1531065Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,

1066Nor laugh with his companions at thy state,

1067But thou shalt know thy intrest was not bought

1068Basely with gold, but stolne from foorth thy gate.

1069For me I am the mistresse of my fate,

1070 And with my trespasse neuer will dispence,

1071 Till life to death acquit my forst offence.

1541072I will not poyson thee with my attaint,

1073Nor fold my fault in cleanly coin'd excuses,

1074My sable ground of sinne I will not paint,

1075To hide the truth of this false nights abuses.

1076My tongue shall vtter all, mine eyes like sluces,

1077 As from a mountaine spring that feeds a dale,

1078 Shal gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.

1551079By this lamenting Philomele had ended

1080The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow,

1081And solemne night with slow sad gate descended

1082To ouglie Hell, when loe the blushing morrow

1083Lends light to all faire eyes that light will borrow.

1084 But cloudie LVCRECE shames her selfe to see,

1085 And therefore still in night would cloistred be.