24617161716Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break,
17171717She throws forth Tarquin's name: "He, he," she says,
17181718But more then "he" her poor tongue could not speak,
17191719Till after many accents and delays,
17201720Untimely breathings, sick and short assays,
17211721She utters this: "He, he, fair lords, 'tis he
17221722That guides this hand to give this wound to me."
24717231723Even here she sheathèd in her harmless breast
17241724A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed.
17251725That blow did bail it from the deep unrest
17261726Of that polluted prison where it breathed.
17271727Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed
17281728Her wingèd sprite, and through her wounds doth fly
17291729Life's lasting date from canceled destiny.
24817301730Stone-still, astonished with this deadly deed
17311731Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew,
17321732Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleed,
17331733Himself on her self-slaughtered body threw,
17341734And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
17351735The murd'rous knife, and, as it left the place,
17361736Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;
24917371737And, bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
17381738In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
17391739Circles her body in on every side,
17401740Who like a late-sacked island vastly stood
17411741Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood.
17421742Some of her blood still pure and red remained,
17431743And some looked black, and that false Tarquin stained.
17451745Of that black blood, a wat'ry rigol goes,
17461746Which seems to weep upon the tainted place;
17471747And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes,
17481748Corrupted blood some watery token shows,
17491749And blood untainted still doth red abide,
17501750Blushing at that which is so putrefied.