Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/86

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74
The Rape of Lucrece.
In his cleere bed might have reposed still:
But they must ope this blessed league to kill;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her worlds delight.

Her lilly hand her rosie cheekes lies under,
Coozening the pillow of a lawful kisse;
Who therefore angry seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his blisse,
Between whose hils her head entombed is.
Where like a vertuous monument she lies,
To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes.

Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet, whose perfect white
Show'd like an April dazie on the grasse,
With pearly swet, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes like Marigolds had sheath'd their light,
And canopied in darknesse sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorne the day.

Her hair like golden threds plaid with her breath,
O modest wantons, wanton modesty!
Showring lifes triumph in the map of death,
And deaths dim looke in lives mortality.
Each in her sleepe themselves so beautifie,
As if betweene them twaine there were no strife,
But that life liv'd in death, and death in life.

Her brests like ivory globes circled with blew,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered:

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