Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/107

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The Rape of Lucrece.
95
Mishapen time, copesmate of ugly night,
Swift subtile post, carrier of grisly care,
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sins pack-horse, vertues snare,
Thou nursest all, and murtherest all that are:
O hear me then, injurious shifting time,
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

Why hath thy servant Opportunity
Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose?
Cancel'd my fortunes and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Times office is to fine the hate of foes,
To eat up error by opinion bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.

Times glory is to calme contending Kings,
To unmask falshood, and bring truth to light,
To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
To wake the morne, and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right,
To ruinate proud buildings with thy houres
And smear with dust their glittering golden towrs.

To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books, and alter their contents,
To pluck the quils from ancient Ravens wings.
To dry the old oakes sap, and cherish springs,

To