The arden shakespeare co.., p.21
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works, page 21
Means to immure herself and not be seen.
Lucrece
To the Right Honourable
Henry Wriothesley, 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 everyone commended the virtues of his own wife; among whom Collatinus 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 everyone had before avouched, only Collatinus 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 noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius, being inflamed with Lucrece’ 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 Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily despatcheth 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.
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,
5
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
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
10
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph’d 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
15
Unlock’d 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,
20
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.
O happiness enjoy’d but of a few,
And if possess’d, as soon decay’d and done
As is the morning’s silver melting dew
Against the golden splendour of the sun!
25
An expir’d date cancell’d 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;
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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?
35
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
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His high-pitch’d 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,
45
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,
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Well was he welcom’d by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her fame.
When virtue bragg’d, beauty would blush for shame;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
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Virtue would stain that o’er with silver white.
But beauty in that white entituled
From Venus’ doves, doth challenge that fair field;
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty’s red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
60
Their silver cheeks, and call’d it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,
When shame assail’d, the red should fence the white.
This heraldry in Lucrece’ face was seen,
Argu’d by beauty’s red and virtue’s white;
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Of either’s colour was the other queen,
Proving from world’s minority their right.
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sov’reignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each other’s seat.
70
This silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view’d in her fair face’s field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it should be kill’d,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
75
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 prais’d her so, –
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
80
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,
85
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,
90
Whose inward ill no outward harm express’d.
For that he colour’d with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in pleats of majesty,
That nothing in him seem’d inordinate,
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,
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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 cop’d with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
100
Nor read the subtle shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books;
She touch’d no unknown baits, nor fear’d no hooks:
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,
More than his eyes were open’d to the light.
105
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.
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Her joy with heav’d-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
115
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,
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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,
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Save thieves and cares and troubled minds that wake.
As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will’s obtaining,
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining.
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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
That what they have not, that which they possess
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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 bankrout in this poor rich gain.
140
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 gage:
As life for honour in fell battle’s rage,
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Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.
So that in vent’ring ill we leave to be
The things we are, for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
150
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have, and all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it.
Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make,
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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
160
To sland’rous tongues and wretched hateful days?
Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy sleep had clos’d up mortal eyes.
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls’ and wolves’ death-boding cries;
165
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wakes to stain and kill.
And now this lustful lord leap’d from his bed,
Throwing his mantle rudely o’er his arm;
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Is madly toss’d between desire and dread:
Th’one sweetly flatters, th’ other feareth harm.
But honest fear, bewitch’d with lust’s foul charm,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire.
175
His falchion 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:
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‘As from this cold flint I enforc’d this fire,
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.’
Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
