Page 2298 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

He in his speed looks for the morning light, [745]
She prays she never may behold the day:
«For day», quoth she, «night’s ’scapes doth open lay,
And my true eyes have never practis’d how

To cloak offences with a cunning brow.

«They think not but that every eye can see [750]
The same disgrace which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they still in darkness be,

To have their unseen sin remain untold.
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave like water that doth eat in steel, [755]
Upon my cheeks, what helpless shame I feel».

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,

And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find [760]
Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind.
Frantic with grief, thus breathes she forth her spite

Against the unseen secrecy of night:

«O comfort-killing night, image of hell,
Dim register and notary of shame, [765]
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell,

Vast sin-concealing Chaos, nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd, dark harbour for defame,
Grim cave of death, whisp’ring conspirator
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher! [770]

«O hateful, vaporous and foggy night,

Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportion’d course of time:
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb [775]

His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.