Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/128

And with my teares quench Troy that burns so long,
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.

Show me the strumpet that began this stirre,
That with my nailes her beauty I may teare:
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
This lode of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here.
And here in Troy, for trespasse of thine eye,
The Sire, the Son, the Dame and Daughter die.

Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the publick plague of many moe?
Let sin alone committed, light alone
Upon his head that hath transgressed so.
Let guiltless soules be freed from guilty woe:
For ones offence why should so many fall,
To plague a private sin in general.

Loe here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies!
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus sounds,
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,
And one mans lust these many lives confounds.
Had doting Priam checkt his sons desire,
Troy had bin bright with fame, and not with fire.

Here feelingly she weeps Troyes painted woes:
For sorrow like a heavy hanging bell,

Once