THE GHOST OF LUCRECE %RUNOFF-W-ILC, Illegal command: ".et " on output page 1; on input line 6 of page 1 of file "DRC1:[LOU]MIDDL3.TXT;2" THE GHOST of Lucrece. By T. M. Gent. [Device: McKerrow 379] AT LONDON Printed by Valentine Simmes. 1600. A1v [blank] A2 [head ornament, Ferguson 7] TO THE RIGHT HONO-/rable, and my very bountiful good Lord, my Lord Compton, T.M. wisheth the fruit of eternall fruition. Comptus honos, honor est Comptono, & Compton honore. Thou, that rock'st comely honour in thine armes, Thou patron to the child-house of my vayne, Thou hive unto the Muses hony swarmes, And Godfather to th'issue of my braine, To thee, Baptizer of mine infant lines, With golden water in a silver Font: Thy bountie, gold, thy fingers, silver twines, Silvering my papers inke, as they were wont. To thee (the bloudy Christall of a Ghost, Wrapt in a fierie web) I spin to thee. To thee, (the thawer of Dianaes frost: Tarquin the hotte in Lucrece Tragedie.) To thee I consecrate these ashie fires, She quencht in bloud, he burnt in his desires. Bound by your Ho. bounty, T. M. A2v Castissimo, purissimoque Lu-/cretiae Spiritui; Thomas Medius Gravis Tonus Primum Surge vociferat. Page 2 Tu castitatis imago, Surgito! Tarquinium Phlegetontis imagine notum, Noscito! Tu caeptis (nam te mutavit illum,) Adspirato meis! postremo tempore mundi, Ad sua perpetuum deducito crimina carmen. Castissimo Spiritui tuo addictissimus. T. M. A3 [Head-ornament, Ferguson 2] The Prologue. Reach me a quill from the white Angells wings, My paper from the Via Lactea, My inck from Joves-high-Nectar-flowing-springs, My Muse from Vesta: Awake Rhamnusia; Call up the Ghost of gor'de Lucretia: Thrice hath the trumpet of my pens round stage Sounded a Surge to her bloudie age. Sad spirits, soft harts, sicke thoughts, soules sod in teares, Wel-humourd eies, quicke eares, teare-wounded faces, Enrouled-Vestals, Dians Hemispheres, Rape-slaughtered Lucreces, all martyrde Graces, Be ye the audience, take your tragicke places: Here shal be plaide the miseries that immures Pure Diamond hearts, in Christal covertures. A3v Black spirits, hard harts, thick thoghts, sould boild in lust, Drie fierie eies, dull eares, high bloudy lookes Made of hot earth, moulded in fire and dust, Desires true Graduates, reade in Tarquins bookes: Be ye our stages Actors; play the Cookes: Carve out the daintiest morsel, thats your part, With lust-keene Faulchon even in Lucrece heart. Now weepeth Lucrece with a trine of eies, Quenching the fire of Lust with teares and bloud, Changing those eie-lampes (which were wont to rise Like beames of morning) to a mourning clowde, Her heart (the purest eie) to a redde-sea-floud: Her ghost the Idea of her soule resumes, Which Phoenix-wise burnes in her owne perfumes. Page 3 [ornament, Ferguson 12b] A4 [head ornament, Ferguson 14] THE GHOSTof Lucrece. Medeas Magicke, and Calipsoes drugges, Circes enchauntments, Hecates triforme Weanes my soule sucking at Revenges dugges, To feed upon the aire. What wind? what storme Blew my dissevered limmes into this forme? And from the Virgin-Paradise of death, Conjures my Ghost with poetizing breath? The candle of my shame burnes in the skie, Set on the crosse-Poles of the firmament, To feare away divine Virginitie, And light this world below, that being bent To follow me, they goe not as I went: But when I hope to see the candle waine, Then Tarquins spirit falls on the snuffe againe. A4v So that the snuffe, (the savour of my shame, That stinckes before the throne of chastitie) Is still rekindled with veneriall flame, To shew that Tarquins planet plants in me, The roote of fierie bloud, and luxurie: First forcing with his breath, one flames retire, Then takes my bloud for oyle, his lust, for fire. Now burnes the beacon of my soule, indeede, Too high for fame, but low enough for fume: Saints, keep your cloister-house, Vesta make speede, Take in thy flowers, for feare the fire consume Thy eternall-sweete-Virginitie-perfume: For Lust, and Bloud are mingled in one lampe, To seale my soule with Rape and Murders stampe. A5 Before my shame, yon candle had no fire, Vestals nil feard me, the world saw me not, Shame was the tinder, and the flint desire Page 4 That strucke in Tarquins bosome, and begot A childe of fire, a firebrand, and so hot, That it consumde my chastitie to dust, And on my heart painted the mouth of lust. Was I the cradle? O my chastitie, To rocke and lull this bastard firebrand, Nurst with my bloud, weand with my tragedie, Fed at my knives sharpe point upon my hand, Borne and reborne, where ere my spirites stand? I was the cradle: see the fierie dart, That burnes Dianaes temples in my heart. A5v Behold this blade varnisht with bloud and teares, Bloud from my heart, teares from my stilling eies, Behold (I say) this knife, whereon appeares Vestaes Vermilion melting from her skies, And teares of pearles in bloudy misteries; This is the Tragicke knife, here you may see, Teares strive for fame, and bloude for chastitie. Right hand, thou act'st Revenges hand aright: This knife and thou have sworne to kisse my breast, Thou art my Vestaes antidote, to fright Lust from the bed of Colatinus rest: Performer of thy vow (hand) be thoy blest. For thou in this hast showne me what thou art, Driving the foe from scaling of my heart. A6 Come spirit of fire, bred in a wombe of bloud, Forgd in a furnace by the Smith of Hell, Begot and formed in the burning floud, Where Plutoes Phlegetonticke tennants dwell: And scalded spirits in their fiery cell, Breathes from their soule the flame of luxurie. From that luxurious clime I conjure thee. Now is my tyde of bloude: Come, quench thy soule, The sluces of my spirit now runs againe: Come, I have made my breast an Ivorie bowle, To hold the bloud that streameth from my veyne, Drinke to my chastitie which thou hast slaine: "But (woe the while) that labour is in vaine, "To drinke to that which cannot pledge againe. Page 5 A6v Quaffe thine owne fill, and let that lustfull flame, (That circuits in the circle of thy spirite) Pledge thy desire, carowsing off my shame, Which swimmes amidst my bloud, and doth inherite The portion of my soule without a merite: And if this spring of bloud cannot suffize, Ile raine downe teares from my Elementall eies. Thou art my nurse-child, Tarquin: thou art he, In steede of milke, sucke bloud, and teares, and all, In liew of teats: Lucrece, thy nurse, even she, By tragicke art seene through a Christall wall, Hath carved with her knife thy festivall: Here's bloud for milke, sucke till thy veines run over, And such a teat, which scarce thy mouth can cover. A7 Tarquin the ravisher: oh at that name See how mine eies dissolveth into teares. Tarquin the Roman: I describe my shame, From Rome it came, a Romane name it beares. Tarquin my guest: lo, here began my feares: Tarquin from Ardea postes, hence sprang the fire, "For Ardeas name sounds ardent hot desire. Tarquin my kinsman: O Divinitie, Where art thou fled? hast thou forsooke thy sphaere? Where's Vertue, Knight-hood, and Nobilitie? Faith? Honor? Pietie? they should be neere, For kinsman sounds all these they are not here. Tarquin my kinsman: was it thou didst come, To sacke my Colatines Collatium? A7v Tarquin my kinsman, too unkindly done, And by a kinsman too: my Ghost avers it, Doth therefore that same name of kindred run, To see their kin-redde, and with bloud prefers it? "O enemie to faith, that still defers it. Has Tarquin never lustfull Tarquin beene, Lucrece the chaste should have chaste Lucrece seene. Tarquin the Prince: had Rome no better heires, Thou mistris of the world no better men, Thou Prodigalitie of Natures faires, Are Tygers kings? mak'st thou thy throne a den? Thy silver-glittering streames, blacke Lernaes fen? Page 6 Thy seaven hilles that should or'e looke thy evilles, Like seaven helles to nurse up Roman divelles. A8 To thee, (that makst the Moone thy looking glasse, To view thy triple crowne, and seaven-fold head) To thee, I say, (the Ghost of what I was) Plaines mee and it, sith thou so long hast fed The ravisher, and starvde the ravished. "If Vestaes lines were ever writ in thee, "Then weigh the blotting of those lines in mee. Tarquin the Prince: sham'st thou to heare thy name? Rome, tis thy heire, sham'st thou to call him sonne? Tarquin the Prince, lo Ile repeate thy shame, A Roman heire, from him to thee I runne, Ile shame you both before my shame be done: Tarquin the Prince, Tarquin the Roman heire, Thus wil I haunt, and hunt you to dispaire. A8v Tarquin the traytor: bid my spirit rise, And call up al the senses of my soule, "For treason should be guarded with more eies, Then was Joves Io under his controule, "For treasons guile doth winne the traitors gole: Tarquin the traytor: watch when time's in season, "For treason doth betray all things to treason. Tarquin the lecher: virgin chastitie, Melts at the heate of that luxurious word, (Like maiden-snow upon a promontorie, Kissing the Sun her heavenly lovely Lord, Then dies, and melts into a watry ford:) So did my chastities-white-snow attire, Dissolve in bloud, at Tarquins lustfull fire. B1 Tarquin the night-owle: Chastitie beware, Thou art beset with millions of deceits, Thy eies have leaden liddes, they take no care, Thy senses rockt asleepe, and thy conceites Tempred with silence, feare nor snares, nor baites: Onely the vestall purenesse of thy soule, Bade me beware that Night-observing owle. Page 7 Tarquin the Night-owle: in whose flaming eies, Lust and Desire banded their balles of bloud, Chasing my spirit with fiery misteries, Unto the hazard where destruction stoode, Ready to strike my soule into a clowde: So when the Sunne had seene my vapour rise, Then with his beames to dash me from the skies. B1v Tarquin the Night-owle: watch destruction, What? hath the eies of Lust no liddes at all? Or doe they hover for confusion, Answering in silence when affections call? "When lust awakes, the eie liddes never fall: "But like a courser holding reasons raine, "Doth shut the eies, and opens them againe. Tarquin the Night-owle: Vesta, looke about, The fourth allarum of my feares now rings, And yet the houre of dread is scarce runne out, For midnights face more force of terror brings, To thinke on that, my sinewes shake like strings: And chastitie which yet had spirit and breath, Lay quavering at my heart to tune her death. B2 Tarquin the Night-owle: turne the glasse againe, Five times my tongue, the hammer of my soule, (That beates upon my breath, and strikes a straine, "Sounding all quavers, thats the song of dole:) Five times my tongue did even my tongue controule, "For feare is such a slave, and coward elfe, "That fearing others, runnes and feares himselfe. Tarquin the Night-owle: Enter trecherie, Sextus Tarquinius, this sixt houre is thine, Farewell my life, farewell my chastitie, Farewel (though not mine now) that which was mine, Thy grapes are now devour'd , alas poore vine: The Tyr-ant with his force of luxurie, Tires me an Ant, through imbecillitie. B2v Now enters on the stage of Lucrece heart, Blacke appetites in flamde habiliments: When they have acted all, then they depart. Rape entring next, armed in murders tents, Wrackes Vestaes tennants, and takes all her rents: Page 8 "This shewes that Vestaes Deitie is poore, "She hath the stalke, but Venus hath the store. This is my tragicke sceane: bleede hearts, weepe eies, Flie soule from bodie, spirit from my veines, Follow my chastitie where ere it lies, Which my unhalowed body now refraines, Looke to the lampe of chastitie, it waines: The starre which guided all my elements, Pulls in her head, and leaves the firmaments. B3 Rape in his pawes of bloud, and fangs of Lust, Hath stainde th'immaculate lillie of my field, And hath sepulchred in the shade of dust Dianaes milken robe, and Vestaes shield, "When Tygers prey, the seely lambes must yeeld: When Tarquin postes from Ardea, by and by Lucrece must loose her life and chastitie. O Colatine, where sleepes thy troubled spirite? What new come Morpheus hath arrested thee? Doth thy heart soundly sleepe? doth nothing stirre it? Deare Colatine, awake, wert thou with mee The arches of mine eies would waken thee: For teares like waves rush at my eie-liddes doore, Striving together who should goe before. B3v Come Colatine the foe hath sackt thy cittie, Collatium goes to wracke: come Colatine, Come Colatine, all pietie and pittie Is turnde to pettie treason: what is thine Is ceazde uppon long since: and what is mine "Carried away: true man thou sleepst at Rome, "Even while a Roman theefe robs thee at home. Come Colatine, tis Lucrece bids tee come, Or shal I send my pursevant of grones Unto prowde Rome from poore Collatium, To make all private means by publique mones, Discoursing my blacke storie to the stones? Come Colatine, tis Tarquins dreadfull drum, That conjures me to call, and thee to come. Page 9 B4 Thy Lucrece bed, which had faire canopies Spangled with starres like to the firmament, And curtaines wrought with many deities, Resembling Joves white lacteall element, Are stained now by lust and ravishment, The starres out starde, the deities defied, These I had storde, the other deified. The night before Tarquin and Lust came hither, (Ill token for a chaste memoriall,) My maides and I poore maide, did spin together, Like the three sisters, which the Fates we call, "And Fortune lent us wheeles to turne withall; Round goes our wheeles like worlds, on mine alone Stoode fortune reeling on a rowling stone. B4v Yet was my heart so light, that still I said, Sing merrily my maides, our wheeles goe round, (Who would not sing and spin, and be a maide, To serve so sweet a Goddesse, and be bound Apprentise, where such mistresses abound?) Sing merrily my maides (againe she sayes,) For Vesta in the Goddesse of our layes. Maidens, quoth I, but thinke what maidens be, "They are the verie string that ties their hearts, "The pillars of their soules pure puritie, "The distallations of th'essentiall parts, "Both good deservers, and the good desarts: Then seeing Vesta hath so many trades, Go round our wheeles, sing merrily my maides. B5 What nimble fingers hath Virginitie, To twist the thread, and turne the wheele about? O Virgines, that same pearle of chastitie Shines like the Moone, to light you thoughts throughout, "Pure cogitations never harbours doubt, But like the fairest-purest chrisolite, Admits no bruise without a cracke with it. Spin merily my maiden-paradise, Thus with a merrie cheere I whirld their wheels, And made them rid at once more then at twice, "Such prettie pleasure true affection feeles, "That times olde head runnes swifter then his heeles: Page 10 "For mirths fledg'd wings, are of so quicke a flight, "That maks the morn seem noon, the noon seem night. B5v My maides, those ayrie sinewes in your hands, Were of a finer thred then that you spinne, It was a merry age in golden bands, When Saturne sowed the earth, and did begin To teach bad husbands a new way to win: "Then was true labour exercisde and donne, "When gods did reele, what Goddesses had sponne. Those times are waxen balde, a prowder ayre Blowes in the heaven, and breathes upon the earth, That age is out of date, another heyre Claimes his possession by an yron birth, And in an yron throne of death and dearth Rules this yong age, sucking untill it whine, Even at the dugges of Plutoes Proserpine. B6 Thus like Diana by a lillie fount, Sate I amidst my vestall elements, Thus did my selfe still with my selfe account, To free mu thoughts from chained discontents And stirre up mirth, the nurse of nourishments: Thus with a lightsome spirit and soules carouse, I like a huswife cherisht up my house. When Roman dames tickled with pride and lust, Ravisht with amorous Philosophie, Printed the measures of their feete in dust, Tempring their bloud with Musickes harmonie, "(The very Synode-house of Venerie) Then I at home insteade of melodie, Grated my wheele upon the axeltree. B6v How like Arachne turned I my wheele! Each of my maids how like a shepheardesse! HadColatine my shepheard held the reele, We foure might well have made a country messe, "But one abroade, makes one at home the lesse: My Colatine my shepheard was at Rome, And left poore me to feede his flocke at home. Page 11 Is Venus made a Laundresse to the Court? Cupid her sonne elected for a page? No marvaile if Dianaes starres doe sport With Venus planets upon Cupids stage: "Yron must have fire, this is an yron age: "Our soules like smithes with anvills of desire, "Beate om our flesh, and still we sparkle fire. B7 The Princes Court is ev'n a firmament, All wrought with beames by day, and starres by night, The Prince himselfe the sunnie element, From whence all beames and starres do borow light, To paint their faces with a red and white: Those beames embassadors of his bright array, Those starres his counsellors by night and day. How comes it then? speake, speake, Iniquitie, Thou blur of kingdomes, and thou blot of Kings, Thou Metamorphosis of puritie, That shap'st the greater things to lesser things, How comes it then, that Cupids bow-string swings About the heeles of time? Iniquitie, It is the halter of thy luxurie. B7v Thou hast burnt out the humour of thy bones, And made them powders of impietie, To strew about the earth as thicke as stones, Like wombes of lust, in toombes of lecherie, And all thy sinewes, O Iniquitie, Are so dried up, and now so slender sponne, "ThatVenus makes them bow-strings for her sonne. Where is the spring of blouds virginitie, That wont to serve thy veines like conduit heads, And clense thy cesterne of iniquitie, With maiden-humours from chaste Floraes meads? Then slepst thou like a Lorde, in Honors beds: Then Vertue was thy bedfellow, now know, "As great an ebbe followes as great a flow. B8 Loe, under that base tipe of Tarquins name, I cypher figures of iniquitie, He writes himselfe the shamer, I the shame, The Actor hee, and I the tragedie, The stage am I, and he the historie: Page 12 The subject I, and he the ravisher, He murdring me, made me my murderer. O Lust, this pen of mine that writes thee lust, Lies blasted at the sulphure of thy fire, The quill and fethers burnt to ashie dust, Like dust and ashes flies before Desire, Unable to endure thy flamd attire: "For in the skie of contrarietie, "The winners life is, when the loosers die. B8v If I preceede: O fierie Incolants, Of that vast hell, which Pluto tearmes his haule, Tarquins companions, ye I say that haunts The bankes of burning baths, to you I call, Send me Prometheus heart t'endite withall: And from his vultures wings a pen of bloud, Thrice steept and dipt in Phlegetonticke floud. Then shall I stamp the figure of the night On Tarquins brow, and marke him for her sonne, The heire of darknesse, bastard of the light, The clowde of heaven, th'eclipser of the sunne, The staine in Vestaes cheekes, which first begunne In Tarquins flesh, begot of fiery dust. "O thou the hell of love, untutred Lust. C1 "It bribes the flesh to warre against the spirit, "With tickling bloud mustring in everie vaine, "It weanes the conscience from her heavenly merit, "Depraving all chaste thoughts, her maiden traine, "It makes the heart thinke, and unthinke againe: "It taints the breath with fire, the braine with bloud, "And sets a divel where a God had stood. Beeing in the eie, Lust is a Cockatrice, "Hemlocke in taste, a canker in the thought, "And in the life a moth, which in a trice Consumes that treasure which so deare was bought, And cost so many dropps of bloud (for nought) So many streames of bloud, and baths of sweate, To bathe our spirites, and to quench our heate. Page 13 C1v O hell-eyde Lust, when I behold thy face Praefigured in my Ghost, drawne in my mind, I thinke of Sydons flowers that grow apace, And favour thee by qualitie and kind, "They looke like faith before, and fame behind: But if thou savour these well-favoured evills, They have the sight of gods, the sent of devills. If I had like a curious herbalist, Measurde thy quantitie by qualitie, Or Esculapius-wise, on Reasons fist, Had planted vertue by the propertie, Or with the lapidaries policie "Made choice by insight, thats the note of wit, And not by outward hue to judge of it, C2 Then like that skilfull Esculapius, (Setting apart the colour of deceit) I might have knowne Tarquin from Tyreus, And Lucrece bed from Philomelaes baite, Vesta conceiv'd what Venus did conceit: But wanting Esculapius in my choice, I left sweete verdure for a flattering voice. "Did Beautie that same bavins blaze, incense thee? "That flower of time which buds with vanitie, "That string of fortunes wheel, which doth commence thee The graduate of hell bourne iniquitie, Was beautie made the marke of luxurie? Then heavens from henceforth let the world behold "Beautie in lead, deformitie in gold. C2v Say Beauties beames dazled thy clowdie eies, "This Beautie hangs but at the heeles of time, And when times wings a loftier measure flies, The Beautie like poore Icarus must clime, Or plunge into the puddle of her slime: "For Beauties limmes are of a waxen frame, "And melts like Icarus wings at every flame. Sawst thou the colours which quaint Phydius drew, In dead-live pictures with a touch of art. Such red and white hath Beautie being new, Made onely to amaze th'amazers heart, Yet Phydias colours piercing like a dart Page 14 Were staind with every breath, and lost their prime, "So Beauties blot drops from the pen of time. C3 But O my heaven, shall I forget thy spheres, O spheres of heaven, shall I let passe your skies? O skies which wears out time, and never weares, Shall I make dim the tapers of your eies? O eies of heaven, Sunne, Moone, and starres that rise To wake the day, and free imprisoned night, Shall my oblivious vapour clowde your light? T'is thou o Chastitie, shall I forsake thee, Or drowne thy memorie in my bloudy streame? Remember o my soule, did she not make thee Out of Dianaes ribbes? did not that beame, (Which glisters in thy spirit like Joves-eie-gleame,) Reflect from Vestaes face upon thy heart, Like Phoebus brow the pride of heavens art. C3v O thou that mak'st the Via Lactea whiter, "That virgin-gallery of majesticke Jove, "Faire Junoes maze, to foote it, doth delight her, "The silver path of heaven, and bath of love, There sits the lambe, the swanne, the turtle dove, Ensignes of peace, of faith, and chastitie: "O silver stage to golden harmonie. "That quire of saints in virgin-ornament, "Where Angells sing like queristers of heaven, "Where all the Martyrs kneele: the element "Where Cynthiaes robe, and great Apolloes steaven, Hangs at the alter of this milken haven: And to conclude, not able to begin, I write of that which flesh hath never seene. C4 Twas thou o chastitie m'eternall eie, The want of thee made my ghost reele to hell, Twas thou o chastitie, that guild'st the skie With beames of vertue, it is thou dost dwell In that white-milken-christall-silver cell: Thou laundresse to the gods and goddesses, Washing their soules in fonts of holinesse. Page 15 O thou that deckst our Phoebus in the East, Circling his temples with spirituall beames, And guides his vestall chariot to the west, Through that pure christall tracke of lacteall streames, Silvering his wheeles with alablastor gleames, Then tempring the bright porphurie of his face, "With chaste Endimions blush, the die of grace. C4v That doing dutie to his father Jove Upon his knee of fire, bids him arise, And blessing all his beames with kissing love, Like a majesticke father guilds his eies, To adde a rarer shine unto the skies, Then takes his chariot with a brighter pride, And cries alowd, S. Vesta be my guide. S. Vesta, O thou sanctifying Saint, That lends a beame unto the cleerest Sunne, Which els within his fiery course would faint, And end his race ere he had halfe begun, Making the world beleeve his power were done, His oyle burnt out, his lampe returnde to slime, His fires extinguishde by the breath of time. C5 "O thou the pearle that hangs on Junoes brow, "Like to the Moone the massie pearle of night, "Thou jewel in the eare of Jove, to show The pride of love, the puritie of light, "Thou Atlas of both worlds, umpire of right: "Thou haven of heaven, th'assigner of each signe, "Sanctities saint, Divinities divine. "O thou the silver taper of the Moone, Set in an alablaster candlesticke, That by the bed of heaven at afternoone, Stands like a lillie (which faire virgins picke, To match it with the lillie of their cheeke) "Thou lillie lambe, thou christall fether'd dove, That nestles in the pallace of thy Jove. C5v O touch my veins againe, thou bloud divine, O feede my spirit thou foode angelicall, And all chaste functions with my soule combine, Colour my ghost with chastitie, whose All Feedes fat leane Death and time in generall; Page 16 Come silver dove, heavens alablaster nunne, Ile hugge thee more then ever I have donne. Lucrece, alas, thou picture of thy selfe, "Drawne poore and pale by that old painter time, "And overdasht by Death that meagre elfe, Which dries our element of bloud to thime, And tempreth our old ashes with new slime: Lucrece I say how canst thou Lucrece bee? "Wanting a God to give a life to thee. C6 Bleede no more lines, (my heart,) this Knife, my pen, This bloud my incke, hath writ enough to Lust, "Tarquin, to thee thou very divell of men I send these lines, thou art my fiend of trust, To thee I dedicate my toombe of dust: To thee I consecrate this little-Most, Writ by the bloudy fingers of my Ghost. This little scrole of fire (that burnes my hand, In repetition of thy fiery name) I fold upon my heart (my bloudy land) And to thy ghost my ghost doth send the same, "Intituled, The lines of bloud and flame, "The Ghost of Lucrece, thats the Ghost of bloud, "The Ghost of Tarquin, thats the fiery floud. C6v Now for thy title, and deserved stile, In dedication to thy worthinesse, "To thee the second of Cocytus Ile, "Chiefe senior to the Phlegetonticke messe, "High steward unto Plutoes holinesse: "Temprer of flames, the L. Tysiphonie, My bloudy fires begs patronage of thee. Now lacke I nothing but the post of hell, To flie like Vestaes arrow from my bow With these my red hot newes, and then to tell "How many times my heart did ebbe and flow, (Like seas) with teares above, and bloud below: And from poore Lucrece mouth to tell Tarquin thus, That Philomel hath writ to Tyreus. Page 17 C7 Here stops the streame of tragicke bloud and fire, And now Melpomene hales my spirit in, The stage is downe, and Philomelaes quire Is husht from prick-song: Acherons bells begin To call our ghosts clad in the spirits of sin: Now Tyreus meets with ravishde Philomel, Lucrece with Tarquin; in the haule of hell. FINIS. C7v [The Epilogue] Rhamnusia in a chariot of Revenge, Heapt up with Ghosts of bloud, and spirits of fire, Hath pilde up Lucrece Ghost, so to avenge Her chaste untimely bloud, of flamde desire: Now at the barre of hell (Revenges quire) Pleades Lucrece with a tongue of teares and blouds, First speakes her heart, and then her eies, in flouds. Can death that shrimpe of spirits, that bonie wretch, That meagre-element, that begger-god, From Lucrece skie such heavenly colours fetch? From beauties wrist to wrest the golden rod, Which makes all red and white dispearse abroad? Deaths power is come, and beauties triumph past, She was as chast as faire, as faire as chast. Her haire which in Arachnes finest loome, Was kist with silver shickles, O that haire, Which made Collatium shine in spight of Rome, Keaming her tresses, like Joves golden heire, He made Rome bright, she made Collatium faire: That haire which daunc'st in beames before her breath Serves now to stuffe the gaping ribbes of death. C8 Her eies the curious fabricke of her world, Apolloes touchstones where he tride his beames, And when her eies outmatcht his fires: he hurld His crowne of splendour into quenching streames, Raging to see beauties enrowled theames Writ in her eie-rowles: but alas, those eies Page 18 Which liv'de in beautie, now in beautie dies. Her tongue which Orpheus tunde before he dide, And strung before he journied unto hell, That new Pernassus by a rivers side, Where musicke sojournes, and the Muses dwell, O tongue of hers, Dianaes silver bell, That rung chaste praiers to the church of heaven, Now she of it, and it of her bereaven. Her breath which had a violet perfume Tempred with rose al verdure, O her breath, Through discorde of her tongue, did all consume Unto the ayre of earth, she did bequeath That pension of her life, from life to death: How ill was this bestowde on Death, that elfe, "Which robs all others, yet still poore it selfe. C8v Her teates, twixt whom an alablaster bridge Parts each from other; like two christall bowles (Standing aloofe upon the bodies ridge) Beares chastities white-Nectar-flowing soules, O valley deckt with Floraes silver roules: Why givest thou suck to death? it wil be fed, For know, death must not die till all be dead. And to conclude, her all in every sphaere, (That like the Sunne on christall elements) Did shine in cleerenesse bright, in brightnesse cleere, Her head her skies, her soule her firmaments, Now staind by death, before by ravishments: First Tarquin-life, clad her in deaths array, Now Tarquin-death, hath stolne her life away. FINIS.