21114711471"Show me the strumpet that began this stir,

14721472That with my nails her beauty I may tear.

14731473Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur

14741474This lode of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;

14751475Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here,

14761476And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,

14771477The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die."

21214781478"Why should the private pleasure of some one

14791479Become the public plague of many moe?

14801480Let sin, alone committed, light alone

14811481Upon his head that hath transgressèd so;

14821482Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe.

14831483For one's offense why should so many fall,

14841484To plague a private sin in general?"

21314851485"Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,

14861486Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds,

14871487Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,

14881488And friend to friend gives unadvisèd wounds,

14891489And one man's lust these many lives confounds.

14901490Had doting Priam checked his son's desire,

14911491Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire."

21414921492Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes,

14931493For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,

14941494Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes;

14951495Then little strength rings out the doleful knell.

14961496So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales doth tell

14971497To penciled pensiveness and colored sorrow;

14981498She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.

21514991499She throws her eyes about the painting round,

15001500And who she finds forlorn she doth lament.

15011501At last she sees a wretched image bound,

15021502That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:

15031503His face, though full of cares, yet showed content;

15041504Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,

15051505So mild that patience seemed to scorn his woes.