¶Now
stole vppon the time the dead of night,
¶VVhen heauie
sleeep had clo
sd vp mortall eyes,
¶No comfortable
starre did lend his light,
165No noi
se but Owles, & wolues death-boding cries:
¶Now
serues the
sea
son that they may
surpri
se
¶_The
sillie Lambes, pure thoughts are dead &
still,
¶_VVhile Lu
st and Murder wakes to
staine and kill.
¶And now this lu
stfull Lord leapt from his bed,
170Throwing his mantle rudely ore his arme,
¶Is madly to
st betweene de
sire and dred;
¶Th'one
sweetely flatters, th'other feareth harme,
¶But hone
st feare, bewicht with lu
stes foule charme,
¶_Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
175_Beaten away by braine
sicke rude de
sire.
¶His Faulchon on a flint he
softly
smiteth,
¶That from the could
stone
sparkes of fire doe flie,
¶VVhereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
¶VVhich mu
st be lode
starre to his lu
stfull eye.
180And to the flame thus
speakes adui
sedlie;
¶_As from this cold flint I enfor
st this fire,
¶_So
LVCRECE mu
st I force to my de
sire.