Lucrece (Quarto, 1594)
Author: William ShakespeareEditor: Hardy M. CookNot Peer Reviewed


¶Daughter, deare daughter, old
LVCRETIVS cries,
¶That life was mine which thou ha
st here depriued,
¶If in the childe the fathers image lies,
¶VVhere
shall I liue now
LVCRECE is vnliued?
1755Thou wa
st not to this end from me deriued.
¶_If children prædecea
se progenitours,
¶_VVe are their of
spring and they none of ours.
¶Poore broken gla
sse, I often did behold
¶In thy
sweet
semblance, my old age new borne,
1760But now that faire fre
sh mirror dim and old
¶Shewes me a bare-bon'd death by time out-worne,
¶O from thy cheekes my image thou ha
st torne,
¶_And
shiuerd all the beautie of my gla
sse,
¶_That I no more can
see what once I was.
1765O time cea
se thou thy cour
se and la
st no longer,
¶If they
surcea
se to be that
should
suruiue:
¶Shall rotten death make conque
st of the
stronger,
¶And leaue the foultring feeble
soules aliue?
¶The old Bees die, the young po
sse
sse their hiue,
1770_Then liue
sweet
LVCRECE, liue againe and
see
¶_Thy father die, and not thy father thee.
¶By this
starts
COLATINE as from a dreame,
¶And bids
LVCRECIVS giue his
sorrow place,
¶And than in key-cold
LVCRECE bleeding
streame
1775He fals, and bathes the pale feare in his face,
¶And counterfaits to die with her a
space,
¶_Till manly
shame bids him po
sse
sse his breath,
¶_And liue to be reuenged on her death.
¶The deepe vexation of his inward
soule,
1780Hath
seru'd a dumbe arre
st vpon his tongue,
¶VVho mad that
sorrow
should his v
se controll,
¶Or keepe him from heart-ea
sing words
so long,
¶Begins to talke, but through his lips do throng
¶_VVeake words,
so thick come in his poor harts aid,
1785_That no man could di
stingui
sh what he
said.

