The Sonnets and Other Poems (11 page)

‘My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me.
Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me:
Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me.
Thou look’st not like deceit, do not deceive me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to
heave
⁵⁸⁶
thee.
      If ever man were
moved
⁵⁸⁷
with woman’s moans,
      Be movèd with my tears, my sighs, my groans,

‘All which together, like a troubled ocean,
Beat at thy rocky and
wrack-threat’ning
⁵⁹⁰
heart,
To soften it with their continual motion,
For stones dissolved to water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art,
      Melt at my tears and be compassionate:
      Soft pity enters at an iron gate.

‘In Tarquin’s likeness I did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his
shape
⁵⁹⁷
to do him shame?
To all the host of heaven I complain me.
Thou wrong’st his honour, wound’st his princely name:
Thou art not what thou seem’st, and if the same,
      Thou seem’st not what thou art, a god, a king,
      For kings like gods should govern
everything
⁶⁰²
.

‘How will thy shame
be seeded
⁶⁰³
in thine age
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring?
If in thy
hope
⁶⁰⁵
thou dar’st do such
outrage
,
What dar’st thou not when once thou art a king?
O, be remembered, no outrageous thing
      From
vassal actors
⁶⁰⁸
can be wiped away,
      Then kings’ misdeeds cannot be
hid in clay
⁶⁰⁹
.

‘This deed will make thee only loved
for
⁶¹⁰
fear,
But
happy
⁶¹¹
monarchs
still
are
feared
for love.
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove
⁶¹²
.
If but for fear of this,
thy will remove
⁶¹⁴
.
      For princes are the
glass
⁶¹⁵
, the school, the book,
      Where subjects’ eyes do learn, do read, do look.

‘And wilt thou be the school where lust shall learn?
Must he in thee read
lectures
⁶¹⁸
of such shame?
Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern
Authority for sin,
warrant
⁶²⁰
for blame,
To
privilege
⁶²¹
dishonour in thy name?
      Thou
back’st
⁶²²
reproach against long-living
laud
      And mak’st fair reputation but a
bawd
⁶²³
.

‘Hast thou
command
⁶²⁴
? By him that gave it thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard
iniquity
⁶²⁶
,
For it was lent thee all that
brood
⁶²⁷
to kill.
Thy princely
office
⁶²⁸
how canst thou fulfil,
      When,
patterned by
⁶²⁹
thy fault, foul sin may say,
      He learned to sin and thou didst teach the way?

‘Think but how vile a spectacle it were
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men’s faults do seldom to themselves appear:
Their own transgressions partially they smother.
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
      O, how are they wrapped in with
infamies
⁶³⁶
      That from their own misdeeds
askance
⁶³⁷
their eyes!

‘To thee, to thee, my
heaved-up
⁶³⁸
hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash
relier
⁶³⁹
.
I sue for
exiled majesty’s repeal
⁶⁴⁰
:
Let him return and
flatt’ring
⁶⁴¹
thoughts retire.
His true
respect
⁶⁴²
will prison false desire
      And wipe the dim mist from thy doting
eyne
⁶⁴³
,
      That thou shalt see thy
state
⁶⁴⁴
and pity mine.’

‘Have done’, quoth he. ‘My uncontrollèd tide
Turns not, but
swells
⁶⁴⁶
the higher by this
let
.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide
And with the wind in greater fury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
      To their
salt sovereign
⁶⁵⁰
with their fresh falls’ haste
      Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.’

‘Thou art’, quoth she, ‘a sea, a sovereign king,
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy
blood
⁶⁵⁵
.
If all these petty ills shall change thy good,
      Thy sea within a puddle’s womb is
hearsed
⁶⁵⁷
,
      And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.

‘So shall
these slaves
⁶⁵⁹
be king and thou their slave,
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified,
Thou their fair life and they thy fouler grave,
Thou loathèd in their shame, they in thy pride.
The lesser thing should not the greater hide.
      The cedar stoops not to the base shrub’s foot,
      But low shrubs wither at the cedar’s root.

‘So let thy thoughts, low
vassals
⁶⁶⁶
to thy state —’
‘No more’, quoth he, ‘by heaven, I will not hear thee.
Yield to my love. If not, enforcèd hate
Instead of love’s
coy
⁶⁶⁹
touch shall rudely tear thee.
That done,
despitefully
⁶⁷⁰
I mean to bear thee
      Unto the base bed of some
rascal groom
⁶⁷¹
      To be thy partner in this shameful
doom
⁶⁷²
.’

This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath
seized
⁶⁷⁷
his prey, the poor lamb cries,
      Till with her own
white fleece
⁶⁷⁸
her voice
controlled
      Entombs her outcry in her lips’ sweet
fold
⁶⁷⁹
.

For with the
nightly linen
⁶⁸⁰
that she wears
He pens her piteous clamours in her head,
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that
prone
⁶⁸⁴
lust should stain so pure a bed,
      The spots whereof
could weeping
⁶⁸⁵
purify,
      Her tears should drop on them perpetually!

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life
And he hath won what he would lose again:
This forcèd
league
⁶⁸⁹
doth force a further strife,
This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
This hot desire converts to cold disdain,
      Pure chastity is
rifled
⁶⁹²
of her store,
      And lust, the thief, far poorer than before.

Look as the full-fed hound or
gorgèd
⁶⁹⁴
hawk,
Unapt
⁶⁹⁵
for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether
balk
⁶⁹⁶
The prey wherein by nature they delight:
So
surfeit-taking
⁶⁹⁸
Tarquin fares this night:
      His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
      Devours his will that lived by foul devouring.

O, deeper sin than
bottomless conceit
⁷⁰¹
Can comprehend in
still imagination
⁷⁰²
!
Drunken desire must vomit his
receipt
⁷⁰³
,
Ere he can see his own abomination.
While lust is in his
pride
⁷⁰⁵
, no
exclamation
      Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire,
      Till like a
jade
⁷⁰⁷
self-will himself doth tire.

And then with lank and lean discoloured cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow and strengthless pace,
Feeble desire, all
recreant
⁷¹⁰
, poor and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The flesh being proud
⁷¹²
, desire doth fight with grace,
      For
there
⁷¹³
it
revels
and
when that decays
,
      The guilty rebel for
remission
⁷¹⁴
prays.

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased,
For now against himself he sounds this
doom
⁷¹⁷
,
That through the length of times he stands disgraced.
Besides, his soul’s fair temple is defaced,
      To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
      To ask the
spotted princess
⁷²¹
how she fares.

She says her
subjects
⁷²²
with foul insurrection
Have battered down her consecrated wall,
And by their
mortal
⁷²⁴
fault brought in subjection
Her immortality and made her
thrall
⁷²⁵
To living death and pain perpetual,
      Which in her
prescience
⁷²⁷
she
controllèd still
,
     
But
⁷²⁸
her foresight could not forestall their will.

Ev’n in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victor that hath lost in gain,
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain,
Leaving his
spoil
⁷³³
perplexed
in greater pain.
      She bears the
load of lust
⁷³⁴
he left behind,
      And he the burden of a guilty mind.

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence,
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there.
He scowls and hates himself for his offence,
She,
desperate
⁷³⁹
, with her nails her flesh doth tear.
He
faintly flies
⁷⁴⁰
, sweating with guilty fear,
      She stays,
exclaiming on
⁷⁴¹
the direful night.
      He runs and chides his vanished, loathed delight.

He thence departs a
heavy convertite
⁷⁴³
,
She there remains a hopeless
castaway
⁷⁴⁴
.
He in his speed looks for the morning light,
She prays she never may behold the day.
‘For day’, quoth she, ‘Night’s
scapes
⁷⁴⁷
doth
open lay
,
      And my true eyes have never practised how
      To cloak offences with a
cunning brow
⁷⁴⁹
.

‘They
think not but
⁷⁵⁰
that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold,
And therefore
would they still in darkness be
⁷⁵²
,
To have their unseen sin remain untold.
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
      And
grave
⁷⁵⁵
, like water that doth eat in steel,
      Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.’

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest to
close
⁷⁶¹
so pure a mind.
      Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her
spite
⁷⁶²
      Against the unseen secrecy of night:

‘O comfort-killing Night! Image of hell!
Dim
register
⁷⁶⁵
and
notary
of shame!
Black stage
⁷⁶⁶
for tragedies and murders
fell
!
Vast sin-concealing
chaos
⁷⁶⁷
! Nurse of
blame
!
Blind, muffled bawd! Dark harbour for
defame
⁷⁶⁸
!
      Grim cave of death! Whisp’ring conspirator
      With
close-tongued
⁷⁷⁰
treason and the ravisher!

‘O hateful, vaporous and foggy Night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster
⁷⁷³
thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against
proportioned course of time
⁷⁷⁴
,
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
      His
wonted
⁷⁷⁶
height, yet ere he go to bed,
     
Knit
⁷⁷⁷
poisonous clouds about his golden head.

‘With rotten
damps
⁷⁷⁸
ravish
the morning air,
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick
The
life
⁷⁸⁰
of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he
arrive
⁷⁸¹
his weary
noontide prick
,
And let thy musty vapours march so thick
      That in their smoky ranks his smothered light
      May set at noon and make perpetual night.

‘Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night’s child,
The
silver-shining queen
⁷⁸⁶
he would
distain
.
Her twinkling
handmaids
⁷⁸⁷
too, by him defiled,
Through Night’s black bosom should not peep again.
So should I have co-partners in my pain,
      And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
      As
palmers
⁷⁹¹
’ chat makes short their pilgrimage.

‘Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To
cross their arms
⁷⁹³
and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy,
But I alone alone must sit and
pine
⁷⁹⁵
,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
      Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
      Poor
wasting monuments of lasting moans
⁷⁹⁸
.

‘O Night, thou furnace of
foul-reeking
⁷⁹⁹
smoke,
Let not the jealous day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyred with disgrace.
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
      That all the faults which in thy reign are made
      May likewise be
sepulchred
⁸⁰⁵
in thy shade.