1065Nor
shall he
smile at thee in
secret thought,
¶Nor laugh with his companions at thy
state,
¶But thou
shalt know thy intre
st was not bought
¶Ba
sely with gold, but
stolne from foorth thy gate.
¶For me I am the mi
stre
sse of my fate,
1070_And with my tre
spa
sse neuer will di
spence,
¶_Till life to death acquit my for
st offence.
¶I will not poy
son thee with my attaint,
¶Nor fold my fault in cleanly coin'd excu
ses,
¶My
sable ground of
sinne I will not paint,
1075To hide the truth of this fal
se nights abu
ses.
¶My tongue
shall vtter all, mine eyes like
sluces,
¶_As from a mountaine
spring that feeds a dale,
¶_Shal gu
sh pure
streams to purge my impure tale.
¶By this lamenting Philomele had ended
1080The well-tun'd warble of her nightly
sorrow,
¶And
solemne night with
slow
sad gate de
scended
¶To ouglie Hell, when loe the blu
shing morrow
¶Lends light to all faire eyes that light will borrow.
¶_But cloudie
LVCRECE shames her
selfe to
see,
1085_And therefore
still in night would cloi
stred be.