Page 2284 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the self-same seat sits Collatine.
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits; [290]
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,

Unto a view so false will not incline,
But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part:

And therein heartens up his servile powers, [295]

Who flatter’d by their leader’s jocund show,
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow,
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led, [300]

The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece’ bed.

The locks between her chamber and his will,
Each one by him enforc’d, retires his ward;
But as they open, they all rate his ill,
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard. [305]

The threshold grates the door to have him heard;
Night-wand’ring weasels shriek to see him there:
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.

As each unwilling portal yields him way,

Through little vents and crannies of the place [310]
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay,
And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct in this case;

But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch. [315]

And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia’s glove, wherein her needle sticks;
He takes it from the rushes where it lies,

And gripping it, the needle his finger pricks,
As who should say, «This glove to wanton tricks [320]