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She touched no unknown baits nor feared no hooks,

Nor could she moralize his wanton sight

More than his eyes were opened 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 bruisèd 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 thither

He makes excuses for his being there.

No cloudy show of stormy blust’ring 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 sprite;

For after supper long he questionèd

With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night.

Now leaden slumber with life’s strength doth fight,

And everyone to rest himself betakes

Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that wakes.

As one of which doth Tarquin lie resolving

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