Page 2330 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Then son and father weep with equal strife
Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.

Then one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says, «She’s mine». «O mine she is», [1795]

Replies her husband, «do not take away
My sorrow’s interest; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine,

And only must be wail’d by Collatine».

«O», quoth Lucretius, «I did give that life [1800]

Which she too early and too late hath spill’d».
«Woe, woe», quoth Collatine, «she was my wife;
I ow’d her, and ’tis mine that she hath kill’d».

«My daughter» and «my wife» with clamours fill’d
The dispers’d air, who holding Lucrece’ life [1805]
Answer’d their cries, «my daughter» and «my wife».

Brutus, who pluck’d the knife from Lucrece’ side,
Seeing such emulation in their woe,

Began to clothe his wit in state and pride,
Burying in Lucrece’ wound his folly’s show. [1810]
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly jeering idiots are with kings,

For sportive words and utt’ring foolish things.

But now he throws that shallow habit by,
Wherein deep policy did him disguise, [1815]
And arm’d his long-hid wits advisedly,
To check the tears in Collatinus’ eyes.

«Thou wronged lord of Rome», quoth he, «arise!
Let my unsounded self, suppos’d a fool,
Now set thy long-experienc’d wit to school. [1820]

«Why Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?