Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/99

To whose weak ruines muster troops of cares,
To ask the spotted Princesse how she fares.

She says, her subjects with foule insurrection
Have battred downe her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death and paine perpetual.
Which in her prescience she controled still,
But her foresight could not forestal their will.

Even in this thought thro the dark night he stealeth
A captive victor that hath lost in gain;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will despight of Cure remain,
Leaving his spoil perplext in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left behind,
And he the burthen of a guilty mind.

He like a theevish dog creepes sadly thence,
She like a wearied Lamb lies panting there:
He scowles and hates himself for his offence,
She desperate, with her nails, her flesh doth tear.
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;
She staies exclaiming on the direful night;
He runs and chides his vanisht loth'd delight.

He thence departs a heavy convertite,
She there remains a hopeless cast-away:
He in his speed looks for the morning light,

She