Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/110

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98
The Rape of Lucrece.
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 honour'd, 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 cole-black wings in mire,
And unperceiv'd flie with the filth away,
But if the like the snow-white Swan desire,
The stain upon his silver Downe will stay.
Poor groomes are sightless night, Kings glorious day,
Gnats are unnoted wheresoere they flye,
But Eagles gazed upon with every eye.

Our idle words, servants to shallow fooles
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators,
Busie our selves in skil-contending schooles,
Debate where leasure serves with dull debators:
To trembling Clients be you mediators:
For me, I force not argument a straw,
Since that my Case is past the help of law.

In vain I raile at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and unsearchful night:
In vain I cavil with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despight:
This helpless smoak of words doth me no right;

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