The Rape of Lucrece(露易丝受辱记)

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THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

THE RAPE OF

LUCRECE

William Shakespeare

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,EARL OF

SOUTHHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.

THE love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof this

pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I

have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines,

makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what I have to

do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater,

my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your

lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your lordship's in all duty, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

LUCIUS TARQUINIUS, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus,

after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be cruelly

murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or

staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom,

went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege

Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army meeting one

evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses

after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife; among

whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia.

In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome; and intending, by their

secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before

avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night,

spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and

revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded

Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus

Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his

passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp; from

whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was, according to

his estate, royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The

same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished

her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable

plight, hastily dispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another

to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius

Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an

oath of them for her revenge4 revealed the actor, and whole manner of his

dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one

consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins;

and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the

doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the

tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were so moved, that with one

consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the

state government changed from kings to consuls.

From the besieged Ardea all in post, Borne by the trustless wings of

false desire, Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, And to

Collatium bears the lightless fire Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire

And girdle with embracing flames the waist Of Collatine's fair love,

Lucrece the chaste.

Haply that name of 'chaste' unhappily set This bateless edge on his

keen appetite; When Collatine unwisely did not let To praise the clear

unmatched red and white Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,

Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, With pure aspects did

him peculiar duties.

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, Unlock'd the treasure of his

happy state; What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent In the

possession of his beauteous mate; Reckoning his fortune at such high-

proud rate, That kings might be espoused to more fame, But king nor peer

to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few! And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd

and done As is the morning's silver-melting dew Against the golden

splendour of the sun! An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun: Honour

and beauty, in the owner's arms, Are weakly fortress'd from a world of

harms.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade The eyes of men without an orator;

What needeth then apologies be made, To set forth that which is so

singular? Or why is Collatine the publisher Of that rich jewel he should

keep unknown From thievish ears, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty Suggested this proud issue

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

of a king; For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be: Perchance that envy of

so rich a thing, Braving compare, disdainfully did sting His high-pitch'd

thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt That golden hap which their

superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate His all-too-timeless speed, if

none of those; His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, Neglected all,

with swift intent he goes To quench the coal which in his liver glows. O

rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold, Thy hasty spring still blasts, and

ne'er grows old!

When at Collatium this false lord arrived, Well was he welcomed by

the Roman dame, Within whose face beauty and virtue strived Which of

them both should underprop her fame: When virtue bragg'd, beauty would

blush for shame When beauty boasted blushes, in despite Virtue would

stain that o'er with silver white.

But beauty, in that white intituled, From Venus' doves doth challenge

that fair field: Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, Which virtue

gave the golden age to gild Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their

shield; Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, When shame assail'd, the

red should fence the white.

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, Argued by beauty's red and

virtue's white: Of either's colour was the other queen, Proving from

world's minority their right: Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;

The sovereignty of either being so great, That oft they interchange each

other's seat.

Their silent war of lilies and of roses, Which Tarquin view'd in her fair

face's field, In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; Where, lest

between them both it should be kill'd, The coward captive vanquished doth

yield To those two armies that would let him go, Rather than triumph in so

false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue,-- The niggard

prodigal that praised her so,-- In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,

Which far exceeds his barren skill to show: Therefore that praise which

Collatine doth owe Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, In silent

wonder of still-gazing eyes.

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

This earthly saint, adored by this devil, Little suspecteth the false

worshipper; For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil; Birds never

limed no secret bushes fear: So guiltless she securely gives good cheer

And reverend welcome to her princely guest, Whose inward ill no outward

harm express'd:

For that he colour'd with his high estate, Hiding base sin in plaits of

majesty; That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, Save sometime too much

wonder of his eye, Which, having all, all could not satisfy; But, poorly

rich, so wanteth in his store, That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for

more.

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes, Could pick no meaning

from their parling looks, Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies Writ in the

glassy margents of such books: She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd

no hooks; Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, More than his eyes

were open'd to the light.

He stories to her ears her husband's fame, Won in the fields of fruitful

Italy; And decks with praises Collatine's high name, Made glorious by his

manly chivalry With bruised arms and wreaths of victory: Her joy with

heaved-up hand she doth express, And, wordless, so greets heaven for his

success.

Far from the purpose of his coming hither, He makes excuses for his

being there: No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather Doth yet in his

fair welkin once appear; Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, Upon

the world dim darkness doth display, And in her vaulty prison stows the

Day.

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, Intending weariness with

heavy spright; For, after supper, long he questioned With modest Lucrece,

and wore out the night: Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;

And every one to rest themselves betake, Save thieves, and cares, and

troubled minds, that wake.

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving The sundry dangers of his

will's obtaining; Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, Though weak-built

hopes persuade him to abstaining: Despair to gain doth traffic oft for

gaining; And when great treasure is the meed proposed, Though death be

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

adjunct, there's no death supposed.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not,

that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And

so, by hoping more, they have but less; Or, gaining more, the profit of

excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt

in this poor-rich gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life With honour, wealth, and ease, in

waning age; And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, That one for all,

or all for one we gage; As life for honour in fell battle's rage; Honour for

wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost The death of all, and all together lost.

So that in venturing ill we leave to be The things we are for that which

we expect; And this ambitious foul infirmity, In having much, torments us

with defect Of that we have: so then we do neglect The thing we have; and,

all for want of wit, Make something nothing by augmenting it.

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, Pawning his honour to

obtain his lust; And for himself himself he must forsake: Then where is

truth, if there be no self-trust? When shall he think to find a stranger just,

When he himself himself confounds, betrays To slanderous tongues and

wretched hateful days?

Now stole upon the time the dead of night, When heavy sleep had

closed up mortal eyes: No comfortable star did lend his light, No noise but

owls' and wolves' death-boding cries; Now serves the season that they may

surprise The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still, While lust and

murder wake to stain and kill.

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, Throwing his mantle

rudely o'er his arm; Is madly toss'd between desire and dread; Th' one

sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm; But honest fear, bewitch'd with

lust's foul charm, Doth too too oft betake him to retire, Beaten away by

brain-sick rude desire.

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, That from the cold stone

sparks of fire do fly; Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, Which

must be lode-star to his lustful eye; And to the flame thus speaks advisedly,

'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire, So Lucrece must I force to my

desire.'

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate The dangers of his loathsome

enterprise, And in his inward mind he doth debate What following sorrow

may on this arise: Then looking scornfully, he doth despise His naked

armour of still-slaughter'd lust, And justly thus controls his thoughts

unjust:

'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not To darken her whose light

excelleth thine: And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot With your

uncleanness that which is divine; Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:

Let fair humanity abhor the deed That spots and stains love's modest

snow-white weed.

'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! O foul dishonour to my

household's grave! O impious act, including all foul harms! A martial man

to be soft fancy's slave! True valour still a true respect should have; Then

my digression is so vile, so base, That it will live engraven in my face.

'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,

And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; Some loathsome dash the

herald will contrive, To cipher me how fondly I did dote; That my

posterity, shamed with the note, Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no

sin To wish that I their father had not been.

'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of

fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to

'get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond

beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken

down?

'If Collatinus dream of my intent, Will he not wake, and in a desperate

rage Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent? This siege that hath engirt

his marriage, This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, This dying virtue,

this surviving shame, Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?

'O, what excuse can my invention make, When thou shalt charge me

with so black a deed? Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake,

Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed? The guilt being great,

the fear doth still exceed; And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, But

coward-like with trembling terror die.

'Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, Or lain in ambush to betray my

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

life, Or were he not my dear friend, this desire Might have excuse to work

upon his wife, As in revenge or quittal of such strife: But as he is my

kinsman, my dear friend, The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.

'Shameful it is; ay, if the fact be known: Hateful it is; there is no hate

in loving: I'll beg her love; but she is not her own: The worst is but denial

and reproving: My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. Who fears

a sentence or an old man's saw Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.'

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation 'Tween frozen conscience and

hot-burning will, And with good thoughts makes dispensation, Urging the

worser sense for vantage still; Which in a moment doth confound and kill

All pure effects, and doth so far proceed, That what is vile shows like a

virtuous deed.

Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand, And gazed for tidings in

my eager eyes, Fearing some hard news from the warlike band, Where her

beloved Collatinus lies. O, how her fear did make her colour rise! First red

as roses that on lawn we lay, Then white as lawn, the roses took away.

'And how her hand; in my hand being lock'd, Forced it to tremble with

her loyal fear! Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, Until her

husband's welfare she did hear; Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,

That had Narcissus seen her as she stood, Self-love had never drown'd him

in the flood.

'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses? All orators are dumb when

beauty pleadeth; Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses; Love thrives

not in the heart that shadows dreadeth: Affection is my captain, and he

leadeth; And when his gaudy banner is display'd, The coward fights and

will not be dismay'd.

'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die! Respect and reason, wait on

wrinkled age! My heart shall never countermand mine eye: Sad pause and

deep regard beseem the sage; My part is youth, and beats these from the

stage: Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize; Then who fears sinking where

such treasure lies?'

As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear Is almost choked by

unresisted lust. Away he steals with open listening ear, Full of foul hope

and full of fond mistrust; Both which, as servitors to the unjust, So cross

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

him with their opposite persuasion, That now he vows a league, and now

invasion.

Within his thought her heavenly image sits, And in the self-same seat

sits Collatine: That eye which locks on her confounds his wits; That eye

which him beholds, as more divine, Unto a view so false will not incline;

But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, Which once corrupted takes the

worser part;

And therein heartens up his servile powers, Who, flatter'd by their

leader's jocund show, Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; And as

their captain, so their pride doth grow. Paying more slavish tribute than

they owe. By reprobate desire thus madly led, The Roman lord marcheth

to Lucrece' bed.

The locks between her chamber and his will, Each one by him

enforced retires his ward; But, as they open, they all rate his ill, Which

drives the creeping thief to some regard: The threshold grates the door to

have him heard; Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him there; They

fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.

As each unwilling portal yields him way, Through little vents and

crannies of the place The wind wars with his torch to make him stay, And

blows the smoke of it into his face, Extinguishing his conduct in this case;

But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, Puffs forth another wind

that fires the torch:

And being lighted, by the light he spies Lucretia's glove, wherein her

needle sticks: He takes it from the rushes where it lies, And griping it, the

needle his finger pricks; As who should say 'This glove to wanton tricks Is

not inured: return again in haste; Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are

chaste.'

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; He in the worst

sense construes their denial: The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay

him, He takes for accidental things of trial; Or as those bars which stop the

hourly dial, Who with a lingering stay his course doth let, Till every

minute pays the hour his debt.

'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time, Like little frosts that

sometime threat the spring. To add a more rejoicing to the prime, And give

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THERAPEOFLUCRECE1THERAPEOFLUCRECEWilliamShakespeareTHERAPEOFLUCRECE2TOTHERIGHTHONOURABLEHENRYWRIOTHESLY,EARLOFSOUTHHAMPTON,ANDBARONOFTICHFIELD.THEloveIdedicatetoyourlordshipiswithoutend;whereofthispamphlet,withoutbeginning,isbutasuperfluousmoiety.ThewarrantIhaveofyourhonourabledisposition,notthewort...

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The Rape of Lucrece(露易丝受辱记)

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