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To live or die which of the twain were better；
When life is shamed and death reproach's debtor。
'To kill myself；' quoth she； 'alack； what were it；
But with my body my poor soul's pollution？
They that lose half with greater patience bear it
Than they whose whole is swallowed in confusion。
That mother tries a merciless conclusion
Who； having two sweet babes； when death takes one；
Will slay the other and be nurse to none。
'My body or my soul； which was the dearer；
When the one pure； the other made divine？
Whose love of either to myself was nearer；
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine？
Ay me！ the bark pilled from the lofty pine；
His leaves will wither and his sap decay；
So must my soul； her bark being pilled away。
'Her house is sacked； her quiet interrupted；
Her mansion battered by the enemy；
Her sacred temple spotted； spoiled； corrupted；
Grossly engirt with daring infamy；
Then let it not be called impiety
If in this blemished fort I make some hole
Through which I may convey this troubled soul。
'Yet die I will not till my Collatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death；
That he may vow； in that sad hour of mine；
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath。
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath；
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent；
And as his due writ in my testament。
'My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife
That wounds my body so dishonoured。
'Tis honour to deprive dishonoured life；
The one will live； the other being dead。
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred；
For in my death I murder shameful scorn。
My shame so dead； mine honour is new born。
'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost；
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee？
My resolution； love； shall be thy boast；
By whose example thou revenged mayst be。
How Tarquin must be used； read it in me：
Myself； thy friend； will kill myself； thy foe；
And； for my sake； serve thou false Tarquin so。
'This brief abridgement of my will I make：
My soul and body to the skies and ground；
My resolution； husband； do thou take；
Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound；
My shame be his that did my fame confound；
And all my fame that lives disbursed be
To those that live and think no shame of me。
'Thou； Collatine； shalt oversee this will；
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it！
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill；
My life's foul deed； my life's fair end shall free it。
Faint not； faint heart； but stoutly say 〃So be it〃。
Yield to my hand； my hand shall conquer thee；
Thou dead； both die and both shall victors be。'
This plot of death when sadly she had laid；
And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes；
With untuned tongue she hoarsely calls her maid；
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies；
〃For fleet…winged duty with thought's feathers flies。
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow。
Her mistress she doth give demure good…morrow
With soft slow tongue； true mark of modesty；
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow；
For why her face wore sorrow's livery；
But durst not ask of her audaciously
Why her two suns were cloud…eclipsed so；
Nor why her fair cheeks over…washed with woe。
But as the earth doth weep； the sun being set；
Each flower moist'ned like a melting eye；
Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne； enforced by sympathy
Of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky；
Who in a salt…waved ocean quench their light；
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night。
A pretty while these pretty creatures stand；
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling。
One justly weeps； the other takes in hand
No cause but company of her drops spilling：
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing；
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts；
And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts。
For men have marble； women waxen； minds；
And therefore are they formed as marble will；
The weak oppressed； th' impression of strange kinds
Is formed in them by force； by fraud； or skill。
Then call them not the authors of their ill；
No more than wax shall be accounted evil
Wherein is stamped the semblance of a devil。
Their smoothness； like a goodly champaign plain；
Lays open all the little worms that creep；
In men； as in a rough…grown grove； remain
Cave…keeping evils that obscurely sleep。
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep。
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks；
Poor women's faces are their own faults' books。
No man inveigh against the withered flower；
But chide rough winter that the flower hath killed。
Not that devoured； but that which doth devour；
Is worthy blame。 O； let it not be hild
Poor women's faults that they are so fulfilled
With men's abuses： those proud lords to blame
Make weak…made women tenants to' their shame。
The precedent whereof in Lucrece view；
Assailed by night with circumstances strong
Of present death； and shame that might ensue
By that her death； to do her husband wrong。
Such danger to resistance did belong；
That dying fear through all her body spread；
And who cannot abuse a body dead？
By this； mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining。
'My girl；' quoth she； 'on what occasion break
Those tears from thee that down thy cheeks are raining？
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining；
Know； gentle wench； it small avails my mood；
If tears could help； mine own would do me good。
'But tell me； girl； when went'…and there she stayed
Till after a deep groan…'Tarquin from hence？'
'Madam； ere I was up；' replied the maid；
'The more to blame my sluggard negligence。
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense：
Myself was stirring ere the break of day；
And ere I rose was Tarquin gone away。
'But； lady； if your maid may be so bold；
She would request to know your heaviness。'
'O； peace！' quoth Lucrece： 'if it should be told；
The repetition cannot make it less；
For more it is than I can well express；
And that deep torture may be called a hell
When more is felt than one hath power to tell。
'Go； get me hither paper； ink and pen；
Yet save that labour； for I have them here。
What should I say？ One of my husband's men
Bid thou be ready by and by to bear
A letter to my lord； my love； my dear。
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it；
The cause craves haste and it will soon be writ。'
Her maid is gone； and she prepares to write；
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill。
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight；
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will；
This is too curious…good； this blunt and ill：
Much like a press of people at a door；
Throng her inventions； which shall go before。
At last she thus begins： 'Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee；
Health to thy person！ next vouchsafe t'afford…
If ever； love； thy Lucrece thou w