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And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,

But coward-like with trembling terror die.

‘Had Collatinus killed my son or sire,

Or lain in ambush to betray my life,

Or were he not my dear friend, this desire

Might have excuse to work upon his wife

As in revenge or quittal of such strife.

But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,

The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.

‘Shameful it is–ay, if the fact be known.

Hateful it is —there is no hate in loving.

I’ll beg her love— but she is not her own.

The worst is but denial and reproving?

My will is strong past reason’s weak removing.

Who fears a sentence or an old man’s saw

Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.’

Thus graceless holds he disputation

’Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,

And with good thoughts makes dispensation,

Urging the worser sense for vantage still;

Which in a moment doth confound and kill

All pure effects, and doth so far proceed

That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.

Quoth he, ‘She took me kindly by the hand,

And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes,

Fearing some hard news from the warlike band

Where her belovèd Collatinus lies.

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