Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/111

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
The Rape of Lucrece.
99
The remedy indeed to do me good,
Is to let forth my foul defiled blood.

Poor hand, why quiverest thou at this decree?
Honor thy self to rid me of this shame,
For if I die, my Honor lives in thee,
But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame;
Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame,
And wast affeard to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thy self and her for yielding so.

This said, from her betumbled couch she starts,
To find some desperate instrument of Death,
But this no slaughter-house, no tool imparts,
To make more vent for passage of her breath,
Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth
As smoke from Ætna, that in air consumes,
Or that which from discharged Canon fumes.

In vain (quoth she) I live, and seek in vain
Some happy meane to end a hapless life:
I feard by Tarquins fauchion to be slain,
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife,
But when I fear'd 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