¶VVhich
speechle
sse woe of his poore
she attendeth,
1675And his vntimelie frenzie thus awaketh,
¶Deare Lord, thy
sorrow to my
sorrow lendeth
¶Another power, no floud by raining
slaketh,
¶My woe too
sencible thy pa
ssion maketh
¶_More feeling painfull, let it than
suffice
1680_To drowne on woe, one paire of weeping eyes.
¶And for my
sake when I might charme thee
so,
¶For
shee that was thy
LVCRECE, now attend me,
¶Be
sodainelie reuenged on my Foe.
¶Thine, mine, his own,
suppo
se thou do
st defend me
1685From what is pa
st, the helpe that thou
shalt lend me
¶_Comes all too late, yet let the Traytor die,
¶_"For
sparing Iu
stice feeds iniquitie.
¶But ere I name him, you faire Lords, quoth
shee,
¶(Speaking to tho
se that came with
COLATINE)
1690Shall plight your Honourable faiths to me,
¶VVith
swift pur
suit to venge this wrong of mine,
¶For 'tis a meritorious faire de
signe,
¶_To cha
se iniu
stice with reuengefull armes,
¶_Knights by their oaths
should right poore Ladies
harmes.