By and by, to bear a letter to my lord, My love, my dear.

bid him with speed prepare to carry it the cause craves haste and it will soon be writ her maid is gone and she prepares to write first hovering o'er the paper with her quill conceit and grief and eager combat fight what wit sets down is blotted straight with will this is too curious good this blunt and ill much like oppressive people at a door throng her inventions which shall go before

At last she thus begins: Thou worthy lord Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee, Health to thy person, Next vouchsafe to ford, Of ever love Thy Lucrece thou wilt see, Some present speed to come and visit me. So I commend me from our house in grief, My woes are tedious, though my words are brief. Here folds she up the tenor of her woe, Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly,

by this short schedule colotine may know her grief but not her grief's true quality she dares not thereof make discovery lest he should hold it her own gross abuse ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion She hoards to spend when he is by to hear her, When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her From that suspicion which the world might bear her. To shun this blot she would not blot the letter With words till action might become them better.

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told, For then the eye interprets to the ear The heavy motion that it doth behold, When every part a part of woe doth bear. Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear, Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords, And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words. Her letter now is sealed, and on it writ, Ad ardea to my lord with more than haste.

the post attends and she delivers it charging the sour-faced groom to high as fast as lagging fowls before the northern blast speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems extremely still urgeth such extremes the homely villain curtsies to her low and blushing on her with a steadfast eye receives the scroll without or yea or no and forth with bashful innocence doth hie

but they whose guilt within their bosoms lie imagine every eye beholds their blame for lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame when silly groom god wot it was defect of spirit life and bold audacity such harmless creatures have a true respect to talk in deeds while others saucily promise more speed but do it leisurely

even so this pattern of the worn-out age pawn'd honest looks but laid no words to gauge his kindled duty kindled her mistrust that two red fires in both their faces blaz'd she thought he blush'd as knowing tarquin's lust and blushing with him wistfully on him gaz'd her earnest eye did make him more amaz'd

The more saw the blood his cheeks replenish, The more she thought he spied in her some blemish. But long, she thinks, till he return again, And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone, The weary time she cannot entertain, For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan. So woe hath wearied woe, moan, tired moan, That she her plaints a little while doth stay, Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.

end of section eight section nine of the rape of lucrece this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by ariel lipshaw the rape of lucrece by william shakespeare section nine at last she calls to mind where hangs a piece of skilful painting made for priam's troy before the witch is drawn the power of greece for helen's rape the city to destroy

Threatening cloud-kissing Aelian with annoy, Which the conceited painter drew so proud, As heaven, it seemed, to kiss the turrets bowed. A thousand lamentable objects there, In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life; Many a dry drop seemed a weeping tear, Shed for the slaughtered husband by the wife.

the red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife the dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights there might you see the lab'ring pioneer begrim'd with sweat and smear it all with dust and from the towers of troy there would appear the very eyes of men through loopholes thrust gazing upon the greeks with little lust

such sweet observance in this work was had that one might see those far-off eyes look sad in great commanders grace and majesty you might behold triumphing in their faces in youth quick bearing and dexterity and here and there the painter interlaces pale cowards marching on with trembling paces which heartless peasants did so well resemble that one would swear he saw them quake and tremble

in ajax and ulysses oh what art of physiognomy might one behold the face of either ciphered either's heart their face their manners most expressly told in ajax eyes blunt rage and rigor rolled but the mild glance that sly ulysses lent showed deep regard and smiling government

there pleading might you see gravenester stand as twere encouraging the greeks to fight making such sober action with his hand that it beguiled attention charmed the sight in speech it seemed his beard all silver-white wagged up and down and from his lips did fly thin winding breath which curled up to the sky

about him were a press of gaping faces which seemed to swallow up his sound advice all jointly listening but with several graces as if some mermaid did their ears entice some high some low the painter was so nice the scalps of many almost hid behind to jump up higher seemed to mock the mind

here one man's hand lean'd on another's head his nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear here one being throng'd bears back all bon and red another smother'd seems to pelt and swear and in their rage such signs of rage they bear as but for loss of nestor's golden words it seem'd they would debate with angry swords

for much imaginary work was there conceit deceitful so compact so kind that for achilles image stood his spear gript in an armed hand himself behind was left unseen save to the eye of mind a hand a foot a face a leg a head stood for the whole to be imagined

and from the walls of strong besieged troy when their brave hope bold hector march'd to field stood many trojan mothers sharing joy to see their youthful sons bright weapons wield and to their hope they such odd action yield that through their light joy seem'd to appear like bright things stain'd a kind of heavy fear and from the strand of dardan where they fought

to cimoise reedy banks the red blood ran whose waves to imitate the battle sought with swelling ridges and their ranks began to break upon the galled shore and then retire again till meeting greater ranks they join and shoot their foam at cimoise banks

to this well-painted piece is lucrece come to find a face where all distress is stell'd many she sees where cares have carv'd some but none where all distress and dolor dwell'd till she despairing hecuba beheld staring on priam's wounds with her old eyes which bleeding under pyrrhus proud foot lies

in her the painter had anatomized time's ruin beauty's wreck and grim care's rain her cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguised of what she was no semblance did remain her blue blood changed to black in every vein wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed showed life imprisoned in a body dead

on this sad shadow lucrece spends her eyes and shapes her sorrow to the bedlam's woes who nothing wants to answer her but cries and bitter words to ban her cruel foes the painter was no god to lend her those and therefore lucrece swears he did her wrong to give her so much grief and not a tongue

"'Poor instrument,' quoth she, "'without a sound, I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue, "'and drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, "'and rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong, "'and with my tears quench Troy that burns so long, "'and with my knife scratch out the angry eyes "'of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.'

show me the strumpet that began this stir that with my nails her beauty i may tear thy heat of lust fond paris did incur this load of wrath that burning troy doth bear thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here and here in troy for trespass of thine eye the sire the son the dame and daughter die

why should the private pleasure of some one become the public plague of many mo let sin alone committed light alone upon his head that hath transgressed so let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe for one's offence why should so many fall to plague a private sin in general

Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies, Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swoons, Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, And one man's lust these many lives confounds. Had doting Priam checked his son's desire, Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.

here feelingly she weeps troy's painted woes for sorrow like a heavy hanging bell once set on ringing with his own weight goes then little strength wrings out the doleful knell so lucrece set a work sad tales doth tell to penciled pensiveness and colored sorrow she lends them words and she their looks doth borrow

she throws her eyes about the painting round and whom she finds forlorn she doth lament at last she sees a wretched image bound that piteous looks to phrygian shepherds lent his face though full of cares yet showed content onward to troy with the blunt swains he goes so mild that patience seemed to scorn his woes

in him the painter labored with his skill to hide deceit and give the harmless show an humble gait calm looks eyes wailing still a brow unbent that seemed to welcome woe cheeks neither red nor pale but mingled so that blushing red no guilty instance gave nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have

but like a constant and confirmd devil he entertain'd a show so seeming just and therein so ensconc'd his secret evil that jealousy it self could not mistrust false creeping craft and perjury should thrust into so bright a day such black-faced storms or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms

the well-skilled workman this mild image drew for perjured simon whose enchanting story the credulous old priam after slew whose words like wildfire burnt the shining glory of rich-built ilion that the sighs were sorry and little stars shot from their fixed places when their glass fell wherein they viewed their faces

this picture she advisedly perused and chid the painter for his wondrous skill saying some shape in sinens was abused so fair a form lodged not a mind so ill and still on him she gazed and gazing still such signs of truth in his plain face she spied that she concludes the picture was belied

it cannot be quoth she that so much guile she would have said can lurk in such a look but tarquin's shape came in her mind the while and from her tongue can lurk from cannot took it cannot be she in that sense forsook and turned it thus it cannot be i find but such a face should bear a wicked mind

For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, So sober sad, so weary, and so mild, As if with grief or travail he had fainted, To me came Tarquin armed, So beguiled with outward honesty, But yet defiled with inward vice, As Priam him did cherish, So did I Tarquin, so my Troy did perish.

Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes To see those borrowed tears that Sinon sheds. Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise? For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds. His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds. Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.

such devils steal effects from lightless hell for sinon in his fire doth quake with cold and in that cold hot burning fire doth dwell these contraries such unity do hold only to flatter fools and make them bold so priam's trust false sinon's tears doth flatter that he finds means to burn his troy with water

here all enraged such passion her assails that patience is quite beaten from her breast she tears the senseless sinon with her nails comparing him to that unhappy guest whose deed hath made herself herself detest at last she smilingly with this gives o'er fool fool quoth she his wounds will not be sore

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, And time doth weary time with her complaining. She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, And both she thinks too long with her remaining. Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining, Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps, And they that watch see time, how slow it creeps.

Which all this time hath over-slipp'd her thought, That she with painted images hath spent, Being from the feeling of her own grief brought By deep surmise of others detriment, Losing her woes in shows of discontent, It easeth some, though none it ever cur'd, To think their doler others have endur'd.

the end of the world but now the mindful messenger come back brings home his lord and other company who finds his lucrece clad in morning black and round about her tear disdained eye blue circles streamed like rainbows in the sky these water-galls in her dim element foretell new storms to those already spent

Which when her sad beholding husband saw, Amazedly in her sad face he stares. Her eyes, though sodden tears, Look'd red and raw, Her lively color kill'd with deadly cares. He hath no power to ask her how she fares. Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance, Met far from home, wondering each other's chance.

at last he takes her by the bloodless hand and thus begins what uncouth ill event hath thee befallen that thou dost trembling stand sweet love what spite hath thy fair color 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 address'd to answer his desire she modestly prepares to let them know her honor is ta'en prisoner by the foe while colatine 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 more 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 falcon 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-favored 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 sets 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 the 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 robb'd 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 stain'd with this abuse immaculate and spotless is my mind that was not forc'd that never was inclin'd to accessary yieldings but still pure doth in her poison'd closet yet endure

lo here the hopeless merchant of this loss with head declined and voice damm'd up with woe with sad set eyes and wretched 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 recall'd in rage being past ev'n 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 thou 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 colatine 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 but she that yet her sad task hath not said the protestation stops o speak quoth she how may this forcd stain be wip'd from me

what is the quality of mine offence being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance may my pure mind with the foul act dispense my low-declin'd honour to advance may any terms acquit me from this chance the poison'd fountain clears itself again and why not i from this compell'd 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 excuses giving.

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Section 11 of The Rape of Lucrece. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Arielle Lipshaw. The Rape of Lucrece by William Shakespeare. Section 11.

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 unsheath'd; That blow did bale it from the deep unrest Of that polluted prison where it breath'd; Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd Her winged sprite, and thro' her wounds doth fly Life's lasting date from cancel'd destiny.

stone still astonish'd with this deadly deed stood collatine and all his lordly crew till lucre's father that beholds her bleed himself on her self-slaught'r'd body threw and from the purple fountain brutus drew the murd'rous knife and as it left the place her blood in poor revenge held it in chase

And bubbling from her breast It doth divide in two slow rivers That the crimson blood circles her body in on every side Who like a late-sacked island vastly stood Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood Some of her blood still pure and red remained And some looked black and that false tarquin stained

about the mourning and congealed face of that black blood a wat'ry wriggle goes which seems to weep upon the tainted place and ever since as pitying lucrece woes corrupted blood some wat'ry token shows and blood untainted still doth red abide blushing at that which is so putrified

Daughter, dear daughter, old Lucretius cries, That life was mine which thou hast here deprived. If in the child the father's image lies, Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived? Thou wast not to this end from me derived. If children predecease progenitors, We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

Poor broken glass, I often did behold In thy sweet semblance my old age new-born; But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, Shows me a bare-boned death by time outworn. O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn, And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, That I no more can see what once I was.

O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer, If they surcease to be that should survive. Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, And leave the faltering feeble souls alive? The old bees die, the young possess their hive; Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see thy father die, And not thy father thee.

By this starts Coletine as from a dream, And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place; And then in key-cold Lucrece bleeding stream He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, And counterfeits to die with her a space, Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, And live to be revenged on her death.

the deep vexation of his inward soul hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue who mad that sorrow should his use control or keep him from heart-easing words so long begins to talk but through his lips do throng weak words so thick come in his poor heart's aid that no man could distinguish what he said yet sometime tarquin was pronounc'd plain but through his teeth as if the name he tore

this windy tempest till it blow up rain held back his sorrow's tide to make it more at last it rains and busy winds give o'er then son and father weep with equal strife who should weep most for daughter or for wife

The one doth call her his, the other his, Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. The father says, she's mine. O mine she is, replies her husband. Do not take away my sorrow's interest. Let no mourner say he weeps for her, For she was only mine, and only must be wailed by Colatine. O, quoth Lucretius, I did give that life Which she too early and too late hath spilled.

"Woe, woe!" quoth Colatine, "she was my wife; I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath killed. My daughter and my wife with clamors filled the dispersed air, Who, holding Lucrece life, answered their cries, My daughter and my wife. Brutus, who plucked the knife from Lucrece's side, Seeing such emulation in their woe, Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, Burying in Lucrece's wound his folly's show,

he with the romans was esteemed so as silly jeering idiots are with kings for sportive words and uttering foolish things but now he throws that shallow habit by wherein deep policy did him disguise and arm'd his long hid wits advisedly to check the tears in collatinus eyes thou wronged lord of rome quoth he arise let my unsounded self suppos'd a fool now set thy long experienc'd wit to school

Why, Colitine, is woe the cure for woe? Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds? Is it revenge to give thyself a blow For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds? Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds. Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.

Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart In such relenting dew of lamentations, But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, That they will suffer these abominations, Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced, By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chaste.

Now, by the capital that we adore, And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained, By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store, By all our country rights in Rome maintained, And by chaste Lucre's soul that late complained Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, We will revenge the death of this true wife.

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow; And to his protestation urg'd the rest, Who, wondering at him, did his words allow, Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow; And that deep vow, which Brutus made before, He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

When they had sworn to this advised doom, They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence, To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence, Which being done with speedy diligence, The Romans plausibly did give consent To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.

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