The Rape of Lucrece.
89
O hateful, vaporous and foggy night,
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime:
Muster thy mists to meet the Easterne light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time:
Or if thou wilt permit the Sunne to climb
His wonted height, yet ere he goe to bed,
Knit poysonous clouds about his golden head.
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime:
Muster thy mists to meet the Easterne light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time:
Or if thou wilt permit the Sunne to climb
His wonted height, yet ere he goe to bed,
Knit poysonous clouds about his golden head.
With rotten damps ravish the morning ayre,
Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sicke
The life of purity, the supreme faire,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide pricke,
And let thy misty vapors march so thicke,
That in their smoaky rankes his smother'd light
May set at noone and make perpetual night.
Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sicke
The life of purity, the supreme faire,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide pricke,
And let thy misty vapors march so thicke,
That in their smoaky rankes his smother'd light
May set at noone and make perpetual night.
Were Tarquin night as he is but nights child,
The silver shining Queene he would distain,
Her twinckling handmaids too (by him defil'd)
Through Nights black bosom should not peep again,
So should I have copartners in my paine.
And fellowship in woe doth woe asswage,
As Palmers that makes short their Pilgrimage.
The silver shining Queene he would distain,
Her twinckling handmaids too (by him defil'd)
Through Nights black bosom should not peep again,
So should I have copartners in my paine.
And fellowship in woe doth woe asswage,
As Palmers that 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 maske their browes and hide their infamy,
But I alone, alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,
To maske their browes and hide their infamy,
But I alone, alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
Ming-
