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THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.TXT-Part1_WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE(1564-1616)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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To those two armies that would let him go

Rather than triumph in so false a foe.



Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue,

The niggard prodigal that praised her so,



In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,

Which far exceeds his barren skill to show;



Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe

Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,



In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,



Little suspecteth the false worshipper;

"For unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil;



"Birds never limed no secret bushes fear.

So guiltless she securely gives good cheer



And reverendwelcome to her princely guest,

Whose inward ill no outward harm expressed;



For that he coloured with his high estate,

Hiding base sin in pleats of majesty;



That nothing in him seemed inordinate,

Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,



Which, having all, all could not satisfy;

But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store



That cloyed with much he pineth still for more.

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes,



Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,

Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies



Writ in the glassy margents of such books.

She touched no unknown baits, nor feared no hooks;



Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,

More than his eyes were opened to the light.



He stories to her ears her husband's fame,

Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;



And decks with praises Collatine's high name,

Made glorious by his manly chivalry



With bruised arms and wreaths of victory.

Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express,



And wordless so greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming thither,



He makes excuses for his being there.

No cloudy show of stormy blust'ring weather



Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;

Till sable Night, mother of dread and fear,



Upon the world dim darkness doth display,

And in her vaulty prison stows the day.



For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,

Intending weariness with heavy sprite;



For after supper long he questioned

With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night.



Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;

And every one to rest himself betakes,



Save thieves and cares and troubled minds that wakes.

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving



The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;

Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,



Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining;

Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining,



And when great treasure is the meed proposed,

Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed.



Those that much covet are with gain' so fond

That what they have not, that which they possess,



They scatter and unloose it from their bond,

And so, by hoping more, they have but less;



Or, gaining more, the profit of excess

Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain



That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life



With honour, wealth and case, in waning age;

And in this aim there is such thwarting strife



That one for all or all for one we gage:

As life for honour in fell battle's rage;






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