Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/137

But she that yet her sad task hath not said,
The protestation stops. O speak, quoth she,
How may this forced stain be wipt from me?

What is the quality of mine offence,
Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstances
May my pure mind with the foul act dispence,
My low declined honour to advance?
May any termes acquit me from this chance?
The poisoned fountaine clears it self again,
And why not I from this compelled stain.

With this they all at once began to say,
Her bodies stain the mind untainted clears,
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression bears
Of hard misfortune carv'd in it with teares.
No, no, quoth she, no dame hereafter living,
By my excuse shall claim excuses giving.

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would breake,
She throwes forth Tarquins name, he, he, she says;
She killeth her self, to exasperate them the more to punish the Delinquent.But more than, he, her poor Tongue could not speak,
Till after many accents and delays,
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays,
She utters this, he, he, fair Lord, 'tis he
That guides this hand to give this wound to me.

Even