Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/124

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
112
The Rape of Lucrece.
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pawsing for meanes to mourne some newer way.

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting made for Priam's Troy,
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece,
For Helens rape the City to destroy,
Threatning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;
Which the conceited Painter drew so proud,
As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thousand lamentable objects there
In scorne of Nature, Art gave livelesse life:
Many a dire drop seem'd a weeping teare,
Shed for the slaughtred husband by a wife.
The red bloud reek'd, to shew the painters strife,
And dying eyes gleem'd forth their ashy lights,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you see the labouring Pioneer
Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust;
And from the towres of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loope-holes thrust;
Gazing upon the Greekes with little lust:
Such sweet observance in this work was had,
That one might see those far off eyes look sad.

In great Commanders, Grace and Majesty
You might behold triumphing in their faces,
In youth quick-bearing and dexterity;

And