Lucrece

From the besieged Ardea all in post, Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, And to Collatium bears the lightless fire Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, And girdle with embracing flames the waist Of Collatine’s fair love, Lucrece the chaste. Haply that name of chaste unhappily set This bateless edge on his keen appetite; When Collatine unwisely did not let To praise the clear unmatched red and white Which triumph’d in that sky of his delight, Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven’s beauties, With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. For he the night before, in Tarquin’s tent, Unlock’d the treasure of his happy state; What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent In the possession of his beauteous mate; Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, That kings might be espoused to more fame, But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. O happiness enjoy’d but of a few! And, if possess’d, as soon decay’d and done As is the morning’s silver-melting dew Against the golden splendour of the sun; An expir’d date, cancell’d ere well begun: Honour and beauty, in the owner’s arms, Are weakly fortress’d from a world of harms. Beauty itself doth of itself persuade The eyes of men without an orator; What needeth then apology be made To set forth that which is so singular? Or why is Collatine the publisher Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown From thievish ears, because it is his own?