Scene III Lucrece’s Bedchamber
Enter Sextus, with a drawn sword and a lighted taper.
Sextus.
Night, be as secret as thou art close, as close
As thou art black and dark! thou ominous queen
Of tenebrous silence, make this fatal hour
As true to rape as thou hast made it kind
To murder and harsh mischief! Cynthia, mask thy cheek,
And, all you sparkling elemental fires,
Choke up your beauties in prodigious fogs,
Or be extinct in some thick vaporous clouds,
Lest you behold my practice! I am bound
Upon a black adventure, on a deed
That must wound virtue, and make beauty bleed.
Pause, Sextus, and, before thou runn’st thyself
Into this violent danger, weigh thy sin.
Thou art yet free, beloved, graced in the camp,
Of great opinion58 and undoubted hope,
Rome’s darling, in the universal grace
Both of the field and Senate, where these fortunes
Do make thee great in both. Back! yet thy fame
Is free from hazard, and thy style from shame.
O Fate! thou hast usurped such power o’er man
That where thou plead’st thy will no mortal can
On then, black mischief! hurry me the way;
Myself I must destroy, her life betray;
The hate of king and subject, the displeasure
Of prince and people, the revenge of noble,
And the contempt of base, the incurred vengeance
Of my wronged kinsman Collatine, the treason
Against divinest Lucrece—all these total curses,
Foreseen not feared, upon one Sextus meet,
To make my days harsh—so this night be sweet!
No jar of clock, no ominous hateful howl
Of any starting hound, no horse-cough breathed from the entrails
Of any drowsy groom, wakes this charmed silence
And starts this general slumber. Forward still:
To make thy lust live, all thy virtues kill.
[He draws a curtain; Lucrece is discovered in bed.]
Here, here, behold! beneath these curtains lies
That bright enchantress that hath dazed my eyes.
Oh, who but Sextus could commit such waste
On one so fair, so kind, so truly chaste?
Or like a ravisher thus rudely stand,
To offend this face, this brow, this lip, this hand?
Or at such fatal hours these revels keep,
With thought once to defile thy innocent sleep?
Save in this breast, such thoughts could find no place,
Or pay with treason her kind hospitable grace;
But I am lust-burnt all, bent on what’s bad,
That which should calm good thought makes Tarquin mad.—
Madam! Lucrece!
Lucrece.
Who’s that? O me! beshrew you!
Sextus.
Sweet, ’tis I.
Lucrece.
What I?
Sextus.
Make room.
Lucrece.
My husband Collatine?
Sextus.
Thy husband’s at the camp.
Lucrece.
Here is no place for any man save him.
Sextus.
Grant me that grace.
Lucrece.
What are you?
Sextus.
Tarquin, and thy friend, and must enjoy thee.
Lucrece.
Heaven such sins defend!59
Sextus.
Why do you tremble, lady? cease this fear:
I am alone; there’s no suspicious ear
That can betray this deed: nay, start not, sweet.
Lucrece.
Dream I, or am I full awake? oh, no!
I know I dream to see Prince Sextus so.
Sweet lord, awake me, rid me from this terror.
I know you for a prince, a gentleman,
Royal and honest, one that loves my lord,
And would not wreck a woman’s chastity
For Rome’s imperial diadem. Oh, then,
Pardon this dream; for, being awake, I know
Prince Sextus, Rome’s great hope, would not for shame
Havoc his own worth, or despoil my fame.
Sextus.
I’m bent on both; my thoughts are all on fire:
Choose thee; thou must embrace death or desire.
Yet do I love thee. Wilt thou accept it?
Lucrece.
No.
Sextus.
If not thy love, thou must enjoy thy foe.
Where fair means cannot, force shall make my way:
By Jove, I must enjoy thee!
Lucrece.
Sweet lord, stay.
Sextus.
I’m all impatience, violence and rage,
And, save thy bed, nought can this fire assuage.
Wilt love me?
Lucrece.
No, I cannot.
Sextus.
Tell me why?
Lucrece.
Hate me, and in that hate first let me die.
Sextus.
By Jove, I’ll force thee!
Lucrece.
By a god you swear
To do a devil’s deed. Sweet lord, forbear.
By the same Jove I swear, that made this soul,
Never to yield unto an act so foul.
Help, help!
Sextus.
These pillows first shall stop thy breath,
If thou but shriekest: hark how I’ll frame thy death—
Lucrece.
For death I care not, so I keep unstained
The uncrazed60 honour I have yet maintained.
Sextus.
Thou canst keep neither, for if thou but squeakest
Or lett’st the least harsh noise jar in my ear,
I’ll broach thee on my steel; that done, straight murder
One of thy basest grooms, and lay you both,
Grasped arm in arm, on thy adulterate bed,
Then call in witness of that mechal61 sin.
So shalt thou die, thy death be scandalous,
Thy name be odious, thy suspected body
Denied all funeral rites, and loving Collatine
Shall hate thee even in death: then save all this,
And to thy fortunes add another friend,
Give thy fears comfort, and these torments end.
Lucrece.
I’ll die first; and yet hear me. As you’re noble,
If all your goodness and best generous thoughts
Be not exiled your heart, pity, oh, pity
The virtues of a woman; mar not that Cannot be made again; this once defiled,
Not all the ocean waves can purify
Or wash my stain away: you seek to soil
That which the radiant splendour of the sun
Cannot make bright again. Behold my tears;
Oh, think them pearlèd drops, distilled from the heart
Of soul-chaste Lucrece; think them orators,
To plead the cause of absent Collatine,
Your friend and kinsman.
Sextus.
Tush, I am obdure.
Lucrece.
Then make my name foul, keep my body pure.
Oh, prince of princes, do but weigh your sin;
Think how much I shall lose, how small you win.
I lose the honour of my name and blood,
Loss Rome’s imperial crown cannot make good;
You win the world’s shame and all good men’s hate—
Oh, who would pleasure buy at such dear rate?
Nor can you term it pleasure, for what’s sweet
Where force and hate, jar and contention meet?
Weigh but for what ’tis that you urge me still:
To gain a woman’s love against her will.
You’ll but repent such wrong done a chaste wife,
And think that labour’s not worth all your strife,
Curse your hot lust, and say you have wronged your friends;
But all the world cannot make me amends.
I took you for a friend; wrong not my trust,
But let these chaste tears quench your fiery lust.
Sextus.
No; those moist tears, contending with my fire
Quench not my heat, but make it climb much higher:
I’ll drag thee hence.
Lucrece.
Oh!
Sextus.
If thou raise these cries,
Lodged in thy slaughtered arms some base groom dies.
And Rome, that hath admired thy name so long,
Shall blot thy death with scandal from my tongue.
Lucrece.
Jove guard my innocence!
Sextus.
Lucrece, thou’rt mine,
In spite of Jove and all the powers divine.
[He bears her out.