The Rape of Lucrece.
117
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes,
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell:
So Lucrece set awork, sad tales doth tell,
To pencil'd pensiveness, and colour'd sorrow,
She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell:
So Lucrece set awork, sad tales doth tell,
To pencil'd pensiveness, and colour'd sorrow,
She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.
She throws her eyes about the painting round,
And whom she finds forlorne she doth lament:
At last she sees a wretched image bound,
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepheards lent,
His face, though full of cares, yet shew'd content.
Onward to Troy with these blunt swains he goes,
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.
And whom she finds forlorne she doth lament:
At last she sees a wretched image bound,
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepheards lent,
His face, though full of cares, yet shew'd content.
Onward to Troy with these blunt swains he goes,
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.
In him the painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show,
An humble gate, calm lookes, eyes wayling still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome wo,
Cheeks, neyther red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red, no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale, the fear that false hearts have.
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show,
An humble gate, calm lookes, eyes wayling still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome wo,
Cheeks, neyther red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red, no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale, the fear that false hearts have.
But like a constant and confirmed Devil,
He entertain'd a show so seeming just,
And therein so insconst this secret evil,
That jealousie it self could not mistrust,
False creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day, such black-fac'd stormes,
Or blot with hel-borne sin such Saint-like formes.
He entertain'd a show so seeming just,
And therein so insconst this secret evil,
That jealousie it self could not mistrust,
False creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day, such black-fac'd stormes,
Or blot with hel-borne sin such Saint-like formes.
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