The Rape of Lucrece.
109
And that deep torture may be call'd a Hell,
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.
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 husbands 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 hast, and it will soon be writ.
Yet save that labour for I have them here,
(What should I say) one of my husbands 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 hast, and it will soon be writ.
Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write,
First hovering ore the paper with her quill,
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight,
What Wit sets down is blotted still with Will,
This is too curious good, this blunt and ill.
Much like a press of people at a dore,
Throng her inventions which shall goe before.
First hovering ore the paper with her quill,
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight,
What Wit sets down is blotted still with Will,
This is too curious good, this blunt and ill.
Much like a press of people at a dore,
Throng her inventions which shall goe before.
At last she thus begins: Thou worthy Lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person, next vouchsafe t' afford
(If 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, tho my words are brief.
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person, next vouchsafe t' afford
(If 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, tho my words are brief.
Here folds she up the tenor of her woe,
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Colatine may know
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Colatine may know
Her
