thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
I die, the scandal will survive, And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, To cipher me how fondly I did dote; That my posterity, shamed with the note, Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin To wish that I their father had not been. 'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy- Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down' 'If Collatinus dream of my intent, Will he not wake, and in a desp'rate rage Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent?- This siege that hath engirt his marriage, This blur to youth,' this sorrow to the sage, This dying virtue, this surviving shame, Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame. 'O what excuse can my invention make, When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake, Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed? The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; 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 beloved Collatinus lies. O how her fear did make her colour rise! First red as roses that on lawn we lay, Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 'And how her hand, in my hand being locked, Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear! Which struck her sad, and then it faster rocked Until her husband's welfare she did hear; Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer That had Narcissus seen her as she stood Self-love had never drowned him in the flood. 'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth; Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses; Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth; Affection is my captain, and he leadeth; And when his gaudy banner is displayed, The coward fights and will not be dismayed. 'Then childish fear avaunt! debating die! Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age! My heart shall never countermand mine eye; Sad pause and deep regard beseems the sage; My part is youth, and beats these from the stage: Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize; Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?' As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear Is almost choked by unresisted lust. Away he steals with open list'ning car, Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust; Both which, as servitors to the unjust, So cross him with their opposite persuasion That now he vows a league and now invasion. Within his thought her heavenly image sits, And in the selfsame seat sits Collatine. That eye which looks on her confounds his wits; That eye which him beholds, as more divine, Unto a view so false will not incline; But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, Which once corrupted takes the worser part; And therein heartens up his servile powers, Who, flatt'red by their leader's jocund show, Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. By reprobate desire thus madly led, The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. The locks between her chamber and his will, Each one by him enforced, retires his ward; But, as they open, they all rate his ill, Which drives the creeping thief to some regard. The threshold grates the door to have him heard; Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him there; They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. As each unwilling portal yields him way, Through little vents and crannies of the place The wind wars with his torch to make him stay, And blows the smoke of it into his face, Extinguishing his conduct in this case; But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch; And being lighted, by the light he spies Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks; He takes it from the rushes where it lies, And griping it, the needle his finger pricks, As who should say 'This glove to wanton tricks Is not inured. Return again in haste; Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste.' But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; He in the worst sense consters their denial: The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him, He takes for accidental things of trial; Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, Who with a ling'ring stay his course doth let, Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time, Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. Pain pays the income of each precious thing; Huge rocks; high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.' Now is he come unto the chamber door That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, Hath barred him from the blessed thing he sought. So from himself impiety hath wrought, That for his prey to pray he doth begin, As if the heavens should countenance his sin. But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, Having solicited th' eternal power That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, And they would stand auspicious to the hour, Even there he starts; quoth he 'I must deflower: The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact; How can they then assist me in the act? 'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide! My will is backed with resolution. Thoughts are but dreams.till their effects be tried; The blackest sin is cleared with absolution; Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution. The eye of heaven is out, and misty night Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.' This said, his guilty hand plucked up the latch, And with his knee the door he opens wide. The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch. Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside; But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. Into the chamber wickedly he stalks And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. The curtains being close, about he walks, Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head. By their high treason is his heart misled, Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. Look as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight; Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun To wink, being blinded with a greater light; Whether it is that she reflects so bright That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed, But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed. O, had they in that darksome prison died! Then had they seen the period of their ill; Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side, In his clear bed might have reposed still; But they must ope, this blessed league to kill; And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, Coz'ning the pillow of a lawful kiss; Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, Swelling on either side to want his bliss; Between whose hills her head entombed is; Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies, To be admired of lewd unhallowed eyes. Without the bed her other fair hand was, On the green coverlet; whose perfect white Showed like an April daisy on the grass, With pearly sweat resembling dew of night. Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their
light, And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, Till they might open to adorn the day. Her hair, like golden threads, played with her breath- O modest wantons! wanton modesty!- Showing life's triumph in the map of death, And death's dim look in life's mortality: Each in her sleep themselves so beautify As if between them, twain there were no strife, But that life lived in death and death in life. Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew, And him by oath they truly honoured. These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred, Who like a foul usurper went about From this fair throne to heave the owner out. What could he see but mightily he noted? What did he note but strongly he desired? What he beheld, on that he firmly doted, And in his will his wilful eye he tired. With more than admiration he admired Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, His rage of lust by gazing qualified; Slacked, not suppressed; for standing by her side, His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins; And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting, In bloody death and ravishment delighting, Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting, Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting. Anon his beating heart, alarum striking Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their liking. His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, His eye commends the leading to his hand; His hand, as proud of such a dignity, Smoking with pride, marched on to make his stand On her bare breast, the heart of all her land; Whose ranks of blue veins as his hand did scale, Left their round turrets destitute and pale. They, must'ring to the quiet cabinet Where their dear governess and lady lies, Do tell her she is dreadfully beset, And fright her with confusion of their cries. She, much amazed, breaks ope her locked-up eyes, Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, Are by his flaming torch dimmed and controlled. Imagine her as one in dead of night From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking; What terror 'tis! but she, in worser taking, From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view The sight which makes supposed terror true. Wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears, Like to a new-killed bird she trembling lies; She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes. "Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries, Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights. His hand that yet remains upon her breast- Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!- May feel her heart,
poor citizen, distressed, Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. This moves in him more rage and lesser pity, To make the breach and enter this sweet city. First like a trumpet doth his tongue begin To sound a parley to his heartless foe, Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, The reason of this rash alarm to know, Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show; But she with vehement prayers urgeth still Under what colour he commits this ill. Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face, That even for anger makes the lily pale And the red rose blush at her own disgrace, Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale. Under that colour am I come to scale Thy never-conquered fort. The fault is thine, For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide: Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night, Where thou with patience must my will abide, My will that marks thee for my earth's delight, Which I to conquer sought with all my might; But as reproof and reason beat it dead, By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. 'I see what crosses my attempt will bring; I know what thorns the growing rose defends; I think the honey guarded with a sting; All this beforehand counsel comprehends. But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends; Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. 'I have debated, even in my soul, What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed; But nothing can affection's course control, Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. I know repentant tears ensue the deed, Reproach, disdain and deadly enmity; Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.' This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, Which, like a falcon tow'ring in the skies, Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade, Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies. So under his insulting falchion lies Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcons' bells. 'Lucrece,' quoth he, 'this night I must enjoy thee. If thou deny, then force must work my way, For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee; That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay, To kill thine honour with thy life's decay; And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him, Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. 'So thy surviving husband shall remain The scornful mark of every open eye; Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, Thy issue blurred with nameless bastardy; And thou, the author of their obloquy, Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes And sung by children in succeeding times. 'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend: The fault unknown is as a thought unacted; "A little harm done to a great good end For lawful policy remains enacted. "The poisonous
simple sometime is compacted In a pure compound; being so applied, His venom in effect is purified. 'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake, Tender my suit; bequeath not to their lot The shame that from them no device can take, The blemish that will never be forgot; Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's blot; For marks descried in men's nativity Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.' Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause; While she, the picture of pure piety, Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws, Pleads in a wilderness where are no laws To the rough beast that knows no gentle right, Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite. But when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat, In his dim mist th' aspiring mountains hiding, From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding, Hind'ring their present fall by this dividing; So his unhallowed haste her words delays, And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth; Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth; His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth No penetrable entrance to her plaining. "Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining. Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed In the remorseless wrinkles of his face; Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed, Which to her oratory adds more grace. She puts the period often from his place, And midst the sentence so her accent breaks That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. She conjures him by high almighty Jove, By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath, By her untimely tears, her husband's love, By holy human law and common troth, By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, That to his borrowed bed he make retire, And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. Quoth she: 'Reward not hospitality With such black payment as thou hast pretended; Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee; Mar not the thing that cannot be amended; End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended. He is no woodman that doth bend his bow To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 'My husband is thy friend-for his sake spare me; Thyself art mighty-for thine own sake leave me; Myself a weakling-do not then ensnare me; Thou look'st not like deceit-do not deceive me. My sighs like whirlwinds labour hence to heave thee. If ever man were moved with woman's moans, Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans; 'All which together, like a troubled ocean, Beat at thy rocky and wrack-threat'ning heart, To soften it with their continual motion; For stones dissolved to water do convert. O, if no harder than a stone thou art, Melt at my tears, and be compassionate! Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 'In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee; Hast thou
put on his shape to do him shame? To all the host of heaven I complain me Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name. Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same, Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king; For kings, like gods should govern every thing. 'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, When thus thy vices bud before thy spring? If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage, What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king? O, be rememb'red, no outrageous thing From vassal actors can be wiped away; Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 'This deed will make thee only loved for fear, But happy monarchs still are feared for love; With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, When they in thee the like offences prove. If but for fear of this, thy will remove; For princes are the glass, the school, the book, Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. 'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn? Must he in thee read lectures of such shame? Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern Authority for sin, warrant for blame, To privilege dishonour in thy name? Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud, And mak'st fair, reputation but a bawd. 'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee, From a pure heart command thy rebel will; Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. Thy princely office how canst thou fulfill, When patterned by thy fault foul sin may say He learned to sin, and thou didst teach the way? 'Think but how vile a spectacle it were To view thy present trespass in another. Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear; Their own transgressions partially they smother; This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. O, how are they wrapped in with infamies That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes! 'To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands, appeal, Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier; I sue for exiled majesty's repeal; Let him return, and flatt'ring thoughts retire. His true respect will prison false desire, And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.' 'Have done, quoth he, 'my uncontrolled tide Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, And with the wind in greater fury fret. The petty streams that pay a daily debt To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.' 'Thou art', quoth she, 'a sea, a sovereign king; And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. If all these petty ills shall change thy good; Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hearsed, And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. 'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave; Thou
nobly base, they basely dignified; Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave; Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride. The lesser thing should not the greater hide; The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. 'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state- "No more,' quoth he; 'by heaven, I will not hear thee. Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate, Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee; That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee Unto the base bed of some rescal groom, To be thy partner in this shameful doom.' This said, he sets his foot upon the light, For light and lust are deadly enemies; Shame folded up in blind concealing night, When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries, Till with her own white fleece her voice controlled Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold; For with the nightly linen that she wears He pens her piteous clamours in her head, Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed! The spots whereof could weeping purify, Her tears should drop on them perpetually. But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, And he hath won what he would lose again. This forced league doth force a further strife; This momentary joy breeds months of pain; This hot desire converts to cold disdain; Pure Chastity is rifled of her store, And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. Look as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk The prey wherein by nature they delight, So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night: His taste delicious, in digestion souring, Devours his will, that lived by foul devouring. O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit Can comprehend in still imagination! Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt, Ere he can see his own abomination. While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire, Till, like a jade, Self-will himself doth tire. And then with lank and lean discoloured cheek, With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor and meek, Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case: The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with Grace, For there it revels, and when that decays The guilty rebel for remission prays. So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, Who this accomplishment so hotly chased; For now against himself he sounds this doom, That through the length of times he stands disgraced; Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced, To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, To ask the spotted princess how she fares. She says her subjects with foul insurrection Have battered down her consecrated wall, And by their mortal fault brought in subjection Her immortality, and made her thrall To living death and