“The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, And unperceived fly with the filth away; But if the like the snow-white swan desire, The stain upon his silver down will stay. Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day. Gnats are unnoted wheresoe’er they fly, But eagles gazed upon with every eye. “Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools, Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators! Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools; Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters; To trembling clients be you mediators. For me, I force not argument a straw, Since that my case is past the help of law. “In vain I rail at Opportunity, At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night; In vain I cavil with mine infamy, In vain I spurn at my confirmed despite. This helpless smoke of words doth me no right. The remedy indeed to do me good Is to let forth my foul defiled blood. “Poor hand, why quiver’st thou at this decree? Honour thyself to rid me of this shame, For if I die, my honour lives in thee, But if I live, thou liv’st in my defame. Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame, And wast afeared to scratch her wicked foe, Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.” This said, from her betumbled couch she starteth, To find some desp’rate instrument of death; But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth To make more vent for passage of her breath, Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth As smoke from Ætna, that in air consumes, Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. “In vain,” quoth she, “I live, and seek in vain Some happy mean to end a hapless life. I feared by Tarquin’s falchion to be slain, Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife. But when I feared I was a loyal wife; So am I now.—O no, that cannot be! Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. “O that is gone for which I sought to live, And therefore now I need not fear to die. To clear this spot by death, at least I give A badge of fame to slander’s livery, A dying life to living infamy. Poor helpless help, the treasure stol’n away, To burn the guiltless casket where it lay! “Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know The stained taste of violated troth; I will not wrong thy true affection so, To flatter thee with an infringed oath. This bastard graff shall never come to growth; He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute That thou art doting father of his fruit. “Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, Nor laugh with his companions at thy state; But thou shalt know thy int’rest was not bought Basely with gold, but stol’n from forth thy gate. For me, I am the mistress of my fate, And with my trespass never will dispense, Till life to death acquit my forced offence.