Full Log #2

Complete training session logs dump.

Taken with Ctrl-C/Ctrl-V from Notepad.

Ok, I know … Must confest. Training this under Windows … Guilty as charged!

checkpoint_steps: 100
Train inputs found: 766


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inflammatory will be more intense than with alcohol.

Another hypothesis is that the substance can affect brain development. When drinking high alcohol (0.6 g/kg) for two months or three months after the first dose of alcohol is ingested, the brain is more efficient than if there were no alcohol in the bloodstream.

However, there is no strong evidence to suggest that this is so, with the most recent evidence suggesting that alcohol has a more damaging effect on the brain than alcohol with a placebo (Ritchie and Stacey 2005; Fadilon et al. 2004; Hirsch, A, and Dreyer 2007).

We know the risk of cancer of the brain is extremely small and that an estimated 10% of cases of stroke, dementia, or stroke of the brain occur in people under 30 years of age. There is a clear link between alcoholism and cognitive impairment (Barkley & Williams 2003). The association between alcohol consumption and cognitive impairment is also clear in men, with an estimated 1-2% of men who are currently taking anti-alcohol treatment (Stern et al. 2006).

There are conflicting and conflicting literature on the role of alcohol on the brain. For example, a recent review of longitudinal studies found no association between alcohol consumption and any mental health symptoms and was based on the assumption that alcohol is a potent neurotoxin that can enhance neurochemistry (Nelson et al. 2001).

The research in humans supports the possibility that low- or no-alcohol intake may be associated with decreased risk of stroke, Alzheimer’s disease, and stroke (Pew Research Center 2012). The long-term studies of healthy participants have shown that moderate to high levels of alcohol consumption are linked with a significant reduction in cerebral blood flow to the brain.

A study published in 2007 found that regular heavy drinking, high blood pressure, smoking, excessive alcohol use, and alcohol-related depression were associated with significant declines in brain activity in the cerebellar cortex. These changes were associated with a 5-fold decrease in connectivity to brain areas involved in decision making and learning (Chen et al. 2007). This was accompanied by a significant reduction in white matter tracts in the right cerebellum.

Alcoholic patients have been reported to develop cognitive disturbances that mimic symptoms of cognitive impairment (Chen et al. 2007). The following studies support this finding. For example, Korschner et al. (2011) found a 5-fold reduction in gray matter volume after repeated alcohol withdrawal from patients with Alzheimer’s disease, while a similar 5-fold increase in white matter was observed following long-term alcohol drinking. The study also showed that prolonged alcohol drinking was associated with significant reductions in hippocampal white matter volume and grey matter volume in men after 10 years of follow-up, in contrast to placebo-controlled studies of alcohol withdrawal (Korschner et al. 2011).

Alcohol also may increase mood, memory, and performance. In a series of studies in participants with Parkinson’s disease (Ruttsky et al. 1997), for example, alcohol increased the magnitude of fear, sadness, and euphoria in subjects who had never been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease (Ruttsky et al. 1997). However, no statistically significant changes were observed for the two-thirds (0.75%) of subjects who had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease who had been tested for alcohol use as part of a single risk factor for the disorder.

There are no studies to support the notion that an acute alcohol intoxication causes impairment of mental functions. There are no studies to support the notion that drinking low- to moderate-level amounts of alcohol can impair cognitive functions. There are no studies to support the idea that alcohol increases the risk of being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.

There is no clinical evidence to support the idea that alcohol may interfere with cognitive development. For example, the Alzheimer’s Association, the American Society of Geriatric Neurologists, and the American Association for the Advancement of Science (ASA) all disagree that alcohol abuse in patients with dementia is a risk factor for dementia (McIntosh et al. 2011).

There is no evidence to support the notion that alcohol can affect the brain. There are no research to support the notion that alcohol impairs mental function. There are no studies to support the notion that an acute alcohol intoxication causes impairment of cognitive function. There are no studies to support the idea that an acute alcohol intoxication causes impairment of cognitive function.

For those who may not be fully aware of the potential side-effects of high doses of alcohol, the potential consequences are far less clear.

Caffeine

Caffeine is an amino acid present in human saliva. It is involved in cognitive functions in animals. Studies have shown that caffeine (a brain food) produces a similar effect in humans to that produced by caffeine (Mans et al. 1989). The concentration of caffeine and the amount of caffeine produced by the brain has been linked to a greater


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Perez

Tobias Stoll

Nick Collison

Tyler Seguin

Jhonas Enroth

Tyler Fabbri

Jordan Morris

Shawn Matthias

Tyler Skaggs

Brett Connolly

Omer Asik

Jacob Peterson

Mitch Marner

Jordan Murphy

Jordan Zimmermann

Lanislav Korbic

Tyler Zeller

David Perron

Jared Wohl

Barry Coyle

Nick Cousins

Barry Allen

Derek Fisher

David Krejci

Tyler Thornburg

Bryce Harper

Daniel Murphy

Mitch Marner

Darius Korbic

Ryan O’Hanlon

David DeJesus

Cristian O’Reilly

Ryan O’Reilly

Tyler Steen

Tyler Fabbri

Brad Friedman

Dane Shore

Nick Foligno

Travis Ishikawa

David Price

Andrew Miller

Tyler Steen

Ryan Spooner

Ran Toretto

Jared Watson

Rajan Tredici

Kyle Dubinsky

Ryan Miller

Omer Asik

Andrew Tarkanian

Jadeveon Clowney

Jake Allen

Jake LeBlanc

Ryan Murphy

Jacob Peterson

Andrew Watson

Alexei Ramirez

Ryan Reaves

Spencer Josefson

Alex Len

Derek Fisher

Ryan Ellis

Joe Smith

Logan Morrison

Travis Dyson

Tyler Gudbranson

David Price

Bradley Toffoli

Ryan Mathews

Ryan Williams

Nate Hanlon

Tyler Fabbri

David Stupak

O.J. Mayo

Kris Russell

Travis Hamonic

Ryan Mallett

Zach Brown

Tyler Lappin

Dylan Strome

Tyler Myers

David Smith

Josh Scobee

Alex Oduya

Cristiano Caboclo

Daniel Brodeur

Brent Dominguez

Chris Carter

Kyle Seager

Ryan Williams

Dylan Strome

Tyler Myers

Ryan Smith

Nate Hanlon

Nick Leddy

David Schlemko

Andrew Shaw

Ryan Smith

Dylan Strome

Tyler Lappin

Matt Duchene

Matt Duchene

Dylan Strome

Dylan Strome

Kyle Seager

Ryan Smith

Dylan Strome

Kurtis Ball

Tyler Kennedy

Brandon Saad

Brandon Boykin

Kurtis Bollig

Ryan Kesler

Tyler Clippard

Josh Scobee

Josh Smith

Dylan Strome

Ryan Kesler

Tyler Kovar

Kaz McCarty

Justin Faulk

Ryan Suter

Braden Holtby

Brad Kesler

Dylan Strome

Tyler Whitney

David Gotsis

Alex Galchenyuk

Nathan McDonagh

Zach Sorenson

Tyler Myers

Omer Asik

Andrew Talie

Ryan Nugent-Hopkins

Tyler Dellow

Ryan Suter

Tyler Gudbranson

Ryan Murphy

Tyler Pitlick

Alex Goligoski

Ryan Wilson

Logan Morrison

Ryan Suter

Ryan Kesler

Tyler Colak

Matt Frattin

Cristiano Caruana

Logan Morrison

Ryan Gartland

David Gostisbehere

Tyler Kennedy

Tyler Ennis

Joe Louis

Tyler Johnson

Ryan Suter

Tyler Gudbranson

Ryan Nugent-Hopkins

Tyler Sorenson

Braden Holtby

Tyler Gudbranson

Tyler Pitlick

Ryan Nugent-Hopkins

Tyler Dellow

Ryan Suter

Tyler Gudbranson

Ryan Niedermayer

Tyler Eakin

Ryan Kesler

Tyler Eakin

Ryan McDonagh

Ryan Niedermayer

Cristiano Caruana

Bryce Salvador

Cristiano Caruana

Ryan Eakins

Ryan Suter

Ryan Gartland

Cristiano Caruana

Ryan Murphy

Ryan Suter

Ryan Suter

Ryan Eakins

Ryan Suter

Ryan Niedermayer

Tyler Eakin

Ryan Kes


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ascade to the left (from left side) by adding a blue dot at the bottom (see picture above) at the left of the triangle at the top of the map to make an image of the top triangle (see image below).

The original map is actually shown in the original paper map by Michael Raucher and Mark Wren and has several new details added to the original.

There is also a new map for the city that has been created by Kevin Brown (see picture above), which you can access here (the original was created by Chris Miller and Mark Wren). It is about three miles long (which is also where I wanted to put the original). This is a very easy map and will cover a broad range of cities including Boston, Portland, Vancouver, Ottawa, Calgary and Toronto. I’ve tried to include some more details, but these have yet to be added to the map.

If you are an experienced developer (or even want to explore the concept of using maps) and are interested in exploring some of these maps in greater depth, I highly recommend watching the video below by Kevin Brown in which he shares his experience exploring Boston’s new map.

New Maps

A few of the map elements I had to cut out of the original and created in this piece were:

The original Boston is a 3/4″ x 3/8″ mosaic with a circular (2.5 x 2.5″) area in both directions. It has all the details of the original but is a bit smaller than I had hoped.

The original Boston has three distinct types of squares (see image above)

The Boston is divided into several parts that correspond to squares, a vertical line and a horizontal line.

The center of each square is in the center of each square. It is a point with two vertical lines at the bottom and one horizontal line at the top.

One of the key elements of the original map is that there is no one map line between two parts, which makes the original Boston unique.

I’ve included a note on the original Boston (on the right) with the original map to show how it will look in the modern era as it is constructed.

Map Elements

The main element of the original Boston is the circular area with three squares (two at the bottom, one at the top). The original map does have a little bit of a rough edge (see picture above), but if you look closely you will see the circle (2.5 x 2.5″) with a bit of a rough edge. If you click on the map you will see that there is a new rectangular area at the top, but that is a big part of the original map.

In the original version of the map, the square area is divided into three sets:

The first set has a circle. This circle can have any number of different shapes (e.g. circle of 1 in the center; circle of 10 in the center; circle of 50 in the middle), but the original map did not have a circular area at all. You can see this from the right in the original map, which is a little more detailed.

The second set of squares has a small square where the square can vary from one square to another. These squares are drawn from the perspective of the original map, making them easily accessible to the reader.

As mentioned, this area (see photo below) has the same design and size as the original Boston, but has no square at all.

Another important element of the original map is the small square at the top. You will see the line that the original Boston divides into two segments with two horizontal lines at the bottom.

The last and most important element is the round square. This is the circle around which the original Boston divides into two squares. The square has a smaller radius at the top, but the square still has a rectangular area at the bottom, even with a large circle around it. The radius is even with the round circle.

The original map has a circle shaped like a round rectangle. I chose to place it in the center of the square because I don’t like having to place the circle around the square, but I think it is possible to design a square in an angle, where it is square centered on the ground and the circle is centered along its radius. The square can be moved around the square to form the square as well as to form the round square as I saw it in the original map.

The original map is an example of a city with lots of square space, and it has a very important feature. I’ve been using my original version of the map to illustrate the fact that this area is an important part of Boston’s identity as it is divided into multiple distinct sections.

I think the larger the map area the more important its identity becomes. I was very curious to know if this was something that could be done to create new


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Christensen is the former head of the Central Intelligence Agency. In 2009 he was appointed CIA director by then President George W. Bush.

During the Reagan administration, there were several allegations that the FBI investigated possible connections between the Russian government and the Trump campaign. After President Donald Trump won the election in November, President Barack Obama gave the FBI a warrant to bring Manafort to the United States on an alleged felony wire fraud charge. The FBI’s search warrant was granted after Manafort received an immunity order from the US Treasury in December 2017, according to the Washington Post.

On November 15, Manafort was taken to the US District Court for the District of Maryland. The FBI obtained a warrant to search his laptop at Dulles International Airport and obtained a warrant to search his computer at the US Military Consulate in Baltimore. Manafort’s laptop is located in the basement of the Washington National Security Annex, according to The Washington Post.


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offender, they were still being held, although the charges were dismissed as an appeal rather than the death penalty. The judge was also not swayed by the fact that the judge was “unnecessarily indifferent to the circumstances of the case,” although he did not dispute that the accused “did not know of the possibility of his life, nor did he know that the state has taken his life.” This is a case that is unusual, because such cases are rare because such incidents are rarely prosecuted. The prosecution of a life-threatening case, for example, can last for months and months without ever convicting the accused. Thus, the state’s interest in preserving the life of the accused cannot be undermined by the state’s interest in protecting the life of the accused, as in this case. This is particularly true if the life of the accused is taken to be “in the name of justice.”

The state’s interest in preserving the life of the accused is thus an important factor in the way the death penalty works. Because the state has a unique interest in preserving the life of the accused, the state’s interest in preserving the life of the accused requires the state to act more aggressively in the face of evidence to the contrary than is the state’s best practice. This is not a matter of fact, as it would have been if the trial were carried out in an unincorporated area, but rather in a jurisdiction other than a county, such as Chicago. The prosecutor could seek to take all or part of the murder charges against the defendant and to present all of the evidence for the trial to the jury, but it would not, as a matter of law, take a state-owned, private detective into the courtroom and have the detective show his or her client the evidence of murder and testify. There is, of course, the possibility that the jury would not be drawn from the same community of jurists who are also jurors, and would have to choose between the trial, which would require a jury of two persons or the sentencing phase, which is not possible in many cases. A jury trial may also be considered in all kinds of cases involving a prisoner’s family or friends, whether in prison or in another jurisdiction or in a city or state or state, where there is a strong case against the defendant as the defendant’s “lion.” Such a defense does not require a specific jury and only a reasonable jury would do. In this case, the state’s interest is not to reduce the life of the accused to be a deterrent, but rather to ensure that the accused’s life can continue to be a deterrent without loss of life.

While a defendant’s rights in life are protected by the First Amendment and the due process of law, he must prove his innocence. To prove innocence, a defendant must prove that he has not committed any crime and that the accused did not murder, but that the accused had committed a serious, attempted, or criminal act. The state must prove that, at a minimum, the defendant’s life and death have been taken “to be in the name of justice.” In this way, the prosecutor has a special role in establishing the state’s interest in preserving the life of the accused. That is because it is necessary for the prosecution to prove, not that, under any circumstance, the accused was killed. The state must prove that, if he had been, the case would have been different, because the accused’s life had been taken “in the name of justice.” This means that if the state takes all or part of the murder charges against the defendant, and takes all or part of the sentence imposed on the accused, the defense will not be able to overcome all or part of the sentence, because the accused will not be able to prove that the accused committed a serious, attempted, or criminal act, nor that the state took the life of the accused. Even if the state were to prove that the accused did not kill the victim, the prosecutor would not be able to establish a sufficient basis for a finding of guilt to carry a death sentence in that case.

For some people, the use of the death penalty in some circumstances is considered an injustice, even though the state has never violated the Constitution’s Due Process Clause. The government does not have a duty to prevent that. There is a very good argument in favor of such a standard, and one that is well-established in criminal law. It is, in fact, based on the very concept of the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. The Due Process Clause, which has always been a key element of our justice system, requires that “one person shall not be deprived of life and liberty without due process of law.” The Fifth Amendment, which has always been a fundamental part of the Due Process Clause, expressly allows for the imposition of life sentences even for those who are not “indigent.” As noted, “No state… has ever made a life sentence for the crime of murdering someone.” This is not a very new concept, but it was used frequently before the


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Rice and D. H. Stegman, “Synchronizing multiple sites of the V3 locus of endocytosis using the V3 system (D. H. Stegman et al. 1998)”, pp. 1277-1290.

[3] M. I. Degenhardt, “Pronunciation of Tetragrammaton: The Molecular Structure and Functions of V3 and V2”, Proceedings of the Royal Society B, Vol. 92, No. 50, pp. 1417-1419.

[4] G. F. Dege, “Tetragrammaton and endocytosis from V3 in the human lymphocytes”, The Journal of Molecular Genetics, vol. 2, no. 8, pp. 2471-2485.

[5] H. G. F. Dege, “Rheology, morphology, and immunology of V3 in a mouse epithelial cell line,” Nature Genetics, vol. 2, no. 2, pp. 2913-2918.

[6] M. V. Dege, “Rheology, morphology, and immunology of V3 in the human lymphocytes”, Journal of Molecular Genetics, vol. 2, no. 2, pp. 2853-2862.

[7] B. Bühler, “Pharmacology, immunology, and immunotherapy of the endocytosis factor”, The Journal of Molecular Genetics, vol. 2, no. 4, pp. 1-4.

[8] J. S. Kuzma, “V3 in human lymphocytes: a mouse model”, Journal of Molecular Genetics, vol. 3, no. 2, pp. 1575-1582.

[9] D. A. Levesque, “V3: The Endocannabinoid System in Humans and in the Apoptosis”, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States, Vol. 126, No. 6, pp. 918-929.

[10] G. D. Taggart, “V3: The Endocannabinoid System in Humans and in the Apoptosis”, In Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, Vol. 126, No. 6, pp. 919-921.

[11] B. Kuzma, “V3 and its effect on human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) immunoprecipitation” In Biological Medicine, vol. 11, no. 3, pp. 35-45.

[12] J. J. S. Kuzma, “The Endocannabinoid System: Mechanism and Role”, In Journal of Neurochemistry, vol. 25, no. 7, pp. 3-26.

[13] S. H. Fiedler, “Fluorescence of the endocannabinoids of V3 in human embryonic lymphocytes: Implications for human immunodeficiency virus (HIV),” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States, Vol. 125, No. 6, pp. 1028-1035.

[14] L. M. Degenhardt, “Rheological basis of endocytosis in vitro”, Science, vol. 339, no. 815, pp. 1785-1794.

[15] A. S. Wojtczko, “V3: Endocannabinoid receptor expression in human immunodeficiency virus-1 (HIV-1), Hepatitis B virus (HBS-1), and HIV-1,” Biological Reviews of Hepatitis, vol. 18, no. 6, pp. 486-483.

[16] J. D. Kuzma, “Endocannabinoid system: its regulation and mechanisms”, Nature, vol. 379, no. 1, pp. 703-706.

[17] C. E. Günach, “V3 in human lymphocytes: a molecular mechanism of function”, Nature, vol. 379, no. 2, pp. 486-483.

[18] M. F. Dege, “Tetragrammaton and endocytosis from V3 in the human lymphocytes”, Nature Genetics, vol. 2, no. 2, pp. 2853-2862.

[19] J. Kuzma, “V3 and endocytosis from V3 in the human lymphocytes”, Nature Genetics, vol. 2, no. 2, pp. 2853-2862.

[20] L. M. Dege, “V3: Endocannabinoid receptor expression in human immunodeficiency virus-1 (HIV-1), Hepatitis B virus (HBS-1), and HIV-1”, Biological Reviews of Hep


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bicycles/riding

All-day riding on a bike

Riding on a bike with children

Running out of gas

Hiking in snow

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excellent not only for the young boy who is growing up in poverty, but because the school system that is meant to help young people has become a closed off territory for his parents, who are not even trying to make up their own minds on whether or not their own kids are going to be well. If they don’t do what they are supposed to do, that can be very damaging for their children.

It’s not surprising that the teachers that I teach have to do what the children like to do, to do everything to make sure their children are taught as well. I think the best teacher for every child, every family, every state is a teacher, and I am sure we can all agree on that. There is so much more to the teacher than just your child, and I mean I know that it takes a lot more than that, but in my own mind, I feel that a teacher is the best teacher for every child.

Now, I believe in a lot of what we have learned about children. My children are really happy, and they do make mistakes. That is not a reflection of what we have learned about them, it’s just a reflection of what the teacher is telling them, and that’s what I’m asking for. I really believe in trying to make sure that our children understand their own limitations. It’s not just that they don’t understand themselves. It’s that they don’t know what they have, that there is something they can do, or what to do. They don’t have a clear idea of what is or isn’t going to happen when they are in kindergarten. It’s not that they have no idea, it’s that they don’t see that a little bit.

And that’s a very important point to have in every classroom: We don’t need a teacher that doesn’t believe in it. It doesn’t matter whether it is a good, bad, or all the above, if that child believes that, and that’s what I’m doing. I’m not saying that if it were up to us, we could do more. It is our responsibility to do better. I don’t think that’s what we should do. We’re not going to change the system if we don’t do that. I’m not going to change it unless we don’t change it, because I know that it’s only a matter of time until we do that.

The real question that needs to be asked is this: how do we make sure that children are going to learn things that they didn’t learn, even if it seems obvious to them that they are learning things that they’re not supposed to? I believe that you can do that. As a teacher, as a community, you can do that. But when you’re giving children who don’t know what they need to learn a lot of lessons in their first year, you can’t do that. You have to give them that lesson, that lesson. So why should we care what their first year is like?

There is such a big difference between what my parents taught my son to do in their first year, and what his parents taught him. And that’s something that I’m concerned about. I’ve been teaching my son how to walk up the hill with his feet in his hand. How to walk up and down the path he has left on his feet. How to walk in the water, how to be able to walk with a bow on his back and not look like he’s floating, how to be able to walk with a hat and a hat on his head. That’s not what his father taught him, that’s what his mother taught him.

I hope to help people who do need that teacher’s help. I believe there is a greater demand for this teacher’s help now than it was before, because if you’ve never heard of this teacher before, you’re probably not aware of this teaching, and there’s been many other, far more effective teachers. My parents have given us lots of good information about teaching. We’ve had a lot of good things. My daughter has a great education, so she has a great life and she’s doing well academically. There are a lot of teachers out there who do just as much good. It’s not just a matter of education. It’s a matter of education. If it weren’t for that, I think I would probably be a worse teacher today, which is one of the reasons why I’m so proud to be a teacher.

I believe that a teacher’s role, whether it’s helping the children to understand that the teachers, and the school systems, are responsible for making sure that they do what they are supposed to do, and that the children will have the same expectations as the adults. So I want them to understand that if they don’t have those expectations, that if they do get it wrong, they will be punished. I’m proud of the work of those teachers, but if they don’t get what they want, I hope they


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Ibid (1995), pp. 14-16.

Barrett. (1996, May 25, 1997).

Barrett. (1998). “Gut. & Cell, 4th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3147-3148.

Barrett. (1998). “Gut and Cell, 5th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3148-3149.

Barrett. (1999). “Cellular and DNA evidence, 5th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2000). “Fibromatidases: Analysis of the gene for DNA DNA-specific DNA methylation, 7th ed., 2nd ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3460-3467.

Barrett. (2000). “Gut and Cell, 5th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3399-3409.

Barrett. (2000). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2001). “Fibromatidases: Analysis of the gene for DNA DNA-specific DNA methylation, 7th ed., 2nd ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3460-3467.

Barrett. (2001). “Fibromatidases: Analysis of the gene for DNA DNA-specific DNA methylation, 7th ed., 2nd ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3399-3409.

Barrett. (2002a). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2002b). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3460-3467.

Barrett. (2002c). “Cellular and DNA evidence, 5th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3399-3409.

Barrett. (2002d). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2002e). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3460-3467.

Barrett. (2002f). “Fibromatidases: Analysis of the gene for DNA DNA-specific DNA methylation, 7th ed., 2nd ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3399-3409.

Barrett. (2003). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2003a). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2003b). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3399-3409.

Barrett. (2003c). “Cellular and DNA evidence, 5th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3399-3409.

Barrett. (2003d). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2003e). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2003f). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2003g). “Cellular and DNA evidence, 5th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2003h). “Gut and Cell, 6th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4, pp. 3146-3147.

Barrett. (2003i). “Cellular and DNA evidence, 5th ed.”, The Lancet, Vol. 377, No. 4,


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je and I.

I went into the house when he was about ten years old and I said, “Have you heard of the man who lives with you and goes up there? If he were my child I would do what I had to do.” I told him that I had heard of this man, I believe, but I didn’t ask him to say so. He said, “We never heard of any of his people, but if he was the son of your mother he would do what I had to do.” And I said, “Tell my father I had no children with you and he would do what he had to do.” I said, “I have no idea why you would have children with your mother.” He said, “No one can tell the truth.”

And I asked his father why I had children. I told him that if they knew about the man he had, he would tell the truth. And he told me that he was a man that could not wait to come to his senses. I said, “But he said that his parents had to go to his own mother.” And he told me that if they wanted to go to his own mother then that he should go to his father’s side.

When he had come to his father’s side he was very angry at me, and he said to me, “You have a man’s pride that you must be your own father. But if I were to give you my father’s pride I would never let myself do it again.”

So I told him, “Father, I hope you will not let yourself do that, and so you shall have no pride.” And he said, “Then you have the man’s pride.”

I said, “I will tell you what happened before you came to your father’s side. I want to say to him, ‘You were not like this; I told you so, so how can you have this pride?’ and he said, ‘Yes I told you so. But I will say to you what happened before you came to my father’s side.’”

I said, “No one can tell the truth,” and he said, “I will tell you what happened before you came to my father’s side.”

And I said to him, “You are a liar, and you are the same as my father. Your heart and your spirit are against me, your will and your soul are against me, and your body is against me; and I will kill you with your body.”

When I began to feel that he would not go to his own mother, and when he thought to himself that I was going to kill him with his body I said, “My father has to kill me, for I have not done it to save him, so if he does that I will kill him.”

I went to his father’s side and he said to me, “You are the one who did this, and you are the one who did not do it.”

I said, “My father says, ‘What are you thinking?’ ” And I said, “He did it because of a friend of mine, who is a member of my family.” And he said, “Then tell him to kill me.”

When I told him the story of what happened before I had had children he said, “I said, ‘You know what I know, that’s what I thought.’”

I felt, on the other hand, that in his anger he had done what he had to do. And I say to him, “Why did you think that you should do this to your father? I am only saying that you may be mistaken, for this will be the result of your own mind.”

When I had children he said to me, “There is one friend in me. He has two children, and he was in my way in this. He has only one friend to talk to, but I am your friend and he will do what I had to do. Tell him what you think to him, and you will see that he is the man you wanted.”

And I said, “No man can talk to his own mind or make him what he needs.”

And he said to me, “I know you are my friend. I did not make you think that he was mistaken. You are the one who did this, and you are the one who killed him.”

And I said, “I have no quarrel with my friend, I do not need the words of anyone, but he is my friend, and we must die for him. You must kill me.”

And he said to me, “I have killed all the time, I did not kill myself, but I have kept my life, and I am coming to kill you.” And I said, “Do I not have the right to kill a man who is a friend? Do I not have the right to kill a man who does not


======== CHECKPOINT 003 OUTPUT # 001 ========

atto

Nasalina

Elysa

Mali

Sultan

Vahid

Famalie

Gobie

Yamcha

Nekha

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Shirishkali

Caliyah

Ama-Bin

Sarad

Amash

Shahid

Somali

Srinivasa

Gambia

Bin-Sokal

Virgil

Virgil

Caliyah

Sargon

Shahid

Kathleen

Rana-Rajina

Alicia

Caliyah

Kathleen

Dawn

Jadavad

Amatul

Sudan

Yamcha

Gobie

Yadmarsi

Sirahuddin

Sultan

Caliyah

Mikazu

Makshal

Pekanishya

Rajin

Shirazi

Nakibam

Elysa

Bina

Sarad

Amash

Shahid

Sargon

Sorazan

Chirruti

Virgil

Famalie

Gobie

Virgil

Gobie

Yamcha

Gobie

Amani

Arami

Ama-Bin

Bin-Sokal

Virgil

Gobie

Sudan

Dawn

Jadavad

Bin-Sokal

Virgil

Yadmarsi

Makshal

Pekanishya

Rajin

Shirazi

Nakibam

Elysa

Bina

Sarad

Amash

Shahid

Sargon

Nakibam

Famalie

Gobie

Virgil

Gobie

Yamcha

Gobie

Amani

Arami

Pekanishya

Rajin

Shirazi

Nakibam

Elysa

Bina

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Gobie

Virgil

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Amani

Makshal

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Rajin

Shirazi

Nakibam

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Amani

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Gobie

Amani

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Makshal

Pekanishya

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Rajin

Miyar

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======== CHECKPOINT 003 OUTPUT # 002 ========

a aural, or auditory, experience of the natural world, and I also think it’s good for the mental state of your brain to know how to react.

A lot of studies on how to respond to natural music are based on an EEG; the more it’s displayed on the brain, the more it perceives it’s being heard, and the more it’s perceived. If you take a very simple and simple, very simple piece of music and you don’t have a brain that can read it very quickly, it makes sense that you’ll need a very simple piece of music to learn it.

In this sense, there are two kinds of songs. One is more simple, the one I’m talking about. That’s what I think about when I think about the song.

You can go to that album’s website and you’ll see that, but the songs are different.

I have been listening to two songs over the years, so for the record, I have three different tracks on this album. I also have some songs from the album that you can pick and listen to over the years. In other words, there is just different sounds that you can listen to over the years.

Let me get into one particular song I like.

I was listening to ‘Goodbye’ earlier on this track. It’s probably one of the more popular tracks on ‘Goodbye’ as a way to convey the message that you’re not dead. I know it seems pretty obvious, but it’s actually just a pretty, little song.

And then, when you hear it, it’s like a light and it moves on through the whole room, and it ends up being the last one. It’s a wonderful song. It’s pretty simple, and the first time I heard it was at a concert. I thought, “Hey, that’s going to be really fun.” It was my favorite song on this album at that moment. And then I saw the last song at the next concert and I was like, “Wow, that’s really cool.” So I went and made a record.

And I think people like it because it’s simple. People are used to being able to go back and re-record these songs. But I think people have been used to that at other times when we have a big release, or when there’s a major release in between, and they come in, and they go back and re-record those songs, and it’s like, “That’s so easy.” But when you hear it, the most fun I’ve had is when we release a record.

I know, the good thing is that people listen to the same songs over and over again. The good thing is that, when you get to a new song, it’s still great. You can actually listen to it again and again.

Do you have any idea of how much it costs to make a single record?

I don’t know. I just want to know how much it costs to make a whole album, so you know, if they’re doing it right, you get to hear it and it’s really nice.

So how much do you spend on all of the production?

It depends on how many you have. I think that’s quite a lot. I think that a lot of what I’m doing is a lot of people want to make an album for the money and the sound, and I think that that’s really important for making music. It also influences what you do as an artist. I’m like, “Who am I to write songs for the money?” I’m like, “You’re like my boyfriend who’s not writing songs for me.” I’m like, “I really don’t understand why you guys would be asking me to do these songs, I’m just a guy who makes music for fun.” So I’m a lot more interested in music that’s really good, and then I think, “OK, where do I go from here?” I’m trying to sort of go from there.

There’s been a lot of talk recently about how many people love to play live music and that’s good, because they’re excited. But they’re not really passionate about it. People don’t care about the sound, they care about the sound.

It’s kind of like listening to a lot of pop and hip hop music, because they’re more focused on what it sounds like in the moment, so there’s always a lot of that noise.

But what about if you have a record of all the songs on your album that have all the tracks on them?

It’s very much an experience of playing music, and it’s a very different experience when you’re playing music.

So you’ve been playing a lot of hip hop, but now, like, I’m just an album-maker. I’m not a producer, but I have the tools to make music. I can make music


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Boone to play at a new position as a rookie.

“When you see the progress that he’s made over the years, I know he has what it takes to be an elite player in this league,” Kessel told reporters Tuesday. “He’s got the ability, he’s got the skill set, he’s got the mentality to become a leader. He’s got to be a real good player to the NHL. He’s had a phenomenal year in this league, a solid year of being drafted, and a great year of being on the team. So that’s going to be very impressive for him.”

The 6-foot-2, 204-pounder, who averaged 5.7 points and 3.0 rebounds while playing center at Duke this season, has been in a line of duty all season for the North Carolina Blue Devils. But he’s already signed a contract extension for 2016.

“That’s what I’ve asked of myself,” Kessel said. “Just to continue to work hard and try to be a part of it, to continue to be a part of the organization.”

Kessel said the addition of Gostisbehere may benefit him, too.

“It’s something that I’m trying to figure out how to manage, so I think it’s going to help him a lot,” Kessel said. “We’ll see what happens, but with that being said, it’s good to see him go.”

Kessel could be the next to leave.


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Ful and his wife were a young woman living in a small rural village, when an old man, a member of a notorious gang, shot and killed her. Two days later, the man returned to the village and killed a young woman, and he left her dead with a bag of eggs. The man had been shot while carrying out his mission. An older man, the father of the woman, had given his life to protect his daughter’s life. It was thought the boy was in danger and could not be hurt. The woman, however, was not willing to pay a price for his actions.

A month before her murder, he was a member of a notorious gang. He had been involved in a kidnapping, raping and mutilating young men in the village. He was wanted by a certain man. The boy said he had told his mother the truth about his crimes; the man knew nothing of his innocence; and he was afraid to be discovered. The boy knew he was in trouble. He feared he might be caught and sent to the prison. When he was released, he was forced to go back to his home in New York to live with his family.

“To save her, he said, ‘Let it be for the love of our children.’ “

But when his wife was found in a cemetery he knew nothing of her murder, which he had done to save her life. It seemed she had been in pain. But he did not have the courage to come to a solution.

“It was my wife, who, at the time, was the sole survivor of her family. She was the mother of three children. It was her mother who, as the first man she had to take on the responsibility for her family, did everything for her daughter. That she was alone and did not know who she was was enough. It was her own fault that her children were in danger, and she had to choose between them.”

At her death, he added, “a little of his life had vanished. He had no other choice. He had no home, and he could not move. He was out of his place, he could not go on.”

And after he had done nothing else to save the life of his wife, he felt ashamed of himself.

When he was about forty, he went to his farm in Illinois and found no more fruit than his wife’s dead mother. He left to get something for his sick sister; but his wife and child were in danger of disappearing.

“I was not allowed to leave my farm. I was in a position of being hunted by hunters, in the hopes that one day my daughter would perish from starvation. I never did say anything about this. I knew that I had killed the daughter of my father. It would be my own fault if my daughter would not return home to see me. I had no way of knowing what would happen if I died. I had never seen anything like this in my life before. All the trouble I felt at the time was an act of cruelty. I knew what it would happen to a girl with this loss of all my heart. How could I not forgive myself for what was going to happen to my own daughter. The thought that my son was going to die was an awful act to make up for my guilt.”

There was a certain strain of sadness that was growing in him when he said his last words.

“I have to give some hope to my dear mother; but in the meantime I am at peace. I will not speak more of my case. But I want to assure you that I am prepared to make this statement only when the time comes to hear and understand the whole story. You can only trust me when you see the true facts of the matter. The truth is only what you wish to hear. It is my last hope. You must help me in my struggle; and I will fight every day to save you. And you will also see me when I come to you. I am not the first person who has come to me to tell you the truth; I am the last person who has told you the truth. You have to make the right decision about what to do about it.”

He made no attempt to save his wife. When he heard of the murder of his wife, he knew that it would affect his life. It was only when he saw that her death had come, that he began to seek help. The best hope was that she could come to him and help him. But he did not think of that. He knew he could not do anything to save his family, but it was his duty to save her.

“The girl is gone. She lives with her family in the same small hut with which I once lived in a farm. They have not a home yet. The first thing they will ask me when I come to ask you a question is if I could help them. And they do not answer. They are


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Commands to Make The Most of A Computer’s A-Frame

After a good job in a bad school, you’re in a new job, and you find yourself wanting more from the team. You decide to get back in there and play for your new school, and then you start working your way back to your old school, which can be a very stressful situation.

You’ve reached your goal, and you’re ready to move on. You’ve made some really nice changes to your code, so you’re working harder on things that don’t need fixing, and you feel you’re doing the right thing.

You feel like you’re being an awesome team player, and you’re still in a bad school. The situation sucks, and you’re still working hard to get back in. It’s probably better than you thought, but there is always a big difference.

When you make those changes, your performance goes up. You have more chances of making those improvements, but you still need more motivation to make those changes. That’s something that often isn’t true for those who start out doing bad things.

If you’re a talented developer, then having better people around is what gets you out of these bad times. That’s part of being a successful developer.

When you are doing good things, you just need a job. There’s a reason your company’s called The Next Generation in Japan: it’s the only job you can find in Japan and offer you some competitive pay.

The Next Generation is an awesome place to work for, and we can’t wait to show you what it’s like to be a part of it!

If you’re a freelance programmer, and you’re looking for a position in the game industry, here are some things that you can do for The Next Generation:

Work with a team

A team can’t just be a one-time group of developers, you need a team that you can trust to do the job the hard way, like you can be a part of the team to make it better.

This can be anything from your website’s design to how you use its UI, to how you use the text on your web page.

Your company can build a great community, too, but they’re all too good at making sure your team is ready to play the game on their terms.

A good team can be a real challenge when dealing with problems that can be solved with your hands.

What You Should Do

Make a small team

When it comes to making the best of life for your company, it’s not easy.

There’s no one thing that you can do that will always be the same, especially with all the things you have to work on.

This means putting in a little extra time, thinking about your future projects, getting ready for the deadline, working on your schedule, and figuring out how to go about doing more of your job in the future.

Do what you’ve got to do, and stick to it.

Your team will look into your ideas and work out what you can and can’t do.

Do what you have to do to get there, and it won’t matter how much you take away from the team.

You can make sure you are making good use of the time that you have left, so that you can be involved in your development process.

Take your time. It doesn’t have to be hard, but there are times when it gets really difficult.

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket

When it comes to building your team, you might not have much time, but the time that you have will be used more wisely.

You don’t need to put all your eggs in one basket: all your money and ideas will be used.

You can have something of value as well, but that can’t be a thing if you’re working as a team developer.

You have to put all your effort into your team, but you don’t want to be a team designer.

If your team doesn’t have time to do much, you can put more time into getting things done. It may take a lot of work, but you need to be able to put more effort into it.

In order for your team to win the game, you want to put on a lot of effort.

This will take some practice, and it’s all about the things you need to get done.

When working on your game, you’ll often want to have some extra time. When you do get something done, it will go in and out of your head.

It’ll be hard to find time to devote to the same things you were always doing for fun.

Don’t worry too much about what’s actually happening in the game world.

Instead, focus on what’s going on inside the game world.

In your


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arling-in-lithuania-president-of-cristian-sarkozy, a long-time opponent of the EU’s stance against the free movement of people and goods in Europe.

A second, the new parliament is headed by the nationalist LNP, who are keen to use Brexit as a weapon to make the European Union less able to handle its migrants, and who appear eager to take advantage of the current crisis to push through a bill that would force them to accept new rules on migration.

The European commission is also the only party to be included in the two-way vote, as it will not support the bill and will be expected to vote against it.

“The commission is not a member of the two-way voting process. As a result, we do not participate in it,” said a statement.

“There are no European institutions that are interested in this issue.”

A spokesman for the bloc’s political body said: “The commission is determined to find solutions and will continue to support the two-way process.”

Lebanon was not involved in the EU vote.

Speaking to Reuters news agency, a representative of France’s government said France’s intention was “to take no action that would prejudice our EU partners and other international organisations”.


======== CHECKPOINT 004 OUTPUT # 002 ========

lack, or a combination of both. (See this post, which discusses the problem.)

We should also avoid looking for the solution or solution for everything, except what is necessary, and what is possible.

“I’m going to start with what I think is the most effective and most effective way to solve this problem. I think this is where I come in,” she said. “This is the way we’re going to solve the problems and I’ll give some advice, but I won’t tell you about it. I’ll talk about things that can help and the problems that have been caused by that, and I’ll tell you more about things I learned as a child, but I won’t give you my advice on how to do that. So that is where I’m going to go.”

So how can we solve her problem?

1. Find an idea and ask what it is that you’re going to try and fix.

“What you should consider, if you ask her, are things I want to do, things that I’ll want to be done,” she said. “Then maybe you’d like to have something. I don’t have my priorities, and my work ethic makes me less likely to do things that are unnecessary. So that’s a great start.”

2. Do what you can to make sure that there is no one other way of doing things.

“Well, if you have problems in the past, you should try to do the same to try and change them, to make them more useful for the future.”

3. Seek advice from others.

“If you’re struggling, I suggest to yourself ‘I don’t know if you have what it takes to succeed here or not. What do you think of what we can do to help you do better?’ and if you’re going to make something good for yourself, it’s going to be good.”

4. Use your own experience and experience to guide you through this process.

“I’ve had a lot of success in this country. I think in some ways, it’s very rare to find so many people who can do that. Maybe there are people out there, but I think that we must ask ourselves why we have people who make something so good for them. The people that do it are probably not in need of that, but I think we have to keep in mind that they are not in need of being better than we are. When I look at things as a whole, in that way, they might be better off if there were people with more experience and more skills, and that would make them more successful.”

5. Listen and see what you think.

“If you’re making progress, it can be difficult to know what you are not getting.”

6. Try not to do anything that you can’t control.

“It can be difficult for a person to get it to do what they want to do. It can be difficult to control what they can do, but try to do what you can do. This is one reason you don’t think about what you’re doing at all in your day-to-day life. This is one reason you don’t think about your future, because that’s not what you’ll be doing if you don’t want to do it. “

7. Stop thinking of your life as a choice between action and inaction.

“I don’t think that what I say or what I say, I think in a way I think in a way I am a part of, but I also think in a way that I think I can be more responsible for. It can be easy to say, ‘I will be involved in this thing because of this one situation, but I will be here because it was important to my development. I’ll do that because I think of it as an act of support.’ When I say that I mean something, I mean something that’s important to my self-esteem. You know, it was important to me when I was small, but I know now I can handle the things that came after. And there’s not much I can do about that. And if I’m going to do something about it, I will do it. You don’t make life easier on yourself by being so involved, because you think you can manage it, but you’re not going to do that.”

8. Be open, respectful, and honest about your beliefs.

“I know there are people who believe that they can’t really think about what they want to do without thinking about their life, and they have their beliefs and their beliefs, and they try to force themselves to think of themselves in different ways, and it’s a dangerous place to be in, to be honest, but I know that some people do do it, and some don’t, but some do it because they like being on the same level with others.”

9. Try to be honest


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telesc, and it does not leave a mark on your forehead like other eye-paintings.

2. If your eyes are white, a white face must not be used on your face. You are a child, and there must be an appropriate mark on your forehead, so that your face is visible to other children.

3. If the color of your eyes appears white or dark, it must be done according to the manufacturer’s instructions. In this case, it must be painted on your cheek. If it is a yellow eye, your eyes should be white. If it is a blue eye, your eyes should be dark. It is not necessary to paint the eyes separately from the pupil to create the mark; it is a necessary condition to make the eyes white, which must be done with a white eye. This condition requires that the paint should be painted on a white background and be bright white to avoid the effect of having an ugly reflection in the pupil. The eye paint used may be left in the pupil for several days, then used with a white pupil.

4. If a child is injured by the rubbing of her face, a doctor may provide any necessary cleaning agents to wipe her face clean of any tears that could be there from the tears or any residue of saliva. After this cleansing is done, the tears must be wiped, or they may be put away as soon as possible with a cotton twine. If the tear was left for so long that the eye does not recognize it, the child will not be able to be seen. The tears may become visible on the right side, but they will be invisible on the left side. There will be a fine mist of black smoke in the air.

5. In order to avoid eye infection, your eyes must be cleaned with a clean cloth. When in a bad condition, a clean cloth may be applied to the eye to avoid spreading it. If the condition does not go away within a week, the eye should be put away as soon as possible after the eye is completely shut. The eye may be placed in an open position on a table or the counter, and the eye may be kept in a closed position until the rest of the eyes are open, or until the rest of the eye is shut for a full day.

6. Any eye of a child which has been exposed to water must be cleaned thoroughly with water, if necessary to maintain the sight of the child, and the water must be used in a good manner.

7. If you are a child of any age, you may use a white or red nail, or a white or red nail with a black mark, as an eye-wipe, or a black or white nail with an orange or yellow mark, as an eye-paint, or any other kind of mark. When used in an eye-paint, these marks are called marks of colour, because they appear very bright in the eyes, and the mark is so bright that it is easily seen by the eye.

8. A black mark or mark of colour is one of the two forms of the eye-paint, or, as it is called, a white or red mark. A black mark is a sharp object, but it cannot be seen with the naked eye. The red mark is the eye’s point or mark on the face, which is called a pore. It is so sharp that a child might think that the eye’s edge is made of two sharp points. They are called marks of colour.

9. A child who wears a black or brown eye-paint may use the same methods as the child who wears a white or brown eye-paint. In a dark room, the eye should be filled with hot water, or a black or brown fluid, which should be poured into the eye and be stirred daily. If the skin does not grow in the eye, the blood may still be flowing; if it does grow, the blood may appear on the surface of the eye and will be lost; if the blood is red, it will be black. If it is not, the eye will be darkened and the pupil will dilate.

10. Children are very careful not to leave the eye-paint over their own eyes. If they cannot see clearly, they should not wash them, for they will tear the skin. It is the eye’s duty to clean them all before any person comes near.

11. Some people are more likely to become sick with blindness than others. They may be a little frightened, and some can seem calm and restful. It may be a good idea to go to a doctor or a doctor’s office to try to see if your eye-paint is not showing signs of blindness or that its eyes have turned black. If your eye-paint is showing signs of other disorders such as dark eyes, it should be treated with an eye-sore cataract for the rest of the day, or


======== CHECKPOINT 004 OUTPUT # 004 ========

agic” in response to a query, which is now in effect when you get it.

Another thing that happens with JSON is that you will need to provide all the data from the query into your JSON object, and this can take a bit of work. Here’s an example:

[{“id”:”123-01-14-18″, “value”: “B1”, “type”: “address”}]

Then when I run JSON, the response looks something like this:

[{“id”:”123-01-14-18″,”value”: “B2”, “type”: “address”}]

But the other big change is the default settings, which aren’t available in the “json” object, which is an API you can use to tell your app how to use your data.

So what does this change mean for this example?

Since it’s a single query, the default values for the data are not going to be reflected as JSON, and so the data will look like it was in a different way than what I’ve seen in the examples in the GitHub repo.

However, if you want to make the data in your app visible to the world, you’ll need to override a few more things.

If you’re looking for a better, more concise way of handling JSON data, then the data in my examples should be in your request/response object, so that if you create an instance of that, your response will look like this:

{ “id”: “123-01-14-18”, “title”: “My New Account”,”url”: “/profile/account”, “description”: { “kind”: “address”} }, { “id”: “123-01-14-18”, “title”: “My Account”,”url”: “/profile/account”, “description”: { “kind”: “address”} }

Now, there are two changes to the “json” object that I want to look at:

In the “json” object, the fields you want to remember are in the address field of the profile you want to change, and you can set them yourself.

In the “json” object, you’ll want to set the field “id”: “123-01-14-18”, which is not a field, and will tell your app that it wants to change the field.

In your “json” object, you should set a “name”: “My new account”, “title”: “My new account”, and a “description”: “My account is now available for review”.

You should also set your “properties”:

{ “username”: “myusername”, “password”: “mypassword”, “password_id”: “123-01-14-18”}

Now, in your new json object, you’re going to want to set your properties:

{ “name”: “My account”, “description”: { “kind”: “address”} }

Finally, in the “json” object, you’ll want to set your “properties”:

{ “name”: “My profile”, “description”: { “kind”: “address”} }

I have one final change to make. As soon as the “json” object contains properties, it must store them in a database, so that my app’s “properties” and “properties_get” methods are available. In the future, I’ll work with other developers to try to create a way to store these, and to make the system more flexible.

I hope you find the examples helpful!


======== CHECKPOINT 004 OUTPUT # 005 ========

weapons. They’re not just the type of thing that you’re going to want to see on an airplane, they’re also things you want to see on a boat, if you want to fly them all over again. And there’s lots of factors to account for.

What are the most important qualities to understand as pilots?

So we’re talking about what it takes to be successful, where that’s important to you, and what you want to make it happen. When I started, I wasn’t sure what would make me successful. I wanted to be able to do that. But at some point, a pilot was going to say, ‘Well, I want to do the best thing for myself, and do what I need to do for myself. You need to be able to do something that’s good for me.’ And so when you want to do that, you need to think about it. You want to think about what you’re doing.

What are your passions?

I think that all those things are things I want to be able to do. I’m not quite sure about the ones that I want to do in my job, or I’d be happy to do some in my career, but I’m happy to do something because that is my passion. And I want to be able to put that passion into things that are my own passion that are going to do what they need to do.

So for me, that is what I want. But it’s not just my passion, that is something that I want to do on the ground. So if I’m flying in the middle of a storm and I don’t want to do anything but keep in the cockpit, I want to stay there. And if I want to fly in the middle of a storm with a lot of rain, I want to stay there.

How would you describe the cockpit as your home?

That’s probably the best way I know of it. It’s something that I’m really lucky to have that I can live there. I’m never going to have to live there, I’m never going to have to live in the house there because I’ll be in the car and I can’t move. So I would say the house is my home. It’s the house I live in. I can live with my friends here. It’s the house I live in. So, it’s all that it has.

How would you describe the cockpit as your home?

Well, the cockpit is very much my home. I’m not so sure about the place. It is what it does. I’ve always had a strong home that I used to live in and, in fact, I think I’d love to live in there, that I’d like to live in.

In general, when I go into the cockpit you have to be quite prepared to go to the front. You have to be extremely prepared for that. You have to keep your face close to the cockpit. You have to be very confident to go in the front. You have to be very careful of your position in the cockpit. So if you don’t go in the cockpit, you’ll end up back where you started.

It is your cockpit’s home. It’s not your home. It’s your home.

How long have you been flying the cockpit?

I don’t think I’ve ever flown the cockpit since I was 14 or 15 years old. It’s not that long. But from what I’ve heard, it’s always been my home.

How do you keep your face close to the cockpit?

You’re always going to need that extra bit of protection on your face. The most common problem I have is when I fly over water. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

So there are lots of things you need to do in your cockpit to make that the most effective.

One thing that you do in the cockpit, when you have a jet or a car, you know, it’s like a bird coming out of its nest or something. It flies. It flies into the atmosphere and, sometimes, it’s in the air for some reason. And, sometimes, it’s coming out of the ground, and the pilots, they don’t even know what that is. I am flying on the ground as a man. And, it’s a very important thing to do to make sure you have the most effective flight path, not only on the ground, but also on the plane.

Do you have anything else you’d like to say to the community?

I want to thank you for coming to the forum. In particular, we’ll talk about the recent announcement on the site.

You’re coming to one of the most talked about airlines in aviation. What’s your take?

Well, I’ve always been quite skeptical of my own personal view. When you take a look at your own personal views, it’s just


======== CHECKPOINT 005 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Austin in an open-air ceremony on Friday. “There were five guys in the crowd,” he told the crowd. “They’re very hardworking men, but they have good, decent jobs. If you want to do that, you have to put your best foot forward.”

Somewhere around 5 p.m., the crowd of about 25 people gathered on the east side of the mall, where they were greeted by a loud “Thank you,” which sounded from nearby homes. A few minutes later, the crowd, who included two friends, walked to the perimeter and began walking, down a dirt path, past three storefronts and four houses in front of the mall’s new facility.

“I know what I’m doing,” said Steve Zat, the manager of the store, as he took a seat at a table and sat in front of Zat’s office.

His friends, both men and women in their 40s, showed him a sign that read “Ride with your friends.”

“They’re all young men who want to help me, and I’m doing what I can to help them,” said Zat, who owns a local food truck company that employs two to five people, including an older woman, whose husband is a retired Army general who works in health care. “I don’t know about you, but I know what I’ve got to do.”

“That’s all there is to it,” Zat continued, referring to his friend’s “thank you” on the wall.

A couple of minutes later, Zat called the mall manager.

The mall manager turned the call into a series of calls on his mobile phone that could be easily intercepted, Zat said. He also called for an officer on the ground to arrive, where the store clerk was waiting in the back row, with his staff, and said, “Let’s see what he’s got.”

Zat said he’s been dealing with the mall’s new, $7 million development at the mall for years, and it’s been rough getting his hands on it.

“They are in charge of the redevelopment and the new development is just over three-quarters completed,” he said. “They’re still looking for some money. And they’re just not up to the job of making money. They’re not paying for their own building or for their own maintenance. And I know what I’m doing is wrong. And I know what I have to do. I know what I have to do.”

The mall is currently undergoing its own planning, he said. He doesn’t know how many new residential units will be built in the area, but he and his wife, Sharon, have already bought the old space, which is about the size of a grocery store, and moved in with their second son, a student.

When they bought their home on a private estate in New York in the late 1990s, it had a front porch in front of the mall. But Zat was unaware the front porch had been a popular haunt, nor was his own home on the property. The neighborhood around the mall, too, had been vacant or occupied by tenants for many decades.

“There’s always something missing from the community, whether it’s a place that I like or a place that I like,” Zat said. “That’s what happened to me. I have to be more open and more aware of where I live.”

He said he’s also learned to stay vigilant of things happening nearby. He’s had his eye on the mall in New York City, where the mall opened in 2001 as a temporary shelter, but said he hasn’t seen the mall in about five years.

“It’s kind of sad. It’s sad when people come back here every day and want to go somewhere else and say, ‘Hey, we want to help you,’ but it’s sad when that happens. It’s sad when it comes back,” he said. “But it’s sad to come back here and see it empty. It’s sad to see it in the city again. I want to live here.”

“That’s how the world really is, and it’s not for everybody,” said Scott, who works for the city’s office of the city planner. “If the people in our world want to do something, we have to do it. The world has to do what’s good for them. If you do nothing, then it is a terrible mistake. It is a mistake that we have to do.”

Zat said he’d like to see the mall, and if he could, he hopes that will bring change, but he hasn’t seen any progress so far, he said.

When the new facility opens, Zat hopes to open it in October. But, as with other mall sites, it will be a long time before he can move forward with an expansion plan.

“I don’t know where it’s


======== CHECKPOINT 005 OUTPUT # 002 ========

奐身 エキドナロココ クリスタル・パラディン クリームヒルト ジャスタウェイ ジュスティーヌ&カロリーヌ ジョイラの使い魔 ジン=フリークス やさしい王様・ガッシュ&高嶺清麿 カイト カオス セラの天使 アクア・サーファー アイランドガチャドラ アラジン【原作版】 アテナの使命・沙織 ガンダー ガッシュ&高嶺清麿 ギガ満助 サウスポーの守護神・アテナ サイバー・N・ワールド サーティワン・エメリット サーティワン・アメリット サーティワン・サファリット サーティワン・愛猫神・バステト サーティワン・トパリット サーティワン・ルビリット サーティワン・ダブエメリット サーティワン・ダブアメリット サーティワン・ダブサファリット サーティワン・ダブトパリット サーティワン・ダブルビリット サーティワン・バステト サンタクロース ザ・ニンジャ ザブゴン ザブシャーク シェル・ファクトリーγ シェル・フォートレス シヴ山のドラゴン シャーマンカーン シャーマンラーン シーファン シンデレラ ゼオン&デュフォー ゼリーエンジェル スサノオ王子 スーパー覚醒マシンゼウス スーパー超覚醒ゼウス コカ・コーラたまドラ コルト隊兵隊長, Rammot コロッケ コッコ・ルピア あざ笑う雪だるま・ジャックフロスト 坂本辰馬 キャシー・クレイジー キューピッド キン肉族超人予言書 キリン 坂田銀時 坂田銀時 坂田銀時&アメノミナカヌシ衣装 優護の昂龍喚士・オメガ 優護の昂龍喚士・オメガ 友ノ浦中の捕手・佐藤寿也 大弯の海龍王・ヴォルスーン 大林寺拳法・チンミ 大邪眼B・ロマノフ 大豪月 天才・猪狩守 天獄召喚・バハムートヘルヘブン 天道あかね 夏休みの約束・バーバラ&ジュリ 夜兎の番傘 奈落の王 奮励の渦龍喚士・ヴィゴ 奮励の渦龍喚士・ヴィゴ 女型の巨人, Annie Leonhart 女型の巨人・戦闘状態 宮田一郎 宇宙の魔獣・ヤコン 完璧超人・ネプチューンマン 定春 嵐海龍・レヴィア 工龍契士・チュアン 冥府の番犬・ケルベロス 冥黒神, Ra Dragon うしおととら【原作版】 全能神・ゼウス=ドラゴン 光の伴神龍・ゴティーン 光槍の聖ボット・ヘラクオーディン 光翼の絆・ソルジャーズ 六代目武装戦線頭・河内鉄生 六道聖 創始の天央神・アメノミナカヌシ 強力・キン肉マンビッ


======== CHECKPOINT 005 OUTPUT # 003 ========

politicians not to talk about what they believe to be the most important issues. They have done so in the past to say ‘I believe in free speech’. They have done so with impunity because they have been in power for so long.

How many times did you have to talk about the “free” speech of one minority, for instance in the 1990s when you were running a campaign for a woman’s suffrage referendum in Wales?

I used to spend all day talking about that. I thought you are so obsessed with a vote for equality for women that you would have been out of your depth by now. If I had just put up with all this for a short time, it would have been over in a matter of weeks. But I have been wrong about that ever since. I don’t believe in free speech. I think the whole thing was just to get some publicity. And it worked.

If we could get the government to recognise that the issue is not equal rights but free speech, why didn’t you give them the speech you wanted?

Well, it took a while before they made it clear, because we’ve already paid the bills. If they did give you this speech, what would you think would have been the outcome?

One of the main problems was that this speech was so widely reported, they needed to say a lot more than it did, but there was no reason to be afraid.

And then they gave you an interview in a press release that was critical of the government’s response.

It went to the press when it was published that they did nothing about a debate of our welfare system. They were in the backroom, they did not give the speech to anyone.

What were they saying?

There is a very interesting line about “If you’re not in charge you can do no wrong”. What they said is ‘We know how to deal with this’ and they did not give you the speech.

So it is no wonder they were so angry about what they were saying, that they did not think it was in the interest of the people.

Why should they think that is a legitimate reason for this, that they were right?

Why should I take offence?

The answer is simple. Because they think their voice needs to be heard. It is your voice that they want to hear. And they want to hear it. They don’t want to be heard at all.

How did you deal with this?

I went in as a member of parliament and met with some of the key people in the government. They said it was a very well thought out speech but that it was made to promote freedom.

You’re now back in your seat on the European Parliament. You don’t seem to have a lot of time to think about politics. How do you respond?

I think it is important that I tell the public that I do not think they can have free speech if they can’t understand.

I can understand people saying that. I’m not talking about people who think that this is bad for their children and their job. I’m talking about people who think that it should be a moral thing.

But you have to be careful with what you say.

No one will tell you what to say or that, and what should you say. But you should make your decision for yourselves and not others.

What have you done so far?

I haven’t done any campaigning. I haven’t even done anything about the Labour Party. I have been the first to announce that I am in fact not an MP, so I am in no position to talk about Labour or politics.

I’m an outspoken critic of my colleagues, and you should expect me to try to persuade them to take action to support the Labour Party.

You don’t think I want to be on the frontbench?

Yes.

You are also Labour’s leader in this Parliament. You can’t be a leader only in opposition.

What is it that you stand for?

In the past ten years or so, I have worked with a huge number of MPs who are from very different parties.

I have come from the Labour party for all the Labour Party, and for me that is a very welcome position to be in.

I can understand what the Labour party is like. It is about the people, about the people, about the people that have been through hell to make their own choices.

You have a different view on the situation with respect to the issues that are at stake in our country today.

Is there any particular thing you have said that has led to the party’s rise to prominence, that you think the public should have an opportunity to understand about this matter?

I think there are quite a few things in my opinion that are wrong with this party.

Firstly, I don’t think it


======== CHECKPOINT 005 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Raiders, where he also had a long, slow career. The last time he played the ball on this field was in 2005 when he broke his arm, as he was already out of the league for six months. And he did not make the cut for 2014 with the Eagles, after a one-year, $4 million deal, but when the Eagles acquired him in July, he was already back with the team on a two-year deal with a $10 million signing bonus, and still played.

“He’s a special player,” the Falcons’ general manager said about Hurns. “I can’t tell you how impressed I am with this guy. He’s not just a great athlete, he’s a great person. He’s really hardworking, a guy who likes to be hard working. He doesn’t judge or judge. He’s all around the league.”

Hurns’s career is an example of the kind of work you want in the draft, especially when you can’t get a good quarterback out of him.

The Eagles do have good scouts that have taken notice of his skill set, so much so that the league-wide team meetings are filled with those who see his potential, especially as an understudy. The best example is a 2011 report from Mike Shula, who interviewed him at the Pro Bowl. Shula interviewed for the Falcons, but didn’t find a strong one. Instead, he was told by two of his scouting friends, who said they’d taken a look at him during practice.

“I feel bad, because I really don’t get this from the media, but they’re like, ‘Did you take it that way?’ I was told by one of the trainers, ‘Whoa, I thought you took it this way, you took it that way.’ I’ve never been the guy that looks at his tape, but I did. And I think I’m one of the best guys I’ve ever seen on this field.”

His ability to see how the team works makes him the best in the draft, even if that means trying to make some moves in the offseason to make sure the Eagles don’t overpay.

“It’s a very difficult time for him,” Shula said. “I think in a few days he’ll be on his way out. He’s going to be an all-round player. He’s a top pick at any position. I think a lot of teams were surprised that he could do that.”

When he was drafted, Hurns said he had his mind set on doing some things that would put him over his head, such as making an effort to see who the Eagles drafted in the first round, and then having his own opinion about who should be on that team.

“The next time I think about it, I’ll say, ‘You know, it could be a good one, and it might work.’ That’s all I want. He’s going to be a good player. He’s going to be a big, fast, strong, good quarterback. You want to do it right.”

He is being told every day that if he does not make the right move, he will be cut by his agent. Hurns was still on the Giants’ radar back in 2007, but the Giants were still willing to trade him before signing him to their 53-man roster.

The Eagles traded for the second-rounder on Sunday, but they had another big need, too, and they knew they had to fill it.

“We needed a safety,” Hurns said. “We wanted a run-stopper. And I’m going to take that pick, and I’m not even a safety, and I’m going to get to go in. I’m not a safety. I’ll get to pick this year’s pick or this year’s draft.

“If there’s one thing that you can do, it’s to move in.”

When a team would need the help of a special player or a strong safety, the best way to do it is to take him under the wing.

Hurns has played that role, but the Eagles did not like him when he played his college days, but their willingness to take him under the wing as part of their offense helped him make his presence felt on the field.

“I think you want a good quarterback for what they want you to do,” he said. “They’re going to get you. I’m a big believer in that. I’m a big believer. I believe in what we’re going to do.

“It’s not about the price, but I think in some way, we are a little bit underpaid to be able to do the things we do. We’re not really getting a lot of help. We’re getting a little bit underpaid. We’re not getting a lot of cover time, a lot of cover time for cover time. I think that


======== CHECKPOINT 005 OUTPUT # 005 ========

kindly. We should do that too, of course.

I wish I had a chance to see the story, and I don’t know how it is read. The man who is so fond of me has made me look pretty. I should like to see it.

“I will say, Sir, how, you were kind enough to write to us, you must tell us what happened to the horse-penny man. He said he was dead, as his name was. He gave you two small notes; I shall remember them. They were given to me by an aunt who had given me a small piece of her own. I am so grateful for this, that I shall not lose it.”

She was not amused, for she said that she would never write a letter again; but he replied, that there is something in it that she should not read, and that it is only necessary that I should tell the story, and not merely tell it.

“Your own son shall not have his name at all, or his name will not be made known to him, or to me. I will never make a good friend of you. I am as much your son as the rest of your friends; I am as much your son as the others, and will make you as much as I will take from you. I am as far from this as any of your friends. I shall be the king of the kingdom to you, you will see.

“All this is good. You may take care of it, if you like. It will be only a matter of time before I make any of you the head of the country; but if you do, I shall be all right, and my father will be his own father.”

“And what of that?” asked Sir W. Pen? “How could it be? We do not have time to spare.”

“If we do, then let me tell you, that I will have a pretty wife, my own woman, for my own sake.”

“And I do love to have you with me for my own sake.”

“No, that does not hurt your feelings.”

“Oh, you are so, my friend.”

“The good news, then, that you have not made your wife a little better, is that you have made your daughter of her own, not as you have taken a daughter from your own. There are some women you will never see, and others will never be known, and that is too late. The time I spent with your wife will come to an end. Your daughter will not come, and her children will be taken from her. Her child will go to school, and to this day I still have not learned to teach her any language, and she will not learn anything, and she will not learn how to draw, so that she will be useless to me. You shall have all that you can do, and I will give her the chance she needs to do what I like to do.

“The good news that I have, and that you have, is that she is your father, and you are my daughter. We are both very fond of your daughter, and I love her so much that she will be in my heart to help me, and I think that she is not my little sister. She will be glad to be alive, and, when she has done so well, will be married, and then come to the court of justice for all that I have done to her. I will be all right if you do not give me the time, for that will be the very worst that you will do. The man who wrote all this is a man who does good, if not to his own self.”

“Now, Sir, how I want to hear your story,” said Miss Elizabeth, when she saw that I had left her a few hours ago, “we did not go to a little country house; we had nothing to eat, we had no clothes, we had nothing to wear, and so we went to the house of the King.

“We were in the carriage, and the King said to me, ‘Why do you come into this country so late?’

“I said, ‘If it is your fault, it is not my fault.’

“He was afraid, and he said to me, ‘I will get her to come to the palace. You must be so ready to kill her.’

“I said, ‘I must be ready, Sir; and, in the absence of the man who sent the letter to you, that I should do something, then let me have her with me, for I would not do it; but, Sir, do you not wish that my daughter should be killed, and this was the one who sent your letter, and I must have her now and then, as soon as I am gone, if she comes again. I will not make the


======== CHECKPOINT 006 OUTPUT # 001 ========

demonstration. In another video, the woman says, “Hey, you don’t know this girl, you don’t understand me.” In another, the woman says, “You just can’t live in fear, you just can’t live without fear.”

She doesn’t know how to deal with these thoughts. But she knows, because she knows that we are in the moment that has to be addressed, a moment of light. The moment of light that we see, in which we can see without fear.

And to have it all, you have to understand that this moment, this moment that we have to be confronted with, and this moment that we have to take this step with is not simply the moment of the world becoming the world. This is the moment where we see our own world that it is not our own. It is not our own.

The moment when we are the most powerful, the one where we can make our own change with our words, and the moment where we give that voice to our voice, to speak and express ourselves in the world.

We will do so, we will do so. And so you will say, “Who do you think you are, that I am, that you are in the moment that I am? Who do you think you are that I am that you can give your voice to? Who do you think you are that I am that you can make this your voice?

What do you think, if I am in the moment that I am that you can give your voice to? What do you think that I am that you can make this your voice?

Who do you think you are that I am that you can make this your voice?

How do you think that this is what you need to give your voice?

Who do you think you are that I am that you can make this your voice?

Why do you think that this is what you need to give your voice?

Why do you think that this is what you need to give your voice?

I don’t understand, you see. This isn’t so, and you know it is not.

You say, “I don’t see what I am; but I am a man and I am a woman. I am in this moment that I am that I am that you can make this your voice.”

“Do you see this?” I ask.

I take my eyes away and I am in this moment that I am that you can make this your voice.

“That is what I said,” she answers, “that I am in this moment that I am that you can make this your voice.”

“What? ” I ask.

“What? ” she answers.

“I am in this moment that I am that you can make this your voice.”

“What? ” I ask.

“What? ” she answers.

I say, “I am in this moment that I am that you can make this your voice.

The time will come when you are able to give this voice to me, where you can give me that voice and in this moment that you can make this your voice.

So you shall speak and you shall be told the truth.

So that you will have power to tell this and I shall have power to tell it, to give this voice and then tell that voice when the moment will come.

And so, if that time comes, and I have power to give this voice to you, and I have power to tell you that voice of truth, of truth is in the moment that I am that you can give it.

But when I think that you think that you can give me power, and when you think that I am that you can give me power, and I think that I am that you can make that voice, and when I think that you can give me power, and when you think that I am that you can give me power, it’s like a blind man taking a blind dog.

And if that time comes and you do not know how to live, then you should live.

For in that moment of your life when I think, I think, and I am you, that you may see this, that you may see this.

You see that there is a time when I must do this, and that the hour is now when you must do it, and that the hour is now when I cannot do this.

And I know you cannot be blind or see.

You do not understand me.

You do not feel anything, but I do know that I cannot feel anything.

And I know you cannot see.

The first time I came here, I told you that you were a man.

You did not see.

You did not hear.

You did not hear your mother.


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Cro. 1089-1094] “For that reason, and upon this occasion, I shall keep my watch and do all things which are in the power of my God, and whatsoever he may desire, as in all things, I will not hesitate to do it.” (Matthew 9:30)

As to the Lord’s mercy, what can we say, that this he was always so fair to him? He made us love him in his own bosom, but he did not make us all one, to whom he gave his own love. He would not forgive his enemies, but love his friends, even if they were of some kind, and he loved them dearly.

He has said that we should love those whom he loves, even though we did not love them, when we were old, or yet had not even given up hope to live long; yet his own death did not give hope to our life, and gave our life back in one form to him. It was because he loved us that he had loved us in one form. It was the desire that drove us to do this, and not the desire to live in the form of what we might like to see.

Thus he will have us give up our fears. We must do our part, because we were so dear to him as to believe that we were a friend, and to love him so dearly, even when he loved us for a certain time, and to love him so much that he loved us in his heart, in this way as though he were our own, for love should not make our hearts go, and in other ways it is more true than love, that we should love each other in one form, but we should love each other as though we were two men, both of us lovers, both of them men.

Whence it is not the love which makes you love other men, but the love which makes you despise yourself. And you love one man more than another, or both more than one.

Do not hate one another, but love the Lord Jesus Christ, as if he did love you; but that you should love him is to make one’s mind for you and one’s own pleasure; and, as you love him to be worthy of your love, as if you were an idol, so you love him to be unworthy of yours;

That, if you love him as your own, then you would hate him more than one another; but you love him in the same way, so that you love your love so as to not hate him more than one other, for you love him just like that which one ought to love to love to love.

You do not have many things which have been said concerning his love, but he only says that he loves you because you love him, so as to not only love you, but not to hate you like that which one ought to hate to hate to hate.

For this reason, if I will show you what I can do, it will be as good as if I had found a little box in which to put my head; but it will not take any place in a well, nor in a place of light;

Because it is for this reason, that some of you do not know my heart.

For if I told you, how many times I had cried out, and how many times I have loved you so much that it was impossible that I should not have it, let alone love you, which so loved me, that I knew not that you could love me.

Because my heart does love you, and it does love the things which I love, and the things which I love, and the things which I love.

The reason I say this, is not because I love you, but because it is for your sake.

Because you are with me, that I may love you more than your heart;

because you are with me, that I may love you more than your spirit,

because I love you because I love you, that I may love you more than your life,

because I love you because you love me so much that it would not take me to be with you,

because I love you because you love me so much that I would not wish to love you more than you.

You may know, therefore, that I love you, but I cannot know whether my heart loves you more than yours, or whether mine is not.

Love is not love, and I cannot know that you love me. Love is a kind of love, and it is not love that it does love me, but I cannot know whether I love you more than your heart, or whether it is less of your love than yours.

It is true, that I love you in this way, and because I love you in that way; but this is not love, not as you like it to be; for I love myself


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Eparadicali, ‘the Lord of the world, as you were,’ quoth he, as though he was now a son of heaven, to his own soul; and that he knew that his flesh were made flesh, and that a human soul was taken from it, ‘to this man is born, that which is the soul of man,’ says the apostle.

The Lord of the world, he says, is not in his senses, but in the eye; wherefore the eye sees him, and the eye hears him. He saw them, and they saw him. ‘Behold,’ says he, ‘what I, and you, are like unto you. I saw that the heavens were filled with water, and the earth filled with fire: and I saw the whole world of them and their waters.

‘I saw what thou wast before me; that thou was with me; that thou made me: thou hast now taken me, that the earth and all things that dwell on it may contain me. thou hast been made of a white marble, and of iron, and of wood, and of iron-wrought iron-trees. thou hast made me an immortal being, that I might live long and live long. thou hast given me a body that is in one, and another body that is in another; and thou hast given me, O virgin, the body of this body; and thou art my God; and in my blood and in my blood, and in my blood shall be thy name.

‘And in this blood I have been raised up, and I am with you all this life, to-morrow, to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow and to-morrow. I am with thee all these lives; and you will not forget this, nor will you be sorrowful about it.

‘Now, behold,’ says he, ‘how the angels have made me this body of thee, and have made it to sit on the throne of the Lord of the worlds, and to dwell on the throne of all the world;

‘ and when thou shalt be made king, thou shalt be free from all this world and all that dwell on it:

‘Then what is more good for me? that I may sit on the throne of the Lord of the worlds, and to rest on this throne of the Lord of the worlds?—it is not possible that I should not be rich enough, and so be able to live; but what more is I worth than for my living flesh? and how, being my husband’s wife, can I live so many years without her?

‘And what more does I gain from thy loving-kindness, as by all my life is my inheritance?—all that have come from heaven have been mine, and their inheritance hath been mine, and my inheritance hath been mine;

‘and thus I am the first of them all to be made king.

‘And now what is better than this?’ says the Lord of the world, as if he were talking of an eternal body;

‘what is worse than this?’ says the Lord of the world, as if he were talking of a being in heaven;

‘this being is not the first of them all, but that which is the first is the first of them all, and the first of them all is my body.’

‘And this is the first of them all, and this also is my body,’ says he. ‘That is my being, in that which I be, in which I am, as thou art my being; that thou art my being, in which thou art my being, in which thou art my being, in which thou art my being; and that is the first of them all, and that is the first of them all that be.

‘And this is the first of them all, and this also is my being.

‘And this is the first of them all, and this is my being.

‘And this is the first of them all, and this also is my being.

‘And this is the first of them all, and this also is my being.’

‘Then is this body the first of them all?’ says the Lord of the world. ‘I will not lie before thee, for thou art in all things, and I will not lie before thee. I will stand on my throne, my lord, my lord, my lord.’

‘And I will not lie before thee, for thou art my lord.’

‘And my lord?’ says he. ‘My lord.’

‘And this is the first of them all, and this also is my being.’

‘Then is this body the first of them all?’ says the Lord of the world. ‘


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MOR, but this isn’t the first time he has attempted a political coup in Australia, and that’s the reason he’s running again for the Senate.

Topics: federal-government, federal-parliament, federal-government, government-and-politics, government-and-politics, wa, australia

First posted


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integral the field of view of your body as a whole, inasmuch as this field of view is the ground of all your actions. When you are alone, there is no room to make decisions, and if you do make a decision, you are in fact the object of attention and you are at least as much in the process of making a decision as the object of attention is in making the object of your own view.

If you are not at present in a position of power, and you have not received anything from others, you are in a state of dependence. You do not know what you can do with the power, but when you are in a position of power, you are a stranger, and not only will you do something, but you do nothing at all. When you have taken from others, you cannot receive any advantage, because you have only been under their power. If you receive the power of others, and you feel yourself under their power, you can be more easily persuaded by them to not do anything, to take back what you already have gained, to use some advantage, to change your position or, if you prefer, to get rid of those who you have not seen. When you have received from the others, you can do nothing but be deceived in your mind, and you will be sure to be wrong: but if you have not received the power of the others, you cannot, and you can not do anything by what you have not seen or heard.

To be in a state of dependence, there are certain places in the world where you are more or less bound. In such a state, you should be constantly aware that you cannot get what you want. For if you do something in one place, or make some attempt at something in another, you lose sight of what is in that place.

When you are in a state of dependence, you must not speak to your master’s servant in all his idle talk: but you must always know what you want. When you have nothing to say, you must not ask, either in vain or at the first thought, or in haste. In speaking to your master, you have no power to change the situation, but when he has spoken, you must tell him what you want from him.

When you have no desire for anything, you must speak in silence, so that your mind can read that which he says; and when he has spoken, you must listen to him, or in order to listen in silence, make your mind listen to his thoughts.

When you have no power to hear what you want from him, you must speak to him when he speaks: and if you say no to what he says, you must lie to him, for that is why you do not listen to what he says.

You must not have any desire to ask any question in any part of your being, unless it be a question for which you have no power to answer. If you have any power in any part, you must not give up all of your power in your being, for you have no power in that which is not yours, and it is not your own which gives you power. You are only your own power and you are yours.

When you have no desire to learn anything, you must tell him what he wants; but he may only ask what he wants and he is bound to obey you. You may not make any changes in your way of thinking, if it does not mean you know how to do it properly or it is your mistake.

When you have no power to hear what you want from him, you must speak in silence, for that is why you do not hear what he says.

When you have no power to ask him questions, you must ask him: but when he has been asked, he is so angry that he cannot listen to you. He tells you nothing but what he wants you to know, and he tells you what he wants you to know.

When you have no power in your life to say, he must say nothing in his own name, but you must always keep him in your mind; and the more his mind is kept from you, the more you are afraid of being lost in your mind, the more you are afraid of him; so he cannot ask you anything, and thus the more he thinks of you.

You must not tell him what he wants you to know, because he does not know what he wants you to know. He may tell you that he wants you to know, that he wishes you to know, and that he wishes you to love you, but you cannot love him, because you have no desire to love. You cannot love him in love, for love cannot please any, or in love does not please itself. You must love him because he is beautiful, because you are beautiful, and therefore not beautiful, for love is beautiful for you. If you love him for any other reason, he will not love you


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mes. (9,110,12).

In contrast, other investigators have shown that a decrease in the plasma lipids, and their effect on glucose homeostasis, may be due to the fact that they lack the ability to break down lipids.

The key question in this review is whether the lipid-induced changes in lipids could be induced by the increased metabolic rate in the fat cells. If so, how would that change the way lipids are organized and act on the cell? The key question in this review is whether the lipid-induced changes in lipids could be induced by the increased metabolic rate in the fat cells. If so, how would that change the way lipids are organized and act on the cell?

References

D. Wiebe, M., R. Fisch, and J. Gresham. 1992. Physiological effects of a high-sensitivity lipoprotein lipase on fat mass and fat lipoprotein composition in rat adipose tissue: a double-blind, placebo-controlled study. Am J Physiol Endocrinol Metab. 292: E1513-E1521.


D. Wiebe. 2002. Physiological effects of a high-sensitivity lipoprotein lipase on fat mass and fat lipoprotein composition in rat adipose tissue: a double-blind, placebo-controlled trial. Am J Physiol Endocrinol Metab. 292: E1514-E1521.


E. Huxley, R. C. McInnis, S. E. Taylor, M. A. Williams, and D. W. Johnson. 2007. Influence of blood-fat mass on lipoproteins and glucose metabolism in healthy individuals: the effects of dietary lipoproteins in metabolic and cardiovascular diseases. J Physiol Endocrinol. 183: J922-J934.


F. Fisch, J. M. Cappuccio, S. C. Fusaro, and J. B. Bockinger. 1995. The effect of lipoproteins in fat metabolism on the rate and composition of lipid-free fatty acids in adipose tissue. J Physiol Endocrinol. 182: S1293-S1309.


L. Linnell, G. W. Sorensen, D. Péron, J. D. Cretzky, and T. J. Schuette. 1992. The effect of lipoproteins on glucose metabolism and lipid-free fatty acid content in human liver and adipose tissue. J Physiol Endocrinol. 183: S1297-S1399.


M. Linnell, G. W. Sorensen, and J. B. Bockinger. 1994. Effects of lipoproteins on glucose metabolism and lipoproteins in lipid-free fatty acids. J Physiol Endocrinol. 182: S1399-S1399.


O’Donnell, W. H. Riggs, and R. C. Wierzbach. 1997. Lipoproteins and lipoprotein metabolites of food and protein. Food Chem. 55: 751-762.


P. N. Aikens and C. H. K. Williams. 1988. The effect of lipoprotein lipids and lipids-modified polyunsaturated fatty acids on lipid metabolism. J Physiol Endocrinol. 187: L1153-L1157.


R. W. Cappuccio. 2007. The role of lipoproteins in the synthesis of lipids and lipoproteins from vegetable fats. J Physiol Endocrinol. 183: J1622-J1628.


S. E. Taylor, M. A. Williams, D. D. Fusaro, and J. B. Bockinger. 1996. The effect of blood-fat mass on fat oxidation in the human liver. J Physiol Endocrinol. 182: S1396-S1399.


A. Aikens, M. H. Gresham, C. J. D. Cretzky, A. P. Aikens, and J. H. Peele. 1994. Effects of lipoproteins and lipids-modified polyunsaturated fatty acids on lipid oxidation in human liver: a double-blind, placebo-controlled trial. Am J Physiol Endocrinol. 183: S1397-S1399.


C. M. Williams, and R. C. Wierzbach. 1996. The role of lipoproteins and lipids-modified polyunsaturated fatty acids on lipid oxidation in human liver: a double-blind, placebo-controlled trial. Am J Physiol Endocrinol. 183: S1397-S1399.


L. Linnell, G.


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prise the power of his mind and made him his wife. As he told him this he said to himself, “If there was ever a man with such an iron will, I will do for him what I can for my own sake. He will be my mistress, and if I will do anything for his sake, so do I. For I will not make him rich, nor kill him, but I will make him rich.” He was so angry at this that he begged the woman to return to him and take her to his wife.

“Ah, how foolish the king!” he cried. “How foolish is he!”

He answered, “But, what is this woman to say?”

“To you, to me, my dear lady! to my children!” cried the king, “And for what cause should he kill me?”

“Who is this daughter of mine?”

“Of your very sake, my dear dear dear lady! from me and from every one of you! my name is that of my own daughter; if you do not like to know my name, do not look into my eyes; I shall tell you, my dear lady, but I fear I have been unjustly led, and I am in a state of wretchedness. The queen is your mother; she is of the purest heart; she has been so lovely, you know; but she has not been so kind, and she is now more ugly.”

Then he said, “And now how is this woman to say, ‘You will live so long without me?’ “

“You will not live as long without me,” said he. “Your life will not be spent, and mine will be not spent.”

And she answered, “If I had spent my life alone, and if I had had all my friends, I should have no friends; for my friends were all one with me. But if you had no friends, you would have no friendship; nor do you need to know my name.”

“Why, you can’t tell my name, my dear!” cried the queen; “my friend’s name is my friend; the king’s name is your friend, and I am not your friend.”

“I do not have a friend, my dear dear,” she answered. “And what do you think I think my name is?”

“I will give you to me when I die.”

“And when my time is up to me?”

“At midnight,” said the queen; “when I am gone from you, my dear, it shall be time to go home to bed. But if you are not ready, I will take you to the king, for the queen is too proud to do it.”

And she said, “You know, my dear; there shall be a banquet of your food; you shall eat all the victuals that are within, and all the other dishes, and I shall give you them back to me for your own sake.

“Your daughter, my dear, what do you want for the victuals?”

“My dear, the food which I have lent you is now, with all haste, all that was used for my own sake.”

“But where did you give it?”

“Well, I did not know it was mine.”

“But you say you want it, my dear,” said the queen; “you know it is my daughter’s; I cannot forgive you for anything.”

“My dear,” said she, “when I did tell you that I did not want to have you in my life I did not believe it could be you, for if I had been alive to this day I would not have been able to bear it so long.”

“But I do not think you will love me, my dear,” replied the king; “for if I had died, my life would not have been so short.”

“But it was only to say that you will be dead, my dear,” cried he.

“But this, in all my life I have loved you so much that you have not forgotten your friendship; I will never forget it; I will not make you regret it, for it will be your life, for it is mine, and I will not make you forget the memory of it.”

“But this will be my life, dear, and I do not know your life,” said he. “What do you mean, dear?”

“My life was a dream; but it is not a dream that is the reality of my life. I have had no dream before. I have been asleep for three days. I am not dreaming; I am dreaming. I sleep and I sleep; but what dreams am I dreaming of?”

“The mind is awake and the mind is asleep; but what dreams are I dreaming of?”

“There is nothing that will


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outrage to Trump. “Why would you think that, and what your motives are? I mean, I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I never did.”

He said Trump had used his victory speech to make public his admiration for Putin.

“He’s so popular and so powerful that he can put in your head and think, ‘That’s the world I know, that’s what I want.’ That’s what I think he’s got.”

Read more from Eugene Robinson’s archive, follow him on Twitter or subscribe to his updates on Facebook. You can also join him Tuesdays at 1 p.m. for a live Q&A.


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ITAL-USA’S CIVIL WAR? I am glad you will hear it so that I may get some of the credit for it and be assured to the truth; but I have to tell you that your question is such an important one, it is as worthy of your attention as I have.

THE CONFUSION OF ELLIOTT: (Sighing) Why, dear brother, I could not help but ask of your friend that you are a very dear friend, your daughter-in-law, your daughter-in-law’s husband and that you are your own son in a large family, but you cannot tell me, that you have no friends other than your own.

“O, I am my friend, and you know that; but I would not allow it to pass without my consent.”

“What can I help your son if you don’t tell me what he wants?—I am the son of a stranger, and my mother does not tell me who my father is or what he wants. What would you like, though?”

“I suppose to tell my friend my sister-in-law, to say nothing of my brother. I have heard he has the daughter of a married man, which I cannot tell you, and I see that this fact shows, that my husband’s love is much more beautiful than mine.

“When did she get married?”

“She was just fourteen years old, when she was murdered, and it was for her sake that I took away her. I had a dream of killing her; I should have had her out of my mind before I had seen the woman who would have to live for me. I was too old, and it took my heart, and I gave up the dream and hid it in the bushes. When she turned fourteen, and you heard it in my ear, I was in the house. I thought it must be a dream—though you had never heard of it till now, and I have never seen you before. It was then that I learned to look at my friend in the eye, and to know what I might be doing to her, and to love her. I cannot tell you how it felt to you to know what I should have done for her, for she is my best friend.”

“That you are my friend, dear boy. Why should you let my friend have a friend like you? Why should I not see her, and when she was born to you, would you tell me her name, or tell her when she was born?”

“But that would make no help, dear son.”

“You are to do what you wish, dear son, for my sake. I should be your father. I should not wish to be your mother, because your love for me did not bring me to you, nor to your father, and you should do whatever you please. I would rather live to see my father than die with him, and he died with me.”

“To die with me?” said he, but he knew he must have thought a good deal less of me than he knew of mine.

“You are not my father, do you? My love is the mother of my love. I would love her to die with me, if she did not want her daughter’s life. I think her life is so short, that my life could not afford it for her. I would rather die for her than live for her.”

“What do you mean?” said he, but he knew her and understood him well enough to know her well enough to know him well enough to know her well enough to know her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough to love her well enough


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unbeliev as well as possible. It’s the kind of story that can only get better and better, even in a show as diverse as The Good Wife.

For more on the book, you can listen to my interviews here. You can see a whole bunch of them at my blog here.

Here are some other good things to note:

The book is only three chapters long.

The “The Good Wife” episode is only five minutes long.

The last couple of pages have the whole episode with the opening narration.

And there’s one very important piece in the whole episode: the “Saw a Woman Who’s Wrong About Things.”

The first couple of the five minutes of the book are in the beginning and are really the only way to make sure the story feels as real to the reader as they do to me. I love how many pages of notes I have (and I am a big fan of notes), I think, and the way I read them in this first week in May is like listening to a show where there’s an emotional twist, and there’s not. The book gets better, and better, faster and faster, and the audience grows more and more convinced that The Good Wife is a brilliant and compelling show.

The rest of the chapters of the book are quite short and only just a few pages are used, because there are some parts where they get a little too long. I do my best to provide as much time as I can for each chapter, but I can’t really afford to spend so much as a couple of pages. I don’t have the time to write out all the chapters as many times as I can, and so it’s hard to give it all to the chapter. I try to have as much as I can get, and that’s always been a challenge in my career, and I’ve always loved to keep track of what I can. The second half of the book is my last chapter, so I do that every time I leave my room.

But as I said, The Good Wife feels so much better in my head, and the world feels so much better.


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portions of this document are already up, and will be updated as needed.

As of October 6, 2015, we have had the option to not provide our name or business address when submitting our information to the IRS, but we are currently working to obtain the name and address of the individual. This will include information about his or her past or current residence, current address, current business address and the length of time he or she has been in the United States.

We hope that you have enjoyed reading this excellent document!

Thank you in advance for reading.

-Edward

The Internal Revenue Service

Department of Financial Services


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cooker can get into a pot, add water and continue cooking, or in case of any food on your plate be careful not to get too wet.

This recipe is for those who find themselves being hungry, and want to show the world the delicious stuff that comes from having a meal.

What makes this a good, hearty and delicious meal? Well, for starters it’s that it will be more satisfying and will help in getting your mind to know what you’re doing. I mean, the most delicious part? It will make your body go wild so you’ll have a little something to eat right now.

Another aspect of your body is that your body is more efficient at getting through the heat of your food than your body should be, so you’re better able to eat it.

And that’s just how you should do it in your own body!

The second thing to keep in mind is that you should be aware of your body’s natural tendency to burn calories that you get from food.

For example:

If your body’s calories are all burned by weight loss, then you need to maintain your own body weight.

This means your body is getting burned through your sweat, urine, fat, sugar, fat, salt, water, and more, so you’re going to be burned less and less from all of it.

But what about you?

In my book “The End Of The World,” I talk about the fact that the way your body works, will only go so far when you are starving, and that if you keep that your food will only get hotter and hotter.

And this is what you want in your diet.

It’s time to start using it!

In the book, you get this:

‘Now when you are hungry it is clear that you are starved to a point where you can no longer keep your hunger out of your control, and you start to lose weight.

If you are thirsty, you begin to lose the appetite, so that your body is starving.

‘Now when you are hungry it is clear that you are thirsty, and so you begin to lose weight.

‘If you are a thief, you are now a thief, and so your body loses its power of digestion.

‘This means that your body loses some of its natural energy, and some of that is wasted.

‘Now when you are hungry you are thirsty, and so you are losing your mind and your body will lose your energy to give you something to eat.

‘If you are sick, and your body is dying from lack of water you may try to get some help to help your body, but you will be sick of feeling sick, and when you get your own body in a bad situation it will lose all the weight and your spirit will lose it.

So if you are thirsty, you are thirsty because of your thirst, but if you are sick you will get sick of being thirsty, and when you have something that you want, you will get thirsty, and your body loses your thirst, so that your body will have no water.

If you are hungry, and your body is dying from lack of water you will give something to eat.

‘This means that your body loses some of its natural energy, and some of that is wasted.

If you are hungry, and your body is dying from lack of water you may try to get some help to help your body, but you will be hungry, and when you have something that you want, you will get hungry, and when you have nothing that you want you will get the most of the food you have.

When you are hungry, you will find yourself being hungry because of your own hunger, but when you have something that you want, you will have food that will make your body eat as well as your heart.’

If you’re a thirsty person you’ll eat more food when you feel thirsty.

The same thing holds true for your body: if you feel thirsty when you feel thirsty it’s because you are thirsty.

If you’re hungry, and your body is dying from lack of water you will give something to eat.

I just put out this:

When you are thirsty, you feel thirsty.

You are thirsty because of the thirst of your body, but your body will lose its natural energy when you drink food.

Your body will die from food when you are thirsty.

It will die because your body is dying from thirst, and then your body will lose its natural energy when you drink.

If you’re hungry, and your body is dying from lack of water you will give something to eat.

It will die because your body is dying from hunger, but your body will lose its natural energy when you drink.

The other interesting thing about this part of my book, is that it’s


======== CHECKPOINT 008 OUTPUT # 003 ========

fle, that is with the body that is dead; and from that moment he may give his name, to his remembrance and remembrance for their sins, and then he will die and be buried with us, and, being buried in heaven, he will be delivered from this world.”

[8] Then was said, “O my mother! where thou hast set thy face, I shall never see thy face again.”

And I said to her: “You have done well, you have done well; but where art thou now in my house? I will let thee go.”

“O, then, my dear daughter! where do thy lips hide their lips?”

“Where have they hid their lips?”

“Where are thy hands? where have they concealed their hands? where do they hide their hands?”

“Let them hide their hands, then.”

“But thou art there, not so, O girl, for thy sake, what I have sought for thee.”

“Why, this am I, not so?”

“I am a son of a widow, and now I am your mother, I know what thou dost to me, but thou dost not speak, for thou didst not live, nor didst she know. Let me tell thee, your father, that thou hast taken away our house from us and from thy heart the life which was mine, and it did not make for our mother; it did not make for you. I have given it to thee.

“To him thou have no right to leave, to me thou dost, and to me thou have no right to leave: therefore, behold, it is not mine who doeth what thou sayest, but not what you say: therefore, my sister, you are my enemies, as they are mine, and I am your friends: but I am not a slave to thee, nor am I a slave to thee; nor am I your friend to thee: I am your slave, not as you are mine, nor as I am yours.

“Wherefore, then, how art thou dost say that thou art not a slave to me?”

“Because thou hast not the means to pay; wherefore, why didst thou say that I didst take away thy means from thee? but I do not know where, and I know not what thou dost to me, but thou dost not speak, for thou didst not live, nor didst she know. Let me tell thee that thou dost say, that it is not mine who doeth what thou sayest, but that thou dost not know, that I am thy enemy, and I am your friend, and that thou dost not make me an enemy: this doeth not change either what thou didst make or what thou didst make.

“That is a mistake! but let me tell you, that thou didst not kill my dear friend, nor didst she know that I would kill her: but thou dost not say to her: since she didst tell me, I will not do it.

“I will kill thee!”

“O, then, my dear girl! where didst thou hide thy lips?”

“I hide my lips, thou hast hid your teeth. I have never been there before, nor did I ever have. Thou didst tell me this, for I did not know thee.”

“You lie! yet thy tongue will not speak.

“This is true, that I should not have lived with you before thou didst kill me.”

“Then why didst thou say that I didst kill him?”

“Because I do not believe that if I had, you would have slain him; that is why I should not have killed him.

“But what dost thou say that he should not have been slain, or should not have been slain? why then didst thou say that I did not kill him? because I do not believe that if I had, I would have slain him: why then didst thou say that I did not kill him? why then didst thou say that I did not kill him? why then didst thou say that I did not kill him? I did not kill him, but if you did, it did not change me that you doth.

“I do not say this, but I shall tell thee that I did not kill him. I am not the murderer in this world, but the victim in this world: I am the good man, the friend to you, and you are mine, and you are mine; I am the one who loves you.

“O, then! my dear, how didst thou come to the world to find me in it; for there I am, but there are not many whom I love, and you love me; you, my dear,


======== CHECKPOINT 008 OUTPUT # 004 ========

financial one-time expense in the name of the customer.

We have seen this done with companies in China, Malaysia, Japan, Ireland, and Italy in this fashion. You might call them the world’s largest supplier of products to U.S. consumers in this fashion, but their reputation remains as high as the name, and is seen to be an over-the-top cost.

Even for one company that has a very long history of not just having a product, but a brand, these are high costs.

For a brand that has been in this fashion for decades, it is just a matter of time before their reputation becomes untenable.

The question in the U.S. is whether or not this business is worth it.

A great company that has done all of its business within the confines of being a small firm would be out of their league.

This is not so.

The question is whether the company is worth it.

A company that is in business must provide a competitive advantage to customers that they are willing to pay for.

A company that is in business must provide a service.

This is what we believe.

It is the right thing to do.

To have any advantage over an adversary is not an easy thing to do.

The good news is that we don’t need to worry about the price of our own products.

It is our right and duty to serve those with whom we serve.

The bad news is that we can always look forward to an opportunity to grow.

One can see that we were all that we had in store to provide the service we wanted to provide.

What would have been our business was to serve as a base for those who were willing to buy the company or give a gift for it.

Those who were willing would not be in need of assistance.

And if it were their right, they would be free to do so.

To think we had the power to help them is to be mistaken.

The business of your father had a price.

It was an important thing to you.

You are well-meaning, noble, and loyal, but you are not the real man.

You have made a mistake.

You have not done your duty.

You must live up to the promise you make.

This is what you owe me.

If I had taken that pledge, I would not have been able to pay it.

To owe me, is what you owe me.

I have to live up to that promise.

I have to pay my debt, and make this payment.

I have to pay the debts of others who have been hurt and neglected.

You owe me, and I owe you.

I owe you because you are willing to help.

You owe me because you see the other side of me, and I owe you because you are willing to help.

You owe me because you think I am a good man.

You owe me because you feel that I am more than you.

You owe me because I have done a service that you may not have done.

The more your service is done, the more your satisfaction becomes greater.

You are the true king.

This is what your success is.

Your failure is your own fault.

This is what is yours to suffer.

You do what you can for your own sake.

We are not your friends; we are your enemies.

We do not have all the advantages of each other.

To be in love with the most beautiful and most beautiful man in the world is a good thing to do.

But to have done it, we can never do it ourselves.

The greatest pleasure we can gain by seeing you can never be truly lost.

If I could, I would not spend my whole life in prison for not being able to do it.

The more I learn to live, the happier and more happy I am.

In my time I will give every one what he asks for.

And no one will deny my need.

To live with dignity and self-respect is so much better than to have a private life.

If you do not live with dignity and self-respect, then I will not allow you to live with me.

If I live with dignity and self-respect, then I will not let you live with me.

It is an act that is more dishonorable than the act itself.

I will be sorry to hear that you are sorry to hear that I am sorry.

If you can make it happen, I will help you, but I won’t forgive you.

If you can make it happen, I will help you


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women.

“They told me ‘no, please let me make it easier for you, I don’t care.’”

“What do you mean?” asked the young woman.

“Why, no, I don’t care,” said the king. “I don’t know how they do it, and what do you mean?”

“Do they say that they will show me what they think they are, or do you mean they will show me?” said the young girl.

“No, not that I do, not at all,” answered the king. “They’ll only think it is because they are mad with me, and that I should care; but it’s not, and I can’t do it, for I know what you do, and I can’t, since they can’t say anything without what they think. I’ll just do it, and then I shall make you wait.”

“And if I don’t see that, why are you afraid?” asked the young girl.

“Because my eyes are red from the heat, and from all my cares I can’t see them. I’ll get on with the work, and then it is time for me to leave.”

“Why do you say I want it, then?”

“You did tell me that I am no more than your servant.”

“My heart, and you are my mistress!” cried the boy.

“I knew she would say it, but never did I, and never will.”

“Then your mistress did tell me how you got here and why you did what you did, and why I never knew why you did what I did. Do you have any more things to ask of me?”

“For how did you know that? You never told me how you got to where I am, and you never told me the reason why you did what you did; why did you believe that you did what you did? I never saw you leave your room, but if I did see you leave my room I would know all you were up to in this matter; the first one that ever touched me was when I was asleep, and she told me the reason why you did what you did, and she was very sorry; it’s true, but when I looked at her she was quite silent; I heard the reason why she did what she did.”

“But what if you should not know?” inquired the old woman.

“Nothing I could say; for I love you with my whole heart, and I love you with all my heart.”

“Then, your mistress says that you want to leave her, for there are many things I know that can do with you, but nothing that I know of that will not do with me.”

“Now it is clear,” said the boy, “that you cannot see me, nor do you want my eyes to see you; but I am only what I am, and you are nothing but my mistress. Therefore, I will do nothing more; but if my mistress can see me she will find me, and then she shall not tell me what I should do.”

“You say you do, but I cannot see you?”

“I do see you, but I cannot say anything; and my heart is afraid of being caught off guard.”

“But you do, my dear, as it were.”

“Why then? I love you, and I love you so deeply that if I could leave you I should have left you alone; but my heart would not leave her, and so I will leave you alone.”

“Then what, then?”

“What can it do for you?”

“Oh, to think this to be true.”

“How could it ever be true, when it must be true so often?”

“My heart cannot tell me this, but my heart is full of this, and to see it filled with the power that it knows to be the true and eternal love of me so well as this, will, I think, at least, make me believe you.”

“I do believe it,” said the boy.

“You must admit I cannot help it; but your heart, when it sees you, feels a great pain; and if my heart could understand, if it could find me, I would do what I ought to do; but for this you must show me how you want me to do, and how you feel for me. I will tell you, then, how I love you more than all the rest of them, and I will show you what I do more than all of them.”

“When you say this, you are at an end of something, as you wish, and as you wish you should do, so I’ll do whatever I should do.”

“Then tell me, I beg of you,” said the old woman; “tell me


======== CHECKPOINT 009 OUTPUT # 001 ========

businessmen.

After the success of his “surgical” and “scientific” revolution, a few years later his followers began to turn the same old old mistakes upon him.

What did I say?

This is a short summary of my thoughts and observations on the subject, that I have tried to make with some caution to prevent the reader from being deceived by such impositions.

“The Roman government could not have devised laws or decrees in favour of a government which is unbecoming in the heart of men, but not altogether evil. How should it have known how to prevent such a thing as this? Were it so good, would it not be more wise to seek to make every law against every crime, every crime against every law against every law against every law against every law? If there were any law against every thing, there would be no law against every law in favour of it. I may be wrong in that I believe all laws against every thing, but they were all evil, not of any one but of two, or of some other but of all the gods.

“The whole world had, I have shown you, the worst law of men, and none of them ever existed; but they should, that we may have some way of avoiding it.

“In your favour, my dear Roman, your words did not, I think, express in the strongest tone of your heart, or in the strongest tone of your tongue, that you would have wished them the same way as they wished you to feel them. I am not ready to give you your life to die. I have done so, and I will not live in your pain.

“Let the most solemn and glorious triumphs of the old age, and your triumphs that may yet come of all ages, be remembered and remembered not as they seem but as they must be remembered.

“I have no more to do with your death, nor shall I ever do with yours, and no less in the course of your suffering and your sorrow.

“Your mother and my sister were in your life; yet she did not live to see me die, and you did not die to see her die.

“I have seen, by the great blood of the dead, that no part of the world could have such a beauty as yours.

“I have seen, by the blood of the dead, that all beauty is of no value whatsoever, and I am sorry that you have not been able to make me so, and then I will be able to make you as happy as you were, or at least as it seems possible that I should be able to be so.

“I have been at peace with you; and you have been at peace with me.

“I am happy when you think to your mind, you being the cause of my happiness, I believe you have all the happiness you can possess.

“I have my son and I love him dearly; but what I wish was not my son, but for my mother, I hope to live one life long, but not in your life, for I desire that you should be as well pleased as you would have been if you did not have my son.”

I did not mean to contradict myself with my own words, but to make clear that what I thought to be certain, did not appear to be true, or even to be true in any case, or to be true in the case of any, which I may have done, but which I shall not do.

“I do not suppose your mother would have been able to have taken her husband with her to Rome; but she will not be able to have taken him with her to Rome, as I say, not to Rome as the Roman woman would have done, and to do this in a thousand ways, if she wished to take advantage of her time, for they must be used as the time for a new life to be born and lived; but if I did not do to you what I should not do, it would not be in my interest to do anything for you to do.

“Why did you keep your head of peace with him, and not leave him in peace with me? Why did you so refuse to see my mother in her grief, as if she should have kept her head of peace with you?

“How can you know that he should not know how to live without you?

“What is your fault that you do not think you cannot live, that he must think you cannot live?

“I am not guilty of being guilty, though I am in your face, but do not have to blame myself for being guilty.

“When I had been in prison for twenty-four hours, he told me he was going to be a better physician. He promised him this, and as he did so he was forced to do it; but what was worse, he


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Leaks by the U.S. government’s National Security Agency and a report from the U.S. Government Accountability Office that has been filed with the Obama administration.

The leaks came on top of the NSA’s use of the G-20 summit to gather intelligence on how people were using the Internet to engage in “criminal activities.”

Obama himself has said he needs to review intelligence about the program to make sure it is being used in a responsible way.

“As I speak, there’s a good argument that we should be careful,” he said of the new information. “So I want to know if we need it, and I want to be the first to ask this: If you don’t have that, then we have no power.”

The government, which has the authority to share all this information with the private sector, said it doesn’t share classified information but that “it’s hard to see how there’s an excuse not to do it.”

Some people, however, say it’s time that the public share the details of their information with the intelligence community, as the public is being misled and lied to by its own government.

“It’s very difficult for you to find anything that’s classified. So to get it straight, I want to show you this. So the NSA and the CIA, you know, have the tools, to figure out how you’re going to get all this, but what’s your use, and how you’re going to go to get it, and where you’re going to put it, and what you’re going to do,” said one retired CIA intelligence official, who asked not to be named.

“But what the public doesn’t know about the stuff is what the public does know. It can’t be that simple, because there’s going to be consequences for people doing it, and what they do is their own worst act of disobedience,” added the retired intelligence official. “If it’s that simple, then I am not sorry to say I’m with you in this, and so you know that you’re not alone, but if you want to change the story then you must get out of this mess.

“My name is Charles. My country is not on this planet to ask me to stop, but to ask me to do something.”

When he was younger, Charles was known for being a strongman and an independent thinker. He had a large government and was known as a strongman who did not care about politics or national security.

While at Harvard University, he took a course in political science at Princeton that he said showed how to deal with what he saw as the dangers posed by the “cyberspace age.”

“And as soon as I went to Princeton and I got a master’s degree, I got a doctorate from that school, and I began thinking about how we could make an Internet of our own that would be much more powerful than the NSA. And one day, I realized that we had to get this done because we’d already got it through the civil service and that’s when I thought: well, if I don’t do this I might as well die at the hands of a foreign power, and I’ve got this on the ground that I have a duty to do it, so I’ll have to do it, and there’s something that makes me think I’ve got that right, I’ll have to do it, but it makes me think I can do it.”

“It’s kind of like having a new kind of gun in your hand,” he said of what he believed would be a better use of a gun than a self-defense weapon. “It’s kind of like having a new kind of gun in your hand.”

“I thought I had some great idea to start with, and I think it was great enough to start in the first place,” he said. “But I did it all wrong, and it was so wrong that I thought it was wrong that I should try to do it. And then when I thought of it, I thought it was wrong again, and I thought it was right. I think I was wrong to begin with, but I did it well enough, and then it was time for a new idea.”

“That’s when I began to think that something would be done, that I could do something better,” he said. “And I tried. And you know what happened is that, as you read this, I got more than I had in my time, and there are many things in the world that could be done, and it was not enough.”

“And when you do make this, you should be free,” said Charles, laughing and looking dazed. “And I will not allow myself to give up.”

‘I cannot be held accountable’

As he prepared to walk down a dark hallway, he was met with silence, followed by a loud gasp from each of the guards behind him.


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crystal: an altar of Iskenderun exists in you

In the sky is a golden ring;

And a curse,

From the heaven of a fire that burns.

The air is hot, the cold air cold

But that which doth not lie

On the clouds,

So long as the night’s sun shines

Through the smoke-dust

His brow is not cold,

Nor is his head,

Nor his face cold;

For the sky’s tempest is cold,

He must die to the wind,

He must die to the wind,

He must die to the wind,

he must die to the wind,

the sun will not rise in your sight;

The sky is all bright and free,

All that is dark will not doth shine;

The earth shall not be silent;

The clouds, and the hills shall not be touched;

And the stars, and the moon shall not shine

In the clouds of the night:

What then?

Why, where do we leave him?

The reason he came forth,

So that he might see you.

The one with whom he had come,

Let him be gone from the field,

That, and that with him he may dwell.

For his reason he must return,

To the place where he hath been gone.

“Oh, my soul’s shame,

How many times, and many seasons,

Were so cold, that,
as he passed this night,

He could feel his eye and his heart

All at once,
as they both seemed
To make their bed:

To put on a coat of black,

Or a pair of black,

To cover his face with silk:

I am a woman,

My heart is mine;

I have the beauty and the sound:

I give to thee, thou, and my life to thee

And I trust to thee,

That thou, who is mine own,

Thou art my life, and not mine.

“What do I do, O my heart,

Where, by which I have lived,

How often did I sit?

When I had long gone on the edge,

Wherefore did I spend my night,

As I was in sleep,

Which I never forgot

When the wind was heavy,

And the clouds began to move,

And the stars began to glow

And the earth and the world grew dull:

I did not wish to be here.

Wherever thou art,

Where my hand should run,

Where my breast should sing,

Where my foot should rise;

I should be in thy place,

And my face should shine with love,

And my lips should flow with joy:

Wherefore do I go,

And my breast shall sing,

And my eyes shall fall.

“So what did you say?”

“What did you do then,

And what did you do now?

And what did you say to me then,

and why did you leave me,

That I must wait upon thee,

And this, and this, and this, and this,

For my own sake,

For my sake, that thou hast seen me,

To know my beauty!

What did you do then,

That I should not wait on thee,

So long was my life from thee,

That thou didst wait;

So long was my life from thee,

That thou hast waited upon me;

To have me wait’d, and to wait’d,

For my sake, for my sake,

When thou wast not with me,

Who should have thee wait’d?

“How long, and how long,

Are I waiting on thee,

And why should I wait,

But what did you have done now,

And what did you do now,

That I have waited upon thee;

So long have I waited on thee,

That thou didst wait upon me,

To have me wait’d, and to wait’d,

For my sake, for my sake,

To keep thee from me,

Thy heart is so sweetly sweet;

For all that is mine, and all that is mine,

Is like unto my heart.

My love and thy love are as many

Of one who has lived,

Of one whose heart is strong,

And one


======== CHECKPOINT 009 OUTPUT # 004 ========

er-like man with glasses.

He sat down to her and did his best to speak softly. “What do you say?” he asked; and she replied, in a quiet voice: “I told you so. I told you so.”

“What?” said he. “What do you say now? I did not think so. I did not think so when I looked you in the eyes in that eye-mushroom. I thought you a foolish little boy.”

“Ah, that is all,” answered she, and turned to her former self. “Did you see me?”

“No,” replied he, “you saw me.”

“If you did, I must return you; it will not do me any good to be in this state; so I have made you promise not to go to that dreadful state which your mother says she was in before you, to that which she says she was in afterwards, to that which I say she did.”

“You are mad, but I will go to the old house, where I am always with you,” said he, with an air of reproach. “I see you look back, and there is no longer so much of me. I am sorry that you did not see what you did, but I would like to show you how much more I did see what I did before you. It was only when you came to me, and I thought you with me that you did not see me, that you were frightened by what was happening with your eyes and you did not fear my strength, and did not fear it, for in my eyes I saw the sun burning in the dark sky, and you were asleep, but still you were still awake, so that there might be more daylight. I shall be in this place now, and not in the same room.”

“You will not be asleep again,” said she, and went out to see if she could hear him.

“My dear, do not take away that part of my heart; you will make a fine piece.”

“And you do not see that my eyes are still full of blood?”

“No; I see no more blood.”

“That is a lie. Tell me what I did and I will tell you, in a little voice, what I saw. I did not see you. I did not see you.”

“Well, well, what did I see?”

“The naked woman, who was looking at me from the bottom of her black breast, and she did not see me.”

“My father, you must be my father.”

“My father!” cried she; but she did not tell him what she did.

“It was so, in a fair way, for what a poor creature can look on his father’s face so well, when he is so weak!”

“What did I see now? your eyes were full of blood. I was afraid of you; I did not feel any heat in you.”

“What do you mean?”

“That your eyes do not know me; but I knew you were afraid of that, but you were not afraid.”

“What, do you think I am a fool, because I have seen you as you were, yet as the most beautiful woman that ever lived?”

“I do not think so; for though I had not, the thought of your eyes was still fresh, which you have always seen me; and now it was like that; and I know not where I am. I am not at rest, or I cannot rest, or I cannot be, nor can I ever be.”

“O thou who art my father? and why hast thou come so far away, wherefore hast thou hast come so fast, to leave me here so soon, and I am thus so much lost. O thou who art mine father, the world must go on, and that which I have seen shall be so full that no one will perceive, no one will see, and so many things shall follow, that there may be no living thing, no living thing, no living thing, but will be a little one, and not one in love; and that which is good in me is so good in all things, that my heart is made up of such things that it will not feel. O thou who art my father, the world must go on, and that which I have seen shall be so full that no one will perceive, no one will see, and so many things will follow; that which is good in me is so good in all things, that my heart is made up of such things that no one will see; and that which is good in me is so good in all things, that no one will feel, no one will feel, and yet I am not so much lost, but still I am so well and so well. If thou art not thy


======== CHECKPOINT 009 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Y.B.I.T.’s former agents:

“The thing is, I’ve been trying to do it for years now. I think it would be great to have something to do with ‘Groucho Mars’ but no! So I’d like to do a bit of music with him. He’s always done that thing with his brother, but then he’ll tell you he’s not done with it so much and you’re gonna have to watch him do it.

“So let’s just go for a little while, I don’t know what’s going to happen but, ’cause you think that’s the one, you see what he’s done with me, and it’s the one that’s so good to see and you think that’s the wrong thing for me to do and then I’ll say that’s it, and you’re in love with him, what’s wrong with me?”

The next morning, when he had a piece of bread, his face was red as a pancake. The other side, when it had shrunk to nothing, sat in the shade, with all the stains he had made, as if she had seen him through some kind of vision, as if he had a piece of silver in his eyes.

“My dear, I saw him as he looked through his mirror to his own self,” she told him in tears.

“Well, let me look in his eyes again, or else I’ll be like that.

“If you want, you can leave the book, as if I’d let you do it if you want. But no, no, no, no, you must leave the book.”

“No, I want it right now,” replied the old man, as if he had been told to. “Let me see it, as quickly as possible, and we’ll do our fair, well-deserved rest.

“Oh, my dear dear! I have seen you with tears in your eyes, I’ve seen you as if you’d been alive, but now you’re so sad that you cry!

“Why, what kind of you are, if not of a sort like your brother! how can I blame you for my sorrow, it’s not for your good so much? I’ve already seen the poor thing, and I have yet to know what to do with it, but it’s quite enough to make me feel all this joy and sorrow at last.

“What do you mean when you say you have seen what I saw before me?”

“If you don’t see this, I’ll tell you what I saw before you. And I will make a show of it.

“Well, look, look, it’s not in your face. It’s in mine. I’d better not take it, that’s for sure.

“And that’s what you see—it’s all in your face. But your lips are not the same, you know?

“It’s not the face I see, dear. The face I see, and I like it so much that I don’t feel I can make my face stop; but my lips are now gone, I feel a little sad, and I want to break it for good, but I can’t, for I love you, I feel it is not good.

“And how shall you tell me why I should love you so much when you still don’t love me, that you will do me no good if I love you, or give you your eyes, for that, dear poor thing, is such a horrible thing as is your eyes, and the same is true with yours as it was before you began.

“Well, I guess it will be worth my while, but I still must go to Paris to make my stay of it.

“So, dear old man, let me tell you about your little love. I mean, love is such an instrument as to make you feel what it means to be, and that in this sense it’s so beautiful and so wonderful; but love and what else is that better than life, and what you love more than your love can bear?

“You know this, dear young man, that I see your beauty every night with my eye.

“No, it’s not what’s in your face, your dear young beauty, but your face, and your face’s face’s face, and the one of me, and your face’s face, and my heart’s heart’s heart, and your heart’s heart’s heart, and your heart’s heart’s heart’s heart—but here’s another, this old man’s heart, and his heart’s heart’s heart’s heart.

“I do love you very much, but I don’t know what to do with it; but as I do love you, and do see you with your eyes, I must see the beauty of it, and then,


======== CHECKPOINT 010 OUTPUT # 001 ========

FY

Drew Brees, 6’3, 220, redshirt senior:

– A little over 1,200 yards, including four touchdown catches

– No. 2 running back in the nation

– Had five TDs in three starts

– The last-place running back in the country

– Had an 87-yard touchdown run on his first carry

– Had five catches for 31 yards or longer

– Three years older than his best friend (Jordy Nelson)

– Two straight seasons with five NFL titles (2002-07, 2011-15)

– Recorded his second career 100-yard game on the way to his 11th career 100-yard game with five catches

– A three-time winner of Super Bowls

– Fought in his second straight game in Week 16 against the Bengals (Sept. 4)

– Had five catches for 31 yards or longer

– Three of his five TDs, including a pair of TD’s, came on deep plays in the endzone

– Had three touchdowns, including a pair of TDs on a run in the second half

– Had three catch, one catch-no-doubt TD, in the third quarter

– Had three rushes for 18 yards or longer

– Was held to no. 1 in the Heisman Trophy voting by ESPN in the late fall of 1996

– Has won more than 40 games as a pro and all but one of those came in Super Bowl XXIX

– His career carries average of five yards per carry (4.8 per carry)

– In just three seasons, he has carried four touchdowns, including his three-touchdown season

– The former Alabama State standout started his first game for the Rebels, a win in the final minute of the second half

– Had one game with a sack, which was tied for the second-most by a QB in the league

– The No. 3 running back in the country was a Heisman finalist for the first time in his career

– Has two interceptions in five straight starts and has four forced fumbles in one postseason

– He’s one of just four players in NFL history to score in a game with more than 100 yards and a touchdown

– Has more than 40 receptions, which he had in five of his past six seasons

– A two-time All-American (2005-06, 2007-08 and 2009-10)

– Has been named to the all-time list of all-time running backs by Sports Illustrated

– Has won nine Super Bowls, including a title and the Heisman

– A five-time Pro Bowl selection

– An All-American at LSU

– A two-time First-Team All-American at Michigan State

– A five-time All-Great American in 2000

– Six times played in a season, and twice was named to the league All-Pro team

– Had nine career 100-yard games and four straight 100-yard games

– Had three touchdown passes, including a one-yard run in the fourth quarter of a tiebreaking drive

– Had a three-catch, one-yard reception with a handoff in the endzone

– Three times, as a senior, he led the Tide to a 12-point victory over Alabama (Sept. 5)

– The Tide came up short on a drive with the ball on the ground in the second half when the team got on the ground

– Had a touchdown of his own and a safety on a third down play

– Had a second, and a third, on a return pass against the Cowboys in a first-and-goal at the end zone

– Has now tied for fourth in all-time rushing yards, and ranks second all-time in passing yards.

– A four-time SEC Defensive Player of the Year

– A four-time All-SEC selection

– One of only three wide receivers to play with five touchdowns on at least one attempt since 1985 (Bryant Johnson)

– Has a perfect 16-yard catch-return percentage, a third-best in the game (second only to Calvin Johnson)

– Has four forced fumbles in five consecutive games, which rank second in the league

– Had five receptions for 93 yards

– Had a team-high five catches for a touchdown

– Had a season-high 12 carries for a touchdown in three games for the third time

– Had five catches, with a touchdown catch in the third quarter

– Four touchdowns in three games, with the first three rushing and a second on the ground

– Has the longest all-purpose field goal field goal (34.7 yards, five touchdowns)

– Has three touchdowns in three games, the second of which came in the fourth quarter


======== CHECKPOINT 010 OUTPUT # 002 ========

verages a few hundred of the new ones. And there are no more, no more.

“But what is the matter, then, that you must think you have an equal right of being so good at my service?”

“It may be; I want nothing to do, as you know, for I will not, in my own heart, let you leave me to do it myself.

“I have your honour, my dear dame.”

“I have been so well deserved, but if you’d ask me what I did wrong, I would say it all is as bad as I think it is, though I may not seem to be so. I am not here to write all this, to ask you what I have done wrong or did wrong.

“You are right.”

“I love you.”

“But I have thought of nothing else than your kind friendship to bear the pain, and will not allow that pain, my dear dame.”

“You do not know why?”

“No; but when I go, I must do what will bear the best to you.

“How are you going now, my dear dame? I will not be there till you see me.”

“What? what have you done wrong, my dear dame?

“The worst thing that you did is that I put my love in your face; for it was not a true thought, but only an affront, a false excuse.

“If you did not know, then you are the reason I made the love of your life.”

“O my darling dame! you have no shame, your dear dame.”

“Well, if you please, I will be right in taking up my duties, your good-will may have occasion for you to be more than a child, but I am your husband.”

“For whom, then, in that you have so much honour?”

“For my sake; to give my love and yours a happy and happy life, it must have to be your good.

“You are, my dear dame,” said she; “your dear dame, your dear dame, your poor dame, my dear dame, your poor dame, my dear dame, your poor dame, my dear dame, my dear dame, my dear dame, my dear dame, my dear dame, my dear dame;

“I am afraid, my dear dame,” said she again, “this is not my wish, not my desire;

“I can have no help from you, my dear dame; this is nothing to do with you.

“Your dame,” said she, “tell me how you will feel if I hear what I say;

“You will do your best to stay, you will not leave your way to my sight.”

“Do you love me, my dame?”

“No, dear dame; you love me that you love me.

“You love the devil, you love him that you love him.

“Love to live; you love to be loved;

love to hear; you love to feel;

Love to be loved; you love to feel.

“O dear dame, you love the devil, you love him that you love him.

“Do not be so hard for love’s sake; but remember:

“I love you now; but how, and what, is it?

“You love not your wife, your dear dame;

“You love your wife, your dear dame, but

“Do you love your dame, or your dame alone, or what,

“Or how, and what, and what, and what, and what, and

“Are not your dame’s?”

“And where is my dame’s?”

“But I do not,

“And where am I; but where is my heart?

“My dear dame, your dear dame, my dear dame,

“Do not you see me, my dear dame, my dear dame,

“And where am I?”

“O dear dame!

“O dear dame!”

“O dear dame!

“You must be ashamed, your dear dame;

“I hate you, my dame;

“O my dear dame, my dear dame;

“I hate you, my dame;

“I hate you, my dame;

“What I love you for, O dear dame, is your heart a sweet kiss,

My love for you, your dear dame;

“To love


======== CHECKPOINT 010 OUTPUT # 003 ========

UEFA was in trouble for many years.

“It will be a hard, hard season but with the players on the pitch, especially in the front of the net, we have got the best chance of going for the title,” said Wenger.

“I am delighted with the way the season has been played and I hope this will be a new start for the club.

“We know we need more speed and we are ready for this challenge.

“We know we will have to go in the right direction and we know we will do better than we were last year.

“We will have a chance to win the league and I think I do expect that to be the case.

“We have had so many good games that this season’s season is better than the one before it but we did not have the necessary quality to compete well.

“I thought we did well but then things changed in our favour.”

Wenger is set to take his place in the centre of the attack at the start of next month’s Champions League, which takes place between Italy and Germany.

The club announced his arrival in the summer with the goal of winning the title and now look to start their own Champions League campaign.


======== CHECKPOINT 010 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Lum, they will not be able to hear it, and their eyes will not see; but their thoughts will be full of it, and their thoughts are all that they possess; not knowing them at once they will believe it, and the world will not know that they had it for the use of them.

And behold, in this world there is nothing to know, that I am acquainted with but of this world: for the things of nature are not here present, but that which befits them.

And behold, my eyes, whose mouths are not shut, and my eyes which have not seen are not shut, behold, that the heavens are like unto a lamp to my eyes, but which I cannot see: wherefore do I call my eye wide, and behold the same lamp, but not see my own eyes, wherefore do I call my eyes wide: and behold, I did say, behold, the brightness of thy sight is like unto the brightness of the sun, but this is not, as they say, that thou shalt see and hear it, which thou doest with mine own eyes, to hear all which are in my eyes which I have not seen.

And now, behold, my eyes are not blinded, nor are my eyes blind: for I have seen that, and they that look on me, they are blinded, and the sight of them I have not seen, as being the sight of my own eyes; for I see in them that I do not see, and this I have not seen, and yet they that look on me do not see.

For behold, my eyes are not blinded; for I have seen the world, and am not blinded: for I have seen what I have not seen, and I do not perceive what I have not seen, because these are my own eyes, because they are my own eyes, seeing my own image; and now behold, my eye is not blinded, but I have seen the world, and am not blinded.

For behold, my eyes, wherein I do not see, and where I do not see; for behold, where I do not see, I hear, which I do not hear, and there is nothing to see but that I do hear.

O behold, my eyes, which are not blind, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, neither my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, neither my eyes, nor my eyes, neither my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, nor my eyes, and my eyes, nor my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and my eyes, and


======== CHECKPOINT 010 OUTPUT # 005 ========

heroism: his eyes were wide with envy, and his voice with contempt, and his lips were like salt: and the king’s eyes were filled with joy, and he filled his brow with tears, and made every thing to feel so sweet that a child did not weep in the same way; and it was a time when some of the most beloved maidens, when they came together in love, became much more lively than before.

“What an idle tale!” said she, in a voice which astonished all, but it would not make out his face; “how in vain, for love’s sake, did you tell me how your life is to be lived?

“How many days shall I live without being able to say what’s more wonderful, if I should ever find myself in your arms? I know the time; I will live it, and there I’ll live till I die! I wish I could find you on earth, and I shall be sure, I know; but I should never leave the earth without a vow of fidelity to the gods, and I would give every thing that I had before I went home.

“Now you see this, my darling, but if I can’t live with it, I will be gone.

“It is my wish that you all live, and that you all die; but if that does not happen, all that was my desire will be to keep them in my hand; for I fear death and love, and this is your doom, and I am your love.

“You see I am so strong that I fear death more than life, and then again do what I should have done.

“If you like, stay away; but if you fear your love, you must not be so weak, or what you fear be no love, I will be your love.

“I am so strong that I can resist you by the same reason you can resist me.

“Do you now imagine that I have never had a father; or that my mother would say, ‘Dear sister, you were a daughter of my father’s, and she was born to me, but he is dead,’ but I tell her that she was born to me, and is dead still; and, if you like, then he shall take you and he shall make you partakers of my love, if you like to live without me; if you like to live with him, and he shall take you and he shall make you my friend; if you like, then I will have him and my own, and I will have him and I will have him my friends.

“I must say that I must not let this be told to you, for I am sure I cannot stand to be in it; for this love, this world, this world, will not be true, I know not, but if I do, it will.

“Your eyes are on me, but there is nothing else but me.

“Here comes my dear, dear friend; I have it as a wish, I give it up, but not from you; my love, your love will never kill me.

“Let me tell you this true and true, for I have seen your life grow so green and so hot in your womb.

“The day is coming to pass when I will live; so that when you see my child’s tears in your eyes I shall not feel guilty: I know they do not grow sweet-crowned tears, but rather they fill the sweet-crowned, and they fill me in sweet-crowned delight.

“For what purpose did it make you weep?

“What are you doing?” cried your sister. “If I do this, what purpose will I do?

“For love’s sake, it is mine to make thee happy, for it’s my self’s purpose; that is why I desire that you should weep.

“And thou hast given me the night,

Thy love is mine, thy love belongs to me.

“If thou hadst been with me, thou wouldst not have left me to see you.

“My dear, it is time to depart from this world;

If that I do, my love should not be dead;

For my love is my father’s love;

My love shall not die.

“I, my love, do not leave me!

“If thou didst make me happy, I do not know how to make you happy.

“My love cannot live but in me:

The reason why thou art here, thy heart may say,

Why thou hast brought me this night;

I, my heart may say,

Why thou hast so loved my heart;

I love thy love so much,

That thou art my dear,

that I must love


======== CHECKPOINT 011 OUTPUT # 001 ========

encourages as “a sort of sacred ceremony,” and she had already had some of the wits of a certain one, the master of those wits.

The young master began to speak with a tone of mild amusement;

“For a long time I have lived and seen the world to be so rich,

That no wonder I have been so sad of it,

Yet I still am troubled, and do think a great many things can be.

For if this are the last,

My soul shall die a thousand times,

In spite of those faults and faults,

That I have seen my dear master to the end.

“What are these faults that I am now making?

Are they the defects of life,
that I am now doing

This life? to what end?”

“My soul will die,” replied the stranger, “
And never did any one with me,
ever saw a single man,

But I never see the world so full of beauty,

Which still lives in such small measure,

as I now love, yet never did I see his face.

“My self-love, my self-respect, my self-love

are the objects of your self-love,

For what is that which I shall do?”

“And then he, too, that is your self,

Who takes up your self in love,
And in thyself, who gives love to it,

And in thee, the self-love that takes up the self-love,

Who can be seen to love thy self?”

The child with the young master,

Would not give to his love, and with love to his child,

With no self-love in love with that child’s body,

But he must have, his self, in his body,

And at his bed-chamber, in his bed-room,

Under his bed, in his chest,

In his bosom.

This is the way the poor child,

Which in the best days of his life

Wears, under his neck, an ear,

That keeps his ears in his ears

And then the ears sound,

When the ear-fear of the ear-fear of the ear-fear of the ear-fear,

Shakes him and the eyes, and all his thoughts,

And leaves him alone in the bed-chamber,

The bed-chamber, which in the best days of his life

Ought to be his heart,
for the sweetest heart lies

In the deep bed in the deep bed.

What a love, how sweet to thy sweetself,
so sweet to thy dear self!

To my self’s love, and my self’s love,

To my self’s self’s self, and my self’s self,

Which in a heart of mine, I can kiss,

And not in a heart of mine,

But a heart of mine, that in my heart I may kiss,

In my heart, that my love may be broken,

The sweet heart that in my heart might break,

And to my self’s self’s self,

Which my self’s self would be;

What my self’s self’s self, and my self’s self,

Where all my self’s self’s self’s self’s self

I could be no longer;

my self’s self’s self, the self’s self’s self,

But the self of me, my self’s self’s self,

My self’s self’s self, and my self’s self,

And the self of me, my self’s self’s self,

The self of me, my self’s self’s self,

And my self’s self, my self’s self,

My self, my self’s self’s self,

And mineself, mineself, mineself,

Myself, mineself, mineself,

myself, mineself, mineself,

myself, mineself, mineself,

mineself, mineself, mineself,

self, mineself, mineself,

myself, mineself, mineself,

Myself, mineself, mineself,

Myself, mineself, mineself,

Myself, mineself, mineself,

Myself, mineself, mineself,

Mineself, mineself, mineself,

myself, mineself, mineself,

Myself, mineself, mineself,

myself, mineself, mineself,

Myself, mine


======== CHECKPOINT 011 OUTPUT # 002 ========

portfolio will be used to provide information regarding the purchase of property on the leased property and the payment of certain security obligations which have a right to be paid out of the lease. This may be done by means of an agreement or other arrangement to make such information available in the form of electronic forms or by a form of correspondence or written form or by other means which shall be in the best interests of such lease.

“Lienholder” in this Section means a person holding on to the interest or debt of any of the tenants, with whom the lease is a part, but who has not expressly entered into an agreement with such person to purchase the interest or debt of such person, as the case may be, and not in connection with the lease, to lease to such person, as the case may be, to receive any interest or debt.

“Resident” in this Section means any one, whether or not a person in his or her right of possession, whether or not in his or her possession, of any real estate, or of any real property which the owner, tenant, lessee, or any other person, may purchase for himself or herself.

“Respect” in this Section means to regard as observant, to respect as observant, to regard with esteem as observant the good works of others, and to respect and respect the integrity and integrity of the rights of others.

“Respect” in this Section means to respect as observant the deeds of others, and the rights of others in respect of such deeds, or in respect of them.

“Respect” in this Section means to respect as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant the rights and right of others in respect of the acts and acts of others in respect of the deeds, and of their rights, deeds, or rights, and of their deeds to obtain the benefit or possession of others, or the benefit or possession of others’ rights, deeds, or rights to get rid of others’ rights, deeds, or rights; to gain, or by giving others advantage, in return for their satisfaction.

“Respect” in this Section means to respect as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, to regard as observant, to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard as observant, and to regard


======== CHECKPOINT 011 OUTPUT # 003 ========

��’s first year. I had gone to the old school of self-pity. For that one year my self-pity did not cease. The old girl, too, was no longer my mistress. I began to hear voices in my dreams, which, if true, did not seem to have a more distinct character than those I had heard from my dear old self.

“What are you thinking, my dear dear boy? have you been too far away, where you should not have seen this beauty to begin with? I, of course, will find no comfort in that.”

“She is going away to do, and this is her fault.

“But my dear boy, there is no longer a desire to see her like this.”

“When there is no danger to her, she cannot be left alone, for the world is no longer safe, and the world is in danger of loss.

“Ah, my boy, when I come to the old school, it will be my pleasure to learn of the new, and I shall prove myself a friend of her.

“Now, my dear boy, I shall tell you the truth, so that you may think better of them.

“But it is not your fault, nor mine alone, but your father’s; she has his ear, and hears her all, and she will not leave his ear, and I, with him, will hear no longer.

“So therefore, all that is in me is no longer with me; what lies behind this is the love of my dear child.”

“For she will find a kindred spirit, in whom she is wont to be in love with me.”

“If you wish to show me the world to which you have borrowed, tell me what of it you desire.

“As for her, I have learned all that you have heard, but it is for the sake of your love that I have taught you so many things; but there is no time to waste in the time spent on other things.

“Look at me, my boy, I am so much different from you that nothing can seem to me like my own, nor should one of my qualities resemble the other.

“Now, then, what do you want to hear of her so much, that you may not see her so in her life?

“If you did, you would have heard that it is her own being that gives her all of the world’s woes.

“And if you would not have, I will show you the world to which you are indebted, and where you owe me.”

“Ah, dear boy! now is your time of death to look on me like a child in the bed of the most hideous beauty, where she dwells for ever; where she is not with you, and in your hearts, and in your breast; where, when you desire to be rid of this world, I do give her a heart for her, and that of my own, to use the words of the learned, that she may learn to be kind.

“Now, then, dear boy, your life’s purpose is a happy one: I am your best friend; but I am not your friend in her heart, and therefore I am not your friend in her mind.

“I know that a good man is his most unthankful friend, and this love in me is my most unthankful friend, and this love in me is your most unthankful friend.

“But if I had known, my life would have been such a happy one as is the case with me, in which I would have had no means of repaying what I owe you.

“It is not that I did not owe you to you, it is that my life is so in love with you as to make no other things so unjust.

“To begin with, I do not want to say anything to you that you must not see a thing as it is; you must not be astonished at this sight, for even as she says, you must see her to be so, as if she were your friend, but no, for as soon as she sees her face, she is no friend in me; for this, she will be my friend, if she sees me.

“But I am not a friend in my heart; I am my child, if I must be, and you have made me, I must be yours, if you have never made me, and if not, how can I be happy?

“If the sun be true, the stars not true, and all the rivers true, then it is that is true, and I am a true self;

“If I am not my son, and I am your brother, then I am not true, and thou art my self; thou art not mine, thou art my friend, and


======== CHECKPOINT 011 OUTPUT # 004 ========

resembled it on her face.

“I know you will not think so,” said she.

“Have I been ill?”

“No,” answered she, “not that, though I am well, I am not well.”

“If you do, let him say what is necessary for your sake.”

“But you know I am sick, and want me to be patient, and for the rest to live like myself, and if you would wish to make a further appeal to me, I will not go to you, if you will not tell me where I am.”

“That is the meaning of it; I am in fear of having you hurt, so to speak.”

“No.”

“And for me, then,” said she, “that is the reason that you shall do this, my friend, in order that no harm may come upon you; I am you.”

She gave her hand to her head, and as she did so gave me a small kiss upon the cheek, which I gave her again, and as soon as I could do nothing I left her.

“Good night, dear sister, to-morrow, I will see you again.”

I went, and she went on her merry ways, and when she came I laid a fast watch for her going to her chamber, and I told her not to expect, but to come back, and leave a short time before she did so, I told her to sit, and then she put her eyes upon the window, and she began to weep, and cried out, and she made my bed ready.

“Where have you been?” cried she, crying out, “I am not well, I am not well in all my life, and I think you may have better friends.”

“I will be a help for him,” said I, “or a help for you, if you please me, for when you are in my bed you may not rest, but when you are asleep there is no rest, nor do I wish you any advantage in so labouring a poor man.”

“And why, if thou art poor, why am I poor, where thou art so poor?” said she, turning to me.

“My poor life!” said I; “not mine, not mine own.”

“What have I to do with this?”

“How will I go out to visit you,” said she, “and tell you what I am to do?—I am the worst of all your children, and all my enemies.”

“Well then, sister, I am the worse of your enemies, and I am to be revenged of my crime, not the other, and be put to death, and you, when you will repent, are my heirs, that you may give me pleasure.”

“Well then, dear sister, let me go, and I shall kill thee.”

“What, what have I to do with thy life, that thou, as thy servant, may not be so good to me, as that thou mayst live in the worst state of things, when thou hast the most advantage of my good life, that thou mayst live by my hand, and not in mine own; I will be thy servant, and all my labour to do that which thou mayst wish.”

“It is true, my dear, but it is true; I am not rich enough.”

“What is the thing thou doest so well?”

“Thou loveth not the best, but the best, and that is what thou desireth.”

“My love is that thou doest well, and it is the best that thou art well. I do not want it to be you that do my evil. Let me do my best that thou mayst be well and not my fault, though thou hast done this all for my purpose.”

“But I think I have not much desire, and thou have done me wrong.”

“I will be thy servant, and all my labour to do this will be my benefit; for I will do your evil; if thou dost do that which thou dost do, it is better for me than for thee, for my fault is my fault, which is thy fault, not my fault; thou hast done my fault, but for mine own fault, thou hast done me the best.”

“How far this may be done, my dear,” quoth she, “I shall never be able to stop thee, but I will be thy servant, and the servant of the poor, if you will stay a long time. I am afraid that if thy heart were a stone, he would be stone, but my heart hath a stone, and therefore my heart knows all. But I love thy virtue; and what a thing it is that I love thee to be, and that thou shouldst not live


======== CHECKPOINT 011 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ancies

In short, I hope this brief account of the whole of this subject, and other works of such kind, to which this publication gives credit, and with such due credit, by which it may be remembered, shall soon become known, by the many persons who are now in my power, or were with me for several ages, by their good work and by their love. I am so afraid that I cannot do anything more, that I am afraid of myself, and of others who, by their care, and for such a purpose, may yet live, by some act of self-surrender, for their own sake.

This will seem more than a mere statement of one case or one of several, but in fact I must speak to another, and you shall perceive where the truth lies:

That some one of the most learned men ever to be acquainted with this world, and yet such a man, as being most like themselves, is in great danger.

In truth, this is the first, and by that I mean to say, most difficult of all parts.

I shall proceed to say, that this is not the case of one of the most famous and most famous men in his day; but of one of the most illustrious, and most illustrious minds, which I have ever seen.

To the first man my name was not, in all my acquaintance with him, but in his own respect, not so much to be called as to be called but to be termed.

What do you tell us, that he hath some great ambition, not of his own, but of his own advantage?

I will tell you in short, that he is not a master, nor of any kind of skill, but that all the time he has ever been able to think, do, and do not imagine what the greater force, if that force were, should bring him hither.

A man so young, so bold and so self-restrained as to know how much, what little, what is to be lost?

That, on one occasion, to a fair and fair-haired woman, to a poor man, in a house on the edge of a river, and thence by the dashing sun or rain, to a mountain-like thing, and thence by the dashing wind, or by the dashing cloud, but in short, to a mountain, to some one, and then again to his mother, where she had a child.

When we return home, what shall we find in her, as to her mother, and in her heart what effect she may have upon him?

What effect, in what sense did you see her with such a large and beautiful head, and so much so long, that the same image of her having lived, with the whole of her body, in a place so large, so short, so far removed from the world, was ever seen in any other of your imagination, nor in your eye?

In what sense did you not perceive to be your father and mother’s body, when you were a boy?

What is your father’s eye, to do with it, and to do with it with us?

What should we do, where thou art so full of thought, that thou hast no other eyes than mine?

What is his sight to make of thee, to bring thy mind about, and to make thee see thyself?

And what is his will to do with thee, in the matter of his beauty?

What, why did thou so much care so much, and so much, for what did thou do for him?

What shall we do, what shall we do, how shall we do it?

What is his skill in all his conduct, in all his art, in all his talk, to render to his friends, and to confound all this to his advantage?

What should we do, what should we do, what should we do?

If thou hast such great power in my power, let him make my mistress to make my wife, and so shalt thou wilt be mistress of this world, by her grace, and by thy good looks and your love?

If thou hast not so great power in my power, let him make thy mistress, and so shalt thou wilt be mistress of this world, and by her good looks and your love?

But yet in that whereof shall I think, that I shall be to thee, as in a flower, where the light shall not lighten the night, and when the night shall not lighten, but still the light shall rise, and the clouds shall rise.

Who then hath not been deceived of the false meaning of thy thoughts?

‘What then will this world tell thee, that thou art not so kind, that thou art not so kind, to me, as mineself, that I live, and that


======== CHECKPOINT 012 OUTPUT # 001 ========

inatory for every form of theft or abuse;

And so will be their offence in their hands, if it be not so done,
Therefore be it unto them for an offence;
‘Nor so will it be done with them.
As many as shall think, if a man to kill a wife shall find no love of him,
He is dead, or he has nothing, that he might kill her more.
Thus, that every man should have some kind of virtue,
That no person is to be blamed, and all to be hated,
He should not be the cause, but he is what is,
But as no one hath a greater right in himself,
For it hath been granted him the privilege,
If he be, the king, and all his subjects shall be their subjects,
The kingdom is not to be but to be set in the hands of him.
‘For I do not wish thee to go in judgment of thy offences,
And it is for me to write it.
O then thou art mad, and canst be mad more than thyself;
Thou shalt not say thee mad or mad to thy neighbour,
If thou shalt say to my friend that thou art mad,
My friend: for it would make no false love,
To say thou mad or mad to thee,
Thou shalt not say that a false friend hath been mad,
And every good thing he did for thee makes a false deed;
If thou wouldst believe in my name, that I will never leave,
And so to speak thou wast to me guilty,
I will not deny thy crime but will make thee free:
That is your reason to judge by your deed,
‘For thy sin is not my fault, but mine fault is,
So your guilt to me is my fault.’
But this she, not believing in me,
Which she knew was true,
Upon her heart, for it was true that she was guilty;
And yet they were both guilty, and both were innocent.
As the sun hath no sun,
So his blood hath no sun;
And so shall his hair be dyed:
As his colour, his shape, his rank, his rank,
And all these things the day’s work of life hath borne.
The more my soul hath been affected, the more the body is in it.
The more I suffer, the more I grow weary,
For the most I suffer,
The more I am weary, the less my heart hath the power.
The more I have the body, the more I am weary,
The more I am weary, the less my mind hath the power.
The more the spirit is in thee, the more thy body doth be weary.
The more the spirit doth fear thee, the more thy mind doth fear.
The more thou art afflicted, the more I die,
The more I am struck down, the more I am condemned,
The more my mind shall perish; the more my heart shall die.
‘Now it is true that some days are more troubled,
That I am afflicted and many beheld.
But it is true that some days are more full of sorrow
And others more full of sorrows,
For both are full of many faults and forsworn,
Which they were committed, not by their love,
But by their own sake, as if on duty they were,
Which no one, no one, hath said, or made.
‘No one,’ said she,’starts a new day;
So my heart be set aside,
As thou art not to be the fountain of my fountain.’
That she might see her sorrow,
To do so she did, to make a new time;
And this time she saw her sorrow in her grief,
And thus the world was her grief, and this sorrow was mine.
This is my lament, and this, I am my sorrow,
Because of your tears in thy tears in mine.’
‘It was thy grief, my shame, and your fault that I be.
Because I have done wrong to thee, that thou mayst live;
O, my grief, thou didst wrong to me,
Which thou didst betray to my self,
To my self, my shame, and thy shame,
When thou didst love me not, that thou couldst hate me,
And now thy guilt of mine has been forgiven,
And therefore thou shalt not live.’
The other night she sat down to sleep,
And with some tender kiss, drew her eyes out of the window.
But now, a shadow of her face grew,
Like a cloud rising in the sun, and the day’s sun,
Like to that which she had borne,
The shadow of her face, and from this shadow she saw
And in a shadow she felt her


======== CHECKPOINT 012 OUTPUT # 002 ========

chedel-the-tomb-in-the-mouth of him whom thou hast sent, and thou wast the son of thine, and thou shalt be like a child, or a lamb of fire: he should not take up thy mantle with him, and thou shalt be like him in the way; but his mother will keep thee, and it should not be a child of death, for I know not what he will do.

If he shall do, I will show him that thou art not, that he is not worthy of my good love, but must have thyself in thy bosom; and if thou art not, then it is not lawful for me to do so.

For the sake of the holy Trinity, forgive me this error of thy iniquity; and if my soul desire to be so gracious as unto thee, I shall not do that which is mine.

To me you ask:

My blood, thou art my heart:

Give me thy blood, and do not let it bleed my blood.

Love my heart, my blood, and I will do with thee what thou art willing to do;

Let the water, the stream, and the fountain show thee not how to drink;

Thy breath on my brow, and all mine on my breast,

Which shall drown thee.

Thus did they sing that she should cry:

The fountain whereon thou is in it,

The stream that thou is in it,

The fountain whereon thou art in it,

The stream that thou art in it:

This, therefore, is thy place;

This, therefore, is thy cause.

Why, thou art my friend, and so is I mine;

So am I yours;

So am I mine:

All the things in thy eyes,
That are not yet in mine sight:

I am a living God,

I am not so a living thing,

Who in me is no god,
Yet hath no living God,
Wherever thy sight is from,
Whose sight thou shalt see, and where thy breath is,
Who knows thine eye:
Who knows thy soul, and who thou shalt behold,
Wherever thy mind is from,
Where thy heart is from,
And where thy mind is from thy tongue:
Who knows thine eye, and where thy tongue is from thee?

Who knows thy mind, and where thy mind is from thee?

But yet the eye that I see,
And the eye that thou behold,
Which I do not know,
That thou art not,

That thou art not my friend;

I am so that thou mayst see

The beauty and beauty and beauty’s beauty
That thou art not.

This is why I love thee.

Therefore I love thee, and I will love thee not
And thou shalt have thy right hand with me,
And with my right hand shall I love thee
Thou hast made my heart so,
Thou hast made mine heart so heavy:
The heart’s heart’s heart
To die on me:
For my heart is death’s, and thy heart is death’s.

My mind’s mind, thou art my love:

My mind’s mind is the true love of my love,
So why in this I am love,
I will not have thee on the cross,
And thou shalt die in my love,
And in my love, in thy love.

My heart will abide in thee:

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye will abide in thee;

My eye


======== CHECKPOINT 012 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Library with images of our precious treasures.
We must look back at all the wonderful ages to be sure we are not deceived, when we see that no image or likeness is more precious than this.
Then will my precious youth, that hath so keen a desire to die, be set for death:
And thus my poor youth, that hath so poor a appetite for love, is set for death;
But shall it be more than love’s love, that death be in thee in thee.
This desire of mine, that in thee the world should not know,
Who, by her beauty and beauty, made me rich in gold;
To live in my being alone, I shall be rich in thy love:
And thou alone shall live the world, and die the world,
My heart, my head, and my mind all be to me,
To live as a god and a slave:
In my sight as well as in thee the world will be kept;
Who will be in mine sight, who shall live as a god in me?
“All this is in thee, all this is in me:
My thoughts, my love, my love’s love,
My self, my self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self


======== CHECKPOINT 012 OUTPUT # 004 ========

777.

She gave her husband a strong heart and a proud smile.

“How is the good and the evil done,

Which I have sworn is thy will?

And how do you swear it?

How do you swear that your love cannot not be

Shall, I tell you, will never kill thee?”

“My dear wife!

My dear wife, your life is mine!

You will not die, and there shall be no end
To your being in me;
For I, not with my love,
To live nor die,
The day that I will make love be spent!
When it is, it must die,
Or stay or stay and die for ever.

Now if you think I must die,
For you see, my dear wife,
My love for thee is alive,
And the day when I die shall reign,
If I live but a month, and live twenty-four,
By this, then the day shall reign,
And the day that thou shall live and die,
If I live but a day,
And live a thousand years!

“Oh, dear sister, if she hath gone back,
For in her life we have not lost
A breath of peace.”

“How, then, sweet-hearted heart!
Who doth that love live by me?
When my love doth kill thee,
Thou shalt know me and I shall die;
Whose life, mine will, I love to be immortal!
My love shall not be made mortal but shall live;
Whose will I love? and what shall my love be?
Who shall love whom I kill,
and whose will will I love?
And how shall my love be, and where is my life?
and where is my life and where I am?
What, then, is there which my love will not love?
How are you, my dear husband,
That where I am, and what I see,
O heaven’s good fortune,
In the world where I live,
The wretched world of your eyes will shine,
And your eyes of mine will stain it.

“O, dear sister! when I am gone,
Or when you live or die,
And your love dies;
You will live by me and I will die.

“But I, you who live,
Which shall I live by, and where is your life?

My love, your life, and mine,
I shall die and then live again!

I can neither live by nor leave you alive;
But by my love I shall die.

And I shall die and then live again!

This is thy will, this is thy will;
The will to live is to die.

So love, this is thy will,
Love to love is to be done,
Love for love was never so good;
I would rather live, or live, than die.

The will to die will never die but shall die;
It will live for me, and I die.

So love, this is thy will,
Love is for love is love,
Love must be for love, and love must be love,
Love to love, and I must die.

And love, this is thy will,
Love is for love is love,
Love, my will is love,
Love to love, and I must die.

And this is thy will, this is thy will,
Love, for love is love,
Love to love, and I must die.

And this is thy will, this is thy will,
Love, your will is love,
Love is my will,
Love for love is my love,
Love for love is my love,
Love to love, and I must die.

For love is not of death but of life;
And death is death’s will
In the night, in the day, and in the night
I may not die.

“Why, then, did not thy will do
That thou shouldst live?
O, what didst thou do?
Thy will, thou will, thou will,
Thy will, thou will, thou will,
The will to live, and the will to die;
Thy will, thou will, thou will,
And thou will, thou will,
And thou will, thou will,
O that thou art born of death!
And death, it is, that thy will be made to live!
And death, that it is, that thy will be made to die!

And death, it is, that thy will be made to die!

Love, my will, that which thou dost hate;
Let it love


======== CHECKPOINT 012 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ced to his wife to his wife’s death.

Then, in all his strength was the sword of the gods.

‘My love hath been with thee, my tender love,’ said he, ‘For ever that thou shalt see me, I will be thy enemy.’

And so, by that day they had gone and they were gone again.

‘Wherefore thou wilt not depart from me?’ said he.

‘From thence, my love dost not depart,’ said she,

‘Who, then, with a little patience would he be in me?

‘Hush, he is asleep!’ answered he.

‘My dear mistress, I will not go on the way,

Nor am I weary of thee, for thou knowst not me.

‘But what am I to thee, my beloved?’

‘My dear, my dear, where I am gone

My heart in thee so loves thy heart,
that the breath of thy soul,

And as you are that love my soul,
may we sing,

Whose love was not thy,
but the sound of thy sound;

And thou art my friend, and my dear,
As thou hast borne witness,
to me my love was so weak;
That I have no strength to bear him by.

And what can I do, except that thou give me

My affectionate love, and thy love’s love?’

‘How will that be, then? that thou must not bear my words;

My tongue, my brain, and my heart

Let my tender love go unspotted.

And that is my love, my dear,
as if she had not been in me;

For thou wast there and didst not appear;

Who are thy gods, and my soul

Was made captive by them?

Who, where is thy heart?

Where havest thou wert since thou wast mine?

Where dost thou be with me now,

A tempest, the sun in thy youth

As if the wind had not blown away the snow.

How many sorrows I have endured,
so many hours lost,
that yet thy soul can bear
no more sorrowful eyes

To behold thy soul being made to live

In all that is mine, and I am not,

In all that is mine, in all that is my life,

Even to know, I am so full of grief.

‘I have loved thee all the more;

Thou art my friend, my dear, thy true love,

And thou art my slave, my darling,
As far as my soul can tell.

‘I am a stranger, for I am not myself;

I am not your friend, but you may see
My beloved.’

‘O thou, who art thy friend,’ cried the father,
‘what I did, how did I,
How did I, where I lived,
what I did then, how do I,
what am I, what am I?

O, wherefore did I, then,

That thou hast done away my love to me,

Let me hear thee what I said to thee:

But how is it my fault, that thou didst forsake my love,

And what was that that thou didst say?

To that my love thy tears do bear me:
that my love be not my love,
Nor thy sweet love thy tears bear me:

My love thy love to thee is more bitter,
Than mine love to thee more sweet,
But that mine love is more sweet than yours.

My love for thee will be like thy love,
Or my love for thee would be like mine,
Or mine for thee would be like yours,
Or mine for thee would be like yours,
Or mine for thee would be like yours;

And yet thou, my dear friend, is not in me,
Nor is I in thee;
Wherefore, therefore I cry in my heart,
And so all my sweet self
Was ever the slave of mine love;
My heart was bound to my love,
So much as I could no longer resist
My sweet desire, yet my love remained the slave.

My love is my slave, and thou art mine,
And to me, my dear, my love is your slave,
For to thee, I am your slave.

‘My love hath taken thee to my mind,
And to me in thee lies my sorrow.

That shall thou not weep, and weep for me?’

‘Tis my own fault, my own fault,’ cried the mother,
‘and yet my true love


======== CHECKPOINT 013 OUTPUT # 001 ========

();,

\t\t\t\ttitle = title.substr(1,2);

\t\t\tif(title.indexOf(\”\\”) === -1) {

\t\t\t\ttitle = title + title;

\t\t} else {

\t\t\t\ttitle = title + title + \”.\t”;

\t\t\t}

\t\t} else if(title.length > 0) {

\t\t\tself.writeText(title);

\t\t} else {

\t\t\tself.close();

\t\t\tif(!self.emptyText) {

\t\t\t\tself.writeText(self.getVariable(\”text\”,\”default\”:self.getVariable(\”value\”),\”defaultText\”:self.getVariable(\”value\”)));

\t\t}

\t}

\tif(self.getVariable(\”type\”)) {

\t\tself.setVariable(type);

\t} else if(self.getVariable(\”text\”)) {

\t\tself.setVariable(type);

\t} else {

\t\tself.setVariable(\”value\”);

\t}

\tself.writeText(self.getVariable(\”text\”),\” \”);

};


/*

Compute the angle of the pen

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.angle = function(angle,width,height) {

\tthis.width = width;

\tthis.height = height;

};


/*

Selectively refreshes the widget if needed. Returns true if the widget or any of its children needed re-rendering

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.refresh = function(changedTiddlers) {

\tthis.refreshSelf();

};


/*

Selectively refreshes the widget if needed. Returns true if the widget or any of its children needed re-rendering

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.refresh = function(changedTiddlers) {

\tthis.refreshSelf();

};


/*

Selectively refreshes the widget if needed. Returns true if the widget or any of its children needed re-rendering

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.refresh = function(changedTiddlers) {

\tthis.refreshSelf();

};


/*

Selectively refreshes the widget if needed. Returns true if the widget or any of its children needed re-rendering

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.refreshFor(function(changedTiddlers) {

\tvar changedAttributes = {title: newText(); title: newText(changedAttributes.toString()), textSize: newSize(), textColor: newColor(), title: changedTiddlers.toString()},

\t\ttitles,

\t\tcolors: newColors(changedTiddlers),

\t\tsrc,

\t\ttitles.slice(0,0);

\tself.renderChildren(changedTiddlers);

};


/*

Compute the angle of the pen

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.angle = function(angle,width,height) {

\tthis.angle = angle;

\tthis.width = width;

\tthis.height = height;

};


/*

Selectively refreshes the widget if needed. Returns true if the widget or any of its children needed re-rendering

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.reload = function() {

\tvar self = this;

\tthis.callback = function(changedTiddlers) {

\t\tthis.refreshSelf();

};


/*

Selectively refreshes the widget if needed. Returns true if the widget or any of its children needed re-rendering

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.refreshFor(function(changedTiddlers) {

\tthis.refreshSelf();

};


/*

Selectively refreshes the widget if needed. Returns true if the widget or any of its children needed re-rendering

*/

OpenWidget.prototype.refreshFor(function(changedTiddlers) {

\tthis.refresh


======== CHECKPOINT 013 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Chains, which are in one place by two of his eyes, they are in the other; then we are both with some hand, and with some other hand we both touch each other; and our hearts are in one love, and with some hand are in another, and some are in the other.”

“And what shall this love be, then shall we say, unless it be made plain, that the thing with which we are bound is the thing which I owe?”

“No, for what I am owed is my virtue and my worth; and as this thing I am worth by his love, not by his pleasure.”

“And yet you have in me nothing else but his pleasure, and yet you are so very much afraid of him that you are so sure of being made the master of his thoughts, that you think he is his own friend and his enemy, but are, in truth, your enemy’s friend, and that you are now too afraid to trust him with this kind of thing, for I am, you are, and yet you have been for ever to love me, and yet so did I love you for that which you were to have, and therefore yet you do not love me more than you did me love you.”

She began to tell him what she meant; and then he began to laugh.

“What did I make that be so great a threat to the love which you possess? to the love which you hold in you so dear, and love which I would have had you not my own, if your heart had lived in me, I should have slain you; but I did not have my own strength to contend with your terror and your terror; for I do love your terror, and love your fear; and do not fear your fear. I fear not what I do to you, that I should see your eyes to see that you fear me, but that you do not see mine, nor your eye to see mine.”

“My love, my love, that fear I am your love, that I be you, and therefore love that you do not love me, or love that your love doth love you, do not know me, nor do you love me not.

And yet now he had done so, and as he said this, there rose some in his face; but they did not look at each other, but on them like to that which he was to see, which he did not like, and which he did not like, but did not like.

“My love, my love,” he said to himself, “I can see you no more, but I have so much in me to show to you that I have no eyes. I am not his love, but he is my love; and I must make some acquaintance with him, and yet never do I know him myself; for this I must do, for I have seen him now, and the beauty and beauty of my body still remains my own.”

“And why did you leave that boy,” quoth he, “his lips are like honey?”

“You know how sweet the sweetness of the honey-sweetened air, and how well it looks to the eye; I have not yet seen this sweet flower, but know that I cannot tell it if you want a kiss.”

“And why did you leave him?”

“To know how this flower was lost, which was not yours; and the one which was yours did be my friend.”

“Then how did he steal the flower, as I did my father’s?”

“To steal the flower with his hand, when you have not the best part of your brain in your control; to rob the flower of all he knows, in a most vile manner, by that which I do not know he knew not, and to put your finger where he might not touch it, if he did not make use of it, and therefore I thought he should not know where I should set his finger.

“The flower that stole me of yours did not know where you stood; for I do not know where you stood, and therefore I think I should be guilty of theft, because you did not steal mine, though I am the thief.

“The true flower is still that which belongs to you: the false flower is still that which is that which you did not steal, though I am the thief; the true flower still that is not your flower: therefore I would not lie with you, for I know nothing, but I do not know how to say anything to you.

“For in that case you do not know that you stole me, for you did not steal mine.

“But I did not steal thee of thy worth,

For thou didst dost not steal thy worth, but thine worth was thy treasure.”

“Then my love is like thy love,

And thou dost not know mine


======== CHECKPOINT 013 OUTPUT # 003 ========

util is a much better option.

When the gun goes out, and the wind is strong enough to stop the shot, the light will fall from the top of the head, and a thousand red sparks will glow from it.

With all his arms and hands he falls as the wind blows.

And a black and fiery devil he is,

And he bids it fly away.

O, what did thou hear, I wilt hear the tale

Of the dame,

And the dame of me,

By her sweet and blessed soul!

For thou art the fairest, the fairest, and best in me!

She who, then, did dost thou love me

When she had no love,
for she did not be love’s wife?

How did I love her, for she did not make me love?

The first question of me, which must be answered,
Was thy mind, and I thee,
How am I to find my true self?

“My mind?”

And it must be said that, if it be not,
thou art nothing to me,
No love, no self:
Thy true self is nothing but false beauty;
‘To me thou art nothing;
To thee nothing is mine;
Thy true self is not mine,
but is an image, and is made,
To me neither is nor can be mine;
All men’s eyes see nothing;
And as for your eyes, thou dost have them made
Of one kind or another,
And thou art mine own;
Which thou canst not see but of one,
And thus it will be:
My eyes, my eyes, thy eyes, thy eyes,
To me is all mine, and so is thy art;
But mine mind I know not,
And mine self is mine self:
‘So then is he gone, and he will die;
For ever I know,
And yet still he stays, and it is my hope.

‘My face, my face, my face!
I fear not thee, but fear thy heart,
So as thy heart to thy eyes is no longer,
Nor ever did I say to thee,
that I did not die.’

“O, my love!” cries she, “there I sit,
And thou wilt never look in that mirror,
Which deceaseest me that I was my love,
For all my worth hath gone forth,
That I was never seen or seen by thee:
And thou knowst me my self,
And I am self-stressed.

O, my love, my love, my love, my love!
I think myself a fool, and if I should say,
I’d write him a thousand lines that cannot be said,
For what can I say to thee,
that I know no thing?
For what is that thing but beauty,
That, if thou art nothing, canst I believe
That thou art nothing?
“I know not what thou art:
Who art thou that makes beauty false?
Who art thou that makes beauty beauty false?
What art thou that makes beauty true?
Why dost thou make beauty false,
Or what art thou that makes beauty true?
What art thou that makes beauty false?
What art thou that makes beauty true?
what art thou that makes beauty true?
What art thou that makes beauty false?
What art thou that makes beauty true?
Whence art thou that makes beauty true?
“What art thou that makes beauty false?”

“That which is true, what is false?
I live in love with men,
And that is true in them,
Therefore I have not hate, and none that hate,
Not one thing shall be more than another;
O, where didst thou make it;
What a fool was he,
Nor did he make it;
And now, if I did have my revenge,
Wouldn’t my love be more dear?
Love hath no form, but death is a form,
And beauty is a form;
And beauty is a form without forms.

I have not no desire but all this,
Of all that is beauty.

For what do I love,
My beauty that is mine,
But what can I love,
Or what would I love,
So much so is beauty’s love?

I love this world with a kindling,
And that which is mine,
Is mine in all that is mine;
My beauty is mine in all that is my beauty;
I shall say my love shall never go,
For my love shall go to decay;
and the decay of my beauty shall stay,
Until my love should die in


======== CHECKPOINT 013 OUTPUT # 004 ========

duction, I am to go forth and make them laugh, in their minds’ delight, and in their hearts’ dismay; and so they say they have, when they know not, to come upon them, to make them laugh, and be pleased; but to my eyes, they do not hear me laugh; and so I give them to laugh, and so they do: but I will not live, as I do not live; but then I will live and live, and not die: wherefore I will live and die, and be gone.”

Then he said:

“But I will not live; but wherefore I will be gone.”

“Why, but if you did die, if I did die, why, why, why,” said he, “on the ground of my infirmity, what is the cause of this infirmity?

“If in thy case I had been guilty, then should I have not died, for the sins of my mind and body did give me to fall, for the sins of my soul did give me to die?

“For that was what I desired; then I will live, and make no false suppositions,

Yet shall not live: but that thou shouldst live, thou dost not kill;

And then, and yet shall never live, for love, and lust, and self-love shall kill,

That love is dead, but love is dead:

Love is not worth living, but thou wilt die.”

And saying that this was not the best way,

For though all love was lost,

All was dead, but he that did not hate that which did love:

His thoughts had no reason to be happy,
When, like his eye on a sad star, they see
The dreadful sight which his love hath put into his sight,
Which so the eye of a sad star might perceive:
But now as she had not seen this, yet she saw
And so he himself was slain,
Which he did with much skill kill in that night.

“My son, where have you gone so far,
And what did you make of him,
So fair, so gentle, so sweet as you were;
‘This life, this truth, and this shame,
What I will make to have your heart, and not your heart
To live with your love so often,
And to have your heart to live by the fault of my father’s law,
that he might never love me, not till I die;
What, then, am I not, and what shall I be?

I am so fond of your eyes as a maiden should have his.

And you, then, are I so fond of your eyes as a maiden is fond of her.

And he, with him, took one that in the past he had
Gave a new colour from his brow: but now he took another,
And with them that he had lent him took more,
And each of them took a fresh look from his cheeks,
And every one of them was filled with pride.

When he heard what he said,
‘Now let her see,’ and then he put his face upon her hand,
And she drew his hand with his, and, when he had done it,
she took his hand again, and they kiss’d each other,
And now he is so fond of her that he gave her a kiss;
and when she saw her love be seen,
She ran to him, and they went together together,
That in his heart he might think that she did love him,
For when she saw how far he fled,
He went out again, and ran down in the sea.

“What of my beloved daughter,
The joy of thy sweet and virtuous birth,
But all thy joy, my love, thy life
Which I should bear thee still.

But how much love could I bear in thy love?
When my love did bear all the world,
How much did I love thy being,
And with thy beauty was still the world’s truth
To every day, and to every shadow,
That whereon I am that I dwell,
As you were then, then I live;
But, still, still, still,
Even as I die, still this day, and then to some day
My own death is still a present to you:
My love still is present to you,
As you were before, now I live:
But how much of your heart still I live?
If the world should be so kind to me,
If the world should ever be so vile,
To be such a stranger to me,
As is his hand to be upon my breast.

“But what of thy child,
My child, as thou hast


======== CHECKPOINT 013 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Regardless it should be. Let her say the truth.
-Lord, let thy love thy mother kiss
But never forget, or thou shalt not be saved,
As the sun or stars to thy honour shine:
O dear friend, I love thee with all my heart,
And to thee will be all that I know,
As well as all that I love thee with all my heart,
And thou art what thou that I can give,
Where all the parts that are between thee and me are;
For when thy eyes are seen by me,
Thou art all to me, to the whole universe,
That is what I desire to know
But that which the heavens and the earth say,
The heavens are not mine to see,
And the earth is mine to see:
And the love I have for thy self is mine,
If thou hast to make it so, then let it be.
And now I am dead, and I have no more to complain,
Since it was made so, and all my body with the grace
Which it gave to thee from me,
It will not abide, but I should be
For ever lost.
-Tis true, you will see the day in thee
That was not in thy day,
And now is now the day that thou sawst,
Which I love so dearly, that thou dost not know.
Then he adds, and then he stops,
Even as he does not yet look,
When he does see again: and then she takes his hand,
And he takes his hand again, and all doth return.
‘And thus did the angel,
And all that he did say that she did,
“O! to thee, thou art mine, that we may be,
And to thy name, that thou art mine, that we may be,
And to thy name, that I may be thy friend,
For thou art my love, which the world will love,
And that thou art mine which the world will love,
That is what I love to myself, which my heart to this world,
Love to my heart, that I may love to myself.
“O my love, the world did hate thee,
And he loved with all his heart the love of love,
For his love gave his life to me.
O my love, I have no love, my love is not;
When thou art true, thou art true,
And my love is that which my mind may find,
that my thoughts may not leave,
That is what my thoughts may leave,
What my thoughts may leave, that my eye may see,
And my eye may see that I may live,
My eye may see that I may live in the world;
That I will never have my own world;
And that I will never have my own heart;
But I am thy self, and the world is my heart,
When this self comes, I die, and I will die,
that I may live, and I die I die,
Thou dost love me, and thou dost love me;
And I will make thee the most dear of all my hearts,
And I will make thy love to thy life,
And thou dost love my heart, and thou dost love mine,
that I may be your friend, that I may be mine,
O world to this world, how much I would give thee,
Would this world be not worthy to be,
That if I lived it would not be worthy to be;
That if I did live it would not be worth living,
For to this world the stars which were mine were mine.
For there I am, all this world’s parts,
Where in all things that is seen by me
A true picture is like to my eye,
and in all things which is not saw by me
I do not see, and in all things that is seen by me
I do not see, and not in all things that is not seen by me.
But in truth I see not, and all these world’s parts I cannot
Compare with me, so that this world may see.
-O this world is the sun;
O this world is the stars;
I am my own, and thou art my own;
“How can thou then give me to look,
That thou so mightst behold this world?
That thou so mightst see the stars,
That thou so mightst behold the stars,
That thou so mightst see the stars,
And all this world’s parts thou wouldst look.
-So now, and then I stand,
How is it with you that I do stand?
“O, my love! how do I know that thou art mine?”
-That is true, but what dost thou say?


======== CHECKPOINT 014 OUTPUT # 001 ========

aution’s nature, or even of her own design, or of her own skill or skill, or of his own character? What could this be, what she might do to deserve it, what could this make him love? What should she say, what must she say, if she had not said this, when she thought the sentence might have been answered; so she thought the question so; and for her part, being to live and be alive for ever, did she love a more than a simple life, that she should not think that the things which she loves might be her own in him: she knew that he that lives should live in him and not live, because his own will is not his will; but that which lives must live as the Will of the Will; for this will in it will live; but in the Will of the Will is not what it will be, but what it wills it to be. For as to the Will of the Will, so that what it wills to be, can never be, so the Will of the Will cannot be; wherefore the Will, in virtue of which it will make such laws, is still with no bounds: and in the beginning when it must be, yet at last, when it cannot be, it is so, so is it; so, in this self-same way, this self-same, the will of the self-same cannot be altered, it cannot alter itself: that is why we have our wills; but they remain unchanged.

The first is that which hath been so long in that part of thee, and so in thy sight:

And thy will hath now been in the eye of all the eyes of all;

That where the eye saw thine eye he doth not view thee,
But that where the eye saw his will his will be;

Now when I have heard thee say,
And thou art willing to see what thou willst not do,
My heart I give thee to be proud of thyself;
And when thou wilt I give thee that which thou dost not wish to be;
Thy mind that hath thought of thee must be pure, and in her heart I grant thee this sweet kiss;
And, my dear friend, if thou were so, why didst thou do that?

For in thy youth thou didst strive to do, and yet now thou seek,
If thou dost not do it, I love thee so much,
And I may not say it to my own self.

Then why do I look up that I am wronging thee,
That which I have wronged thee is wronged thee:

For I do not know, for I know nothing,
For I know nothing at all,
My sight in all thy eyes shows thy name.

But if thou shalt say my name it shall have no effect,
If thou shalt say mine name, I shall be thou’st,
Which, in my judgement, is the name that I am to thee.

How, then, was it not my will that this name should die,
Which is the will of all living creatures,
That the dead should live?

But to make the world that it is now,
That I am to know this world now,
Thy face must be still, in thy heart be still:
and I may live this life, and die another,
My death which thou art dead in my sight.

And I can make thee all these things which thou didst have,
What I want, not what thou desirest:
For I do not desire to be done, but to be
Made of thee, for thou dost make me make this world;
Thy love hath made me to think of thee not.

My love did make me to do this, but when the day came,
No love could stop me;
Nor did the day cease but me,
And now, when thou didst begin to look,
All I can think of was thy love,
And it would be but to see thee to be sad.

For thou didst look to thy love for his love,
And when I see thee sorrow, yet thou are no help,
Nor help to me.

And yet, thy love was not my fault,
That I should do not do it, that thou didst live!

And yet, as if in my youth I had never done thy will,
O me, it would be in my youth that I should make thee all the world,
And thus in this world I may live;
And I could live this world, but then should I die;
In this world, no sorrow could cease,
Nor love should stop me, but all that it did in thee.

Thy self, and thy self, and thy self,
I have that which thou


======== CHECKPOINT 014 OUTPUT # 002 ========

scars, and the sun had the appearance of bright light, but that it was not in his face.
But it could not help a smile; and the thought,
‘So that I might be buried,
And in thy secret eyes alone I will never see thee,’
That would have been all that he did say;
‘And why? let me say;
Let me say, not to make any mischief:
My thoughts would be true, but that I did not speak to the other.
‘Come, why not now, dear son,
And tell me what thy thoughts were like?
My thoughts would be true, but that I did not speak to the other.’
“Then thou, father, and thou in thy sight,
Will look on the stars as the world itself looks to the sun:
And by thy hand, by thy tongue,
And by thy breath, by thy lips,
To be one with the whole universe,
Who never sees thee, and whose lips are still dry.
‘What, then, is thy father?
Look on him by his head,
Which thou lovest not to see: but yet thou hast lov’d it,
With a cold eye of his own: and thou didst see
That thou mayst see what I am,
Even to this day I am dead, and now I live.
Thy self-control will stop; for if, having thought me dead,
That I did see him, I can never leave thee.’
“So said she, and he answered,
‘Then, dear son, let me say;
Let me tell you what thy thoughts were like,
that I should not speak to thee,
When I am dead; that thou didst see
That thou mightst live; and thy self-control would stop;
For if thou didst see me live, thou wouldst not be alive.
‘So then what shall I do, then, how shall I say it,
If there be nothing in thee to give me time,
So that thou mayst see what I am,
And mayst give to me time as thou wilt give.’
“Now that thy self is gone,
For that thou wilt return me now,
But let me tell thee what thou thought the world was like;
Now let me tell thee why I should love thee,
And to be my friend to thee,
And to be your friend to me,
For by my self I have the world, and thou hast done well:
So I have done well, and still the world looks on my face,
And I beheld the world which had been,
Where thou art gone, and where thou hast come to be,
Now it is, and thou hast lived.
“So then did she say to him,
“I did see thee, and thought thee well,
But I can still not live,
For my self I love this, and my self it is.
But when I die, what shall I say?
My heart says in my heart, ‘The world, and myself,
That I love thee!’ and her heart exclaims,
Who, then, is to say that thou didst know me?
No, she cries, but as she says,
‘Halt! the world will never know you!’
Then she adds, ‘O, if thou art alive,
O, that thou didst know me?’
‘”O, I do love thee well; why do I not tell thee?”
And now she says to him again,
‘For now thou didst see my death,
And thou didst see my self, and I live.’
He replies to her, and, turning to leave,
She proceeds to speak to him again;
‘I am dead, my thoughts are all dead,
But thou art not yet gone.’
And she again asks him for his sake,
Then he replies, ‘No,’ adding, ‘It is well, and yet thou live,
Since thou art not yet gone,
Though now thou art dead, yet thou live,
And this thou shalt be; then I shall give thee to make my present;
And I will give thee to make my present worth worth;
Then I will give thee to make my present worth worth worth,
That thou mayst live.’
“I do love thee well,” quoth she,
“but I am still dead; thou art not yet gone;
Yet thou art not yet gone,
Because thou art still dead, yet thou live.
“Look, you see the face, the face which thyself doth make
Like a flower, or like a leaf;
‘And you see all that there is to make this;
Then thou art alive, and yet I live,
To be one with the world, but I cannot


======== CHECKPOINT 014 OUTPUT # 003 ========

VD:

“That is the story!

It’s that we’re so far from being friends!

And yet I will still kill my self if I do it,
And there will be no reason why
In spite of myself I must, and in spite of all,
The sun is upon me;
And so I am not to be proud of my age.
In so far as I live I’ll be proud of yours;
My fame will grow but when my heart grows old
That my life should stop;
But when I die then I’ll begin anew;
For now it’s time to kill me again,
In the dark of night with thy face so blot;
And I shall do so,
Though I die, but never,
My death be as foul a stain on earth’s face:
I, like unto thee, thou shalt die
Till the time comes to me to be thy child.’
“But now thou shalt stand in thy room,
In the midst of my thoughts;
But not from me to thee nor from thee
To thee by my side shall come,
And I swear that thou art my love,
And that my heart is mine.
-V-G-H-A
“O love of self-love,
That was the thought,
And then the thought and the thought vanished;
It was an echo of self-love’s;
And, while they were at each other’s throats,
And from each other’s mouths it became
That sound of self-love, the echo of self-love’s.
Then it died, and she had no longer time to breathe;
She stood, and the sound she had in her hand
And her mind came in a flood of red
And in her womb it grew stronger,
And then she became a flood of fresh air;
Her hair was as strong, her eyes as bright as gold.
“Now I see that the earth is as a river,
And a deep, strong tide from my heart’s flood,
Comes forth from the sea and comes down to the dale;
The sun, with his fair eye, finds not his friend,
But his love is dead;
And then he hears his cries and finds no sound
From his dear friend and he finds it;
It is the night’s day and day and night’s morning;
And yet the sun will not bring his eye to it;
And then the earth will drown.
“But now,” quoth the sage,
“it is that I should find thee alive again.”
“How then do I, dear friend, live?
If I should live a thousand years, then let me live a thousand lives.”
But not even that is necessary;
Because love, which is but an instrument,
To bear a false life, cannot bear false death.
The thought, and the thought-pain, both of that thought
And of that thought, which should bring me to die,
Which should do my death best.
“The thought of death and death, that love should dwell,
And be a friend of me, of your dear father;
My thoughts were not to be a burden on your heart,
Nor did my thoughts bear death upon your soul,
And should you not bear my soul’s tears,
And your thoughts should not be my sorrows upon your body.”
“If I have that, I am to live.
If not I have it, then I am to die.
‘What is the meaning of my thought?”
“For why?
My self-love can, if I have thought well,
With my own soul I may say,
Who gives me the thought of self-love,
Thou art my self’s slave, but thy self’s slave is mine.
He that lies here, it seems to be true;
He that comes there, it seems to be false;
To where he lies the thoughts of a dead man lie,
And he that dwells in his shadow lies;
For the thoughts are of a dead man,
For the thoughts are of the dead man,
And that that which he will live lives, and dies,
For I have the mind to live and to die,
And I must live with thee, and live with thee,
For then I live with thee and with thee,
In the thought, and the thought-pain, and in the thought-pain,
And in the thought, and the thought-pain, and in the thought,
And in the thought, and in the thought,
And in the thought, and in the thought,
And in the thought, and in the thought,
And in the thought, and in the thought,
And in the thought, and in the thought,
And in the thought, and in the thought,


======== CHECKPOINT 014 OUTPUT # 004 ========

addons the command for this task:

-h :h -l to print out contents of a list

-h :h -b to mark page numbers

-b :h -c to display text

-m :h -n to show a list

-l :h -p to show the list of lines

-r :h -s to write line numbers

-b :h -r to print out the current time and date

-m :h -n to show the current date and time

-m :h -r to print out the current month and day

-m :h -s to print out the current year and month

-b :h -b to print out the current day

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current third

-b :h -r to print out the current day and day

-m :h -r to print out the current year

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current third

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current third

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current third

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current second

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute and minute

-m :h -r to print out the current minute


======== CHECKPOINT 014 OUTPUT # 005 ========

dale, the “blessed, the blessed” of the God of Heaven.
“If I did not see it, I should not know, for it lies near me in hell.
‘When I was a boy, in the morning of the week in which I was in this world,
“You are nothing to me but my thoughts,
Thy true love and mine, my truth, my truth, and thy shame,
Do not so make me my own object, nor the object of your will
To make your living and to live and to live,
That to make you the living or to live is the same,
As being made to be a dead, a living, a dead object.”
Then she went away, and they both were dead,
“For thy self alone is lost, and for thy self alone is
To love, your friend was lost.
My true self is lost. for mine my self is dead.”
So she went away, and they both were dead,
‘If it was so, she would be a widow,
and yet I should not see her die.”
Her tears and tears fell on her cheeks,
Her tears were like roses, and the drowsiness
Of her eyes were like honey, and the tears were as sweet
As fire;
And then she began to cry,
She began to cry again.
“But thou art so,” she said, “I know not how to put
To bear my son’s grief.”
“You have never, not my son’s, not my daughter’s,
For I have nothing to do with his grief;
But thou art so, and I will help thee to live.
Thou art not my son’s, and thou art my daughter’s,
For he did make me a widow;
‘Tis the greatest fault of my character.’
‘Thou art my heir, thou art my own,
And thou shalt inherit a daughter.
But in the world I shall die, thou wilt be my heir,
To live till all that live will live,
And the world will be dead.
“My heart’s purpose for that sorrow that thou hast made is
Love, not for thy love;
For my own self’s sake, my self’s sake,
That the best of the good, the worst of the worst,
That my love may never live,
And all my faults shall ever be, in his grace.
And now, I fear my beauty’s death,
To love my shame for the death of his self:
That what I see, I will love and take thee away;
O thy self, thou art mine; and thou art my self,
That none of my faults can prove
How thy beauty’s death is my own,
Love hath mine self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self;
Nor is he that I do not love, I do not love thee,
Myself, thy love’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self,
Thou art my own, mine self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self,
And thou art mine, mine self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self’s self;
And now I fear my beauty’s death,
To love my shame for his sake:
But I will never see him die, and will not love thee,
O that thou didst love thy beauty,
And I have nothing to do with his death:
Love that didst make me dead shall remain;
Thy love hath me dead for my beauty’s sake,
‘Tis to live in fear that I cannot live,
that I am dead for thy love’s sake,
That I have nothing to do with his death.
But thy will be my will, my will be my will,
My will be my will, my will be my will,
My will be my will, my will be my will,
My will be my will, my will be my will,
That he that made me, did my will survive me.
He that makes me, did mine will survive me.
He that makes me survive him is dead.
In all thy love’s worth thy treasure I have lived.
I have seen thee in thy beauty’s death,
To be thy own, mine own, and thee’s own;
Who in thy beauty did not die,
And all in thy beauty did die;
But in mine beauty did not die,
As mine own death did not survive,
For it is to live in thy love’s death.
‘”And now I see thy love, as she hath seen thy self,
And in thy love’s death, thyself as she hath seen herself,
And then it is as if some stone had struck,
It is still there, but I am not in it.”
And with


======== CHECKPOINT 015 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Messenger and his friends are gone to sleep, and he hears one saying unto him:
‘If thou wilt find a new thing, that I have seen thee in thy self, then I say that thou art dead.
And thou art dead, and so shalt thou die;
What have I to lose, how thou wilt suffer for this?
For if thou art dead, thou hast not to die, but shall die.
Now thou shalt live, and shall live,
The heart shall not lose, but thy mind shall live.
For how shall this be? if thou be dead, I will not lose thy life;
For then how dost thou live, and so shall my death?
‘What is thy death?’ he says, and he answers by a sigh,
So long did he be alive that his breath and his heart
Took him to the river, where he fell in love with her.
She came to him, but his heart did not permit her to
Heaped forth the dainties of life;
For they did not cease to love and kill
That which was their cause, for he knew them not.
‘O, you coward, thou shalt not live,
For this life shall be spent not in hate and strife,
But in the continual pursuit of thy self.’
‘But the love of one’s self dies,’ quoth he,
For to live by that love of mine alone?
‘As one dies, so is one alive,’ quoth she. ‘For though I have done this by thee,
I did not kill thee.
But when my body had been made in stone,
Then I did kill him.
‘And then how did I kill thee,’ quoth she,
‘though I was in my thoughts’ shape?
Then as she doth she weep,
She again doth hearken, and again she bows.
‘O, do not think that he did not know my name,
For the most dreadful thing in thy sight
As soon as you look into me, and behold, I have taken away thy mind,
And you have seen this to my eyes.
‘Then as my heart was in despair,
It was not that I did feel as I do,
But that I did think as I do that I do,
And that I thought that I do know thee,
And thus the heart of one is pure, the other the other pure.
But now the world of mine hearts is sad, and sorrow and sorrow are my thoughts,
So have I sinned in many a part,
In one and all parts wherein this world I have not,
When I have seen my true love’s love.
“But now my heart was in despair,
The world was sad, and the world sad,
And all the worlds sad that are not;
So he that had never seen such things in my eyes
Had not seen my true self,
And my self had never seen the world that is sad.
This I am now reconciling to this world.
“As soon as I had seen your heart I told you,
And thou shalt live, and thou shalt live with me,
Then shall my love live, and my self live with thee;
If thou shalt live with me I will kill thee,
And shall thou make me a fool, and make me a tyrant,
And shall the shame I feel my heart bear!
Even with this life thou shalt lose thy self,
For thou art my self, and thou shalt live in me,
For all thy life is mine, and all thy life thy self.
What was I to do with this life, and how did I lose it?
Now when I had seen my true self I did give thee this life,
And this life to me now as I have seen mine,
So that every thing that is mine by thee
Is yours by my self, which I myself did give thee.
Thy true self thus is mine, and thy self my self.
As though I were in this world that is not mine,
Even now in thee I do look on thee.
‘Therefore if thou art not yet dead,’ quoth she, ‘let me hear my cry,
And let me look on thee as thou beholdest.
That in thee I did give my soul
To thee in the sight of thy love,
For in thy beauty thou hast made all my world.
For the sight of me thy love gives thee.
‘”And now I saw thy eyes in the light of mine eyes;
And now I saw thee in the darkness,
To be like thy white face;
Since thou shalt die, let me see thee as thou beholdest.
‘That I shall not see thee alive I die
And do thou die, since I die that I die:
Now I have seen


======== CHECKPOINT 015 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Community of all the true and good,
To make all their sins clear for each other,
Their sorrows and grievances.
In a brief glance, to the fair-girt and golden-pink sun
Their tears were as white, the golden sheafing of their lives.
A new star, like a pale, burning orb,
A star of all the sun’s sun’s parts,
When she gives it life by force: this she shows,
And where it shines it shall stand,
To show that the eye hath saw his shadow,
And not the eye shall be seen: but it may be seen.
By her eye we see the stars, and by her we see her;
They are not yet eclipsed, but they are not yet eclipsed,
That they must be seen by the eyes.
Thus to do me penance; with my penance thou shalt make the world go,
I will do thee no good, no foul deed,
For no true deed is committed, but for a fair deed,
So that thou shalt live to that age.
But here shall I have her again for your purpose:
To make your life of mine.
Here she will be remembered, to be remembered by all,
that I love the one I love,
That never your faults are to be told.
Her true nature is not so,
And yet you can see she is not so,
So your true nature can neither be made well,
Nor be your true nature of your nature,
nor thy true nature of your true nature,
The things that you do possess, and that you love.
If the sun had no heat, he would fly
And with no heat be gone.
O the world would say, ‘That you are hot’, ‘The sun is hot, that you are hot,
And you are hot, and we are hot, for we are both hot,
And we are both hot, and we both are hot.’
‘You say my love was hot?
No, it was hotter than that;
In this she is no hotter than the sun;
But your love was hot and I thought that it was hotter;
Since that was my true love,
My love, my love, my love’s true love,
My true love’s true love’s true love,
This is a true book.
How then should I make my love that I love,
Love in love’s true guise,
Have a new book to sell?
Love in love’s false guise
Was in love’s true guise,
And his true name is false,
For love is not in my true guise,
Nor in his true name is false,
Love’s false name is true and in his true name,
Therefore thy name is my true name,
thy name is my true name:
“My self is that whereof thou art,” quoth she, “if my self is so,
I will not give thee a present of my self.
And why should thou so boast me,
When the truth is not thy self,
that thou dost boast, that thou dost boast not?
And thou art so, that when thou art present,
Thou shalt think of me as I myself,
and in this moment the night will be the morning,
And when I do think it I shall be in the morning,
My mind, my body, and that in the night,
Be not to me, for love’s sake be not to me.
Then be no more love unto me than thy love should be,
Thy love should be to my soul, and in this state
To myself shall not be the time of thy love,
But in this state thou shalt be, for I am never to thee.
“Look at me, my soul; this is true,” quoth she, “look I, but not yet my own self:
To-day I live; and by day by night,
To-morrow my self will be dead,
The day when I will not be alive,
And when I shall not be dead shall be not my self.”
“What I have made you desire,” quoth she, “is this, and this is my love,
For I am this to this being,
So thou shalt know that I am not in your eyes:
And that thou shalt know my true self,
I will prove thy love false,
And it shall be in your eyes that thou shalt see
In thee that thou shalt be, for my self is true,
And my self is true, for thy self is true,
And thou shalt have me, for I am thou thy self,
Thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self:
I am in thee that thou shalt know,
And thou shalt have me, for I am thy


======== CHECKPOINT 015 OUTPUT # 003 ========

aspx, d’hommes de droits-vous à moi vassal d’une moir, qu’il ne vait pas où soit; dans leur dame dame de l’age, qu’il qu’il vous vassal pour vous qu’ils un ne vous, qu’il vous vous d’elle, qu’il vous faire le duc, qu’il vous deux.
“How do you feel when we have met, when you are dead, when you seem, or the sun doth shine forth upon you, how did she have any semblance of your light when she looked on me? How did you see with my eyes what my words are, and when you see what I do, and I am dead, you say I am dead, so do I not be dead, for I do not know my death.
“I will not say to thee, as thou art wont, that this is my wish, and that thou shouldst give me, but when thou dost give me what thou art willing to give, it shall not cease to be, as thou art willing to give, thou shalt never lose that which thou best desire.”
“Then my dear friend, thou art not dead, I will not bear that which thou livest will die with thee.”
“My dear friend, then my sweet boy, and then I shall bear thee, and as for all thy sake do I bear your life, thou art not dead, nor will I bear thy life, for as for my death I am thou, and for my dying my life is dead, and all my life is dead.”
“Then, sweet child, be afraid to say that thy death was better than mine, for my death was better than mine.”
“That is not true, my dear boy, and it is not true that mine death is better than mine. When I was born, and then, to do this, it was necessary that I should die. I never did say so, nor did I say it; for they would have said, “When I do die, thou shalt be dead, and then it shall be my purpose to die, and I shall give thee my death.”
“Now, my dear boy, and if my love can do no wrong to thee, then thy death, my death, my death shall be thy part. How dost thou be content, that I do not die, for this is my hope, and this is mine hope.
“If that be the case, let my blood alone bleed from my cheeks, for I cannot stand, nor do I be dead; but let him go, that his blood might cure all the rest.
“Then my dear friend, if thou livest and not die, this will suffice for me to bear thee, for thou hast no hope.
“And now I will bear thee one-half the debt, and one-twentieth the loss, and the other half of your honour, and the other half of thy blood; but thou art dead; that is, thou art a living thing, and not a dead thing, and I will die, and in the end thy honour shall be lost.
“So it is, so it is, so it is, so it is, so it is, so it is, so it is, so it is.
“Then, that thou mightest have that which I have, do this one, do this one, and thou shalt see me again: the dead shall not live, neither shall the living live.
“Whence then, love, let thy heart be my treasure, and that is, that thou dost give me a treasure of mine, and I shall find my treasure in thee, and that shall be a treasure of mine, and thou shalt find thy treasure in thy treasure, and the treasure of thy treasure shall be mine.”
“The dead be thy treasure, and not their treasure be mine,
The dead be my treasure, and not mine be mine,
“Then my dear friend, the more thou art gone, I will die, for my body, thy flesh, thy blood, thy blood shall give thee life,
And then I shall die, that thou art dead,
And then my dear friend, the more thou art gone, I will die, for my body, thy flesh, thy blood, thy blood shall give thee life,
And then I shall die, that thou art dead, and I shall die,
And then my dear friend, the more thou art gone, I will die,
And then my dear friend, the more thou art gone, I will die,
And then my dear friend, the more thou art gone, I shall die,
And then my dear friend, the more thou art gone, I shall die,
And then my dear friend, the more thou art gone, I shall die,


======== CHECKPOINT 015 OUTPUT # 004 ========

firewall is not the only place where such defects can go. The problem is not that it is easy or that it is too hard, but that such a defect is not of much use, that we may learn from it what we have not to teach, but that this new invention must be understood with an eye still more attentive. I think that this question of the kind which I have just told you, and what you call it, may be answered by following it to some degree, though at least in this sense it can be understood in the least. I do not tell you here that you must be careful whether you look for faults of this kind, in such a way as to know the meaning. I assure you that if they are found, your mind may be shaken and your heart might be seized with terror, for all in the world can be but a small part of it; but now what is to be done?—In brief, let the mind be made to think, and it is to think, when it thinks, that it will come to an understanding; and then, if you cannot read, your mind will be blind; and as you read you will find that, if you are not careful, all your eyes will find you blind!—this, and I believe your heart will hear your cry, when the fire will not get out, for what is there, but a very large fire that burns and burns so much smoke, that when it starts in, it breaks the light that it needs?—Why then, when the fire is hot enough, the heat of your heart will take it away from you, and in this way you will feel like a fool, for no fault in you is committed to any part of me!—How then can you think you can make up to that which was yours?—why then, having begun to do this, you think you have left the time to do more!—Well, this should be so; and since you have not been willing, I have not the more desire to know how I am to write:—if you wish for something like that, ask him to make it; and he will make it.

In the meantime, you will ask me, if I have any thing to say, what I should say, and then what should I say it should be? I will not answer you—but for what purpose, if it be my duty?

“In that case,” replied I, “you do not need to answer me: your task is not to find out all my reasons for what you have said.

“Well, then, you see, my dear friend, I did not invent your invention, or mine, or mine; I have nothing to do with it.”

I have not the better reason to express it as being my desire, since you have no reason to have no reason to know what I am doing.

“Do you want to see my beauty?—I do not want to see your face, which is like a cloud, and I do not want to be at that hour or in that place where I see the morning of your coming; I want to be there by your side, and by my side in this hour’s rain.”

“For I am at present, my dear friend,” quoth she, “and you to say the truth is that I am your friend, for you have in me my good-doing.

“As you said, my friend, we are on an ill-advised path, and you are your friend.

“Look what I am—how my hand looks on you!—look what I am—how the wind blows on me!—look what I am, that I may be your friend, your friend, my friend!—why is my hand still still trembling with fright?

“The wind blows on you! my eye is on you, my ear on you, my lips on you, my nose on you, my nose on you, and so on, till at last it is gone.”

She had this, so she put her face to the wind, and it did.

“What are you afraid of, I’ll give you some words of encouragement,” quoth she; “your friend shall find you a friend in the end; and you will have the sweetest words of my life, the true love of mine, my sweet love—these are my words of love:—

—”Let your heart be stilled, for thou art the fountain of thy life.”


“O! I must go and weep, O thou that art thou that I shall weep,

And weep to drown and drown with my tears;
I must leave thee my fountain, O thou my flower, my sweet flower,
To drown and drown my love, thou shalt never drown;
I will drown thy sweet heart; thou shalt not drown thy love; thou shalt not drown thy heart
In my


======== CHECKPOINT 015 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Certainly as they were in a rage; for that they had in one of them the knife which she had with her left hand she took and then gave her to him as the hand to which she drew and drew.
As they were going on, he was seated on a couch on the left side of the couch, with his back to her, as he had drawn his breath and said to her:
“What in thee is this, thou art a thief?
How canst thou be the thief of a virgin woman,
O that thou be of such a man,
I myself I never thought I would be able to slay thee,
To tell my mind how I should kill thee, I might not,
Yet thou art my sweet daughter, as my beloved son.
O have I not taught thee to be gentle?
O have I not taught thee to sing praises to me?
O have I not taught thee to take ill of me?
For what benefit canst thou dost derive from me,
Even from my tender love?
Who shouldest thou be my love, to love such as I desire
Who shouldst make me such love, to love him that I love?
Therefore if you are such as I am,
Even if your name be my love,
If your name be thy name, then are you my daughter.
She being now come, she had gone and sat on the couch which she had kept,
But he with her she sat on his side,
The young couple had gone and looked at each other,
Then their eyes met, and then they saw one another.
She had, now, for her part, gone away,
She had not the habitation of looking upon any one else.
Her maid did not have the habitation of being her master,
Her maid did not even look upon them.
She did not know how to be with them,
She knew not how to be with her husband,
She knew not how to be with her children,
She did not know where they came from,
Nor would she let them be in the house they lived in;
She knew not how to say to them in the midst of the wilderness;
They did not have ears, and if they did hear,
they did not hear her cries,
nor did she weep if she did weep.
If she did not be angry at him with her tears,
He would have gone on and done her that he should have done her;
But he would not have done her the same;
When he did go on, she did not leave him,
She did not leave him: and she did not leave him,
Her tears would not be a part of his words,
Her tongue would be a part of his words.
He would not look at her eye in the distance,
She would not glance at her face,
He would not look at her face:
But if she were her mistress she would not do what he did,
And that she should do that he did.
Her maid did not have a feeling of pain in her heart;
She did not fear him when he was strong;
Her maid did not fear him when he was weak:
Her maid did not fear him when he was strong;
Her maid did not fear him when he was weak;
Her maid did not fear him when he was weak:
She did not fear him when he was weak;
Her maid did not fear him when he was weak:
She did not fear him when he was weak.
She did not fear him when he was strong;
She did not fear him when he was weak;
She did not fear him when he was strong;
She did not fear him when he was weak;
She did not fear him when he was strong;
She did not fear him when he was weak:
She did not fear him when he was weak;
She did not fear him when he was weak:
She did not fear him when he was strong;
She did not fear him when he was weak:
“Love is not my love, my love is not your love,
Nor the world shall ever forget my love.
Therefore do I hate you, do I hate thee,
My self, my self, thy self, thy self, thy self:
Love hath made me your love, my self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self:
No, my self, my self, my self, my self, my self:
But love cannot make me your love.
My self, my self, my self, my self, my self:
You are my self, my self, my self, my self, my self, my self, my self:
So you cannot love me, my self, my self, my self, my self, my self:


======== CHECKPOINT 016 OUTPUT # 001 ========

inspecting you,” said they, “we were born to live a happy life.”
The maid, still sitting, still weeping, the two ladies began, “May I beg pardon?”
“I am in love with your queen,” said they, “and it is the pleasure I love more than my father’s love; so that no other mistress but me could love my queen so strongly.”
The maid’s tears were quivering, the tears flowed from her eyes, so it fell upon the red bed, and her tears ran down to the side of the bed, as if to show her tenderness.
‘I had never thought that my dear queen should say to my friend, ‘I wish you would pardon my disgrace, my shame.’
“My love, my love, and I have sworn a word to you, to you, and your sake: but I would have no wish that my soul should have your love, nor your honour’s honour, nor your honour’s honour, nor your honour’s honour, nor my honour’s honour, nor your honour’s honour, nor my honour’s honour; thou art my sweet friend, my lover of my life, my self, and thy self’s self’s self,
I have no doubt that thou shalt love them all, yet with me thou art not.
Thus my dear friends were gathered, my heart with them; all his love, all his grief, all his remorse, all his shame, all his death.
He took a long pause before speaking, and then his hand, that was with him, stood before him; his lips were soft with his own sweet lips, and his hand was fastened with his own kisses.
“O sweet love, my dear queen! you will not hate me when I die,
But then will I tell thee my life, thy life, my dear friend’s life,
If I do kill you, then mayst thou rest assured that I shall never kill thee,
O love, my dear queen! my love must have me, and thou dost not know me,
Because I am not his lover, nor his mistress’s mistress.
As for this love, what love, or what passion, shouldst thou kiss,
For if thou dost have it, it is for thee to blame;
I shall make thee cry, and make thee weep;
And this will be the beginning of thy beauty, my love to thee,
And of mine own love to thee, my dear friend’s love to thee.”
“If love, in thee, is not so sweet as thyself,
It is as thy heart, and his love to thee,
And all my love that I owe to thee,
For it is my self’s honour, mine self’s honour.
To me, you have no reason why you should be in this bed,
Or to me, why you should not be here;
If you could leave me my body, I would kill you.”
And this she gave him a long time, and then he began again,
And then he said, “My dear darling, that dear friend
Shall not I swear by the blood, or by his blood;
For that thou art my beloved, my dear friend’s friend,
That thou art my love, my love’s love, thy love’s love,
But that thou art my slave, my slave, my slave, thy slave, thy slave,
But that thou art mine, that thy slave is mine,
Thou art mine, that thy slave is mine, thou art my slave, my slave, thy slave, thy slave, thy slave, thy slave, thy slave, thy slave, thy slave, thy slave, thy slave.”
“My sweet friend,” quoth he, “let me tell thee how I live;
My love, my friend, and love’s love’s love,
And love’s love, love’s love, love’s love’s love,
And love’s love, love’s love’s love, love’s love, and love’s love:
And love’s love, love’s love, love’s love’s love, and love’s love:
And love’s love, love’s love, love’s love, and love’s love, and love’s love, and love’s love,
And love’s love, love’s love, and love’s love, and love’s love, and love’s love:
And love’s love, love’s love, and love’s love, and love’s love:
Then my sweet friend, my dear friend, this is the true state of my heart,
That thou art mine and am mine to bear:
If thou art my friend, this is the state of my heart,
And my heart’s heart is my life, and my life’s life is my death;
Therefore I love thee to-day, and to-morrow I will weep,
And tomorrow, tomorrow and in the day


======== CHECKPOINT 016 OUTPUT # 002 ========

liar. I do not wish to be angry with my lover, but to live with her; she is not my friend. I have seen her blush when I did look her, and when my mind, as I had seen her, saw her blush with her eyes.
“And now you must excuse me from this disgrace; but have your life and love, my friends, my love; do as I would do, if thou dost not do what I ask thee; but when thou shouldst, with thy hand, take thine eye and wilt thou not do it with my friend, I swear I would be thy son, and not your son, or to make thee the subject, but to take what thou didst ask, as I might beg thy pardon and make thee this my son, to say to thee, “I love thy mind, but never thy love, and my life and love have no love, either my life or thy love. I do not make thee love my husband or his wife; for if I had married him, my love would not be to his wife’s liking, for it was not with thee that I should have loved him.
“Therefore, thou art not mine debtor, my husband nor my wife. I make you my husband and my wife, but my mistress never taught me why I did what I did; nor did she teach me my reason to love, and make her believe I was your debtor, and that I am yours, and yours as thy debtor, and that I am yours and your husband.
“Now, thou art my love; it is mine alone, that you should love me; but love to love thy own self is love to love others; to love one another you have my self, and to love them another, and to love them another, both I have but one, both I have one; but I thyself, but thou mineself, that I thyself am not thy self, I do thyself thyself thyself, and myself myself thyself thyself, that I thyself art thyself, to be thyself my self.”
“So, my love, that thou so desirest, do not take advantage of me, but of all, and do thy love to me as if to the best; but that thou so desirest do not take advantage, but do not live with me: so therefore, therefore do my love with your husband, and with me as if you had given to me this kind of love.
“For if you are not my husband, mine self is mine. I have taught thee not how thou art my husband, for thou art my husband, but how I am thy self. When thou art thyself my husband, I will make thee my husband again; but if thou lovest myself, thou shalt make mine mine again, and I will not make thee my husband again, and so to you again.”
“As thou art my husband, I will make thee my husband again; thou shalt not be mine again; but, my husband’s sake, thyself is mine, as my self is mine, and thou shalt not be my husband’s, as mine was mine.
“Therefore thou art my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, my debtor.
“And yet, since thou art my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, my debtor, thy debt, thy debt, thy debt, thy debt, thy debt, thy debt, thy debt; thou dost be all the greater debtor, for me thou art none, and none other, and none other, and none other, thou dost make of me my debtor, and none other, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor; and yet, since thou dost make me my debtor, thou dost make me my debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy creditor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy creditor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy creditor, thy debtor, thy debtor, thy creditor, thy creditor, thy debtor


======== CHECKPOINT 016 OUTPUT # 003 ========

transport’s power, and so forth.
But there is another side to this which I, the master, do not see.
“You are my lord, and thou mustst serve me better.
‘What will I say if I give the hand to thy love?
If I leave thee, thou shalt not go
To find the man who holds my love,
A woman to love or a stranger to kiss,
‘I’ll prove my love’s favour, and will pay
my fair dowry in love’s favour;
Or the maid of the sweet woman,
As sweet as my soul’s self, will be, with all her power,
And every slave will have to give his own to the queen.’
“But love, my mistress! but never shall she teach thee that lesson,
And be taught not your own to learn,
But to me as it is to love’s slave,
To him is given my praise;
She is your love, my own friend;
Her love is all thy good,
Which I know not, my dear daughter, from her being,
Whose heart is the light of thy sight.
To whom the love of a maiden can seem,
She, though for my love’s sake she be,
Will take thee, the maiden, whose heart I do not know
She takes thee.
‘Look, there is an old man, whose hair I did wear,
Which doth cover a child in the bed;
My sweet babe is on the edge of his bed;
Whereon she turns back, and the stranger looks,
The boy is weeping; and he lies, and the maiden,
Whereupon he kisses the woman, and the babe
And, for a fleeting moment, they remain.
‘And then this woman, in haste,
To say, ‘Gave thee a love so dear,
Let me, thou fool, show you what love’s end
When you are so loved;
that you not in my true heart,
Even to the very end may think thy dear;
But that thy love, being so dear,
My love’s true end was to kill thee.
‘”She will not yield, when she can,
To the world in the womb, where death lies;
And then to the world with the life,
Which to me is the self, of all,
Since thou art my self; and when thou art my self,
Then no world that can behold me is my self;
Nor my self, my self in thy self,
I must kill in love.’
‘That which I love, that which I fear,
That which I do not love,
Which I do not think I hate,
That I fear I love not,
that I hate not that which I love,
That I do not think I love not,
That I hate not that which I do not hate,
That I do not think I love not,
That I do not think that I do love not,
But that I do not love that which I do not love;
Therefore I would die, if it would not kill me;
If there be such a heart that the time can cure thee,
And then love should leave thee free,
Which is the best gift I have ever made,
That you might not wish to kill me.
‘O, for love, and all these things which I have said,
Who knows not what I have seen
The way wherein my beloved eye can shine?
My love, and all these things which I have seen,
For love’s sake do I not say I see it so,
But do not think I love you so;
For your love shall ever be so great,
The most powerful of all my loves.
‘”Now you, O fool, why didst thou letst live in the world,
Which being a living thing can live to die?
You do that which thou dost think best,
For love’s sake I can not,
Yet love’s worth should survive,
For love’s sake it shall never be.
“Love, do not suppose thy heart be strong enough,
Or do not love not love so much as thou givst,
To see the dead in love’s self.
To love and hate, so love’s self shall have.
Love, you see my grief is so deep,
That I may weep in the dark;
As for my sorrow, I will not weep.
The devil, he will not be proud;
Who can boast he that my love hath been,
Or think to the dying,
That I may say, ‘How am I?.’
Or, ‘How am I?’
‘How am I, for thou art the first of the many;
I, for I am the last, and I cannot die.
‘You were


======== CHECKPOINT 016 OUTPUT # 004 ========

notably for the benefit of others;
Or do their self-will be good?
Thou must be proud that I am, when thou art not.
How often so fair a summer is dost thou?
My soul hath taught me that my self-love is not to be;
But, as if all things were like this,
Which the best kind of love did make:
All that I now, in spite of all others, love, and hate,
Till we both of two worlds die.
“Thou shalt not give in thy love to love’s foul nature,
But by thy grace, that you may love me, I will help thee,
That in my true love shall I give thee, that thou mayst love me as thou best lovst,
If thou canst in my good will I give thee.
Thou shalt not say, “I love thee,” as though thy thought was right;
Or in any case be sure it’s wrong, for thou didst say so:
“But, I love thee, and love thee so well,
That I shall give thee such a better of life,
That I shall make thee so happy as to die,
And not so much to death for ever, if thou hast one,
For when the times best are but so short,
Even with those that do not best,
To think my time is too short, to love one another,
For love’s sake? let me tell it how my time is,
That thy time is far too short, for in mine time is so long.
In thy time I see my eyes, I hear my heart grow,
And my body grow up, and I perceive myself:
When I in my body say, ‘The world to him from hence,’
My heart beats with that which my heart hath grown,
And my heart with that which my mind hath grown,
I hear thee with all my hearts, and all that is mine.
But in thee thou shalt not praise, nor reprove,
Though thy love’s beauty give me delight,
If it ever doth lend my true love to thy good,
It doth in my true love doth extend,
To show thy fair love’s truth, and my truth’s beauty.
Yet then thy love’s false love doth lend thee beauty,
And your true love’s true love doth extend.
To see in thee this false love doth lend me glory;
And in thee this false love doth be praised,
And in thee my false love doth praise thee;
For thou art so great a friend of mine eyes,
That thou beheld my love in thy heart,
And love in thy love’s eyes made this sweet one,
And then on my tongue I love that which I have lov’d,
As if thou art still in a thousand things,
And when I behold your false love, the truth is like the light.
Thy love did, with thy true love, teach thee this,
The sweet of thy love’s truth did, with thy true love, teach thee this:
Thus did I, then that thou love’s love taught,
And this thou art, thy love’s love is true,
In spite of thy love, being to thy shame my love,
If thou didst love my true love, I would not love thee,
Therefore do I think it is right; but not my true,
To say, “I love thee so much better than thy false love,
That thou wilt have such a bad, bad love,
And such a bad, bad love, that no one can ever be satisfied,
When you do that! why, my dear, why hast thou forsaken?
Thy true love’s false love is to have,
And to be despised, I am to love, and not so much to live.
But yet thou dost my true love do me wrong,
And yet thou dost my true love am to live,
If my true love lived, thou wouldst be the living,
And the living to live and the dead.
But thou dost never live but my self,
And I live and die for this sake,
For the sake of thee, who is your self.
By all this my life is thus done,
My life is thus done, my life is thus done;
And this the most I want is that thou shouldst live.
My self is dead, my self is alive,
I have never yet felt myself alive;
For thou art dead, thou art alive, thou art alive, thou are alive,
Therefore live me, and never die,
For it is no more than to die by my will.
For now in thee shall I be dead, for thou art dead,
The dead I give up for my sake, and


======== CHECKPOINT 016 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Tour is not to be put on hold
But thou shouldst be brought to thy end,
Thy heart and thy hand, for the sake of that which thou shalt never see,
To carry thee away and let me bear thee to this end,
This is not the life I should have spent in a man’s life;
And that for thee I should have spent more,
For I should have spent the greater of your joy,
Or I should have been lost, and you would be lost
Or I should have suffered more in your grief.
‘O, what dost thou wilt do, O king of kings!
What canst thou do not make for me, or wherewithst I go,
A king so young, and so good, and so proud,
Even as a father, and thus so gentle to me,
That I should love him with a more tender eye,
Which would not hate the love of mine eyes.
If thou dost have the pleasure of love, and the love of my heart,
then love should be my desire, and to my heart be mine,
Since I had it, and I did not love it,
O, love is not the thing of love’s kind,
No, thou art not to it, O my boy,
Love is, as it were, a false love,
For in every creature hath been created.
Love is in thee, wherefore my heart is made,
If thy breath should find some of thee,
So let my breath do no more to drown thee,
Or more than the noise of my lungs, or the clamorous moan of the
O’erweening horse, or the clamour of the morn.
“O, why didst thou, poor fair, be in prison,
When it were a great task to obtain his favour,
Or if it were but a trial of a more
Expedient thing, how couldst thou still endure
By all the days thou have yet spent,
And be the fairest, and most virtuous, of all the
Overseas world, and of all men.
“O, my soul, and I do fear,
My heart’s beauty must be more than mine eyes;
For mine eye is to me as the sun doth shine,
And mine body in me as in a lion makes his wing.
“No, I see that my dear, my precious, thy beauty doth not shine,
Nor this, thou doest what thou didst say
To me.
‘But I see, in your eyes, and in mine heart’s love;
I know thy love, and my love’s love is all the glory,
And I live my life to the end.
O, let not thy self dost thou kill me
And steal from thy heart’s precious love,
And give to her that thou mayst bear her to thee,
So that she may bear thee for ever to this day,
In your eyes I should have been the fairest, and the fairest.
‘Hast thou not seen the beauty and abundance of thy self,
How often that I have been your debtor,
That, as one of my most loyal lovers,
May the tears of thy beauty in my heart rest
In this happy moment of thy grace.
‘But the shame of a single day’s work,
O my dear friend, that that I might not be forced,
My love would have none to shame,
nor should she do more harm than thou didst lend.
“A thousand examples, but no one will seem to compare
The great sum which each one of you was,
To each his own hand it did not issue.
The world as I know the world in my heart,
It did not say, ’tis my turn to give
To you that I have lent thy grace to thy sight;
No, I beg of thee a new heart;
When I beheld my hand, the blood from that eye
Which the world would have drawn
From your cheek did draw, on the part of that eye
Which my eye was the first to see,
So would my eye, on your face, as your face
Till your eyes were made of silver,
And mine eye the world could not see you.
‘”Therefore, O my true self, do not love, and do not fear;
For it is that I was born, that I live, and am:
For what is it that I did do?
‘Hast thou not, O my true self, thou dost live
My life with me; but live it with me; for I can not live with thee
Which thou didst live with me:
If thou didst desire, and I, what love will I give thee?
And what didst thou beguile with


======== CHECKPOINT 017 OUTPUT # 001 ========

those you would give a friend.
A man of thy image, whose heart is like a knife, he opens her eyes,
So as the blade opens, her lips press forth a kiss;
She then calls aloud to his friend,
And they kiss together, and when they are dead they stay;
Yet for him nothing is more dear than that which I now make.
So he takes a deep breath, and quiets himself,
As soon as he thinks what is said,
Shall he look upon his friend’s tears and cry,
And he, in a deep groan, exclaims,
‘Thou know’st I not, that is enough;
But if I did, it would not stop my grief.
‘I never think it in my heart to say that,
As I am of thee I am happy;
And if this were your friend I should not weep,
But do not weep, for in me thou shalt never be,
Thou art of mine, not my self.
But this is a true story;
But it may be true, but cannot I.
He that I am in him shall be your friend,
And in thee shall we both be friends,
And then one shall have more, but another shall be less.
“My friends I have made thee my enemy,
My enemies thou art my best friend.
If thou loveest them my enemies shall be with me:
If not, I will do all in my power,
To do their pleasure to me.
“So to all that my love hath done;
My love to thee so done my love did have.
‘This in love is what it takes to keep them in my sight;
And as they love thee so love my love is not gone.
So to me they would think to me all this,
Their hearts that love me seem to be more than love’s kind.
They that love me seem to me like myself,
And in my love are all my love to me,
Since all this is my love’s love, and that all these I give
Be them, that you may love me more, that I may not,
And I love not you more than you do my love.
He that hath not seen him now, is dead;
But when he sees my eye again, he is angry,
And this will never leave him,
And the shame of his being, he fears,
To give him up and leave him in his sad state.
Now it is to me this I must confess,
O that there are none in thee in me,
But in thee in me is love,
My soul, by all my power,
My self I am, in thee is mine,
But in thee is mine to do the duty.
“I want to live, and this desire is a temptation.
Thy love will then take thy soul by surprise;
And this shall be thy excuse, if you did break the vows,
If thou hast not done so.
Thou art of my self’s, if thou dost desire thee so;
If thou dost desire me so,
You canst thou make me a servant, and that what thou dost call my’self,
That thou dost love my self so much more than my self,
Even the same heart that I have in me makes me a slave,
And what is thy love to me but my own worth,
Like to the self it bears in me.
‘Thy love, my love, my love’s worth,
Thy love, my love’s worth and love’s worth
Thy love, my love’s worth and love’s worth
Thy love’s worth and love’s worth and love’s worth
O my love, my love, my love’s worth and love’s worth
If thou didst break my vows and do not break me,
Or else be a captive or a prisoner,
And live in this place of my heart,
To die before I die,
For now I desire none but myself,
And I cannot lose all of you,
What my love hath done is worth less than all this I have.
What it did is worth more than all this,
And what it did is worth less than all this,
Or to my grief, what the sorrows of these griefs
Have done amiss.
Thy love, my love, my love’s worth,
My love’s worth and my love’s worth
Thy love’s worth and my love’s worth
So then I was a captive to thee,
And I was now a prisoner to thee;
But thy sorrows have done a thing;
And now thou wast my love and thy grief,
But my tears have done no harm;
Thy tears and thy tears do no harm,
Or at any


======== CHECKPOINT 017 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Near to the east, where some birds fly, and some chase.
And when the wind comes to break it,
For thou hast made no fear of them,
But fear lest thy part should be neglected,
Thy love shall be so tainted by thy love,
That thou shalt not bear my words.
“Be still, and make haste, and not be afraid,
The sight of thee to those that love thee:
But when they see thee so ill,
They will see nothing more, and be like a hawk to thee:
So for that reason, when I am sick,
I am ill and will not see thee again:
And then that which I have sworn,
When the day of death comes, will I not weep for thee,
And weep for thy beloved;
Then shall I not hate thee,
And let thy name be immortal;
For I am your love, thy husband, and thy friend.
And in thy breast thy pride falls,
And on the breast of my breast my joy shines,
To the world, to thee, my love, to thee.
When this I do, thou art mine.
What a poor, wretched creature shouldst thou be
Who wouldst live like a fool to a stranger?
“Let him live, let him die,” she exclaims, “you are my self.”
“O then thou shalt live, I am dead,” he replies, “I am my self,
Like a fool who lives by a promise made.
Thus it is, that thou shouldst never be with me again.
And when she had begun to weep,
And dote upon his cheek, she thought him to be weeping.
‘”No, he is alive, but a fool.”
‘Then what sorrows should I hear from thee,
Thy tears, that should dote on thy heart,
O why shouldst thou live, that mayst not weep,
For I love thee in thy own eyes?
“Not, therefore, not: if thou lovest me,
My self will make thee a prisoner of myself;
My self will make me a slave to myself:
I shall have the earth no more, nor the sun my love;
And what am I then to blame for your loss,
If you have no soul but that love which my eyes seek,
With me would that thou shouldst leave me alive,
Or die as soon as I should see you alive,
How late the earth is done away with the night,
And you may think me dead, in my youth thou art so dead!
‘O therefore that thou art my true love!
How sweet it is, how much I have to weep:
My tears are so heavy that I do not look back,
That I do not weep for the love that thou have.
But what I have lost in my mind,
That cannot ever be rekindled to my desire,
For I am thy love, thy husband, my friend.
When this time I do weep,
My sweet-hearted heart shall not yet have rest,
And all my heart shall be emptied of the stain.
O now my beloved love! I should have lived in her arms,
Would have sought the night to wake me in her embrace.
‘Yet thou shalt not be his mistress, nor his love his slave.
“What do you mean, love is the same;
Love is the sweetest thing on earth;
But when thy love is the other,
Then thou art my mistress.”
‘But, that love that did I hear thou call
Thy breath upon my lips, and gave me to my face;
To kiss all the lips that I should kiss,
O dear girl, as often as I should,
Will to thee the day will be spent:
Or my tears will last for ever in my cheeks.
‘O then I will not do thee wrong,
Nor can thy loving eye steal my heart
And will be the eye of my love.
“I know, not that thou art, but as thou hast promised,
Thou art mine: all that thou art I have,
And all that I have will be yours,
If thou love me, and I am thy slave,
For thou art mine.”
“And to me, and the other to thee?”
“As you can tell,” quoth she, “
The two words I will make my mind forget,
That of you I shall say to you,
And will tell you how I can live again,
That life is eternal.
And so with your loving eyes did I weep:
For I will love you, and you will love me,
And every tear will be a mark of love.
But to thee, and to thy love,
Since I have told all to thee this,
What love shall


======== CHECKPOINT 017 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Fresno and then to his own time; then to his own time he did live; then his own time he did live
“So that he did not cease.”
“The devil hath been kept here.”
This was no doubt so far from my liking, but I did see how well it was, and I did believe
The devil’s devil had had his revenge;
And when he had slain him he did slaughter him;
His soul, which hath done such evil to her,
Since death is his last, and no more than a tear of grief
He must take her place, as the earth herself
Was in her womb, where she lies, where her tender tender beauty lies
And she breathes the sweet vapour and the breath of the air,
And she is not dead, though the vapour and the air
As the sweet vapour of my love hath not,
And yet it doth in her lungs, by the breath of my life;
Her smell, my own odour is strong enough to bear
The wind’s breath in her breath, and so I breathe
Her name, it being his, it cannot not be denied;
And, being not here, he shall show the way
For she to find him by night, where she can smell
A new flower, and he shall make it stronger;
But he shall find the best that can never be left
And give the best to the worst.”
He did not leave her, but gave her his hand;
And to that she put her palm;
Then with love, in loving tenderness
To keep her hand to mine:
Yet the rest of me, I cannot stand this,
For I do not desire him to die,
Nor I will abide his death; nor will I see
But, with all my grief, she takes leave
And takes up that which she holds, to live by her heart,
So she is dead, and all this she did.
This is her grief which she hath done;
When I shall see her, that shall live for my grief.
“So you are all the more proud that you were.
How would it then have been if it were not so;
If it were, I should be proud,
And so is it, as I, having seen you be so;
And yet not being so, I should not weep,
As all that I did, I am proud of you,
And yet you, your eyes would not show me.
O thou, that I can bear so much worse,
Thy eyes may seem as white as the sun’s;
And you must not wonder then that I love thee,
And I never love thee more than thou,
Because thou shalt hate me that thou despiseest.
For to me thou didst hate me, and so did I do,
My heart never could love thee, nor could it ever love thee,
My heart still loved thee, and therefore never could I love thee,
And yet thou wilt find me, and I shall kill thee,
So long as I remain the same,
When thou wilt have them both, for love is no more,
But death is in thy power, and my life is in thy hand,
Since my life being so long is to be made
And yet thou wilt still die, and yet I die,
Then will I not love you?”
“No, no! but thou wilt never love me.
Thou art of thy own invention, and mine invention is thy self.
But I love thee, and I will die for thee,
And you for the death of others I will die,
So that thou wilt never love me, nor for this my death is,
Or for this death to be more than death be dead,
Nor can I make thee proud by any outward beauty:
Thy pride alone shall be proud, and none else will be proud.
My love hath drawn the knife in my heart,
And drawn it out, but you did not have it.
Since they are still mine, I cannot speak now,
If I do say so, I will not hear you.
Yet my heart shall rejoice with you; my eyes shall love you,
For I have been drawn back, from you with thy power,
So do I not fear you for your sake,
For my love is pure, and I cannot bear to hear you,
Yet my heart is full of joy, and you will be my slave,
The one whom I love best: this being,
I’ll live, for fear that if you love me,
I will be gone, and by the sword my life shall be saved.
But if you see this picture you shall see I have sworn
To kill the man with my life that was my life.
But what do you think of that?
O


======== CHECKPOINT 017 OUTPUT # 004 ========

slashed as though in prayer of his majesty,
That in him, as in the whole, still still doth the sun,
Like to the black heavens, doth the light that wreathed the earth,
And in his midst, by the golden light,
In his face, by his pale shadow,
As if in his blood, as if in his tears,
In his eyes, in his cheek, and in his body,
Such a spectacle to be seen,
In which, by some impiety of imagination,
The image had been in this world and in the past,
And, in his true self-love, as in his false self-love,
But at last did it show how, by his self-loathing
He had suffered all these to be done away,
And yet they never did be done away:
For there still is hope, and wherever the hope lies,
That not he himself, but all who live, shall find
In all the world a true love, and wherefore in him,
To whom he belongs, all this might be done;
For then he can not return to his self,
And, therefore, he must be done away:
But now is he by whom he doth rest:
For in this wretched situation I may weep,
And thus he should remain dead:
And in this helpless state, by that foul force
I could never see him dead again.
“O thou, fair and perfect being,
For thou didst make us what we desire,
When thou didst strive to prove what we desire,
Even to say thou didst beguile me, ‘How canst thou be what thou hast beguiled me,
When a boy is thy child? and how canst thou be what I beguile thee?
When thou didst beguile me, to prove how thou doest,
So it is with me, this that didst beguile thee,
Thou couldst give all this to me, that I could say I did beguile thee.
‘This I do in my own self, but for the sake of thy self.’
“Thy love, it will, it will, thou dost make me,
That I might give thee what thou didst give me,
For thou shalt be free, and not that which hath my best
Thou didst desire in my own self:
If thou didst desire it in me, thou shalt not be free,
And it shall not be with thee, though thou mayst beguile myself.
‘For why should I not be free, or be my self free?
If thou didst not desire that which didst satisfy me,
Then all this that I didst desire was a fair use,
And, if thou didst desire, then all this was made in thee:
That I may be free, and not that which hath my best,
I should desire that which was given by thee,
Which thou dost bestow on all that may be,
Of whom I didst desire thee, to whom thou didst dost give
This thy life, this thy life to be;
For it was in thy soul that I gave it,
That they that had it, were freed, and that the time expired.
‘”And this is the end of my life;
This is the end of the world, this is the end of my life,
And that which didst in me leave me in despair,
And this which didst to me be.
And in that, I cannot seem to have been free,
For this was the purpose of my life,
That in it I should survive.
“O thou so loving creature of my heart,
If not at last shalt be imprisoned in this prison,
For if you love me, I will weep and groan,
And in vain I ask pardon.
For you know what it means that I have been put to shame,
For all this, you know what it means,
That your love may be, your love may be, and I will make it.
O! thou mad, wilt not live,
When thou art your mad self, and you live to spite,
That I in my rage will fight and I will slay you,
Whilst I in thy rage will hunt and hunt the hunted,
Then with my rage you will be your prey, and I will slay you,
Though you live, and I die, and still you have it;
And you know how to defend me, and how to be revenged.
Then I tell thee that you didst do all this,
And now I give you excuse, and tell you again what I didst do.
‘And what I didst make for your love
Was your self, my


======== CHECKPOINT 017 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Mana from the wind, and with this, made haste to his seat: so as they ran, they made haste to the gates, where they were met by that invisible force that had seen them.
Then said she, O thou whom I call, what wondrous marvel is this, that thou art my friend, when I come to thee, to hear thee?
“To me it’s like a flower,” quoth she, “a bright red, so bright and glorious, that when I behold it, my mind will forget what thou art, and I’ll never leave it, except as a mortal man, so long as I live.”
This is a good way of feeling a love, and if there be such, it must be not too high: for it is high for a man who receives a love that is so high; whereas an infant may see a rich and fair flower, and he may find one that would have none.
For it is no wonder that thou art the most beloved of all, though she be in a bad situation.
“For I will not stay there, that thou hast stolen the love of all my love, and my life will be ruined in the sin of stealing thy beauty.
“Now now I have gone too far,” quoth she, “and I have come to my end, having done the greatest harm, and the greatest gain.
“So do you,” quoth she, “I now wish to know your cause, and your fate.
“Now tell me your cause, and your fate, and I will leave thee alive with that which is so dear to thee, for I do not hate thee, but I fear not your hate, for there is no love so cruel to me.
“And why didst thou hate me, and why didst thou best so kind to me?
“Since I am not good,
Thy love should perish, if I have not sworn in thy name.
“For to thee, mine own worth cannot be denied,
That being an object of envy and lust,
What was a woman to thee, what was man to me?
If I had said nothing, my heart might have chafed the contents thereof;
For to thee the world is like a thousand pearls;
For the world hath more than one colour,
And what is that is yours, is mine.
“For he that is angry with me is guilty of my guilt,
And for me he that is offended is guilty of my innocence:
So the blame upon you cannot be transferred to me,
My heart may still be in the case of his love,
And the blame upon you cannot be transferred to me.
“Now then I, this gentle maiden, desire thee to be
Towards thyself that I may have the honour of living.
For I know that my love, not mine own, is more strong than thy,
For when thy heart is broken, the wound in mine thigh begins
To tear to tear again the pain which the breach had brought.
Yet if you were a father, thou didst bear mine child;
‘Therefore if thou love’st a son, thou couldst have a father,
And I am a child of thy sweet love, thou art thy son’s heir,
And thou, my love, is in the heart of all that liveth,
And the love that didst thee live on that you didst die,
For I would not bear thee your son’s shame, nor your son’s sorrow,
Nor the pain of your pain, nor your life, nor your sin, nor your sin, nor your sins, nor your suffering.
“I am you, O son of Troy; thou, my love, am thou the sweetest of all
Whom in my heart all love must bear,
And all love must bear a husband that is my love.
“O, thou wast so young! I will kill thy love,
If I cannot see thee alive,
O my love, what a man I should have been,
I did not know thee as one, nor as one like thee,
Nor as one with me; nor as one in my heart as one who hath died,
Wherefore why are I so weak in thy image?
That I should have thy beauty, and not this
Who am mine eyes, and whose eyes are my eyes?
O, my dear friends, we must say more;
For the truth is that in my heart lies love,
In my heart, love, love, love, love, love;
Love, love, love, love, love, love;
O love, love, love, love, love, love;
Love, love, love, love, love, love, love;
O love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love;
Love, love, love, love,


======== CHECKPOINT 018 OUTPUT # 001 ========

verb as a ‘twixt’, “but no; for I do not seem to love thee, when thou art mine;”
For he must have a fair ear, which hath been made,
And if he should give a more, he will not, but he knows,
And so he doth give her a more.
But if it please him, then his fair mind
May see her bewitch him with a smile,
But if it please him, he knows her in her cheek,
And if she bewitch him, so do I know
Thy heart’s joy that I do hear thee speak;
And I tell thee thou art mine: and I will not be mine,
That all my being is mine, my mind is mine;
Thy beauty is mine, thy name is mine,
My heart’s honour thou art,
Thy pride is mine, thy love is mine.
Thus it is said, as I did thee,
I am one of thy love’s eyes,
Who doth see the truth of this verse,
Or if thy heart, thou art mine, thy true eye,
Beheld in his beauty, in his true heart,
With eyes which all eyes make,
He thinks them false, and his eyes make them true;
Then his eye should see them true, but to his true heart,
The eye might see the true, but to his true heart,
To make them true he should see them false,
But when he did so, that eyes should see him false,
And if he would thus do,
He doth say thus,
How much I love thee, but yet thou dost never love me;
And that I should die is a true crime,
That when I die I die no longer love thee,
but I die of an unjust murder,
Wherefore thou art a living being,
Being an evil being: so that death hath no excuse
To kill me, nor excuse to have me dead.
So, for all this that he hath done,
He hath done all in this he hath done:
But as he hath done, so he hath done not.
And for these two reasons did I go,
Being at home with my wife:
Having so late seen her, and so late seen her,
And my wife being so late done,
She should not have been to do the ceremony,
But she should have had it, and if she had not done
it it, she would have gone with my wife,
That we might have her with our children:
Thence we have our present to eat,
And the morning is spent in all that is in that present.
But it was that this was my present to eat;
My present, that is all in it,
To give to the beggar.
But as for this, my heart is mine, and I am thy debtor,
For I did thee lie so, that thou wilt bear it:
Now this was mine fault, that thou didst lie:
But to the thief it was lawful,
For he didst steal, but this was no theft:
But this was a theft unto myself,
For that I do not bear it to thee.
Thou art but of a poor woman that needs it,
Since by nature hath made me poor in love:
That thou shouldst bear me to thy poor wits,
And then thou art but a worthless woman,
That by nature hath made me worthless in love,
Thy lusts are your own, and mine are your own;
But this to me you are, that in thee thy love
My love is greater than that which thou wilt bear.
-Nay, I will give you that which thou dost bear,
My love is as far away from thee as all the world,
That in my love is not to be seen,
And on the right hand I find none,
That in me no man can see me:
And to him I say, I would not live, but that thou didst live:
“What art thou to thy friends,
And to them thou dost think the truth;
For they are not so much of one,
To make them so one-kind, or of any other kind,
But so many other things are in one:
Yet they have not a single self which hath made,
Like the sun, but a single moon.
Yet thou hast so many self-made that do make,
And yet it is not me that do make it,
As it would be me if I had such as were not:
If a man should steal from the field,
Then I would not steal from thee, nor from my will,
But from the earth, in my will;
That would not take my will, nor mine heart,
But


======== CHECKPOINT 018 OUTPUT # 002 ========

$( in the list, to show which is the most famous

a number in the list, to add it in) and then to the end,

The most beloved of the books of my books,

The more I treasure them:

(though a fool, he that finds them)

His faults are fair, and they are pretty.

For I am rich,

’tis true, my life’s expense is so little,

That I have to pay for my self’s faults,

And this, in this world, is my self’s treasure:

“Here lies my debt,
I owe you two nights,
And then I am mad at you,
And then my woes are made a feast,
My self is as a beast,
The world, my self, is dead.

The thought of your tears, my poor self’s tears,
O love, the thought of my pride,
How is it with me to show the most love?
That is, that thou art the father of a child
And that thou art the mother of the proud of thy heart,
And how am I to tell thy tale,
that this is thy story I tell thee?
(What a shame I have been; and thy shame)
To see how I are made, how my name is called,
To see that this is my story,
How my shame is so great,
that my heart may be proud of my self,
So much so with thee that I can do it?
‘O that I love thee so,
For thou dost so hate thyself;
For thou wast so sweet to me,
With me, and me with thy lips,
My heart could not hear the voice, but with the breath
Within me the sound of the trumpet was.
‘That sound, that hath done the matter
That thou dost love so,
Which is like a trumpet, as deep as the ocean;
And though not deep at first,
It is as deep and deep, as deep is deep,
Whilst a fair, gentle ocean moves her breath,
And though it is as deep as the ocean,
Her breath still seems not to stop;
For it keeps on her breath, and she in her breath is silent,
So that it will be hard for him to speak,
To say ‘you love me.’
‘Yet I know thee, but I am of thee:
Thy body is full, and thy heart full of me,
And thy body with thee, and me with thee,
Both like thine eyes, thy thoughts are like mine eyes,
And I with thee, both like my head,
And in me, and in thee are the thoughts;
So thy name was, but mine was not.
‘O my heart’s love,
Make a fire for me thy furnace,
That my ashes may burn therein;
To make myself one with thee, let this thy flame:
Or else let thy fire stand as a fire in the sun.
‘The burning hot heaven hath burning heat and it is like fire,
The burning hot world and it is like heat:
If my soul was made pure I should live,
But my heart’s sweet heart be of shame,
And my heart’s cold heart be of pride.
‘This is thy reason why I doth hate thee,
Thy reason why I love thee so,
Thy reason why I doth boast of thy beauty,
My reason why I doth love thee so,
My reason why I doth boast of thy beauty,
My reason why I doth hate thee so,
Thy reason why I doth hate thee so,
My reason why I doth despise thee so:
And yet it doth not abide;
But it doth abide, still my heart is not set
And I do not set it aside.
‘But I did say, ‘How many thoughts do I still see
And think, with my eyes so full of my mind;
Which do I not know in my heart?
But I have some thoughts that seem to me,
And some thoughts that seem so,
That in them I are but unaware.
‘Nor will it be for me,
When I desire what I am willing,
To hate my self so that I am hated,
I should have no fear,
My self was a stranger, but in me is
And that in me is his fear.
‘But,’ quoth he, ‘if I did fear thee,
My heart would be as fair and pure as it was,
But if thou didst fear me,
My heart would not be so fair, nor my eye so bright,
If I did fear thee,
My heart would be as cold


======== CHECKPOINT 018 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Jean from this world had taught her a new form of virtue,
And had been the mistress of this ill;
She knew how to do wrong, as the night was still,
But she was still alive with the thought.
For in spite of the outward, she saw
The deep blackest shadow whereon it grew,
Inwards in a deep and deep glass,
And to her right and to her left she saw;
And what she saw in her own face, she had no more
What she heard from the world, that this world had told
Her how I had been born, and was dead.
“Look! here’s the face that I love;
I see you smiling; there’s another cheek to the right,
Whose brow is full of wrinkles, and wrinkles are a kind,
Of old, in a sense, with old scars:
Now, the world’s most dear thing, thou art in my heart:
Here’s what I must say to thee, for I love thee:
My dear sweet mistress, I love thee more than thou dost:
So kiss me, and I will kiss thee with thine,
My dear mistress, if thou have never seen this,
Harken unto thy words. ‘In all your beauty I do swear,
That when thou art dead, thou dost not live;
For then thy beauty can live still, for in thy grace is born,
That in my grace thou mayst live, and so shall I live,
So long as thou art dead, that shall live, and so shall I live,
And this day shall be a new day to thee, and this day shalt be a new time,
And so shall the world be in a state of sorrow,
The world of this time may grow in my heart,
Since thou livest for thy last time, and hence my life
When thou art dead shall live, and then it shall be time;
And the time will expire, and thy death shall be a new day;
The time will then be lost, and thy death shall be a new age;
The time will then die, and my soul shall be dead;
Thy life is dead, and so shall thy life be.
In thy grace art thou living, for thou shalt live, and shall live,
And this, then thy life shalt be.
Thy life is dead, and therefore thou shalt live, and shall live,
For my life is dead, my life is dead, and thus thy life shall be.
“But if thou hast seen, let me tell you,
That if thou shouldst look with pleasure,
That beauty, beauty, beauty in thy sight;
That beauty, beauty, beauty, beauty in thy hearing;
That beauty, beauty, beauty in thy eye,
That beauty, beauty, beauty in thy ear,
That beauty, beauty, beauty, beauty in thy heart,
That beauty, beauty, beauty in thy eye,
That beauty, beauty, beauty, beauty in thy mind,
That beauty, beauty, beauty in thy heart,
That beauty, beauty, beauty, beauty in thy heart,
That beauty, beauty, beauty in thy mind,
That beauty, beauty, beauty in thy heart,
that beauty, beauty, beauty, beauty in thy heart;
Beauty in thy mind, that beauty in thy heart!
Thy life is dead, and therefore thou shalt live, and shall live,
And now thy life is dead, and therefore thou shalt live,
Thou art in the middle of this great war,
And therefore I will kill thee on my revenge;
To slay him, I will kill him that thou art slain:
For thou art in the middle of a thousand sins,
That thou art buried with every sin,
That thy body with all sin is dead, and thy heart dead;
Therefore thou art dead, and therefore all that is alive
Whereon in this great slaughter I shall kill thee,
And thus shall this great slaughter end:
Thou art dead, and therefore all that is alive is dead,
Thou art in the middle of this great slaughter,
And therefore thou shalt kill me on my revenge:
For in that day that thou wast dead shalt I kill thee,
For when I see thee, I see thy face;
And yet thou shalt not kill me,
That thou art dead, and therefore thou shalt live,
And yet in thy death shall I kill thee,
For that shall I live, and yet in thy life shall I live;
So in that day that thou wast dead shalt thou live,
For in thy life shall I live, and yet in thy life shall I live;
So therefore in that day that thou wast dead shalt thou live;
And thus in that day shall I live, and yet in thy life shall I live;


======== CHECKPOINT 018 OUTPUT # 004 ========

613:30)

(Hanging upon his neck, as he sleeps)

As far as the sky, as the sky,

For his mind to his lips, he did speak;

But I, seeing what I did see,
What I did know did not abide:

My heart to my lips, my heart to his,

And his blood to my brow, his blood to my hand.

I love him so much, I cannot,

But what I know can be thought of;

That his lips I have heard are so soft,
Like the wax of his lips.

He tells me nothing of his affairs,
To whom he speaks ill,
Yet will not tell me the truth;
Nor will I think of what I have seen
In his fair eyes, and his fair nose,
Like his gentle tongue, like his sharp chin,
Like the gentle tip of a sharp knife;
Like his tongue is the sweetest of all.

‘My love, my love, your dear husband,
Make no vow, no vow of thine,
Or at least the only one to love,
Be willing for this, with love and fear of that;
And to-morrow I will make a vow,
Of one thing or another I do not wish
Or that would be my love’s, nor be mine.

‘O, dear friend! this vow will not suffice
To live a life, but make me a vow
of life which will bear,
This life, I will never live;
The world shall think my life ill,
And my self-deceit will keep me dead;
And no man hath an heir or self-bond
Which must I give, since he is dead?
‘My love, my love, thou art dead,
My love! my love! my love! my love! my love! my love! my love! my love!
‘The world knows my face, and I see thee,
What is she like in my eyes,
Like those who have the golden eyes,
Which can view me from the world,
To see that she is, though thou look a poor thing,
That thou shouldst be seen;
And if not, why shouldst thou see?
‘My love, my love, I live;
If thou wouldst know me,
And love, for thy self,
As thou art dead, do not seek for me:
I beg thee, that thou couldst see me alive.
What will thy dear daughter have of thee
Which thou seekest for, but cannot see?
But I will tell thee all, and that,
And what thou shouldst know, to thee
Thyself and thy friends, to thy self,
Then thou wilt not love me, nor let me live,
My love, my love, and my love,
Thou lov’d in me as thy self hath been;
For if thou wilt see it, it will show thee,
And what love to thee of all I have,
To thee for thy self I have seen:
For what a loving lover thou art!
In all my affairs my love is constant,
No longer is it to be measured, nor is it measured
With beauty’s measure, nor with truth’s love;
What do you think the fair beauty
Of this world hath so many false hairs?
Or that these so-proud creatures do inhabit
And in their self make it appear,
To those whom they love so well that they be proud?
‘O, dear friend! love is love, love is thy beauty!
Love and beauty are so dear,
Like a kiss will break upon thee,
And yet thou dost stay, to make thee look,
As I do forswore thee so.
‘If I did so, I might yet live,
The world should kill me for that.’
“How many times have I told this to you,
And the world did kill you for that,
And now it hath done it wrong,
So that all may know the shame
And in this shame I am now gone.
And therefore I know
What an ugly boy to be so,
A sad heart to be so,
Hastily with a rage he doth throw,
The boy’s hand being plucked away from his shoulder,
So the wind to strike it from the sky;
Then the poor bird of the night,
Who should have the place, and should not be touched,
Would be gone with a wind;
The wind then makes him stand,
And that on his body he looks down,
And then it is thought in his mind
That he saw him, that he knew him;
For it was that he should say,
How poor


======== CHECKPOINT 018 OUTPUT # 005 ========

identifiers for each of the forms that may be used in this invention; each of them being either one, and their function being that of a form, in all other respects, their act is the same; in the case of a device, therefore, the device being the device of which it is a part; in the case of a device of a kind, it is a part of the device; in the case of a device, then it is a part of the device.

Each one of the forms, whether made in the same thing, being their parts, or their parts having their parts, may not be expressed in the terms by which they are expressed.

“In these things which are understood, we may express in simple words the meaning which is the more true; by means of these words we may express the meaning which is the less true.

If any thing be but by accident, what can be it by chance? for the effect it produces in the case where it be, cannot be so affected as by the accident, nor be such in the case where it not be; therefore, as being but by chance, or in such a case by accident, that effect should have been such, that in every case by accident no other, but that effect which it produces, would have been, for instance, in my hand.”

“And what of my hand, if that be mine?”

“That hand,” quoth she, “of mine.”

“My hand,” quoth he, “of mine,” quoth he; and in that motion he leaps, and in that motion he shakes,

“Here is another part,” quoth he, “part which can be seen, but not so, and therefore no part can be seen, nor but that part which cannot be seen, cannot be seen.”

“And therefore is not this an accident of my hand, but my hand?”

“Not now, not now,” quoth she, “not now, not now, not now.”

“And therefore, being that part, which cannot be seen, cannot be seen,” quoth he, “I am not the one to see, and my hand to my right, but of the other,

“And therefore therefore is not this a defect, but a defect of my hand,

And therefore is not this a defect of mine hand, but mine right hand,

And therefore therefore is not this a defect of mine right hand,

But I will bear, and you will bear, and I will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and so shall bear that which is wrong,
And therefore shall bear that which is right, and therefore shall bear

That which is wrong, that you will bear, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and so shall bear

That which is wrong, that you will bear, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and so shall bear

That which is wrong, that you will bear, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

Then shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

Then shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

Then shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

Therefore shall bear that which is wrong, and you will bear,

And therefore shall bear that which is right, and you


======== CHECKPOINT 019 OUTPUT # 001 ========

thinkable the greater to be revenged,
With so many in me thou art my prey,
And with thy face I shall find thee;
As thou wilt see the wayward lily that grows,
And yet thou shalt see,
My friend’s hand will take away his own,
Which was the pen which so many in thy bed;
The hand of mine hand is so strong, that it cannot be,
Which may yet help thee to do what thou wilt,
Or the hand of the man-eating knife which I will kill,
So I die a mortal death, a living one;
Who, as a fool, I have never done wrong,
Nor have I ever done wrong in my life;
Which I am, and do have, to make you mad;
For as a fool I will do that which I will not do,
And to make you happy do all that you desire,
And make all that your love desires make true,
Thou hast done true to me, to me thou art born,
To love, as thy worth is mine,
So do I love thee, and love thee to all my world.
When I have not yet seen thee I have not yet seen thee;
What’s worse than that I love thee with my eyes,
And hate with my tongue with my heart;
As the sun in my eye burneth;
Thy love shall make me die in my own love,
As thou shalt die to my love,
Thou art, and shall be, my friend’s love,
And shall see what a sad fool I am,
O, that thy life and my love were so alike,
And so many of my love’s true self could be,
And so many of mine, that none of them alone,
Were alive.
‘But now thou shalt show me the way,
Which I will not let thou go,
O, where have I been,
And where have I been, and why didst thou forsake me?
‘Thou art not dead to me;
Thou art dead to the fire,
I am not dead to thee;
And thou shalt be my death, and the world’s love,
So be it.
‘And yet the angel, whose eyes she seeeth my love,
Says, ‘How couldst thou so hate me,
When in truth thy self is no love,
And on thy self my self is no love,
‘And yet my self, for love, hath been made dead.’
‘But she adds, ‘But you are not to blame for my death,
‘But that which thou art guilty of thy deeds,
That I may tell you what I did wrong.
The first one is that which I made myself kill;
Then the other one is that which thou hast done wrong,
which I made my true self,
To kill as quickly as I should kill thee,
The one to kill so fast,
That I have not yet begun to say what I should kill.
‘And yet I think not, nor I say to thee,
‘Nor ever to thy majesty, nor to thy great boast.
‘I would not have this to thy glory;
‘But to thy majesty to my worth I would not weep;
‘Why, if thou, in all this, couldst not weep,
‘Since all thy woes were not thy shame?
‘To whom didst thou write this book?
‘Thy true self, thou art the light of all,
Who knows thy true self to be true,
But to thy true self thou art the sun,
And to thy true self thy sun is the moon,
In their eternal purity the whole,
But in their eternal purity their one,
And the others are the other,
The first being the true sun,
Then being the false moon,
And then being the true sun,
The false moon being the third,
The false sun being the first,
Which being the second thou dost make my day,
The third being the sun,
Which being the first thou dost make my night,
And the second being my night,
And therefore shalt thou be my self.’
So was the thought of this,
That on being made a devil,
Which thou art iniquitous and false,
Thou art a fool, and to me in so
All men think thou are guilty;
My self I will kill with this life,
And with this death thou shalt die,
Thou shalt be my friend’s friend.
‘But I fear for my own self now,
Since all other things which I love are
Made true by my love,
Thy self hath become a truth,
And every thing is made


======== CHECKPOINT 019 OUTPUT # 002 ========

institution

In other words, when an enemy enters,

Let it not be but to be able to destroy.

Thou shalt not let him depart,
And thou shalt not steal his breath.

For what you do, my dear boy, will be done;
So will the love of your love be lost,
If thy name were a saint;
When in her she is still, she shall be remembered
And when she die, she will be remembered
And she shall be remembered,
In death it was but fair to show.
But now, all that is mine, the good,
Of which thou hast begun to lose,
That which was not mine, dost thou dost destroy,
O my dear boy, how it must be
Who is the one, and the other thou dost steal,
Since to me all the rest is mine?
‘Tis true that thou love’s hand,
I’ll lend it to her, but thou wilt lend me nothing,
But nothing more.
And so the sun, which shines in me
Like a golden-tinted moon,
Is my fire burning up.
And what beauty do they not see
That I, for their sake,
For their love they might not do?
Or whether you love me more than you love me?
If it were that you might do me the honour,
Which honour you would gain from me,
Then I would not kill, but in my hand,
Whose power was no more in my hands.
“What a pity! where’s the poor girl?”
The queen, doting on her poor maid,
Who looks upon her sad face,
And frowns upon her fair bosom;
How is it that she should be so,
That she should be such an enchantress?
But this thou art in love, thou art so mad,
That thou art such a madman,
When thou didst live, didst love so much,
And now thou die, I will not die,
Since thou hast died but so by my being,
As I by my being did not give thee death.
“How canst thou dost make me happy?”
“Because thou art so, since my being,
Thou hast not done anything wrong to me,
Thou hast not done no wrong to me in my being,
Though for that my mind shall die,
My love shall live, my heart shall love thee.”
“Why hast I done this thing?”
‘Tis not that I should complain that I did it;
My reason shall know that this was not my fault;
But she that had not seen me,
Had not seen a thing of mine,
Nor even a thing she could have made
When she should have sworn, and to have sworn,
But by the decree of the Lord’s servant
That in spite of all thy being
Thou shouldst love me better than my good,
For in thy love I shall see what I cannot see,
My love is not mine alone:
My love is mine own; I am my love,
My love is all yours:
I am thy self and thee thou thy self,
As a thief is himself, and a thief is thy self.
Thou art no man, and thou art no true love;
And this, then, shall not seem lawful,
For thou art not an enemy of my love:
And this, then, shall not seem lawful,
For thou art no true love,
For thou art not the slave of the law,
Therefore shalt thou die as a slave,
That thou shalt not die as such a slave:
And this, then, shall not seem lawful,
For thou art not the slave of the law,
But thou art the slave of the law,
Thou art not my slave, thou art not mine,
And so, then, do not die in this false womb,
Thou wilt be, thyself, and to all eternity be.
And to this I will say:
This was the heart, this was my life,
But that it was not thy life
It should not have lived, in such a shape,
With a cloud that did stain my eyes,
Yet there it was; and yet there remained:
As if from thence it might behold,
O no more the wind, now that it hath come,
Or the sun, now that it hath come,
Or yet that it hath gone,
Since it would not have been dead now;
And now it would have been dead and would have died:
Yet what, then, canst thou live when I live?
When my husband dies? how canst thou live if my husband’s death
Shall stay? When my husband dies? how canst thou live


======== CHECKPOINT 019 OUTPUT # 003 ========

ridden’s wife; and having so much in hand I went;
To a large table to where he could sit his hand and hear,
As to take his seat and make him stop,
And lay him down by himself, and in his hand
She took his breath, and she with him
From his head, on a small glass.
“O no; thou art so full as to think
That thou art a fool, that thou dost think me so,
With the breath that in that I dost hold thee so,
Sinks in my eye the same shadow where I have sworn,
The thought which I in his mind must make,
That thou art a fool, that thou dost think me so,
Without any doubt; for mine eye doth see it all but a shadow.
The more I was thus, the more he seemed to feel;
That he in his eyes I felt himself,
And to this I think not at all;
“O, my mistress, it is so lovely!
In this lovely way thou,
Thy loving flower, where thou art in my love,
Is like a kind of jewel, in my love’s flower.
To this in a sweet state I am contented
To weep and lament in thy bosom.
No; for this thou art, in this lovely state
Behold the gentle love thou dost give,
That thy womb with thy womb’s tender womb
Wounds still her womb as she did,
Whose parts still remain still, so in the womb
As in the womb of the dead;
For all that remains, all that is, all this to thee.
‘For if thou were a lamb, she doth eat thy tongue,
As a lamb doth eat my tongue;
If thou were a lamb, she doth dine mine;
if thou were a lamb, she dine mine;
If thou were a lamb, she dine mine;
If thou were a lamb, she dine mine;
If thou were a lamb, she dine mine;
If thou were a lamb, she dine mine;
She gave him his tongue, but not her,
In what he did speak she gave him none:
If she would have, if she had, she would not have;
If she would have, if she did not, she would not have:
But if she did, she was not mine;
If thou didst give him his tongue, she gave him none.
To this he cries out, ‘Tis the most impiety,
To the most disgraceful, to the most defamatory,
to the least pleasing,
To the least pleasing in such a state,
As he did kiss her in his hand:
Thus with tears she falls, and then she is gone;
And now that she hath fled, she again takes up his hand.
‘For I see this picture, and yet the heart of me,
And yet it seems to me like a picture of a flower,
Like a bird, like a bat, like a feather,
like a dove, like a mouse,
And then in each he doth turn,
To behold the kind of love I desire,
When he was, and now is, and then is.
‘My wife, my dear, how do I love you so,
When I love you in my heart, in my heart’s love,
If thou couldst love me more, why should I not love thee more?
The heart loves those whom it finds,
But the heart loves those whom it finds none.
I have been taught many books, wherein this question is proved,
And I have read them, and seen how many,
With eyes which are full of my true desire,
The thought which, like a glass,
Which hath glassed the world in glass’s likeness,
Doth blot a blot on the ground.
What was the heart of a man when they were slain?
What did he fear, when the world fell?
What would he have wished had he not sought to know?
Who, the poet, was that he,
If not from this in my memory,
Then by my memory alone,
Was not my memory, mine will, mine will, mine will,
If the world shall die with the world, mine will die with thee:
If thou art my slave, thou shalt not kill me
Where I am by reason of my desire,
For by reason of thy desire, thou art my slave, and by reason of my desire
Will kill me where thou dost kill me.
And then would I be mad, when I were dead,
Which I did to love with such a passion,
By the force of my will and strength,
Thou shalt see why I will slay thee there.



======== CHECKPOINT 019 OUTPUT # 004 ========

pour a bath of fire in the morning.
And yet my maid was full of the love of thy sweet grace,
O thy gentle spirit.
But why should she be so gentle?
Why is the bath so high, where the water
Of love should drown out the hot springs?
If I have to use my hand, why not of mine?
Or what is it to thy lips if my lips should drown me?
The love of thy love must give thee no rest,
For I am no stranger than thy body that thy beauty hide,
Whose sweet smell was a thousandfold greater than thy words.
Whence then, how can I tell of thy love,
What is my love, but love is not all.
Yet, when my lips make the most use of it,
The heart is warmed with the water,
Which is warmed with his own sweet breath,
And this is his desire in the water:
Thus shall I in mine heart praise thee;
As though I were all your friend,
And yet you do not love me so as I love you.
As if from a tree I had seen my kind,
When, on this earth I am, I am not to see you,
My true self being so high as my heart:
So is thy beauty mineself,
And it shall be mine to see how thy self is to be.
‘Thus,’ quoth she, ‘let me go and find thee,
For from thence you may come and find me.’
For to come is to go, not to live:
This was a story he told of many a stranger.
For he did tell him his tale so well
That he might seem to be a prisoner,
And not only to tell his story but to steal.
‘For to say this,’ quoth he, ‘is not to say, that aught I do,
My life is thy life.’
And he did do not say so;
But still she doth she say, ‘If I am your love,
For that which is yours may be mine,
that your love may mine may be mine;
In truth I have your love as my love,
And I love you as your love,
But when I die, and nothing you have,
You must live with your love to this day.’
‘Thus is my love,’ quoth she, ‘I will live with thee,
To you the true lover, I will live with thee.’
If she were so fair, as her husband,
She could tell his story, and yet not live with him.
‘”So, my dear friend,” quoth she, “I have thought it necessary
To write thee again, my dear friend, and tell thee again.
‘For so, this is a tale of many a stranger,’ quoth she, “
To find my dear friend, and bring him to me;
And with him that should be the guest,
Then we may lie in our bed and do his part;
And he should say, that the truth is mine, and that I am yours:
I should in my life do what thou art,
And in thy love make it thy part.”
‘How then can I make it mine?’ quoth she, ‘My true self being so high as my heart?
As if it had not been mine, what part of mine was yours?
No doubt I had your love and your sweet heart:
This life you had, and still you did.
The more thou dost do this, thou shalt betray
all thy true self, and all thy self shall betray
Thy love’s love: thou shalt be in me, in thy true self.
‘My dear friends, then, be it with me,
Or with my true self, in thy self.
‘But I swear to thee, ’tis thy love, and that in me is:
My true self is thy love, and not my true self.
‘What a sweet thing is this? What a sweet deed? What a sweet action!
‘If thy love should not live,
Let mine eyes bleed for it, and your tongue drowns.
Why then, this is a tale of many a stranger?’ quoth she, ‘if I be thy love,
That which is yours may be mine, and not mine;
Then I live with thee, and not thee,
But when thou dost kill a fool, and my true love drowns me:
Then do thy true self live, and thou art thy true self,
And this I am, and this is thy true self,
And this is thy true self, and not thy true self.
‘”And then will I show thee thy true self,
As I did in your time, that you may see me,
The truth as far as it may prove
The


======== CHECKPOINT 019 OUTPUT # 005 ========

submer a black cloak, a black eye and a black head. He stood, and his visage darted downward; for she saw him go on his back, and forth upon his back.
‘”But I shall not kill thee,’ she said, ‘For that I love thee best.’
“And yet he, her fair husband, said, ‘How did I come to your place, when I am the first to take thee, or leave thee? I do not care now what thy name is, but what my heart is, and where it is.’
‘O, then thy husband,’ quoth she, ‘you are my husband.’
‘”So shall I not love thee,
As a slave to my heart and body to your will.”
“So shall you, my mistress,” quoth he, “but let me not say so, for in my sight thou art the master of mine will,
And, seeing thee in haste, I will make thee my slave,
The slave of mine will not, nor I thee thee:
For to make thee my slave, I should do all that thou didst make my will.
Thou art thy slave, thy worth to me;
Whose worth I will be, thy treasure to me;
And, where thy treasure lies, to my use,
Which I will give to your will, thou hast kept it.
“Then say I my will to thee, that by the aid of my love,
Or by the love of my love shall thou obtain,
As a king, as the queen of the gods,
Which is the queen of the gods,
And so thou art the king of my will.
But, behold, this will, which I do intend,
But, since this will is not a gift,
That is my will and will and will not,
For this I am a king, to keep thee from wrong.
Then shall I say, ‘For this thou art a king,’
And thou shalt say, ‘And then for this thou art my will.’
“When she is done, the wind blows and the stars appear,
And, as a whirlwind, they fly straight;
That from his bosom, like a wingless dove,
Whose feathers are spread by the wind;
And his head doth hover, like an eagle,
Though to his backward it flies, yet in the centre
He is a cloudless cloud;
And hence there lies to me a heaven,
that my spirit shall dwell, and my sight shall see.
‘And thus my will, that for all my good,
A king will seem my master.
But his will may be said, ‘No,’ quoth she,’my will,’
Even as I say to thee, ‘No,’ quoth he,’my will,’
And still shall he never say, ‘My will,’
Nor ‘My will,’ quoth she, ‘no,’
Nor ‘My will,’ quoth he, ‘No,’
Nor ‘My will,’ quoth she, ‘no,’
nor ‘My will,’ quoth she, ‘no,’
‘To whom I shall be entombed, and then, and then, and then.’
For all time he has gone, the earth, which was before he doth rise
O’er his bosom, from the ground to where he lies,
Lifts him up in a gilded chamber, where a woman
Pluck’d in the ground, and in his hand
A golden torch which shines with his breath,
She with one hand lifts him up, and she with her other
Gives him his hand, and then he shakes it, and then the torch falls on him,
Her face being white, his lips white,
She smilingly bears him up, and he is like unto a bird,
And she with both her hands her eyes doth look upon his face,
And with those cheeks he may breathe his sighs,
And with his hands he takes his oaths,
And so with a sweet breath she calls,
‘He is my queen, my queen!’
“My will is the foundation of my true will,” quoth she, “I did this, and I will keep it;
Nor shall I forget it, for thou shalt be mine,
When I will be thy love, and thou shalt remain mine.
Then, in thy presence, with his arms folded,
She leaps in joy, and bids him lie still,
And his lips turn white, and his cheeks be pale.
O, what a beauty it is!
Her lips in his kiss have sweet cheeks,
He drinks her cheeks; his face is full of beauty;
And so she goes forth with his face; her chin is full of beauty;
‘No!’ quoth she,’my will will is not mine.’
‘”Therefore


======== CHECKPOINT 020 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Lev to his bosom was he buried;
For the night was gone on, and there was no light
Upon the stone like a stone,
And all the morning the sun was shining,
For ever after he was dead did he wail,
But tomorrow he would not be again.
‘Tis true, if thou art dead, thou art not dead,
Or else, if thou live, what dost thou die?
The answer is, she looks back with the cold,
Or with all the more pity;
To whom she replies, “She is dead, but still she holds my heart,
And gives her pleasure to have died,
The time I should have lived is gone.”
‘”But how was she? how was she not buried?”
I do not love you more, my love is dead,
Even now in this chamber where he rests,
And in his own tomb where his blood sits.
When then the tomb is empty, he looks with astonishment,
And says to the stranger, “Hear, hear, this dreadful night!
O, my sweet girl, how dost thou hast done this,
Thy love hath made thyself, and thou wast never a child?
And what shall thy grief be for me?”
“For I have done, for thou art the child.”
“And you too, for thou art that,
Thy name, thy self’s, my self’s, all have done,
And that which thou hast done, thou didst not give.”
Then she answers, and she says, “O, that thou art, or that I am,
That this thou didst do, that I may be here,
Thy self’s own, my self’s, all had done.
O, that thou art, or that I am,
That this thou didst do, that I may be here,
Thy self’s self’s own, my self’s, all had done.
So that all the living, all the dying, all the doth show,
And every living thing that hath been, shall prove,
The life of all living, all the dead, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the dead, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all the living, all


======== CHECKPOINT 020 OUTPUT # 002 ========

awakening for this end.
She was dead before I had seen her alive; and it shall not be said of her that she did not live,
And still more so than when she did,
For she is dead now and then, for her parts are now dead.
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘how late for you I have sworn,
As soon as you have sworn it was all wrong,
That my eyes with the same colour were seen by,
Which, when I saw them, as soon as they came,
I saw not your true eyes but your false eyes,
Who are like all my eyes with their full,
As well as they are with your false,
Which all false eyes see through you and do not have
As you do in love.
“Now, for my part, I say unto thee,
That thy love hath in thy bosom,
When thou lookest at me, I have a hand in it,
And as thou knowest how strong thy hand is
O my servant, how shall I break from my grip,
If thou canst not show me thy love!
‘”And now she looks at him, as he is,
He seems so pale, so pale, and he,
Which, when he looks at her, as if it were him,
But looks upon her with a frown,
Or with a frown, or with a frown,
When he looks upon her, as if she were him;
When he looks upon her with a grin,
Or with a smile, or a smile,
When he looks upon her in a wail,
Or in a wail, or a wail,
He looks upon her, and then, looking upon her again,
His eyes are like water in the summer’s water,
That by this they flow forth forth the tide,
And when the water hath dried up their contents,
The air is like the river that feeds it,
Like streams, rivers running on their own,
And all the sea like a stream that doth stop.
“O! what was the reason of these two,
For you did not make up your mind
To take a vow with my soul’s blood,
That I should live for thee.
‘Ay,’ quoth she, ‘do that which I wish thee well,
Even as thou gav’st on thy cheek;
As thou gav’st on my cheek, I wag on thee.
“The fair sun is not to shine in this heaven,
The fair sun in his place is to wink in his face,
And the fair sun in his place is to show off his beauty.
“O!” quoth she, “there is no fair sun to shine,
That doth not shine in your cheeks;
As fair as fair as fair-smelling flowers,
Or flowers as fair as roses,
And weeds as fair as weeds are.
“Look on this lovely woman in thy hand,
And behold her face doth smile,
And at her brow there is a frown,
And frowns, and groans, and sighs.
“I have no part in thee,
For if any of you had part of me,
Or any part of you gave me thy life,
My life should not be spent in vain,
To do all in vain, to spend my life in that which thou dost spend;
That which thou hast dost spend, thy self be spent;
And not thy self to spend the self;
For mine own self and mine own self,
Would be my self, and mine own self to spend,
My own self and mine own self be spent,
And my self and mine own self to spend,
The self spent and mine own self spent,
The self spent and mine self spent be spent,
the self spent and mine self spent be spent,
And the self spent and mine self spent be spent,
I have no part in thee,
And if any of thee had any part of me,
My self should not have the self spent;
But I have nothing of thee but thy self,
To put my self to that of your self.
“My self is dead,” quoth she;
And as she was, her face was like a fire,
And her tongue sheft’d her lips,
And thereupon she spoke again.
“Then where is my self, my self?” quoth she,
“O, thou art dead, my self is dead;
The self that gave me thee to dwell
Where thy self spent, was dead, and thee is dead.
Then thou didst make of me not a dove,
But I would live and sing as thou didst die,
As thou made me alive, and I live, and I live, and thou live;


======== CHECKPOINT 020 OUTPUT # 003 ========

police-man.
A picture was brought to me of the white-haired maid whose countenance was in an uproar,
And by this she gave me a look which did me see her;
And when she gave this, she began, ‘I will show thee my face.’
“I’ll tell thee thy name,’ quoth she, ‘And you will be mine;
And, like a king’s slave, I’ll do thy will,
So shalt thou do not steal my heart.’
The doting queen, quoth she, ‘And yet, in my love, thou shalt kill.’
But her face doth blush; for what reason do I have to answer
her, ‘Thou art, by my will, but in a desperate desire?’
Or, ‘And yet, by my will, thou shalt kill me?’
Or, ‘And yet, by my will, thou shalt kill me?
Nor, ‘But, thou shalt not kill, I will slay thee,’
Nor, ‘But thy will will, I will kill thee,
That hath no place in me, nor in thee:
That hath no place in me, nor in thee,
That hath no love and no friend.’
And then her hand is, and her lips are,
And her lips do her utmost:
Then let not a sound be done, that might be quiet.
Yet he whose eyes the light doth see,
Who is still, and hath a kind eye,
Can see me; but what kind of eye doth look,
How many kinds do I see?
So you, who are full of the worst kind,
Which with my eyes are set for your own sake,
Which with my eyes you doth dost desire,
But when your eyes have seen the poor-feeling eye,
And woe upon those eyes that in your eyes
Are still that which makes you wail,
As it is said, ‘Woe wherefore, this thou art.’
That I did the duty, and made him look;
To him in his affections stood weeping,
Which, like him weeping, doth turn
Thy cheek, like the fair eye of the dove,
Would like a knife in his knife’s hand;
And thus he doth put it in his lips;
And then they both writhe, and kiss the wounds,
The dead shall not kill them, but shall be slain,
By the foul and gross abuse which I will bring thee:
‘O wherefore dost thou weep, for thou art guilty?
That which thou art guilty of, hath a foul name,
Who on the part of this maiden is imprisoned,
That on his part will make him suffer the more;
In one way thou dost plead thy guilt,
And on the other thy guilty plea,
The guilty that this guilty wert, and this he will bear.
For what I say doth I say, and what I say I do,
I intend not to know, yet to know me;
I wish not to know, but the other is what I say
That doth my thoughts best deceive me;
And what doth my thought best deceive me?
Thus with my will he looks, and as he will do,
The other wert, and as he will do,
the other will do what he will not do.
“My tongue is a sweet instrument,
Which, from the bottom of my mouth,
Till it hath begun a sound,
When a wail grows loud; or when a strong heart
Strikes fear in my ear,
That in my body doth I tremble.
‘Now thus saith she,’ quoth she, ‘I have some thoughts,
That you have but that I have,
For you that have seen the face of a dove,
Mine eyes have heard thy name, thy deed is done;
And this thy thought in my thoughts hath,
Is done, and in mine is done.
O now, as I think the truth, I feel the truth,
That, on that I can lie, my heart shall not die;
Nor shall there be a body to bear me,
That you can be dead in this world,
In this world no eye, no ear can hear me;
No eye to see how I am laid,
No eye to hear how I cry,
To see how I look my beauty is done;
To see how I make love, but for my love
No eye is ever more well known,
Nor eye to behold what I am to make;
When in the bosom of my love
The cold of my heart quenches my desire,
Or when my heart quenches mine, my heart dies.
‘So, this is a truth of such truth,
That you should not think


======== CHECKPOINT 020 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Heidi,
O’er the bosom of all,
The bosom that sleeps in her bosom,
If thou wilt stay with her, thou wilt not rest
with her,
But with her thy spirit be kept together:
Love began me, I would not lose,
And that thy soul’s love might live,
To have thy soul’s love with thee.
‘’O, thou wilt not kill me,
but for thy self I must be free:
To stay thou with me, in mine self thou shalt stay:
And in mine self thou shalt remain,
Love shall dwell in me, and nothing else in me.
‘”Therefore, you see, I will die,
Because you are not strong enough to carry me out.”
Then she takes him by the hand,
And he, with his chin, and all his grace,
Whereat his tongue drops upon his breast,
And he grieves and cries:
‘‘O, what a sad story!
‘Her eyes make up their glass and set,
And from their glass she takes another view;
In her lovely eye she hears,
her lovely face she sees,
That she might see her beloved’s face;
She, who saw, now, but still in that state,
And now she sees me so,
That she still cannot see me alone,
For she knows her name by thy name:
She still knows that thou dost deceive me,
And that thou dost tell me so.
‘Tis a story of beauty;
Then the poet replies: ‘O my heart’s content!
For with thee the heart is no more!
‘But in that place wherein thou gazest,
Truly, thou art as that of some one;
That thou art the true painter, not of my painter;
And thus in this my painter’s image
I find myself, and behold the sweet sweet smell of thy roses.
“O, my beauty is of my being
Of my having done my fair good,
To whom thou hast made so many gifts;
And so, on my own side in love’s honour
I owe you my love, and to thee to have.
Love is but a partaker of death’s parts:
That with this, he doth make a ransom,
And to be revenged of my love,
Which by his deed he shall lose,
The deed will be done, the ransom is paid:
I will be thy thief, and thee my queen.
‘”So as she, seeing him, calls out to him,
The sweet thief being brought away,
Who, being with him, doth leap and run,
And, at their head, with the knife being ready,
So in his right hand the knife’s knife doth hang;
The knife doth shoot in his left hand,
And on his right hand doth make a blow.
When, with love, the thief takes possession,
He runs, and the knife doth shoot,
And in the knife’s hand doth hang his head.
Now this my dear friend, who is this,
A thief whose theft doth rob him of his sight,
And he is a thief’s treasure, a traitor of his will?
When I began to be a lover,
A thief with whom I love so deeply,
Thou shalt love all that thyself doth covet.
But if thou desire not to see me,
For ever I love you, and will not hold you.
‘O, I will never make thee mine own.
‘Let me go and see that I have been wrong;
That thou so, my poor daughter,
My mother’s son, and heir to my death!
The eyes of my mother and my father are fixed,
Their eyes will not be blinded with tears;
That the tears of the eye’s eye doth not wail;
The eye’s eye doth wail and wail, and wail and wail!
The sun doth not dine in the night,
The moon doth not be in the day,
The star doth not be in the night,
And the sun doth not shine in the night.
O, my love, my heart, and my life
Do not live in one single thing,
Love, and thy love, thy love’s love, thy love’s love, thy love’s love
Have none, but one, in one little thing,
One, in one large thing,
Each thing having two parts, one being
One and one being, to be in two parts,
Being one in one, and being two in two,
Being one in one, and two in two.
‘Tis true, my love, and


======== CHECKPOINT 020 OUTPUT # 005 ========

object;

if (! this )

m = true ;

if ( this )

return false ;

}

if ( g. length >= 0 )

m = g. length ;

if ( this )

m += this ;

}

if ( dst. is_numeric ( this ) && this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! m || this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! m && this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;

if ( this!= p )

m += dst ;

if (! this!= p )

m += dst ;


======== CHECKPOINT 021 OUTPUT # 001 ========

pleasantly so.
“And now let me to thee bequeath the gift of all your love, and to this I shall show it in a thousand proofs, and for your good pleasure, I will not say you were with her, but were.
For my sake I beg your pardon that you did see my face this morning, and I am so kind as well I can express it, I have not felt myself affected with jealousy, but love is the cause of mine self-love, and mine love is yours, and not mine, for I love you not, nor yours;
And though I am no love to you, yet mine is your love, and to my self love as well as yours do in you do in me.
“This love being my husband, I make thee this present, and in my own accord thou givest it to me,
A thousand kisses, two thousand kisses, two thousand kisses, twenty-two thousand kisses, twenty-three thousand kisses, twenty-four thousand kisses, twenty-one thousand kisses;
Then on thy fair breast I place my love upon thy chest, and that I put on thou his breast,
Then on his thigh my desire takes my love and confounds me.
And from that breast the sun doth make her golden hair dusky,
And my face blushes as I behold her beauty,
That on my cheeks thou shalt see it not in my heart,
But with that cheek and on my chin thou shalt see that it is not in my heart.
“For this was my duty as queen of that dear sweet place,
And by that she was gone.
O I, your love, that my love should be loved is in thee
That thou my love did give my life,
That thy life did give me your life,
And thy death gave me my life.
‘I am a beggar, and in my sight are all rich thieves:
But to him thou shalt have my treasure,
Which thou shalt sell to him on my pay.
“For now let me say that this is the sweet name of this sweet man,
He that takes it, it shall be mine, and I shall give it to thee:
‘And with this, he that takes it shall not be gone.’
“And thus thou didst hear my voice,
And when he came, his face as white as straw,
Which doth the sky see on the west.
‘So when thou wilt, and my word do break,
I am with thee, and with thee the world shall be saved,
For in this thou hast been my self, this me am thy self,
I am not myself, nor do I belong to thee.
But here I am again, and again I am dead,
And my body that I gave thee was dead again;
But I did so, and by that thou didst live,
My life’s self is living again.
The earth hath seen thee before, and now her night is fading,
In the night of her night,
And by that night all her beauty that thou art,
My life’s self is dying.
‘For this didst thou kill my life, thou my life was dead;
For this didst thou kill my life, thy life was dead;
Then all that thou didst not kill, thy life was dead,
And this was not my death but thy death.
“And thus in her night came she forth, and to see her,
She would not be able to bear to lie still
In the dim chamber she had set up,
Nor would she fear the sun that would not show her her her sight.
So she wert in bed, and her handmaid took him by the hand
To the bosom of her bed, and by that kiss
She wert, on him, and not a word on him she said,
‘If I do love thee, I will do so.’
‘But,’ quoth she, ‘if thou wilt do me wrong, then thou art my son,
And as it is written, ‘he that is of thee that bequeathed the deed,
Whereon I shall abide by him that I kill,
O what crime is committed by him that commits a wrong!
Yet thou that dost live, and shalt not die,
I trust in thee, thou shalt be my god and eternal life;
Thy will be my will and my glory, and my glory thy will.
Thus in his wake he was slain, and as his will his life was slain,
When he was come again, it was still to be revenged:
But when he came back, it was still to be revenged again,
And when he came back again, it was still to be revenged again,
And now that he was gone, he stood on his head, and with him


======== CHECKPOINT 021 OUTPUT # 002 ========

rolling-off-of-it-I-am
His face he laid down on her chin,
And gave her her a kiss that did not yield
So did his cheeky lips.
‘”But thou, in spite of me, are the best
A loving friend of mine.
Thou art my self, my self is my love.’
‘Why didst thou steal that jewel?—my wife!
Thou didst steal that jewel, and yet I did steal it
So did I steal that jewel, and yet I did steal it again
As thou hast done, that thou wast not mine:
Thou art mine, thyself is mine;
So is this crystal beauty, that, for me, it sits
Upon thee, and is to mine.
‘So was my love when thou art dead, and now it is
The last I have, as if thou art mine;
Or as thou, as thou shalt see, now it is thy death,
I say I am gone, for that thou art dead;
For the light of thy eye hath made my eyes dark;
Nor have I made my eyes any brighter
than thou now, that thou art my shadow;
For when I was a mortal, I was a mortal;
Therefore why should I lie still to live?
For my true self, though I be dead, I can live;
Yet thou hast buried me in thy storehouse,
And have told me to wait, and never to return;
When thou art dead I shall be, and now thou art dead,
That hath left me what thou art, now wherefore shalt thou go?
“No, thou art no more, I cannot see you,
And thou cannot see me, I cannot see thee;
Look, I did not want to find you, I did not want to make thee
A friend, I did not want to find you, I did not want to make thee,
When thou art dead, that thou art mine, that thou art mine:
So I did not see you, and there you lie,
Till then I saw you, for I did see thee,
For that I did see thee, and now thou art dead,
So shall I return, and therefore my true self shall live
In a place which I shall no longer stay,
Nor shall any more bequeath thee.
That I may not die, but that thou live my love shall live
For ever.”
“Then you did not tell me this tale,
that I should be so happy as you were,
And thou, therefore, were my husband, and my lover:
As my love’s husband was dead, so mine was alive;
But that he died by me, my life was dead.
She doth say that my love never did give birth
To my life, as thou didst give birth to mine.
‘Then why didst thou stay there, that didst thou not live?
‘Thy love’s death, his death alone doth make.
‘And now why didst thou leave me where thou didst lie,
O no one, but his father and his mother,
Was buried in a tomb so wide,
That, if thou wouldst be buried, I would not be alive.’
“O false slander! this thing thou havest said!
That thou wouldst not know
When thou were one of the world’s most fair
Of all, the earth’s fair, the world’s best,
But to me was the most fair, the world’s most fair.
When a flower grows, and to that flower
Thy flower grew thee, the one thy flower doth
grow.
And why didst thou dote on him, and sought him,
To obtain a gift that he had granted,
For love, that I thought was worth living,
O true jewel, I would not do thee dishonour,
But you, who, being your love, must be.
‘O, thou thief of the fairest jewels,
And this I was for, if thou didst steal.
‘Thou art my thief, my thief is my thief;
For thou art the thief, the thief was my friend;
Thou art thy friend, the thief was my friend;
And the fairest jewels that belong to me belong
To thee, I desire no other name,
For mine dear heart is so strong as to bear thee.
‘Hast thou sought for thy self,
To steal, or to live?
‘Thou art, then, the thief.’
“Why didst thou take this vow, that thou mightst live?
What do I mean, thou dost betray me,
Even if I did give you a kiss?
And why didst thou not swear, and yet not kill me?
What


======== CHECKPOINT 021 OUTPUT # 003 ========

considers what is so dear to me, what I am not, what is not.”
“But love is your love, and not your dear friend,” quoth he. “And therefore I am with you.”
“Do not fear me,” quoth she, “although I do so say. Let not thy voice break mine heart, for thy life is mine; but let none of my love steal it away: my love should never live, but thy heart should be my love.”
“So you do,” quoth she, “my heart is mine, and I will never steal thee, if thou dost die with me.”
“Now be a proud man,” quoth she, “have a heart, and a husband, and a son to call a son, and then let them live on.”
Then she says, “And I have heard you tell me it will be a day’s rest, and in the hours spent in this poor little thing, one thing might gain me: but the thought will not be so: all I want is to live.”
“The thought, my dear mistress,” quoth she, “will not be so, since love is such a thing that it is kept in mind, or, as you say, kept from thought.
If it should be so, why should it stay in my mind, and so am I, my love being thought a thing in me?
‘My love being thought a thing in me, and so being thought a thing in thee, so my love being thought a thing in thee?
Then I may live, that my love may live; if I live, my love cannot live;
if I live, mine love cannot live; and when that is done, I die.
So you love me, and me do not love thee;
My love is not mine, nor thy love is mine;
But thou art my love, and thou art thy love,
Since thou art mine, my love is thy love,
But my love is thy love, my love is my love,
And then I love thee.”
So she says, “Yet thou art my love, and thine am my love,
Because thou art my love, and thine am mine,
Thou art my love, thy love is mine, thy love is mine.
Then, this love, that thou art mine, is in me,
That this love, this love, which thou art mine, I love thee,
Thy love, thy love, thy love, thy love, my love!
And then love will not live, nor mine eyes, nor my ear,
Yet love in mine eye, and in thy ear,
Thy love, thy love, thy love, thy love’s part
Is love in me, and in thee.
Then love dies, and to me it did stay;
And now, like unto thy poor love, and like to thy own,
Thy love dies, and to me it did stay:
My love is not alive, but I have no life,
The love of this dead thing, is dead, and this dead thing
Is dead.
And still it doth not live, but I in this state do
live and live, and my love is dead,
And for this love I do not live;
For that love, which now in thee die,
This love now lives, my love is dead,
And for this love I am dead.
O love, how shall I live, and how will I die?
And if thou art my love, and thou art my love,
I shall live, and thou art my love,
Then thou art my love, and thine art my love,
And this in thy self thou art my love:
When thou art mine, thou art my love;
And my love is to me my love:
But for thy love’s sake I may live, and my love live,
And thou art mine, and thou art my love;
But for my love’s sake I may live, and thy love live;
Thy love is my love, thy love is mine, thy love my love:
And this in thy self thou art my love,
And thy love is mine, thy love my love:
And thus do I live, and thou art mine, and thy love live:
The love of thee is thy life, and thy love’s life is mine:
And thus do I live, and thou art mine, and thy love live:
And thus do I live, and thou art mine:
“Now it is a sin to be unwise,
And yet thou shalt see that it is good;
And the one who hath sinned, and the other with him,
He shall make no excuse for thee.”
‘But,’ quoth she, ‘he hath sinned and in thee
Thy heart


======== CHECKPOINT 021 OUTPUT # 004 ========

bon to a place so sacred,
And so honoured: ‘Twixt this place, the world, and this place,
Who in her tender youth, is the same,
To say, “She is my dear friend;”
Whose heart she doth hold in her love,
And whose lips she opens shall remain,
Which she hath in them for her part:
‘Tis as though some stranger were to call her my dear friend,
So sweet and loving was this daughter of mine.
“And it is this to be taught
With my poor tongue that they must say what they mean:
‘Thou art in love with thine,
And in love with thine, to say ‘it is I’ is better.
‘But I have taught thee, and thou thy self
I have taught them how to say that which thou dost desire.
I have taught them that art thou art thyself
For my desire is thy self; I am thy self,
For my love is thy self, and my love is mine.”
—That, therefore, with thy tongue,
He is her beauty, and I as thy grace,
When thy own beauty be his subject;
And now, what thou lov’d with thine eye,
My own beauty be thy self, for thy beauty’s worth:
So may thy self remain mine as thou art mine.
“Thou art mine, my dear one; why shallst thou be my servant?
I have thee my own, and thou my own;
I have thee my servant, my self thy friend.
‘But since thou art mine,’ quoth she, ‘through my love,
I make thee my slave, and I take thy self
To be my slave again, and as thou art mine:
And now thou shalt not do this: for my love makes thee my slave,
But thou art mine, my self, and I as thy self.’
And since thou art mine, my self, and I as thy self
As mine own, thou art mine, and I as thy self.’—
And since thou art mine, my self, and I as thy self
My own, my self, and I as thy self;
For behold this, thy beauty is mine, and mine as thy self;
For behold this, my beauty is mine, and mine as thy self;
Therefore, when thou art mine, thou art mine.”—
This being done, she did pause,
She then, and the other men went.
The woman did not show her face; she did stand there,
And look upon the stars, and upon all the heaven;
The place where she stood and she did say,
“Lo, if thou dost love me,
Let love alone be thy end: I know not why I should go,
I love thee for thy sake and for thy sake’s sake,
But as if thou art love, let mine be mine, and do my best.”
But they did not seem to think this verse so.
‘Love for love is not, that it may make me happier;
For love, then, is not in such a world as
That, in heaven and on earth, men seem to be happier;
‘But if not, then be not so,’ quoth she.
“And to me your beauty, thy grace, thy reason,
And all thy life-kindness, your reason for good;
And this, then, is thy part in my love’s life;
For my love, my love is your part, and I thy part,
And thou, my self’s self’s self, my self’s self’s self,
All in all, my self’s self and all thy self,
And thy self, thy self, my self and all thy self,
What thou doest make me happy, this is thy part.”—
“My love is thee, my love is thee,
And thy self, my self and all thy self.”
“Thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self,
All in all, my self and all thy self,
Thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self,
Thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self, thy self,


======== CHECKPOINT 021 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ascript on the ground;
His heart was sweet as sweet as his liver,
Which yet did grow cold with sweat and cold as when frozen.
O, what wrong shall I have in my soul!
By that which I do give this to your image,
I can boast, yet you did make me lie;
Mine face is like thee to your liking,
For though I am thy father’s beauty, yet thou mine;
And thy shame, which I made in thee;
Had it not, I may not live to see thee,
So should I never in my life live to see thee,
Unless the very day I die,
That thou and me may live in love,
I will never die to see thee,
nor my father’s name nor my name’s name.
Her father was a Roman; she was a slave;
And the Romans were like a king of Troy.
“Well, dear boy,” quoth she, “I am old, and I must live,
That my love and my life’s purpose is,
To write your love in my mind.
When then, my dear mistress, I am so busy,
My love hath begun to leave,
But in the day I do come to know,
It seems to me I shall lose my beauty,
To make her sad, to be despised.
For all those poor things which I have,
My love, my love to love,
Thou art my sweetest, thy sweetest, and thy most holy.
O, then I am weary, and I have no more
To entertain myself, and in my heart
As in the night have my sweet heart.
To him I show my love, my love to be,
To him it seemeth he is gone,
To where I cannot hear him, and in his silence
He shakes his hand, and speaks with gentle voices.
But if I not speak, it must seem to me
I have been sent out of my youth to be;
No one I love, but mine own soul
Holds me so unwell as the maid with the maid;
Her cheeks are full of tears and frowns,
And when her beauty should seem to fade,
The beauty in her eyes will be more than ever gone.
“If love were such a thing,
What beauty is there in a woman’s eye?
Which eye do I see, what kind of eye do I see,
Look that my hand, my neck, and my back,
And think, ‘Thy love’s that of mine that was mine,
Thy love that of mine that is mine will live,
Thy love that of mine that is mine will die,
Thy love that is mine will stay,
And that which is mine will live long.’
O thou poor fool, my dear friend,
For thou dost see thy love lose;
For thou dost hear thy love dead,
That thou dost not be heard of all those who speak,
Even so that thou alone, a friend,
Thy heart doth know what hath done is done,
And I with thee alone, thou alone,
My thoughts are not thy thoughts, but my heart
O, my thoughts were thy thoughts, but mine own thoughts:
Whilst they are mine, they are thy thoughts;
Whose thoughts are mine, their thoughts thou knowest,
And their thoughts, their thoughts, do the rest,
But as they, I as thou wilt say,
are thy thoughts, but mine own thoughts.’
The night-blind, and the unseeing eye,
Gazetted in the fire,
Shining on the sun and moon,
In the sky and the ground,
Shining on the hills, and in the earth;
And thus I find all that makes my sight
The true image of my soul,
That is not my body but that of another,
And if I should be a living thing,
Whilst my body were alive, my body, now dead,
For ever, for ever I will live.
‘Thou wilt see me, and I will see thee,’ quoth she,
‘Why wouldst thou wilt, wherefore shouldst thou not see me?
And if thou wilt see me, why shouldst thou not see me?
O, for shame, let no one hold me so dear!
For shame, let no one hold me so dear!
For shame, let no one hold me so dear!
For shame, let no one hold me so dear!
For shame, let no one hold me so dear!
For shame, let no one hold me so dear!
For shame, let no one hold me so dear!
For shame, let no one hold me so dear!
For shame, let no one hold


======== CHECKPOINT 022 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Harrison with his hand,
And he threw it down, and the boar’s gait drew
From his head the door-way, and then he came
To kill it with the bluntest of hooks,
But by force he tore it off, as fast as he could catch
his prey’s eye.
‘When this,’ quoth she, ‘can a man survive in such
Unbeaten lust?’
‘No,’ quoth she, ‘I did it not, but by your hand.
Since I have been in your bed, and to this you,
That I am, I do not fear you.
Yet if, if I did be in the place,
Would not the bed be yours in love,
Or the bed you may live in, to make the night better?
For there is no love in this,
To the thing that is, and the thing that is not.
As far as you are, as far as my thoughts are,
When thou art, so long do I live,
That, being dead, thou willst ever live,
And never die, as thou livest in my name;
So long be I in thy life,
To make thee live so, then, for this I will do,
And the day after thy death will prove
How much more than this my life can bear.
The moment is not of this that doth remain
Of those in thy hand, or in your breast,
That will stop me now, and make my life end.
As thou livest, so live I, that life,
If thou livest, so be it, that life,
And life of me to live, is nothing else;
If thou live, so be it, and live I not,
So be it, and live I not:
As thou livest, so be it, and live I not:
But if thou live, so be it, and live I not.
‘Now do not look on this matter so gravely;
For as this is such a matter, and as this my life hath been,
To this I have told it all, and no one can prove.
“But I do not care where it lies;
To whom it belongs, if it stay, I shall show it;
To the men I like, or to my neighbours,
Or to myself, but no one knows where it lies;
If this, then the men I like shall find out,
Who is to blame, whether he be from thee or thy side?
Or if that he be, for I am, thou dost know.
In thy place the night, and in her bosom
Wherefore did I, the maid, give such a bed,
That I shall love my sweet love’s self,
For she would not weep with shame, nor with pride,
When I saw the way of the sun and the moon;
She forsworn, and by him she gave a kiss,
And her lips, not his, did tremble for his sake.
O dear, for the night, I love thee now,
To keep thee from me again;
But if thou know not the night, what shouldst thou love?
In all these I must tell
what I love in this, that is in you.
“And as thou dost love nothing else,
My poor Lucrece, in my grief and rage
Doth weep and be afraid of the thought of thee.
“But this he that thou dost have beheld
My ill-doing, and with it it thy self,
In his poor body and self in my mind:
Then shall I think to tell thee the love of thy life,
O mine self, how it was not that thou wilt live,
And so shalt thou die to thy self,
To have thy self for ever to tell me thy name,
What thou wilt do to me, who didst make me,
The painter did make me, but that, to whom my art now lies.
“O my friends, dear friends of mine,
Even so, what an eye to behold
Which in thy bosom, and on the breast
Than in thy bosom my breast doth appear,
Shall thou behold what my bosom hath done.
Now this thy mind, which is in me,
Lest it doth perceive thy name,
That I should seem so proud,
Which, if it did not look at my face,
Hast thou not to behold what thou dost see?
Now this thy mind, which is in me,
Shall thou behold what my mind doth see?
So this thy mind, which is in me,
Leaves all this to be told, to make a vow,
Or, as it was thought to act, do it again,


======== CHECKPOINT 022 OUTPUT # 002 ========

sket in my heart.
“How can I, thou art my mistress, thy beauty, thy art, thy beauty,
And that thou art mine, thou art not me.”
“O, then I am the one, whose image shall remain,
That doth not lie but doth it in thy head,
And in her breast doth it sit;
And, with the thought that her thought doth lie
Under my eye shall dwell,
I believe thy image to be mine;
But shall not he me, that in thy heart,
With my heart thy thought shall dwell.
I was a slave of my own heart, and in that I owe
So much, I owe it not to myself;
That thou art mine and not me,
Which I, thou art mine, and not me,
And with thine own self shall I have made me.
He looks upon me with disdain, and my brow
O’erthinks her to kiss his cheek,
Who, despite the thought, shakes his hand;
Thy lips will not yield, as it were,
Or hold him for the breach will they not yield.
I should have told you so; you do not fear me,
And I do not dread you;
If I die before you, I’ll go and die a day.
‘In spite of thee, I must not do anything to thy eye,
Which hath doth every eye see and hears thee;
No, thou art my lover, and I myself have thee,
And with thee, if thou do believe in my love,
Thy power, as thou art, shall conquer and conquer mine,
Which makes my love greater than mine alone;
This power that thou art, though thy love doth make thee live,
That it doth deprive of me even thy self,
that my self may have him, and my self alone.
What an ungodly heart hath been that hath thought to kill thee,
And so did he give my life away.
I now know his face, and for all his beauty did make thee,
That now it is a little doting,
That every thought doth make me a fool.
‘But why should my love not make thee my friend?
Why should his love take my life away?
What can I say for thee, to make myself yours?
‘”I have thy heart, thy sight, thy tongue, thy mind,
The breath, your voice, your breath, your hand, thy chest, thy back,
And then each part of my body I give thee,
And that you give me this, as much as you give me,
My heart and my mind together give me up.
So what did my love, my love, my love give me?
Her eye hath no eye, her head no head,
Her ear, and the neck she hears none,
Her right hand to the breast where the babe sits,
To hear her cry, ‘O love, how are you!’
She shakes her head, but in the way
Astride her; for she is no man;
Her cheeks do not yet turn white, but they have become black.
‘”I thought,” quoth she, “you are but your own,
Since thou art mine, I am thy own,
And for thy sake, I myself have given thee this.
‘”If he would have me in your hand, he would have me in mine;
For all men are equal, and all men men are equally fair,
That their beauty alone can be seen,
Both love, and beauty, and beauty, and beauty,
And of which we must compare;
In one, and in another, that which thou dost art.
‘”Look how much better your tongue did stain,
And more that that it hath redened to stain,
Than with the stain it hath had, so shall it be again:
Now then I say, ‘He that hath begun to speak, shall make me stop;
In him the tongue hath begun to utter, and the words began.
What is thy name, thou art thy name’s name?
How is thy love a thousand times more dear,
That thou wilt have me, and that I myself love,
As you, and as the one I have,
For all my parts my love shall be a thousand times stronger;
The other parts shall not be your beauty,
But thy love shall be thy beauty;
And as thy beauty is thy beauty, so shall I be,
Since I be thy beauty thy beauty shall be,
And for the other parts I shall be thy beauty.’
Now was I a rich citizen, a strong lord
Of the pure earth and the rich deep:
Wherefore I could not have paid you more,
But I am rich and did spend


======== CHECKPOINT 022 OUTPUT # 003 ========

UES of the world.
That he had no heart for his own,
But in his self had a heart for others,
And a self that made his heart true.
By this means he was drawn unto the west,
And with a strong desire to go thence,
Till the west would be his storehouse where he was.
So I now am gone, that my life is in vain,
In this to-morrow morning I come to-morrow’s feast;
All with a little rest to myself and my health,
And then I must see my self to be gone.
‘But why shall I be gone?‘
‘’So then why dost thou forsake me?’
‘By thy self I have seen thee depart.’
“O! thou art poor, but my mind hath not tasted thy tears
And now the self I have thought in thee is come,
To teach thee to live in this state,
And to cure thee of all thy cares.
‘In my shame, my fault,’ quoth she, ‘I never would not have done
To make a good painter so well bred.’
That this was my answer to your answer;
“What an unkind, wretched, adulterate tongue
So blustered Adonis, your self-made love,
Which, being a slave to his own ambition,
As to some stranger and not to yours,
Hath often spent in such silly terms
My dear mistress that she did give no love,
Unless she should swear to my vows:
And to prove the truth of my love,
Or prove the wrong of any of my vows?
For what false sense should I then have?
O thou so sweetest of love’s kind!
For love, the love of thyself, is strong,
Thine is my fear, and thee my delight.
‘Thy self is weak, my self is strong,
and thy self strong, thyself strong,
And to thee thy self, thyself strong, thyself strong,
To thee thy self, thyself strong, thyself strong,
And to thee thy self, thyself strong, thyself strong,
And to thee thy self, thyself strong, thyself strong,
And to thee thy self, thyself strong, thyself strong,
And to thee thy self, thyself strong, thyself strong,
And to thee thyself, thyself strong, thyself strong,
As in thy self he gives strength to my body.
“And now,” quoth he, “how can I still see thee,
And tell the story of that blessed night?
And for that, the heart of my heart did sing
The words, as in Lucrece’s rhyme:
‘Tis true that in me this world was my birth,
To the one that doth mine, to that of many,
Which to the living in my life doth dwell.
‘But as thou art, so is he: ‘Tis true that in me this world
I am thou; and to me this is thy,
And to me that thou shouldst love me,
And to me all the living in thee doth dwell;
So I to thee is thy self, and thyself doth dwell.
“To this day I have not done this or that,
But I, like a sick-horse in a state of motion,
Shiver to my self from within, and to myself from
The force of this love in my heart.
‘Hast thou not yet seen my self; that thou art in me,
And so hast thou, for it is my self in me.
‘Mine self is to me so; but mine self is to thee so.
That now I have this truth to report,
That I shall soon prove to thee;
Yet thou alone shalt know I am not,
Nor thou, my self, nor me, but I have seen thee.
“The moment he says this, and he says again,
The minute she says this, the minute he speaks again,
Her face, in the course of her sentence,
And her eyes, to some of their own invention,
Have in the course of their time begun
Tiny patterns that seem to belong to a queen:
Or patterns that seem to belong to two worlds,
To which the two worlds are divided:
If she be dumb, she cannot be dumb;
Or if she be fair, her heart will be dull;
If she be dumb, she cannot be fair;
if she be fair, the sweetest part of the heart,
Her head will be pale and pale;
But if she be fair, the most gentle part,
Her lips will be soft and gentle,
She the painter will make a painting of it.
‘The


======== CHECKPOINT 022 OUTPUT # 004 ========

concept’s beauty is that in it there were but two eyes, one of which was his eyes, and that of his head, the other his head; and there are two eyes that are each other’s eyes, but both their heads are not both eyes; thus this is true to every eye; whereof I have seen many a young maiden in her bosom kiss,
But what kind of eye is it that sees my love, and I my lust;
‘Tis to me this that is most beautiful, and that most foul;
But if that is so, why should I be so fond?
‘The one must not the other?’
“O, it is not love to thee,” quoth he, “nor to me to thee,
But if thou art so, then I can be nothing else than thee;
To thee alone are they, and to me alone are their parts,
As thou art, both are thy parts, and both is mine.
‘O, so thou are not yet, so thou art yet thou are.
“And the boy should not take physic;
The maid should not hear, nor the cat hear;
Her cries did break the latch and she was in the way.
‘And when Lucrece had done this with his voice,
Then Lucrece should not speak, nor should he weep,
That in a state of grief he might be so clear;
For in all his sorrow it seemed that he was a stranger;
Then in tears she seemed as if he were weeping,
To him in the present moment she spoke, ‘O, in thy heart I have seen;
This he cannot tell, but she thinks he lies.’
‘But it is not so,’ quoth Lucrece, ‘it is true,’
That it may be so, but thou art my heart, and so shall I be:
Let my sorrow, my tears, my tears, my tears be no good,
For my true joy and true happiness shall be,
The same thing that is so bad, and is so sweet;
The same thing that is true, and is so sweet,
That is so true, and is so sweet,
That is so true, and is so sweet,
And then what shall be thy true self be,
If ever thou art the true?
So thou shalt love with all thy heart,
And with all my heart do lovish the same;
But the one, that was true, and was so sweet,
Then wherefore thou dost think me wrong,
thou dost suppose I am in love with thee.
“And now, when she speaks the thought that I am,
Her face is as pale as snow, and her eyes as deep;
The poor one that would give him this, in his heart
With his cheeks full of tears, his tongue full of oaths,
That he did swear by the one true God,
His eyes, their contents so full, and their contents so deep,
That his own eyes should know, and his eyes his contents,
And with this, and these they were like two stones,
Or three in length, of so great a substance
That on their parts might have made one like all,
Had thou that beauty in thine eyes and all thy mind,
And not thy eyes but the thoughts of thee,
Whose judgement is pure, and thy judgement no foul:
For when a shadow shines on thee, a shining thing
Whereat thou art, or thou dost not yet be;
Thy true eye should see it, and all thy judgement be,
And thou that thy true eye may be so,
All my shame in my soul, and in my love be,
Whose shame be thou that thou art all thine,
And thine that thy shame be all thine,
O what a day the night hath me have lost
With such an eye that hath no thought in thee,
What a day to look upon, nor eye to look upon,
What a day to look upon, nor eye to look upon,
What a day I have lost with thine eyes, that my judgement be,
What a day to look upon and my eye be,
What a day to look upon and my eye be,
What a day I have lost with thine eyes, that my judgement be,
But that my judgement be lost and be lost in thee;
Which to my shame, to my shame my judgement be,
And my shame be thine; wherefore why not thou art me thy shame?
Thou shalt live a poor widow in her sweetest mood,
And she be mine slave, and all mine is mine.
(His eyes) I now, then, from thee I should,
For love is my friend, my love is mine slave;
But thou art mine only,


======== CHECKPOINT 022 OUTPUT # 005 ========

crowd.

“What else?” quoth she, “but to say that she was to the poor?”

“And so I do beg your pardon: for this I did think the most of myself,
Which as it did me, with this I did think myself:
And thus in this way I beg your pardon,
As in this I did think of my self:
In this, I do beg your pardon,
That by virtue of my beauty thou canst see me,
As you know not thy self I know thy self.
As thou art, what else is thou to me,
And what else do I hold of thee,
To me what you do with my self is more worthy
Of love’s greater love.
“No,” quoth she, “though I confess my self that thou mayst live,
To know that love did kill me and that thy self may live,
And yet thou art so, despite of the guilt thou dost incur,
Thy guilt should bring thee to the fountain of love,
And thence thy self would seem a prisoner,
As she in a prison did so many days stand,
While she gave such a view to all that doth abide:
The first the king of the earth and of the ocean
Were to stand before him at the end of her prison;
And her name the queen would not dare say;
To her grief for him she’d say, “Not his name,”
And when she began again she’d say, “But he is mine,”
With that she herself that I have left
In the place where the time of their coming shall come.
“O what a dreadful hour!
By what a fright!
By what a sorrow!
That dreadful hour!
That sad sight!
In such a shadow of death!”
And that fearful sight so often I saw,
So seldom were my eyes in his dark room
As they did their work so often when he lived:
For his light had such a bright lust to my heart;
And now, as my eyes are in darkness,
And as I in him I do fear to look.
This dark night I saw him on the ground,
Which in a bright, white light,
Would be in his face the way the birds have trod,
Of birds that would catch them but were not there,
Till they fled, and so did the wild beasts.
‘So therefore, I, to him I have not seen thee,
yet I have no wish of speaking more,
To persuade him that he hath not found me;
But when I do speak of him by him,
When I do state that I am there, he doth tell me,
And all the world knows his name,
By all those who have heard of him, I have sworn him,
Of kings that have died and men gone.
And then he turns, and I, and all my companions,
With those in me whereof I am but the same,
Him my eyes and those of all my self which I now see;
Like to thee in me I strive,
And in thy place, in the space of thy rest.
For for thy will, and your will I will not boast,
So I am a slave to you, my love’s end,
When thou willst do me wrong, thou shalt be slain,
And I will steal all your hearts and all your honour.
‘But the world with her eye cannot perceive,
The beauty of the night with her sight doth blot out,
His beauty is like a mirror, that sees nothing,
Nor eye with eyes can behold what lies in her sight:
So my heart doth do the rest,
To make love more pure, pure like my life’s colour;
And if I do nothing more, I’ll kiss him,
Or else he’ll love me and kill me.
“When will thou see me, O my love,
Like a blind babe with eyes that can not tell?
When shouldst thou see me when thou wert not,
When didst thou see me when thou wert not,
When werest thou comeest to behold me,
And that didst thou see, and I did not see?
How I see you now, thou art my self;
For thou art thy self, and I myself am mine,
Who are I to lie to thee,
And to thee be I my self’s help.
That which is best and most perfect in me,
Is beauty, and thou art my self’s help,
Which my self, which thou lov’st with beauty’s help,
Is best and most perfect in me,
Which my self, which thou lov’st with beauty’s help,
Is best and most perfect in me,
Which thou lov’st with beauty


======== CHECKPOINT 023 OUTPUT # 001 ========

understatement
To give the light to thy dark-burning eyes:
My poor creature, I will prove,
My fair and gracious self in thee,
With thy self-same love and my own self’s self.
This thought which is still active
And keeps the eye from seeing thee,
But will so soon vanish, that thou wilt see
The white flower, the precious one that thou dost yield.
Whose red colour will I adore,
But your white as straw in the fire?
What was thy worth? why do I hate thy image
And live with love to this wretched thing?
My self, I have all the beauty in thee,
My heart, my heart is my self, mine self is thy own:
My body is my self, mine self is thy self, mine self is thy own,
Mine self lives, my self dies, mine self lives,
my self lives, my self lives, my self lives,
My self lives, my self lives, my self lives,
My self lives, my self lives, my self lives, my self lives:
Her beauty, her beauty, her beauty, her beauty, her beauty, her beauty, her beauty,
So all the same she goes,
Her beauty lies dead, her beauty lies living;
Her beauty is dead, her beauty is dead;
Her beauty is dead, her beauty is dead;
Her beauty is dead, her beauty is dead;
Her beauty is dead, her beauty is dead;
And yet he calls the end of the world,
Whereon the world’s life is no more,
But there be nothing but the world’s death.
And therefore this verse is all mine,
And I can never forget thy beauty,
And my love’s worth is mine alone,
My love’s worth is mine alone,
My love’s worth is mine alone,
my love’s worth is mine alone,
My love’s worth is mine alone;
My love’s worth is mine alone;
My love’s worth is mine alone,
My love’s worth is mine alone;
My love’s worth is mine alone;
My love’s worth is mine alone;
My love’s worth is mine alone;
His worth is mine alone, mine alone is,
And he hath made mine one and all.
O then that thou hast that which dost thrive in thee,
Thy self was all that were not thy self,
Nor my self, nor my self, nor mine self,
But that which thou dost not yet thrive in thee,
When thy self is as thy self,
My self hath not so much a part,
As my self to me, as my self to thee:
So shalt thou die in me in the place where thou art.
Thou art mine, and I mine;
As mine self, my self to thee,
The world to me and mine,
So will I live, and to thee remain,
Even so shall I die in thee:
“O, how canst thou dost weep when he sees
The sight of this beauty, that in him hath light?
And thus, if thou dost not love that beauty,
Look, thou mak’st no sorrow, nor sorrow for thee;
For this he doth lend, and his will is strong;
And as his will he lends, and that his will is strong,
O no matter what thou dost say,
The man will give thee the means of thy sorrow:
For to kill thy will to kill thy will,
To give up thy will, thou shalt do it,
And by the will of thy will die to fulfill it:
But to kill thee, thou shalt do it,
The thing thy will shall die to fulfill,
Thy will die to fulfill, thy will do it,
To do it, thou shalt do it,
And when thou dost fulfill, thou shalt make it.”
“Hast thou done, didst thou die?”
“I will, and I will not yield
To your will, and I will not yield to mine will.
Thy will and all that thy will doth command,
Truly my will is my will;
My will is thy will, my will is mine;
My will is my will; my will is thy will.
And the thing thy will doth command doth belong;
And so I will dote on the thing thy will doth command,
But all this will in my will abide,
The thing thy will doth belong,
The thing thy will doth belong,
All this will dote on the thing thy will doth command,
But all this will dote on the thing thy will doth command,
And all this will dote on the thing thy will doth command,
And all


======== CHECKPOINT 023 OUTPUT # 002 ========

isan, who had gone to be with them, yet now he would make them come, and say to his friends,
Be on this side that you will find, ’tis not the time.
For with a heavy breath she starts, and by his side she picks up the dead,
That on their heads it looks as though they had died.
‘What a story to me now! that so long as my life were to die,
My thoughts, which were the objects of your love,
Would by some ill-apprehension, in my life to have my own,
And to have a mistress in your body be your shame.
My heart was not the slave of your passion,
To your love or your life, but your honour;
You know that my heart’s right with your honour
And all your self’s pride are my defects,
That in me you most revere, so yours do not despise:
Therefore I commend you by love to your honour,
Your love to me, your love to me most loving.
‘For when I have made a living love,
So do I the true heart’s pride grow.
When I have made a living hate,
So do I the true heart’s pride grow,
And every body, every cheek, every breath,
With the tongue and the cheek do all owe
One thing, true love, and that is, I bear:
But all this is false praise:
The true love that my love so aptly bears,
My true love did not live, and this love shall live,
Nor do I, to live this life, bear the death
Of your sweet-hearted love.”
This was Adonis’ voice:
When that, in his verse, he made known
That love was for his own sake;
That love, if not for your love, for your love’s sake,
You have to prove it with me.
‘This is why you were with me this time,
And what a waste of time you made
To see my face and to look on my cheek;
Thy loving-kindling eyes that were your love’s eye,
Took your face, and that, like a painter,
Under the sun’s shadow painted it in his place,
To make it appear true, not false:
And I have had my hate and my love’s love lost,
And every other thing I have, but the love I owe you,
To you, that will be your own thing.
‘Yet as the day’s day proceeds, so my love’s days
grow longer and longer,
And with each that you die, the day’s end is seen,
To the last that no time shall be missed.
By then I, being told the day,
And with all my youth I have, I can say,
“This day is no tomorrow,” for it is past,
Which in that time is the time of the living day.
But what a time he tells, what a time he shows;
And now the time he stops, all this time in his absence
Since he doth tell it, as he doth it,
To put your shame on me, to tell my friend.
This is the thought of a young man in his early youth,
That from his youth a poor widow gave
To give him this good, which was, by nature,
To survive and thrive for a thousand years.
In her soft-pawing hand she had knit a new coat;
And now a new wound had grown, a new wound to live.
For this she gave, and her face, and her lips,
For every other part, as well as all her parts.
If she were dead, that she may have her death remembered,
She can not live, nor can she live to the day;
For in this she cannot live.
And yet she who was living in my face,
She who was dying in my face was dead,
And life would die for her, if it did die in my face.
‘Now why did he come, where are you,
That this time to me I should show you
Your own love, my own life, my own life,
For I am a living being,
To live, to live, and to live still,
And not die, nor live to the day.
-Then what is love that is not love itself?
-Love that is not the death of love,
-Love that is not death, and death in itself
-Love that is not death,
-Love that is not death, and death in itself.
-And now what I shall write,
If I shall die in your absence.
“How then, then, did thou, as a lamb bearing,
Eat the lamb that had not been so ripe
When thou hast


======== CHECKPOINT 023 OUTPUT # 003 ========

trickle of his white teeth.
‘Look at that old face! He must not deceive me!
‘No, do not suppose it, but it may have come from thee;
The fair maiden from the fair field,
How many times we have sworn had we met.
‘Her soft cheek was like a sweet rose,
And her fair forehead, like a golden crystal,
Than pure jewel that would have vanished as snow’d.
‘And thus I hear him say: ‘And now thou mak’st the day a feast,
When toil and leisure all your leisure are gone.
‘For thou art well well-pursued: thou art so well-pursued,
That a thousand hours must remain to watch it,
And thou hast yet thy days full of ill,
A thousand hours to be wasted.
‘O what a day a thousand hours must last!
For how long can’t one hour spend in that ill-doing,
Time spent in an hour’s waste is wasted.
O that waste which no more can afford to pay:
And yet canst thou dost enrich the night,
But that thou dost spend with some excess of days?
Even so thou wilt be like the doting horse;
But that doting horse should never retire,
For this doting man can never live up to himself;
But when he did have another horse,
Th’ restful rest might well make thee thrive.
‘And when thou shalt look, thou art like a lamb,
And shall I not kill thee when I taste thy sweet flesh?
‘”Then there was no time for sweets or for sweets-welcoming:
Then no more time for sweets for sweets,
Or sweets for sweets for sweets.”
This verse is the last in the rhyme,
‘My love did desire to prove you right,
So did his loving mother that she lov’d.
To him his beauty was proof of virtue;
He was proof of love’s excellence,
But he could not prove me of it.
-“The day of his victory, and of his victory’s end,
Holds no end till he wakes up,
But his wake shall be full of hours, and hours will be spent.
How then can I tell thee I know nothing?
Who did teach thee what to read?
Where did I learn that I am not born?
What I learned by books but by hearsay,
And by the hours spent in hours spent in hours spent.
The painter was so fond of numbers
That he made himself use of them in painting,
The merchant so fond of wealth,
And so that each eye that sees him hath some,
Is not one of them rich, but all of them ill.
And yet all of them are not worth anything,
Or all worth is no but of some thing that is worth.
My love did desire to prove you right,
So did his loving mother that she lov’d.
As his mistress, his mistress, her mistress’s hand
And all their mutual love was fair:
That sweet Lucrece to the king and queen,
Which had done them the ceremony,
Had told him their reason and reason of their love,
And now they both beheld
the wailing of a dove, but never in love did she bring it;
He that hears her shrieking cries in her mind,
His mistress, his mistress’s heart is full of delight,
They that sing in their praise of the love they had,
Both love and sorrow are the same;
Thou art the same, and both my dear friend
Are love’s love, and mine is love’s sorrow;
Neither is my love the same to thee,
My love, thy love, my dear friend, thy dear self,
Are all the same, and all that thou art,
Love shall be thy art, and then thou shalt not be.
-Thou art my friend, my friend, my friend’s self,
And thy self, my self, thy self, thy self,
And I shall make him my friend, my friend my friend’s self;
He shall not steal my friend’s art,
Nor steal his love’s art’s love’s passion.
But he that can do me honour, he shall do me honour.
-“O that which you have my heart,
I can love you more than you,
For you are my friend, mine is mine, and my dear,
And you both are my friends, and they both are my friends:
That love, and mine, and mine,
So shall never depart from your love,
But from your life I shall be free,
And I shall die free, and you both die.”
Then the old man gave a sigh, and did look down,
And did cry out a


======== CHECKPOINT 023 OUTPUT # 004 ========

comed was a novel, which he made to suit his purpose.
“No, not that,” quoth he, “and my love was too far removed, and hence I should not kiss it.
‘Thou art so gentle a thief, how fair a mistress that will not see thee naked,
If thou hast such an excuse, I will go, and, if thou love’st I’ll take my cloak,
That thou mayst do me good, and do all I have,
That I may show thy face unto thy neighbour’s,
Then that’s mine; then that’s my wife’s, and so am I.
And with this I do excuse thee of thy folly:
Yet, if thou be so, I must not steal thy beauty,
For thou canst not make me a friend, nor make me love thee.
If thou hast my love, let my words express it,
And if thy words express my thoughts, let them be my thoughts,
That the eye may view them in their fair complexion.
Her cheeks were full, her eyes fair, her lips white.
‘But why should I do this, thou canst not leave my side?
‘And thus shall the old clock that I did build
Under the stars turn, and all the night do I still
Receives the spring and leaves the autumn.
‘Yet with a fair moan I say,
‘And where is this old man, who was a kind father?
Whose tongue hath not made it sound so,
Whose hand was not gentle, nor tender, nor tongue gentle,
Whose hand was not crooked, nor his fingers unsymmetrical,
Whose eyes were not deep-lidded, nor his lips shallow,
Whereon from his eyes, deep black, came forth,
Whereat she grew old and white.
‘Then thou my lord, when I am in thy place,
Will not love your eyes, nor your tongue;
If I know them by nature, I will,
And to that which is best, to be so loved.
‘And what dost thou be in my love,
What love’s stain, and why are thou so?
Why then dost thou have this beauty,
That not thy love’s love but mine own,
Whereon my love’s stain falls?‘Then, that which is best to thee
Who in thy own body is thine,
Which thou dost lack, that in thee
Thy pure self, that thou art thy self,
Shall in thyself, in thy self’s self,
be thy self, and thou my self be mine;
For I am thy self, thy self thy self;
And therefore thou shalt know me and do all my grace
With thy self in thee, and all thy parts by thee.
O how sweetly the sweet sweetest and most true,
And if in mine self were the other,
The sweetest, I do call them sweet,
And best thou thy self.
‘If, that beauty that doth not live,
With such a love should he not be,
The self is dead, and self living.”
Her bosom was full of joy,
And with her she rose and bathed in water,
That her breath might not drown it in so heavy a sigh;
Her eyes could not breathe her,
And then, in tears, she gave her tongue
To weep and to sing her praises.
‘And this she said, and she told the tale:
This man’s name he had,
And here his wife he lived,
And now he his wife’s self is gone.
He that knows this, I that I know not,
This man’s name, this man’s self is gone;
His self his self gone, and he himself dead;
‘‘O, where is my beauty, why am I gone,
As thou art not gone, so is I gone,
This was my beauty, but I did not see thee gone;
If thou didst see my beauty, what couldst thou look at?
O how art I not gone, my beauty,
I do not know you, but I am gone.
‘O, beauty in thy grace,
Beauty in thy love,
My beauty, my love, my love, my love,
My love hath not power to make me change my mind;
For thou art in me, and I in thee.
‘Now this gentle, virtuous wife,
Came of him that had died, and she that loved him
Did so she that loved him bequeath her name.
‘To him she did say, ‘I saw thee die,
And yet I did not kill thee.
As thou art, in me I did see thee,
And


======== CHECKPOINT 023 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Latinos of that part of the world where my mind dwells.
‘So it was. ‘What shall I say, then?’
She replies, ‘But now thy eye, and that of thy brain,
Do your best to learn; my heart, too, is no longer my art.’
‘That you must be so?’
‘If thou dost make no false excuses,
By whose means shall I see thy truth:
As if your love had died, so the world began again
To make false that was mine.
‘And that my love must I do this,
I will, and love will do this;
With all that I am, I will make my love love thee,
And my love shall do this; but I cannot make your love my love.’
‘O how I love thee, when I love thee,
By thy side are my thoughts; so are yours;
And to all my good, I do give you more.’
Her breath heft’d, she drew it back
She could not breathe it, and it did not do;
‘My mind is no happier with all my thoughts than mine.’
But now Lucrece’s eyes were still with him,
And by Lucrece’s side were Lucrece’s brows,
And Lucrece’s heart to his heart had been drawn,
And hence Lucrece was drawn, and therefore Lucrece had been.
Her lips, being so full, had begun to moan
As they had from one another on this dreadful ocean:
This poor man’s grave was but a tomb,
Which, though all his heart should hold,
Came to Lucrece’s ear and wail’d his blood,
And still Lucrece moaned, her hand that she owed to him,
Her other cheek, in which Lucrece had pluck’d,
She that his lips had lov’d,
Her lips were no better, nor any more;
She would say nothing, and the tears flowed
Like floodgates through the river,
And with each successive flood she threw,
A hundred dolorous rushes flowed down,
And flood, and flood-like river,
Goes down from the high heaven to the bottomless sea;
Who takes his cross in that, and he doth show,
To be all red, all black, and all white.
‘My love,’ quoth she, ‘do you desire me to die?
Or to live and live and live,
My dear soul, to my body, to my life,
And death to thee, and to this eternity,
When I in thy self live, and in the earth,
When in thee die I shall live with thee.’
Then she looks sad, and frowns on him;
‘Why are you weeping so, dear,
That you have so much to weep over?
What a happy feeling I feel that makes me weep!
‘What a happy feeling I feel that makes me cry!
For he that is not, may he not live,
For this cause I am in love.’
“And now, when thou shalt see my eyes,
I swear to thy good friend, that thou lov’st me,
And will not kill thee when I kill thee.
That he might die, and that he might live,
And to this I say, O my friend,
Be mine, and mine.”
“And then,” quoth she, “he woos, “though his heart should love him,
His heart to my heart loves none,
Though his heart’s love’s love be one,
Whilst it did not love him,
Yet still he sought her from all parts.
So, so, that the eye doth seem his eye,
Which in spite of her self’s best skill,
Yet when he makes it come to that, it cannot do.
Now I see how this poor heart
Is a man’s eye, so is her heart,
But if any eye make thee such a love,
And if there be no love in me,
Nor all eyes which look on thee,
Nor all ears that hear thee,
Nor all ears that hear thee,
Nor all ears that hear thee,
But all these things, for the eyes that see thee,
My love hath never been the fairest,
Nor all that love is,
Thou art the fairest, thy heart the fairest.
Love, I know, thou art my friend,
Yet thou art not my friend.
‘Whence therefore I said that thou art my friend,
I had to say that thou art mine,
And thou art mine, but then all thy parts are,
And then all your parts are,
And all thy parts are, and all thy parts are,
This thou art thy friend.


======== CHECKPOINT 024 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Tribune in Rome, and having thus observed him, he advised her that she should speak to her husband, and her mind should not be taken by argument to any other cause.

And when she had been gone some ten or twenty minutes, and in the meantime with tears in her eyes she would answer him,
“And yet for my love is so much of a sad state,
That I do not think all my beauty so dear.
The hour is long, but it is never ended.
‘Tis my pleasure to have some good news for you.
I may say, thy name, thy true form,
And be quite fair, and yet for the sake of this good deed
My love will prove thee my worst false friend,
For thy love I have tried as false a friend,
And I have tried to make thee my enemy.
To be your friend thou must wear, but be not so fair.
O love, why shouldst thou hide thy shame in my shame?
And do not do as the fool makes you,
For love and you alone make me laugh,
And this love’s love that I love with all my mind,
Since nothing in this world can kill the truth,
Nor be too hard nor too hard’st to persuade the truth;
What, for instance, is an excuse for what I did
In an argument: when I have no excuse for what I did,
Thy love is thy friend, your friend is mine,
That I may entertain thee, and thy love shall win my mind,
Though all mine being of you must in a thousand parts be,
By no means, my love hath your sweet love and your hateful
And that love’s sweetness and thy hate are your enemies.
When they, but like birds of prey, had laid siege to my sight,
And like bees on their hive fell, their droppings drenched the place,
In the airy ground where roses doth flower,
Which to this world I am forced to bear,
The poor roses, the young birds, the lame that are drowsy,
And to all this I will find none, nor can I be blamed;
For I love thee, my sweet love, in thy self,
Like the little birds that fly over the sky,
Who do not breed, and no birds breed but are kind,
In this world are their nests kept up; and they do fly away;
And they do not see, but they fly away when they have seen;
And by this way do I fear you to my life,
Thy love, in truth, you did breed,
And thou, with the thought of it, did breed again.
My love, my love is of you,
If that which is so, I am so happy;
Love, what is to thee this time,
Or to me it is said to be thy best,
The poor thing being, all the better to use it?
That the best is to be a poor jewel,
In beauty’s shade thou shalt be, that thou mightst make a sweet painting.
No more than that, this love, this loving love, will not die;
And with this love she should die, till love’s last breath.
She shall not die, she is but a happy man,
And so for the sake of love she shall live.
O why cannot thy beauty be better than this?
What better means shall I see than thy beauty?
O what better object should I see than thy grace?
O what more must I see than thy majesty,
Thou hast given in such a way, where thou art not.
-In his heart, the voice that speaks
Is a voice to himself and to his friends,
To himself alone, and to his friends alone,
And to himself alone is his life, to himself alone:
A life worth living, a life worth nothing,
The beauty that is made of a life, not one,
Whereby the other is nothing but a state of being.
To him who lives and whom he lives,
His life lies, as in that life of mine.
Therefore it was, that he should live and die,
And there lived in his life my love that ever lived,
And now live they in me that I hate,
Which life, in my love, in my love’s will live.
(So he lives and dies and gives all the rest to me,
Then they all together are like one creature;
And all their parts in one body, in that unity
Which is in me the unity of the whole.)
‘But now, O lovely city! now my heart shall behold,
As I hear thee, you see it, as I hear thee,
And when you behold this, you will marvel that I have seen it
O the world with your eye,


======== CHECKPOINT 024 OUTPUT # 002 ========

177-7, the year is ending,
Or shall the year come and be dead;
Or what should I say, for thou wilt give me,
And by thy grace’s kindling thy tongue,
To persuade thee to break the seal?
What to do with thine eye I have,
Or what should I say, for thou wilt give me,
Thy beauty’s self to thy will be mine,
Thy pride to mine self in thine,
And thy worth to mine own self in yours,
Thy skill in the world, and all your fame,
The world’s, and all thy fame’s worth?
For thy self in me was,
And now, my self’s self, and thou thy self’s,
With that is thy self’s self, and thou my self’s,
And that for thee I am your self,
And then, that thy self in thee is mine,
Which is yours, and what thyself is mine,
And then that my self in thee is yours,
And that mineself in thee is mine,
And that mineself in thee is mine,
Then I’ll let thee use thee, for I love thee,
And for thee shall I love thee.
‘Look, it is the summer, and all the snow is down,
That’s the place where winter is hot:
But that where summer’s hot,
That cold cold place,
Is cold; cold is dead, and all things now
Beautiful beauty, the flower that lives,
For life itself dead; for thy life itself now
lives dead, and all things now
Die, like ashes, as the fire
As fire on the nighty cloud died in the morning:
For all the day’s day’s day was dead and dead,
For tomorrow, tomorrow’s day’s day was dead and dead,
And yet thou art this; and so are my lives.
For what was a good life to be
That made thee so dead,
Sometime of one thing, never of another,
That life on the ground in thee was still,
Where thou, like a dead flower, was in life,
But thou art dead, like a dead flower,
And death on earth, and thence to heaven,
The earth’s dead and then again dead,
The dead on heaven’s level was then dead,
So thou wast living, not dying;
That was the part of me which I had,
That thou art dead; for which is my living,
that thou wast dead, thou wast not living.
Thus hath he my dear love for thy love,
Even though his life he is a part of:
He was love when she married him, and he love when she died.
No, no, no, no, no!
‘Tis said he was a child, a boy.
When she died she saw her husband lying;
As if he had seen her wailing,
And now she must cry with all her might,
And make him come; but she was so proud
That all those who see her crying could not see;
For their hearing was quiet enough, and therefore they did hear,
As if she did hear them; but they did see them;
For then did they behold her weepy eyes,
That all the world to their grief might see
Had no heart but to see her.
“Father,” she cries, “how much more we hate thee!”
And yet, from her back she thrusts her hand,
That to this she must raise her brows up,
As if from the base of the heaven’d heaven,
To see him, and see him where he lies.
‘If thou wilt help me, and help me to make
a new age,
By that I may make you all men’s eyes,
And in their hearts that art still will say,
That thou art my love, and I am thy love,
Since I love thee for love, and I myself am thy love,
For love’s sake do I love thee, and yet thou dost not,
Though I am thy love, though I myself dost not be,
Because thou art not thy love, though I myself be thy love,
I am your love, and thou art my love,
For though I be your love, yet thou dost be my love,
If I be your love, but my love be thy love,
Yet thou art thy love, and I myself am thy love;
And this was the purpose of my rage,
And as it was the end of my rage,
The effect was so swift, that I was slain,
That I did not live long, and yet live.
“So do not leave me alone,” quoth she;
And for fear of this I will not depart,


======== CHECKPOINT 024 OUTPUT # 003 ========

sod are for the glory of men,
Which they do lov’d to a thousand tricks,
Which every one makes a mad excuse,
Which by the love of their true-love-fac’d lover
Saw the poor man die with his blood in his eye,
Which it all was to say they have not been slain.
By this, that sad-sweet night, she took away
The torch, she threw a tear at it,
And when the poor maid found her tear gone,
She stood her fair eye where it doth weep;
And every thing that touched her that touched her might be seen
With tears and tears of grief.
But if I am an old maid, and you are my wife,
Do not be my subject and do not tell me,
That your kind kindness is enough to my needs.
‘O, this sorrow which I see doth stain my face,
When that stain was once upon my cheeks,
And that on my brow, in my cheek
To make it seem so dainty doth reign.
And yet, my face was never made so pure
That now it is the shadow of my face,
That in my face’s shadow it no more looks,
Nor is it, like that of my true self,
When my heart hath been pure, and my body pure?
When did I ever say, ‘Tis no excuse to forbid,
To go and sit, as some do,
Where I may kiss your sweet cheek, as much,
As your cheek, as mine own, and therefore all my blood
Gives my self pleasure: then be thou free, my self!
That which is my own, my own self,
Is the true state of all my parts,
And all thy parts thy parts.
As to that which I do, let me say
That my love is the most excellent of my parts,
And to that which I do, let my parts be,
That both I and I alone be,
And both of my parts belong to you both.
The world, to whom I owe my worth,
That I may give the best gift to posterity,
If in it be no defect, it be thy self:
The world to whom I owe my worth,
That I may give the best gift to posterity,
If in it be no defect, it be thy self.
For the same thing, thou my child, if thou bear my face,
I shall give thee the best gift,
Thou the best gift to me.
O, how canst thou help when I will rob you of time?
And this to your help, that thou helpst me will do.
O, what a sweet-dressed beggar to make a poor man laugh!
O, how am I that thou shalt stay my will so long?
As thou art such as to entertain me,
As thou art such that shall entertain my will so long,
The love of all is that thou shouldst make my love live,
Thou art so fair as fair-necked Priam,
That my love is my love, thy true self,
Thou shouldst be my sweetest love, thy true self,
And all my beauty was love, not thine,
To him thine be not my sweetest love;
For now the time is when thou shouldst be my sweetest love,
Thou shouldst be my love, thy true self;
Thou shouldst be my love, thy true self;
Thou shouldst be my love, thy true self;
Thou shouldst be thy love, thy true self,
Thou shouldst be my love, thy true self,
And thus he concludes that thou art thy love.
‘Tis true, it is true, but it be so,
For he knows that his love in thee lies,
And every part of thee bears thy face.
When she began to cry and to weep,
The old priestess with tears down her cheeks
As if he had seen them from the glass,
And she herself stood on the water,
As if with her tears she should have said:
She hath said, ‘What a boar is in his head!
He feeds by grazing upon his herd,
And eats the poor for food.’
But the old priestess, whose eyes he did not see,
Upon him Tarquin did run;
He is like a young lion chasing after an owl;
He is the eye of a serpent,
And when the young boy sees him, and sees it writhe,
He spits venomous venom.
‘So Tarquin’s voice was troubled,
She thought he should say, ‘You know how to kiss the young.’
‘So that’s how I know,’ quoth she, ‘it


======== CHECKPOINT 024 OUTPUT # 004 ========

worrisome or doubtful.
He is proud of his rank, his beauty and of his worth,
To boast his beauty and not merely to boast,
But to praise himself and his worth in meld.
He lies upon the bottom of a mountain in the dark
Of hell and earth.
For heaven’s grace did teach him this beauty,
And taught him his faults; but for sin’s sake he hath sworn,
Who had no other grace to do with the earth.
‘O my poor, my son, I wish I had done what I did,
And this did I beg for pardon; but the world did teach me thee.
When thou hast told this, the world shall show thee that thou didst do.
“Now,” quoth she, “look at that breast whereon I fell,
To which I fell that day, to which I now am;
And in my breast I was so full of grief,
That no tears, no sorrow, but my heart could not hold;
For all that my heart should behold the spectacle
Of a dying man and of a widow.
“Now, O,” quoth she, “this time began mine eyes
With this sweet-burning red,
Who at once set down their fire, and threw themselves
Upon the earth, as if they could not live;
And from their fiery doom they did go,
To where they were dead.
“So you will,” quoth she, “as in the night,
In darkness thou mayst still behold the dark
As a curtain that obscures, the night’s fire from thy sight,
To the place where you see the world, in thee shall lie
The living and the dead, who in their blood
Make thee living and dead, and in thee shall be burnt.
So die I for thee! be my poor self,
Like a living man with a dead wife,
Whose love for thee in my heart so sweetly died,
Like a wife and husband, but with two lovers.
But this, though in a world dead, thou dost be live
The world was thy life, and thou art not my light,
Nor thy shadow’s beauty nor thy light’s beauty’s matter.
Even then will I love thee for thy beauty’s sake,
And if thou art so rich a friend, with so much as thy worth,
My love will live on my lips till I have died.
“Here I am, I shall beg thee a bed,
And thou shalt have it, but never again shall I be sick;
‘If thou dost leave me, I shall take the horse.
And, as thou shalt not lie, yet thou shalt die:
Let him die in thy love, and in thy love’s blood shalt live.
O what shall it be that in my heart’s eye
A love-treaty should prove a love-treaty?
But I believe thou, that thou canst not bear that,
That thou didst say to me when thou began to sing,
That I should swear, ‘O Lord, my love, that thou shalt bear it
And that I shall swear, ’tis thee that makes my life come true.’
And yet why should I say this,
If thy love and mine eyes do bear
My love’s false love, and thy true love’s false view,
Then why should I be a husband,
And make a husband, if I love thee?
How can I have another wife,
For you are not my wife, nor my husband’s wife,
But for your love, let not be bound together
An adulterate vow in my heart,
Unless it should be true, though love be false;
This vow is not true, but false in spirit,
Which is by nature made false, when nature deceives,
To prevent the false from deceiving.
O, what false thing in nature I may call;
And what false thing in nature in virtue
I may make false, to prove the truth;
I may make false to prove the truth,
And false to prove the truth the truth was:
Therefore I cannot make false in thee,
For thee I am so much of my kind,
That thou art my friend, and thou art my friend’s friend.
thou art his friend, and thou art mine friend’s friend,
And all these are my favours, my dear friends,
And I have no friend in thee, nor in thee.
If thou art dead, thou hast no friend in me.
O what good didst thou hear of Lucrece’s death?
For she was the first witness of his death,
And the most learned of all,
She attended to the death of Collatine,
And the rest of Lucrece’s estate.
She did say he had been slain


======== CHECKPOINT 024 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Maduro

Saying that she is proud

To wear thee in honour,

Though her tears will burn, and her words are plain

Their contents will be the most notorious
To his eyes or elsewhere on this earth.
And yet there is a time for all this,
That in vain my words are sung
To the choir that is to sing thee,
And the choir that loves me.
To her own chaste soul she answers
My desperate plea, in her own breast
Hateful words, for my sake are thy love.
“Dear Collatinus, my friend,” quoth she, “this ill-favour’d night
Till this hour, like the sun that doth shine,
Thy face doth quake at your foul trespass
And thou art too gentle to call thee friend again,
Thy heart-defying cheek makes it quiver,
thy heart’s sweet heart doth quake again.
‘But now thy heart hath made her proud;
Her fair hair doth stand on her chest;
Her short braided hand stands there,
Her red brow folds like a flower,
Her face is like a painted glass,
To make thee appear like a child of mine,
Like all those in love’s fair,
In love’s fair beauty, in love’s fair beauty,
And as the best from the worst from the best dies,
The one on his level doth show the best,
his life, his fair life, his fair fair life die;
His fair life to that fair he doth live.
‘Then now thy heart, mine own, and all their goods,
Took delight in thy sad plight;
And now thy heart’s sorrows and thy sweet thoughts
Are in thy grief and thy sorrow’s heaviness
Till now you can see, you can say:
My heart with thee is dead, my heart with thee
That still my heart still remains alive,
And still I love you still, and yet I do not
Love thy heart, thy heart, thy heart’s love,
That thou so sweet and so fair,
That, like a dead eagle and dead of day,
Shall fly away to the sea, and stay to kill thee.
He did this by his sovereign will,
Which by his sovereign will he obeyed;
Then, too, he did as the sun did,
And still the night is so hot that my eye burns,
Even so thy self, my self, and my self’s worth,
Are like a burning fire to your eyes.
“Now then my heart,” quoth he, “is no more,”
And as he goes forth he bids another look,
Thou art like the golden jewel in mine eye,
But this golden jewel being struck with thine own hand,
Who as his golden foil bids thee fly,
Thy golden jewel bids thee stay in thy heart,
Or stay where thou hast lived;
Or live where thou art not born but live.
“My heart! my heart, my heart, my heart, my heart!
Whose blood it doth spend upon every wrinkle,
Sew the blood out of my cheeks, in my cheeks my nose,
my lips, my tongue, my lips’ lips, my lips’ lips, my lips’ lips!’
And I will drown my soul in his stain,
And live with his stain till he die,
He who doth live in thy stain doth live,
And shall live on in thy stain for all eternity.
“And now I wish my soul to be proud
Of this and my body’s death,
As I should like it to be proud of my soul.
Now now my heart to be proud of my body,
And my heart to be proud of my body’s death,
So let it not be, that I may not say
That my life is not worth living,
And yet this is so;
For it was mine that, if I had not my own,
My life is my life, but no more,
Or I live a life of my own,
So life cannot live the life that my heart lives,
It is my life, and thus no more my heart lives.
“So then why should I say to my friends
That I love thee for thy sake?
Mine true love is mine true love,
And thou art my self’s son, my self’s son,
If thou dost love my self so,
Thy self is thy self, and yet thou dost love mine,
For in thy self I am so pure,
So that thou dost love mine as well
As thy self was mine, and yet thou dost love mine.
‘And yet thou dost love mine as well,
For thou art mine own, my self is mine


======== CHECKPOINT 025 OUTPUT # 001 ========

akeru the other way,
As if there were two wills on one;
Nor mightst I say ‘And that man thou hast’ not love,
Yet his lips were mute.
‘If thou wilt,’ quoth she,’my friend, and I,
The fault is mine; but I shall cure thee.’
‘If thou wilt,’ quoth he,’my friend, and I,
The fault is mine; but I shall cure thee.’
If thou wilt,’ quoth she,’my friend, and I,
The fault is mine; but I shall cure thee.’
Then if thy lips be mute, my friend,
My friend, and I,
The fault is mine; but I shall cure thee.’
‘As for me, I am as thy good self,’ quoth she,
As if I had any heart, I should die;
For if a heart be that cannot die,
My heart’s desire will do me no good.
The better I live, the more he myself is willing.
For to die, to die in me is my death;
For all this I do not think myself so;
I am no more then a slave, nor do I desire,
That I should die for him who loves me,
With my death shall all my lives depend.
He who did kill her, he whom thou didst love,
But not he whom she himself did kill,
Had his head’d up in his arms, and to the ground
In his arms was writ the following writ:
‘”Now, if thou didst betray me,
I will kill you, I will not beheld;
But if thou didst betray me,
And I should know all for a thousand murders,
I will do you a bloody hand;
I will put you on earth’s knife,
And make you a queen of Rome;
For why should I love thee, though thou love me not?
Even so I swear I will not have thee,
For thou shalt live to know it all.”
‘Love,’ quoth she, ‘if thou art to lose it,
Thou must lose thy love, and be dead.
O what an act! I was once so happy,
Yet thou hast done me wrong.
“This is love in the heart,
To put on a happy face; and no more can hold me,
But in my heart there is a true love;
And when thou dost turn back, my heart’s beauty’s stain
The worse shall he die.
For this reason dost thou make me kill her,
I’ll do so again, my death will live;
And I will not be revenged on her,
Her love was strong, my beauty weak,
Her shame strong, her hate weak,
His shame, his shame’s disgrace’s disgrace,
His shame’s disgrace, my shame’s disgrace,
He is my torment, mine disgrace is mine.”
‘”Now if thou didst betray me,
I will kill you, I will not beheld,
But if thou didst betray me,
Her grace will teach thee to kill me;
Or else let him go, and live in love.”
The man, in whose hand she laid down the wound,
The dead creature, the living being dead:
So did she, and the rest were dumb in their tears,
Even in the dying’s sight as in the dead.
O who hath not thought that I am dead and am not so,
And am alive to tell it in the time?
What, then, art thy self buried in me,
That never again willst thou tell,
But what is thy self, that thou so know’st,
That I was dead and was never so.
O what love of thy true heart canst thou give,
That in thy life thou hast never seen
For the time of my life’s creation?
Why, then, are you not my love,
And never willst thou be my love’s deceiver?
And why, then, is this my love?
To what effect can I not tell
what love is, what effect I not tell,
The most false excuse?
What false excuse is not but thine own,
The most false excuse is thy true self,
And false excuse thou art,
Thy self in truth is thy own truth,
And thine own in truth thou hast not done;
Thou hast done so, and now thou shalt live,
And to-morrow, my love will not live again,
Nor will I have his love in my life.
But thou art my love, thou mine, my true love,
Thou shalt not die by this.
“To make her sorrow more severe,
So to be revenged on her more blunt,
Her


======== CHECKPOINT 025 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Pope, where he dwells;
As though he did come in and slay his own self,
O do not let me say thy name,
What is thy name?
O what is thy name? ‘O how sweet thou art!
That which thou dost name me, my love doth not
Thy tongue doth not speak thee,
But thou hast said it so, and not done it.
“That thou dost name me,” quoth he, “is not to blame,
That my name might be better.
For my self my self, mine own self,
And every kind of thing and woman’s eye,
For thy self the beauty of thine own,
And every kind of thing my self that ever I saw,
So many things for thy self that my own self can not know,
This to me is my true self, all my self to thee,
And yet all thy life, each to itself be,
All thy true self, to all my self, to all my self,
The very nature of things to themselves be,
And every thing to themselves to themselves be,
I would not like nor seek thee, but would love thee,
And thou, my true self, be my true self,
And all my self, all mine, and all thy true self
All my self, all my self, all thy true self,
The very nature of things to themselves be,
And every thing to themselves be,
The very nature of things to themselves be,
Of each thing’s being together, what parts thereof belong,
And each other’s not together in their parts?
“Look at thee, my love’s love, when thou lov’st my heart,
It hath the semblance of thy self;
My self, thou self’st me, my self’s not my self,
The world knows not that I myself am thy self,
Yet it doth my self do this;
The world cannot help me see thy self but with his eye,
I can do it myself, and you shall do it,
What can I say? do it to thy self, for I do believe thee.
‘O then I pray for thee, for thou didst steal my life,
And thus do I pray for thy self,
To show thee thy self didst lend mine life:
O then my self did lend mine self;
Myself, thy self, my self lent mine self:
And now thou my self do lend mine self,
For I gave mine self so unto thee;
Thou didst lend mine self, and so mine own self.
For in me thou hast lent mine self a son,
That thou shalt not mineself remove.
Yet now I do say that thou art my father’s slave,
and I thy father’s slave,
Whose ransom shall thou pay thee?
My self hath borrowed my self’s life,
That I myself was the thief,
My self is thy self, my self’s self is thy self,
My self is thy self’s self, my self is thy self,
My self is thy self’s self, my self’s self is thy self,
My self is thy self, my self my self’s self;
But what my self’s self hath no self,
That I can myself show thee myself’s self,
And in this thou art my father’s slave,
That I myself am thy father’s slave,
Thy self is thy self, my self is thy self,
My self is thy self’s self, my self is thy self;
For thou hast lent mine self a son,
And mine self hath borrowed mine self a son;
Thou hast borrowed mine self’s life, and mine own self a son;
Thou hast borrowed mine self’s life, and mine own self a son;
Thou hast borrowed mine self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast stolen mine self’s life, and mine self’s self a son;
Thou hast stole mine self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast stolen mine self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast stolen mine self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast steal my self’s life, and mine self a son:
Thou hast stolen my self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast stolen my self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast stolen mine self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast stolen mine self’s life, and mine self a son:
Thou hast stolen mine self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast stolen mine self’s life, and mine self a son;
Thou hast stolen mine self’s life, and mine self a son


======== CHECKPOINT 025 OUTPUT # 003 ========

lame
In a thousand tongues he says.
In love, the most gracious man of her,
She loves all; but she which cannot be satisfied,
For she hath such love as to stain,
And she that is not made to stain in thine,
The truth cannot, and will not stain thy face.
So the poor thief bebond’d her hand,
That, having put down that which he owed,
She will, she say, be revenged;
And his revenge shall prove not so fair,
That he should live, or be revenged,
But be a tyrant, and a tyrant in crime.
“If that,” quoth she, “on what charge shall I get,
For my guilt, and my shame, or both?
And if my shame be the offender,
That my shame his offender shall bear,
As a guilty man, as a guilty wife,
I, on your side, bear your shame in scorn.
If I have not had it, this Tarquin’s deed,
Or that which you were, then all the guilt should hang.
For now let’s leave the subject,
Let’s go to another place to speak;
And from thence return to our carriage;
As in their place the weary carriage leaves,
And with Lucrece’ voice begins to say:
“For what will I do that the poor maiden will not see?
She that lives is her love, and her life is to be:
To the sun she cannot ill,
To the moon she never can ill,
But to the lion she shall never tame,
To the boar she never makes tame.
Thus, having lost thy sweet love in me,
I will give thee a place to live,
Or I will not give you a place to live.
Thy good qualities I did teach, my love to know,
For to her self-same thing was done.
‘To this she replies, ‘That thy true self
Will not kill the poor lamb that lives with thee;
The wolf and the boar, the boar’s mate, the wolf’s rider,
are the only breed of life that live in thee;
No creature, no man, no beast,
Is my life, thy true self, and I in thee;
For I, thy true self, die, and thou in my self.
And here again the maiden and the young lamb bear,
As though in them she herself should be bereaved.
But in my love’s bosom she herself should weep,
And then to the sweet lamb she should say,
That is my love, and thou in me,
And for my true love hath died;
And if thou were my love’s self still,
And thou thy self ever living, then thine own self is dead.
Then is that that verse of Lucrece translated,
“I do, I did kill, and thou did rape.”
‘”Ay, but not then, but for the love of thyself.
Love cannot do to thee what thou shalt not to thyself.
No man knows what to make thee so good,
That you may not live like to me that I should live.
Therefore by all my parts is my hope the light,
To live like a god, so that he may tell,
The poor fool that doth steal, and die with him.
So is the story of Lucrece’ death told,
From whose breast the sweet Lucrece that lives,
Wherefore I, thou art the child, thou art the life;
What do I to death that will be so cruel?
To the dead that will not be dead?
For that, in me, that is my life,
As thy life, in me thee is not to die:
As thy life, in thee is not to live dead.
In thee, this earth is my light,
That on thee my world is made a shining light,
That on thee my world is painted a pale,
So that in me the world I in thee is bright,
And in thee my world is bright in thee.
‘For love’s truth is all like to a stone’s gloss,
That every stain from a well-built glass doth hide,
If by a thousand shadows from the spot be hid.
“What then then? what is thy truth,
that I will never lie or boast,
that I will not kill,
That I will not curse,
And, for love’s sake, never do I murder,
That I love not death with my life,
Nor death with my love’s life’s life.
Yet let love do what thou hast sworn
To do unto thyself, and then thou shalt not steal;
For thou hast sworn, I swear, and thou shall not steal.
This


======== CHECKPOINT 025 OUTPUT # 004 ========

cruising-fast, that he did do well.
She takes his hand, but she touches it no more.
She takes his hand, and she is afraid that he hath been deceived with her.
“Thou shalt not murder,” she saith;
And from her lips he speaks:
‘This vile devil, this false lord of this day
He’ll not give me the strength of my will,
The power of my will to defend you,
The light of my will, and of my will to thee:
Thy will, my will, and thy will, and thy will’s strength shall be
With the earth’s force and in my will,
Of my will, the air’s force, and my will’s strength in thee.
“And yet there was this deep thought which I did behold,
That I should weep for thee, for me, for my love,
For this, my will, and my will’s strength in thee.
And yet now he speaks; and then she shakes her head,
And bids him give her this oath of love:
The devil, the fiend, the idol of love:
Who will betray his true self for thee,
And rob me of my good will?
‘Let not the maid’s eye, the queen’s eye,
That looks on my lusty face, that looks upon my husbandry,
My love, my love, my love,
To love and be reconciled for ever!
Let not my fear of thy false love,
That makes my will, my will’s strength,
That shall make your will, and your will’s strength
Against me, your will, your will, your will, your will’s strength
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my fear, your fear, your fear, your will’s strength,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy,
Against me, your will, your will’s strength, your will’s strength!
Let not my jealousy, your jealousy, your jealousy


======== CHECKPOINT 025 OUTPUT # 005 ========

vans and other objects.
The light, she told him, ‘is bright, and there is a sun that doth stand upon it, and with this white he walks with his hand,
And yet by his will he sees nothing else than a black;
For he is not yet blind, but he seeeth that he is not blind;
In other words, thou art, that thyself is the true self;
And all thy life doth have that power of beauty,
And so it doth give thee some beauty to excuse thee,
That which in thy heart doth make thee better than thy wonted self;
Wherefore she shows thee in the night, where thou wilt see me
In this bright night, in thy face, in thy bed:
Or what I said is true in others,
But in me there is true, and in you there is true.
‘But to thee do I cry: ‘O thou art thy slave!’
Thou art my master, and yet I never know my love.
And why should not she show, by her eye,
The wound that her eye, which makes the wounds worse,
With such gentle touch is eased?
She did, as before she told it, but her lips did not seem,
The stain was so deep that there seemed not his part;
Yet still she kept her oath, as if she would die,
And did not seem dead, but would leave the grave for this kiss:
Thou art my self, my self thou art, and not my self
That doeth more than others’ wills;
And in me thou art my self, my self thou art,
I am thy self, and not my self that did doeth
Thy will, thy will, thy will that did doeth.
For he did say this, in the night’s night,
And when she could not see her eyes, nor hear them,
he fell down and doth hearken, his heavy voice,
That the clouds would cover him with his thoughts:
He goes on weeping, and bids his horse neigh;
That the horse beheld the clouds, and did stand,
His voice was as that of a lion,
That he should see the fair daffy:
For why should I weep? I did not cry:
Even so he did say, ‘Let’s see thee again,’
And she did not hear him say this:
‘No, no, no, no,’ he replied;
She saw him, and smiled with him:
‘Look how the snow takes on all the snow,
And the white-green-red dolour of the day:
I could not stand it by myself: I did not care for it;
If I did, it would be as though the world were no more,
That it should still hold, with a proud heart
And then with the world as the world is, that I might not be,
For my life was for all others in my heart.
And now she had seen the picture of the fair fair daffy,
And in it the angel of fair fame did speak,
Who she perceiv’d as a maiden, and did her bow and thrust
Hiding it in the fair’s side:
Then did she weep, and sigh, and dost thou make her wail,
When thou wilt have done, for this I do ask
For thy will and for thy self’s sake.
But as he said, ‘Thy will,’ said he, ‘will not be done,
Till I have done, and the one from thee is done.’
For, ‘twixt thee and me thou shalt live,
And between thee and me thou shalt be lived,
And thou shalt live till I die.
That is why thou didst not die till I am gone.
And in this she said he, ‘Thou shalt not live till I am gone,
And in this thou shalt be dead;
For ever in all thy power shall it seem,
As all thy power in all thy will to live,
When I am dead, that ever my power must live.
That which thou didst do not make me live,
That ever mine will live in thee will be lived.
‘And when he had said this,’ she ran on,
And now she with his body was on her side;
her chin held out her hand, and she took it
As if she were in her arms, and when it was held out,
She gave it to her lord, and he did not kiss;
For though he do not kiss her mistress,
The poor thing’s blood shall stain her blood,
With all thy might I will blot out his name.’
And now she put on her head, and did pray
The night-god to put her face where


======== CHECKPOINT 026 OUTPUT # 001 ========

hijacked, or worse still, the traitor who breaks his oath; for the king is the instrument, both he and the traitor are guilty: hence this treason will not cease to be but thy crime.”
Then the tyrant doth make his foe a prisoner of his rage, and sets a knife to his neck, till, to put another prisoner to death, he will not relent:
Thus did she, with all her strength, do him no advantage.
‘If she did kill him,’ quoth he,’she would kill me!’
‘Hush,’ quoth she, ‘and let her lips make it seem,
That she herself was the offender of thee.
She, that I did love thee, shall ever slay me.’
Yet now she still stands in thy bosom;
Her tongue still rings, as she sings of thy sin,
And, with her, the king shakes his head, and in the way,
O blessed king, thou didst lend me hope,
And from thy side thine eye all my life had been spent,
With love’s light from thy sight was my light to see,
And light from thy eye light’d my sight to behold,
And light from thy side was light to see to see,
And light from thy side dark’d my sight dark’d my sight
That, in me, thou was the first to leave me,
Then did I beg, and beguil, and beguil still
To give more and more, and I am gone.”
‘Now that his spirit’s wound is done,
The queen bids her maid do her honour;
He bids her kiss her tender lips;
Her lips are tied together in love, and in mine are
One by one her tears, one by one each.
She calls him “a dear friend,”
And he, when she calls, “friends,” she calls, “sweet friend;”
For, when she calls, her eyes were white with tears;
Her lips were open, her face was cold, her nose was red,
Her brow was crooked, her chin out, her chin down,
Her neck was strong, and her waist towered above.
‘But now his mind hath done away, and no more,
The guiltless king cries, ‘O heaven’s god, my beloved wife!
Make me this night, for ever, and never end,
To live on this earth with the dead in my womb.
I’ll kill thee when I have slain thee,
For thou hast no breath of life, no breath of truth,
My body in thy womb I will bury,
Thy blood in my blood I will wipe,
But in thy blood will my life be wasted.
And now thou wilt live on that, to kill me,
And by that will I be buried in my grave,
And I that I have slain I shall live in thee.”
‘But my heart with all thy might,
What can I not say, that I love you so,
That when I hear your story, thou mayst bear it?
thou art the sweetest love that ever was,
Whose love I could not desire in thee;
All beauty that I have can no love express,
I can only say my love is this, that I will bear it,
My dear love, be thy constant guide,
To know when you do fall; when thou wast slain I’ll tell
thee thy death was thy life’s death,
Whose death I must know with my dying mind,
And with thy death know my self.
So you in a little way will, and yet in a little way I must,
Being free and in my self I have no love,
Nor can I in others be love, nor in me have no love,
To think myself any other than others that know me:
This last, my love, that thou canst love,
That shall not die, unless thou leave my love,
For with death is no love, my love’s dead,
As thou dost be dead, so be my love.”
But if I do love thee so,
My love, as I love thee, can never live again,
Nor by my love shall I live, for thou hast forsaken me.
‘Therefore love, as one so wise,
Under whose care thou wast taught thy love,
Thy reason’s precept, thy love’s precept, thy love’s precept,
Will I teach thy sweet art in thy name?
Thy love’s truth shall be taught, thy love shall be taught,
Thy art thy true, thy true art thou art,
Thy art’st not thy truth that hath not been proved,
That is not thy true nature, thy true form:
Thou art not my self, my self thy self,
And thou art mine own slave, and


======== CHECKPOINT 026 OUTPUT # 002 ========

ULAR of the world in this world, and the world in my own, and all in me.
I do love thee, and thy body and all thy part.
“That which thou lov’st, this that I dost begone
In this thou shalt die: so shall my life and all mine.
The hour of my death is nigh: my death is nigh.”
‘Yet by thy will I do this: but I have no strength,
For what purpose my will can do this?
Whilst he by her will to her will do her will,
Thy hand shall do this, and the other shall do it;
And, behold, my friend hath drawn a deep breath,
And I have a look; and the air from my mouth is warm,
And every part of my being breathes with a calm air.
For I cannot abide his foul odour,
Which for that doth stain every wound I make.
What will I do to be revenged,
But not your life, for it is my life,
I will kill thee; and the next time thou shalt kill me.
‘”Thus spake she, till she began to laugh;
The night he was in the bath-tub, and the morning was asleep,
That he saw his pale face; and he dote on her,
And said: ‘My beloved, thou shalt not betray,
Who in thy sight hath sinned by thy beauty.’
For her he kept her word: ‘My daughter, thy love is my shame,
Thy love I should kill, but thine is dead,
And thou in thy heart’s blood doth life still.
And his breath she doth smoke, and his face doth turn pale,
And his lips his lips pale; and they seem to him all but tears.
What a beauty was her beauty, so she woos him:
Yet his cheeks he takes out, and his hand she picks up,
And she tears the red glass in which the blood was
Whose spill’d like water from a boat-tongued man;
And her cheeks she puts on, and her lips white:
And his eyes in her are fair and deep,
And with them in her face do seem white,
Like to them in the ocean, where they lie.
And when she was going, Lucrece came and saw her,
Her beauty is a miracle and beauty a lie,
And though he look as he did, though no eye would see him,
He saw her eyes, and there they are with her:
And now she, as if with a moan, exclaims aloud,
‘Let us go, and I will take a horse.’
But Lucrece’s eyes and his cheeks,
His cheeks as if he were bloodied, his cheeks as if they were full,
His cheeks as if he were dead; and in his lips were run down,
His cheeks as if they had been made fair.
O have pity on Lucrece! how dost thou not look on him,
But on me, and all my love’s kind?
His love is mine, and my love is thee:
His love is mine, and all mine is mine,
And mine in him is my love;
That thou mayst think I love, thou mayst not love me so;
Since thou art mine, and all the world’s parts,
He is his love, and all their parts his love:
If thou wilt not love, and wilt not find his love,
Or else thy love, thy love, and mine,
Then I do, by force, but thou art mine.”
‘And if thou wilt wilt, and thou wilt wilt still,
Then I do not love thee, and do not love me so,
But this, and this thou didst make,
And that this, and this thou didst make,
I do not love thee, and am not my lover,
But the one whom thou gavest me,
And that which thou gavest me, and all the world’s parts,
That which thou didst make,
And all the world’s parts which thy loving love doth lend.
Now thou wast this, and thou art mine,
That I know thy spirit is good, and is thou my love,
And that thou dost love me, I am my love.’
He stops, and her frowning brows with a gouty face.
“That which thou didst make, and thou hast made it,
Which of thy sweetest qualities thou didst make,
And all thy beauty which thou didst make,
That thou made all beauty good,
And all thy beauty good,
And all thy beauty evil,
And all thy beauty evil,
Which all these


======== CHECKPOINT 026 OUTPUT # 003 ========

senal.

“Let her remain!” quoth she,
With a cry of discontent:
The sun’s shining hour, the earth’s fair night,
Is forlornly upon their heads, and they fly.
“Where can I find you where I know not?” quoth she,
What do you see? I never saw them there,
But sometime I saw you and, like a fawn,
And sometimes I saw you as you were.
“O, thou who art the best to mine sight,
I am poor, poor in my needs,
The sun to my sight is thy main object.
Who should bear the burden of a thousand miles thy self,
To show my virtue by my self in the sight?
When I have no self-love and no self-love,
O thou whom art the best to me, lend me a little help;
For thou art my self-love, and thou art my self,
Who, to thy own sake, should say no to my self?
But I will, in thee, that thy self should tell.
My self being my self, I in thee,
And thou in me in me as in thine,
Thy self is not mine, and not thy self’s,
But as thou didst write and mine thou didst write.
My self, being myself, is thy self;
Then my self is thy self, my self my self,
All in me I make this self the self.
Thus it is that I see thy self as being,
And my self as thy self is thy self.
For the love I love thyself,
In the self I love myself as in thee.
The self I love myself, in thee as in me.
I have in thee my self as my self in thee,
And my self as thy self in thee as in me,
And my self as thy self in thee as in me,
The self I love as thy self in thee,
And thy self as thy self as thy self in thee,
Is mine own self as thy self as my self in thee,
Is mine own self as mineself as mineself in thee;
O my self, which was in my self?
Who dost thou my self think not,
When I am so far removed from thy self,
And from thy self so far removed from thy self,
that thou thy self may behold thy self there?
(My self, though thy self be in thee,
Thou hast no self but thyself on thy self,
Nor yet self to self thy self,
O self that is in thee, but that thou me,
Thy self, though thy self is in thee,
Till that self thy self be thy self and my self thy self,
Is mine own self as mine own self as mine self in thee.
In thy self didst thou write and mine thee write;
And mine own self as mine own self as mine self in thee
In my self thou lov’st my self, and mine self in thee;
For thou lov’st mine self, but mine self in thee.
If thou then lov’st me then I cannot,
Thou lov’st not me, thou lov’st not my self,
Thou lov’st my self, but mine self in thee.
“To this, she replies, “No more, for I will live,
And in the time of thy desire thy sight will be absent.”
“But I fear not, for my love is no sooner dead,
Nor ever did I fear thee more than once;
So I have never dined on my self that so I did,
Thou must ever have seen mine own worth,
And mine own worth would be worth in thy self a thousand fold.”
“O, if there is not a heaven where thou art,
Then how much greater a world, but a few livings,
Than in that space of my self’s self thou wast born!
Even so, though I die, yet my life should be in thy face,
To live on my self and on thy self’s self’s self;
But that to live upon thy self and on thy self’s self be,
Like thee on earth as on a mountain doth stand,
O then with thy self on earth thou art slain,
And yet my life be mine, and thy life be thy self,
To live in my self as the earth upon thy self doth stand.
So the world that thou dost desire to rid,
And all his will to the ends of his wills,
Thy mind with his will to destroy;
O my self, with my will to the ends of his wills,
With my will to the ends of his will,
with my will to


======== CHECKPOINT 026 OUTPUT # 004 ========

rebuilt but then it is no longer there,
For now it is there; and yet when I say so,
So am I with you, if I be not so,
Or so be I with you,
If I be so, then I am with thee;
If I be so, then you will be with me;
If not, then you are your own fault.
He that hath his queen will take her away,
And shall reign as king with his queen;
Her dowry will be in his hand,
He shall reign as his queen with all his majesty.
‘Who can say this, whose name is still more known
O that which thou hast not seen?
The sun was on the face, yet the moon was on the rest;
The stars were on the night, yet they were in darkness;
And I with your light, with your light,
So long have I sworn a vow, and have sworn a vow to stay.
The day I set in thy sight, thy day will now end.
But I do vow that thou wilt do that which thou wilt,
That thy beauty may thrive in all of my care,
And in all my will, and thy will I never see,
Or ever be in love, nor ever be bereft of thee,
As thy good will was, your will was, and my will will is,
And that is my will.
Thou shalt not give to him what thou wilt lend,
Nor shall I make the lease of his blood,
For thou shalt not pay him what thou canst pay me.
O thou coward, with a passion of desire,
If thou dost not see the fair, and in his face
All his grace and truth would lend her away,
With his fair grace to be buried in him.
His face would not be so fair as mine;
That is for his glory not so,
As mine to be mine alone.
If this be not so, then there are no fairs,
And no fairs nor fairs,
Who are but shadows to thee, the shadows in me.
And this I will plead for his sake,
And not him to be thy foe.
‘If thou wilt see this thy will I will excuse;
And then will I show thee a night’s sleep,
Upon the threshold where thou art in his woe.
“So it was, that I was once a prisoner;
And in prison did he hang himself,
And with tears fell from his lips he went;
And to the fire he cast his eye,
And in the fire burned him from his seat,
Who by this did fall into the fire,
Which again did not fire again but woely doth lie.
‘”He that was in his prison fell,
And in prison did he burn himself with burning fire;
For he had no excuse but in despair:
Now it is my will that in the first he falls,
And to the rest I must fight this torment:
He that is in his prison did fall;
O where hast thou found me guilty of so,
That thou havest made my night a new night,
Or dost thou prove me to be thy woe,
When in thy place thou art thy woe, thou dost love to my sight;
O where art thou in the world where thou art that hateth,
Yet love can never bear me alive,
That life be thy true shame, that death thy shame?
O, my self, where are thy lives but those which die,
That are my sins my guilt to live?
For death hath never died nor the dead dead be,
And ever life was dead and dead had never been,
And ever life was dead and dead had never been,
And ever life was dead and dead had never been.
Yet now he speaks of thy shame,
And in him all thy shame is expressed;
When this shame shall be put in remembrance,
He hath his pride of being slain,
And now he is his shame in thy shame,
Then your griefs are my guilt’s pleasure,
Whereon do I think the day my guilt is laid?
Do not think these in your thoughts,
As mine own guilt in yours are:
Since mine own guilt, you were mine,
For I was your slave; now your slave you are,
My fault your fault now your fault your fault.
His love, his self-love, his self-love
When they meet at the right hand of mine,
They look on me in scorn, and their eyes with tears,
‘Ah!’ quoth he, ‘why hast I not been,
And when my self hath not yet died,
And when you have not yet begun to die,
And wherefore hast thou not


======== CHECKPOINT 026 OUTPUT # 005 ========

dile,
And when I did kiss the poor thing,
My loving eyes were still so open,
And tears of joy seemed to flow down their cheeks.
O where are my tears, thou wilt ask;
Why hast I no self-love,
Thou wilt not lov’st aught I am poor,
In spite of thy love’s spite:
And though I have in my self, thou hast not a self,
Thou art a slave to my self,
And my self to my self I am guilty,
For not that I know, but for the sake of your life
Thy self to my self is so true,
That my self to my self I am unworthy,
Thy self to my self I am so poor,
And yet thou art still, and yet I am poor,
And yet thou art still, and yet thou art still,
Thy self to thy self I am so true,
And yet I am not yet dead,
And yet thou art still, and yet I am dead,
Therefore thou art not dead, but dead,
To whom art thou now thy self, to whom is thy self so welcome:
And for my sake and all my love,
I beg of thee so pure a kiss shall live.
‘”So I’ll be contented with this, and not with this,
I’ll have no pleasure in the matter,
Even where I do love you.”
She was silent; but she did kiss, and by the kiss she said,
‘”When I think of you, there’s no desire,
And yet I have in my thoughts thoughts,
That I’ll think of you for you,
And yet love you more than that I think you to be,
Though it not at all like your picture.
She smiles, and her voice is quite loud:
‘Dear angel,’ she cries, ‘if ever thou livest,
My body is strong and proud, my soul strong;
I’ll defend thee in the earth, as in the sky;
For you have done my poor self no injury:
And I will kill thee, that thy self may prove,
For thou art mine, my self and to thee I are,
As I am all in you all, I am with thee all;
If thou wilt live, I’ll kill thee.’
“That, if thou be bereft of my love,
My soul shall kill me, and my heart shall be bereft.
‘And yet you will not kill, nor will I kill,
I’ll kill you all; my life and my soul,
Mine eye’s beauty is but an eye’s wound;
In the eye of a thousand eyes is thy beauty.
Love will never kill thee, nor thou shalt slay me;
Love will never kill thee, nor thou shalt slay me;
Yet I will not kill thee, nor thou shalt slay me;
My life shall be thy glory, my life my pride.
Yet you will not kill me, nor thou shalt kill me;
My life shall be thy glory, my life my pride.
“Lo, let us hear, that thou wilt betray me;
The world doth hate me, I am a murderess:
My life must die, and that which I will not live.
To all eternity doth my name live,
And I will stand by and wait for the day to come;
Then that night she calls me Tarquin,
Who in a dream doth tell of her death,
And doth show how she did die,
For if thou wilt return, my death must be free,
And all my lives would be spent as for thee;
But that, so I have been in this world,
My love is mine, my love is thy own,
I love thee all, all I ever saw was love;
Even so I see my beauty, now and again,
As thy beauty when still you were, is gone.
‘Look,’ quoth she, ‘a mortal eye doth dally,
Though it doth blind, yet doth see;
And yet thou art blind in my sight,
My sight doth not see what thou dost see,
No, that blindness doth know of thee,
For behold thou art but a mortal eye,
My sight doth see nothing but a shadow:
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘do not compare thee
with a mortal being,
And as thou wilt not behold the form of my face,
Let my love compare thee; thou wilt not compare,
Thou wilt not compare with thy beauty doth compare,
For mine eyes doth see nothing but shadows,
And mine eyes doth see,
My beauty doth see nothing but shadows,
Thou wilt not compare with thy beauty


======== CHECKPOINT 027 OUTPUT # 001 ========

parsing with an end for the story that he can never tell,
And when he must, he will lie, and to himself make it come true.
For if he are true, what a fool is he?
If he are false, what a fool is he?
Then no such fool doth he dare lie;
As when he takes him in his hand, in his bosom,
Sings, ‘O thy poor creature, why canst thou never live again,
Or live even to the shame of my sins?
What is my fault, what was my fault then?
My fault is my fault not in thy wrong;
O for me thy fault is thy fault, my fault in thy wrong,
Thy self thy self thy self’s fault in thine own fault.
No, do not say I am dead, and that thou art dead:
No, but be not so; for thou art dead, and my self’s fault in thy wrong.
O, that thou wilt live again, and live to be,
That to me thy self, and me thy self, be
To live in one, to live again in another:
Yet by this I do not say, I will be dead,
For by this I must die;
And yet this life, my life, as many as I know,
Is not the living life of me, but a living death:
For love hath no more effect than death to wear away,
O why should the sick die but of their own cure?
Thy life’s purpose is to give them a cure;
They that like thee die, and in me die.
O why did I not bewitch thee that I did
Wear thy life’s end and death’s end?
What art thou to blame for the present state of thy life?
O that, by thy side, did I bewitch thee that I had
A life so long spent, or the life of such a woman?
O no, but do my dear friend’s sake give me a grief,
Since that thou art his, and that thou didst not wish me well,
And my friend hath given me this death, and I am dead.”
‘”Thou art so good,” quoth she; “I have not done to deserve it.”
“No, no, no,” quoth she; “your father did kill me,
And you my son, and I your bastard.”
‘”No, no,” quoth she; “I do not like to see you die;
That I did kill you was for your sake,
and your self I do not like to see you die.”
‘”No, no,” quoth she; “I do not like to see you die;
That I did kill you was to kill your self,
If you would live to see your self die,
And be dead to hear him be dead.”
‘”Then do not I, that I may be buried,
Thou art buried in thee in my bosom,
For thou wast my father, thy husband, thy husband’s slave,
Thy beauty’s stain shall bleed to the stain of thy death:
Then let my living friends be, and I be buried,
So to my living friends I should live,
And I should die, and die in thee.”
‘She goes on, but no longer with tears,
Nor any lasting groans nor sighs.
Her words had the effect which she had in mind,
So did she say, and yet no groan;
She might as well say that a stone was left there,
She might as well say that the earth was razed,
For that was done in her husband’s image,
To make him seem like his wife in the matter;
He was a queen in the earth, a queen of the sky,
And was the chief god of many kings,
And of many princes all, in one,
To show his own rank and his rank-noted glory,
Or to show the pride of princes and their rank,
Who, by his rank alone, are his subjects,
With their subjects, in all things, their majesty.
He did not speak, but all ears of ear heard him say.
He made a groan, and it grew so deep:
His words and operey were as one operey had,
In succession; not in succession
But as one operey was, another,
Each from one operey in succession would seem,
As one in succession did grow,
And from each operey in succession,
By this same increase he seemed to grow,
A thousandfold faster, and farther,
And farther again, and farther,
Like a thousandfold drum, with the sounds he made,
Making the world


======== CHECKPOINT 027 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Rudd on the matter and told him he would never be so much like her,
Or that she did make him proud of him.
“What are you doing?” quoth she, “taking his hat and leave it,
That I will spend my leisure in your honouring?
How much more then for my own sake can be your gain!
The hours will be of constant labour,
And every minute that I spend in your favouring,
will be your own time and mine yours,
You to me your most perfect treasure;
I have a son who knows what he is, and he his love to me,
And to your true love, I have all but you;
A wife who is my best friend, my love my heart,
And to her that to me is best is best:
My love hath no cause to fight, neither reason to fear.
I have so much to say about myself, that my words are heard,
And all things that make me love you are my words;
I can’t write for love’s sake, I cannot tell you what you want,
nor your worth that I know,
You to me am your self, you to me I know only well,
And to your self I can never know,
I can no self-love nor self-love you to say,
You are mine, and nothing else but mine is love.
I can’t bear the thought that I shall love you,
Unless the other in me am to steal you away;
If your love is your worst, my love is mine.”
“No, no!” quoth she; “my love is mine alone.”
“No,” quoth she; “if you like, come and see
That white-rimmed visage I make you my friend,
And that red-rimmed visage I make you friend.”
Thus did she begin to speak of his love,
And yet he would not cease:
Nor did she break her silence, nor dally:
She did, as she had once done, to put on a veil
The dark of night, and the light of day,
Each part of her face concealed the deep shame of death.
“My love,” quoth she, “have I been thy wife for twenty
And have I no one else to call my friend,
But as one of many, I do swear I have her to thine own head;
That she in thee I will confine to thy place,
And, to your memory, I’ll enclose thee in bed,
And sometime sometime sometime in mine, I’ll see your heart.
When then do you dream that that you may know
your self’s true love? When then do you look for your self’s sake?
If you can, I’ll kiss you in love, and then you my friends,
To be my best friend, and yet to be your worst?
“My love,” quoth she, “you are my friend and to love you my best,
Make love to me, for love is sweet,
And be that which I love be kind, if in love I will not love thee.
When love is like a woman, you have all the glory;
But you are not that kind, when all your things are to blame.
If, when love is like men, you have all the glory,
And women all the blame, you do all the blame;
When I love all things I love none of them.
I love no men in your nature,
As that you love my love, my love’s worth is mine alone;
But you love them in themselves, that your love may be mine alone:
Thou art my love, and mine own are mine own.
If thou wilt say, “Love is love,” then I do swear
That thou art not alone.”
But what a strange thought to suppose that
A boy so strong should dare to play with such a strong boy,
That in a short space of time he should be beaten?
That to do him shame would seem so unkind
That he should think twice, and he should smile,
A thousand times as often as this poor fool will smile.
For thou art as thou didst me steal from thee,
Which I did steal from thee, and thou didst me betray.
But thou wilt say, “Look what I will do to do thee good.”
This I shall bear true and not false;
The heart I will hold dear will bear false and true,
The eye I will bear false and true,
the tongue I will bear false and true,
The heart I will bear false and true,
The tongue I will bear false and true,
The heart I will bear false and true,
The eye I will bear false and true,
The tongue I will bear false and true,


======== CHECKPOINT 027 OUTPUT # 003 ========

ochem have the means, the means, the means to effect their will, and in the time they themselves make use of it.
“They will not force their wills, or use their will, to force what is best, or what is best, in any way in their power.
They will never make their wills their own, or use their will for their own sake;
And as they will not make their wills their own, so their will is their own.
Then are they their own slaves, they to be sold;
Iniquity will not make them slaves of others’ will,
But when they possess their will, they are their own will,
And their will is their own will, and theirs it is;
They their own shall not their will be,
But they shall their own have.
The time, being past, that hath their place,
May come to spend and pay, for their part,
Th’ time is no short pause for their part,
Nor their part is any longer spent.
“They will not set their wills upon your will,
And therefore your will, your will be what I do with your will.
And by this I speak to a thousand times.
‘To make this, I will give it a constant force
To tie my will to you, to control you,
To restrain you from my will that your will might do,
To make you that which my will did control;
To make you my slave, my slave that my will might do,
to force you to my will that your will do,
To make you my slave, my slave that your will might do.
No, my will will will do, my will be your slave,
And your will be your slave when you live,
By your will I will say so, your will be your slave when you die,
My will be your slave when you die, your will be your slave when you live,
So my will live when you die, and yours live,
And yours live by your will being dead,
But mine will live by yours being dead,
And yours live by yours being dead.
‘Then you were to hear how a Roman nun,
The second husband, so sweet of your kind,
Would put up your life in her image,
Which in a tomb which now is consecrated
Than that beauty still doth keep your soul.
By thy will, thou shalt live and die.
As long as thou livest in this earth,
I’ll be thy friend, and thou shalt live in me,
The world to come.
“But as you may, I will let thee go,
Since if I could live, I should love you.
‘”So I say unto you a false report,
That the sun might set my love and my love’s decease,
And be kinder than thou didst wish!
O, dear love, there is a heaven,
To make my love a sweet one,
And love’s decease to sweet love is gone,
And as love’s decease is gone away,
so is love’s decease gone,
And love’s decease to love’s decease is gone.
And therefore love should be my love,
I’ll stay here and there till you take my place.”
‘So now he gives me a good kiss
My love so dearly she might well blush;
Now she looks with disdain on him,
Then, behold, she hath the eyes of his lust,
And with eyes full of lust, he thrusts the knife,
That shall not destroy his intent.
“Then look what I am about to say
In those sad times that I will yet see you smiling;
If I can still read it, then you may not be so sad
That you may in my name be so sad.
This is my dear and most solemn vow,
To you I will make this your end,
Even as a kiss is made to some man
Sweet words, but with some strong instrument to persuade.
The world to come, my dear wife, and live
My life to die with you, my dear wife,
What shall I say but to live, and die with you,
When that world to come might, and die with you?
O that heaven should have thine blessed eyes
That would not deceive me of a false eye,
For I am thy angel, the holy one,
And in my angel’s name thy virtue shall shine,
And your virtue shall shine with your virtue.
“Since love doth the thing love best,
How can I say that your being made perfect
is better than my being made perfect?
Or that I being your self are not your self,
And that you are your self is worse than being you
If I being you be worse than being I be?
Love being


======== CHECKPOINT 027 OUTPUT # 004 ========

ame from that very thing:
For he would not leave the place where he was slain,
But would betray the love of life to his foe.
For he who lives, but dies, must give the poor place his light:
But to love he dies with death:
And now that his life is done,
That life’s end is near, and the light is gone.
To him the story is well told, and now no more need be
A sad story, where no more need be a sad story.
But why should I say I love thy self,
Thy self was no better than mine? I love thee, too,
O my dear boy! to thee shall I die,
But never live thy self nor thy self again.
“I will not leave thee, my love,” quoth she;
And yet the day will come that thou dost give up thy love:
That doth her husband’s love bring the night to naught.
‘”Thou art the sweetest flower in heaven,” quoth she, “and, from thence,
The light should go out for thee to see:
Till then shall he return, but never find me.”
So she did and was forced to be silent;
She did not like this act, she did not like that she was told,
but that she would be deceived,
To be sure there were true and true men,
And yet none of them had the sweetest kiss.
‘And if thou art the sweetest flower in heaven,
Whose love I will love, what love I shall kill
And never think of thee again;
And yet thou wast my friend and I have no love left,
Which is love, but it is rotten, rotten, rotten;
Whose hand he lays in the way of truth,
And whose cheek lies in the way of love,
And which his lips on the other side
Save in his mouth is painted the picture that is most worthy.
(Thou lovest my love; thou lovest mine;
Mine is the better picture; mine is worse;
Mine is better, the worse is the better.’
‘Then do these poor nuns who have done their duty,
O say these poor nuns I love thee, thou art thy friend;
And do I, and I will, make thee my friend.
Yet I love thee so much, O dear friend, that thou willst hate me;
O dear friend! I love thee so much, and my love shall live;
That I shall be his constant friend,
For he in his constant love shall be dead,
And never be found again in my eyes,
And not his will to do me such a good end.
‘Then why do we stay here, that the time’s wind may blow?
A thousand hearts with two wills, a thousand eyes,
That in themselves could do both good and ill.
And in all this I do say:
“Look at her, then how far she bends me;
Look at her, then how far she bends me;
Look at her, then how far she bends me;
Look at her, then how far she bends me;
Look at her, then how far she bends me;
Look at her, then how far she bends me;
Look at her, then how far she bends me.”
“How false are these words; true is it,
The true is it, and yet thou dost deceive.
‘O, dear friend, if not my love’s end,
A thousand tongues that do change me are more than ears;
To hear the same tongue again, and every tongue,
My ears do change one another’s speech:
Thy hand is to me as mine own is to thy friend;
But thou art my friend and mine mine, mine is thy friend;
Thou art mine, mine is mine, mine is thy friend.”
So now she lies upon a steeply stone bed,
And in his arms she sits weeping,
Thy eye being the one to see,
So in his breast I did weep, for he was my friend.
But I did not love him, but he did love me;
For I knew that he did love me, and so did I;
So now, on a steep bank,
The air turns green and doth cool the sweat.
When did love die and be buried?
Thou art dead, now thou wilt be,
And then what?
He that doth die to me he shall stay;
And in him that doth live he shall live;
And in him that doth live thou shalt live;
But he shall not live, for I am dead,
And thou shalt live, that thou art dead,
Thy will live, that thou art dead,
And thou shalt


======== CHECKPOINT 027 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ingle, which to me as a lovely glass is the most precious thing:
And all this, for lack of a good glass, hath she in her lips doth lend it:
That from her glassy locks she opens to the rain,
And from her golden glass she lays.
And from her golden glass she lies, and yet still
She doth not mend her bed,
She doth mend, and yet she doth not mend:
Her eyes do not look on her like men’s,
But all the world sees his ugly eyes,
And her eyes do not look like the sun like men:
And like fools, their eyes seem not to live,
The stars do not abide his shadow,
But like fools, their eyes do not abide his sun.
‘And when Lucretius’ verse was read,
Her lips were filled with thoughts of a kind
With weeping; she with tears fell.
‘”If I were thee, I should tell thee why;
But what to you I should tell thee must be kept,
To thy lips I am as a queen,
Which to thee I am a husband;
To you I am your slave. ‘I say this with a gentle sigh;
And then I say, that thou wilt never be angry;
Unless thou wilt think that I am mad,
My shame will never be so strong
As to break the heart of a nun,
Or of a nun’s husband, or of a man’s.
He cannot be my foe, his love I will not be.
Thy eyes, my lips, thy heart, thy self-love,
In every part thereof belong’d shall be thy shame,
To be like unto myself in those parts,
That my face, my soul, thy head, thy tongue,
Each eye which touches thee receives thy tongue’s verdict.
When it is not true in me, but true in thee,
Then do not hate me for not being true to thee.
‘Tis true that thou shouldst swear false oaths,
And then shall not love thee so much as thou love’st true.
‘Tis true that thou shouldst lie so much as I do lie;
And then, lo, thou art thy fair maiden and dote,
To die before I know thee, shall kill thee at least.’
In this she says, in a hush,
‘Then let this thy verse stand, and bear witness;
My voice shall sing that thou art my friend,
O, thy heart that breathes thee cold and scorn,
That, like a wailing boat, my lips may bear it;
But with me this storm will blow away,
Even as a flood so shallow drowns,
A sea full of life that breathes no foul.
Love is not the earth, but the earth;
For in it there comes death, like a flood,
And then no life’s grace can drown it,
But death itself shall drown it, like a flood.”
O thou the lord of my heart!
thou my sweet, fair, and most gracious sovereign,
That thou shouldst do to all the world my sweet love!
Thou lov’st to make my heart tremble, to make it tremble anew;
Thou lov’st to tear me from the bed of my love,
Thou lov’st to make my heart quake with that which it fears,
Thou lov’st to shake the heart of my love,
And thou lov’st to break the heart of my love;
Thou lov’st to make my heart quake with that which it fears,
Thou lov’st to break the heart of my love,
And thou lov’st to break the heart of my love.
‘So what then is the reason why I,
The father and mother of a dear son,
That I may not then be a bastard?
What if I did be a bastard, what would I do?
What if I did be a bastard, what would I do?
What if I did be a bastard, what would I do?
Thou art my love, and I am my love,
And I am your love, I am your love,
And I am your love, I am your love,
And I am your love, I am your love,
And I am your love, I am your love,
Then my love is thy love, my love your love!
Then my love is thy love, my love’s love!
The one being love, the other thou art not thy love.
‘”O, that she could have made thee a nun,” quoth she,
And this she would, as one would call, a nun.
“And now he hath said, ‘O poor man, be gentle,’
The


======== CHECKPOINT 028 OUTPUT # 001 ========

apostle by the light that thou dost see in them;
Or else by thy beauty, thy self’s colour;
Or else by thy beauty, thy self’s self’s colour;
Or else by thy beauty, thy self’s colour,
And thus I dote on the false, to whom I say,
I did my self wrong by the light that thou dost see in them;
This false, this false didst betray thee.
“O my love, what shall it be to thy self that thou dost disdain,
What shall it be that thou dost hate thy own self,
And what shall it be, to kill thy self in the wrong,
That you so far from being your self do kill?
When in thy self’s shadow thou dost invert,
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
th’ shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it the night;
Thy shadow doth be thyself’s face, and thou dost make it


======== CHECKPOINT 028 OUTPUT # 002 ========

patriotic are thou, for thy worth is mine, and thou wilt do the work to prove that I am so!
The thought that you were made of some vile earth,
For what thy worth it is, my worth is mine,
Thou must have, and thou alone must have.
The world doth bear witness to all your beauty,
And beauty in thee, it gives you a good report.
Even so, in my mind he lies, like some devil that sleeps,
And in my heart a thousand wrinkles doth appear,
In spite of my love that so dear doth belong.
So do I then his fair, as much as my self be,
To do my best, and most of all to keep it happy.
This love, in my mind, I have writ,
So my poor tongue’s true words should seem a bit clearer
And that my poor palate might seem to rehearse,
The tongue that my poor tongue, that my dear tongue may read,
That my true tongue should writ so brightly as your,
That my tongue so richly, too large, would drown,
What more my praise should I make of thy name,
Then thou, too pure, in my praise would drown,
His praise, like all water’s foul blood, doth drown,
And in it doth drown in a river.
Now he speaks, and his eyes with eyes to his head
In a state of ecstasy seem’d to flood,
Which is thought to be some sort of heaven,
And where heaven’s fountain is, and where all eternity lie.
And his face, or his body’s visage,
Where the soul lies, or touches the ground,
Or is buried, the rest of eternity remain.
“Then would I die,” quoth she, “in my state of grief,
My soul was the cause, and mine soul the conclusion,
Which thou in thy body dost make thee die,
That thou mightst not in my body make me thy self.
Now I do my duty well, that thou mightst be my self.
‘Tis my duty, O daughter, to love you,
And not to hate thee that I hate thee.
She doth so say, and yet she looks upon him
As if he were guilty, and all doth say so,
That his thoughts and thoughts were in some offence;
He on this, and she on this,
She that hath no husband, nor father, nor mother,
But her eyes are in love, and her words are in hate.
Love, what hath it wrought on you,
Which you are by nature taught to see,
Which with your eye is seen by the world to see?
Or how can this, if you be so wise,
You shall see it, and that you will not?
If that were true, then it was fair,
And all in all was fair, and all fair,
That each of you could see every thing
That was unseen to you, and every thing well.
Then the verse from the Tarquin was made,
With my tears being thine eyes’ tears,
To put them in their graves, or in their graves’ blood.
She that hath not had a husband, nor a husband’s wife
But he have none, nor wife, nor a husband’s wife
In spite of her all with a thousand fears
Against him hath never forsook her,
And if he should be made to be his husband again
No more is he but a slave to his master.
What else shall she say than, “No more!”
she cries aloud, for I have not been,
But have sworn to be thou her mistress,
And have thou me sworn to obey her will;
In thy will, in thy will, you shall have no law,
That can give thee the ground of this war,
To say ‘no’ again to me; for I swear,
That thou shalt never kill me.’
O, do not think to kill me, or else to say that;
‘”O,” quoth she, “you see what an offence
My love-sickness-despairing lust do I see,
And that my lusty desires are blunted,
And my love-sickness blunted I do love,
The earth, the sky, and all my subjects,
But to a thousand devils I say,
That your kind love do you fear,
That your kind love do I fear,
That mine own love is no more a sin,
But to me, your kind love is no more a virtue;
Since in me your kind, too late I did swear,
To swear your kind, your dear love was a false.
“So,” quoth she, “your love hath made me


======== CHECKPOINT 028 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Vintage, or better, by his good.
‘Why so, then,’ quoth he, ‘I did intend a summer of chastity to thee,
That I should in the end live a thousand miles in length.
Thou art not one, I know not thy shape,
For if thou didst, I must leave my poor husband to my death.
To know thy good, to know thy evil,
And to know thy life’s purpose, thou shalt know all.
His eyes, his ears, his lips, his tongue, his tongue’s parts.
Whose eye doth love the fair flower and the sweet,
And in him that hath not yet tasted,
And in him that hath never tasted doth taste;
And in him that hath, yet, he that hath still,
The best of them all is still, and in him none.
‘Thou art such a fool, that dost mock a queen
If thou shouldst kiss a slave’s heart, but should not kiss it again.’
“How would thou wert blind to love, when he doth love thee?
Thou art no better than a fool and canst not tell what is
Of him in the midst of woe?
In thy love is thy heart but a weak worm?
For mine eye hath no fear, and my tongue no fear.
But thou, sweet beauty, do it not by thee make;
Which all in vain shall I find for thee by night,
And thou alone that dost steal the jewel from me,
Thy true love, in thy heart, is so tainted with thy blood,
That I, for thee to be my own,
Will not know what thou hast committed to my love.
And so the young thief in the field
Thinly doth break the flower, and to her right doth hide.
What a world of deceits it was!
Thou art so much worse than thou art, and yet I think it true,
When thou shalt see the sun set,
Then all the better to set thee back to thy doom.
“In this wretched state of my mind
And in this mine am I a dull and a dull,
How can I be angry when I am the cause?
Or how can I be dumb when I am the cause?
How can I be silly when I am the cause?
What is there to love, then not to hurt,
If thou dost call it love alone?
Yet I was taught by nature that praise,
In one hand I love, and in the other
Like a proud turtle, I did fly to that turtle’s nest;
O what a fool would she say, when she did say this,
To make her praise in more respect,
Nor for her praise more praise should she place
Than in her own best self, since no better thing would
More praise than she did have with the world than she did make.
‘Now I see you, my dear, in his place
And from his earless paws I see the lion in distress,
Which, seeing me, says, ‘That is a wolf,
That in your night will not know where I am,
What I am and what I am not.’
And thou wilt find me there, and find me,
And if it be lost, find not where it is,
The wolf that calls it forth is lost, and the bear is lost.
‘Then what good dost thou do not see;
When thou wilt be the cause of that,
I do desire that thy soul should find
The thing he dost not dream, for his eyes are blind.
‘But for the sake of thy soul, I am no longer alive,
The soul of a dead man is lost, and the dead man dies.
But I have no longer the body to look upon,
The eye being in darkness, I am no longer alive,
The face to look upon, my beauty gone.
So this strange feeling doth in him arise;
And in this helpless rage he blasts
That which doth kill him all in an instant;
So at this he says, ‘Now I see my beauty in him gone.’
This he says in a low voice: ‘What didst thou tell me,
That dost thou hate and despise,
And do not love, and lo, it doth not delight,
Since that which it hath doth mock and mock,
And in your grief doth cry aloud, ‘Look how much worse
What is that! and thou dost love!
I will be revenged upon thee, thou hast doth love;
And in my blood thy honour is no stain;
But in thy blood thy honour is no stain.
Thy love is in my blood; my blood in thee is blood;


======== CHECKPOINT 028 OUTPUT # 004 ========

illustration with a fair-nurture charm of her self,
She would well know, that her fair self, by her wits,
To have done her fair self a wrong.
She would say that he was dumb, ugly, and full of disdain,
To his false eyes he doted on her, and so on
He saw her true colour to his eyes
But she would show him her true colour again,
With what she might say:
And here he would say to his friend, ‘Ah, fair Collatine,
If thou make the light of my face so bright,
And put all my face whereof the moon beareth
When thou dost not take all my fair self to my breast,
And all my fair self there with thee with me?
For all mine eyes in my heart are so fair,
That my fair self in thy fair self
Forsworn a thousand vows with so fair a mind
To love thee in my face would be more heinous;
Then thou dost in me steal their lives,
And thus my self in thy self doth lie.
“O,” quoth she, “let’s see what you say is true,
And, for my sake, let my fair self’s eye be made light:
For with thy fair self, as it were blind,
Who through thy fair self hath been crowned
For thee as the sun. ‘O yes! what a woe it must be,
To see what a thousand errors are,
That in thy self, thine own eye, hath lent,
But of thy fair self in thy self’s judgment,
With thy fair self in thy fair self’s judgment,
Thou fair, fair, fair, fair, fair, and true,
And all for naught in their own judgment can know.
Who would wish his neighbour so fair a bed?
Who should he fear so that his friend might lie?
What’s he to fear so so much in one’s self?
So that every eye is full of the shame?
O do not be so kind as to scorn one’s own eyes;
And if we have eyes to compare,
We can tell the truth, and that truth gives,
And not be so kind as to praise one’s own sight.
“Sweet Collatine,” quoth she, “look where I am from now,
For you have done me wrong; do not look for me again;
For I am your tutor to the children’s ears.
Now let me tell you, from where I was born,
I was not married.
But that which you have taken from me,
The true love you owe me will hold me fast;
I cannot bear the sight of your love,
And of it you should never come,
Because it hath grown and grown, and no more,
For I love you more than you do, and more of mine,
Than you know now I am dead.
Look, this will be my last: but when I die,
your love will not be for you but mine,
And all your shame and self-belief
Hath no more reason to kill me now,
When you are rid of me and I to-morrow:
O why forsake my best love,
For what is my best love, in thy sight so much disgrace?
O why should I not weep at the fair queen,
That I have the fairest breath, the more I cry,
and at her her, I have the worst of sorrow,
The world’s worst poison;
The world’s worst fear. (The rest be advised,)
O how dare I compare my soul to thee!
With thy beauty hath my love so deep
that my heart may be tempted to weep?
O what a false excuse do I have
to say, if I do complain?
To think that you all might tell me so.
“Ay, sweet Collatine, what a shame
To hear my voice call thee in this way.
“When you should like to sing again,
How shall I say that you are mine?
I have to say so in advance;
And what is your excuse for saying so?
Or is it that your love is your life?
For why did you come to me for my dear love?
I am a woman and love to you is your birth,
Love to you is the object of your pleasure,
Love to me is your birth in my body.
What is love, then, that you did invent?
Or is it that you do love me,
Or else you were but a creature?
Which thing then do you then do,
And are you that love what you are now?
To this, then my dear Collatine replies,
That by your grace you are true,
To what


======== CHECKPOINT 028 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Reward of the unprovoked, by the hand of that which is fair:
If thou shalt not give more, I’ll say so,
Thy friend that doth entertain me:
Whose side are you on in my discontent,
Whose eye I hold to be blind when thy head
Cracks? why not my eye, when my heart is deaf?
For when I behold thy love, my heart with shame,
Thy ear I hold with fear, thou’st mine,
And I am thy foe! ‘Tis his fault, and it’s no fault
That I love him so much that his love still
Thinks no farther but for his love.
‘Thy self, and thy self no fault,
The eye, if the eye, and the palate
Doth dote upon thee all, to thee is dote,
But thou that dost art my self doth art thy self,
But I being self, and thy self thy self dote,
O, what a poor creature hath my eye made me
Who dost dote upon thee with my own?
If then my heart’s interest should break,
How, to my grief, do I make it leave me?
And if so, in this my grief will lend thee thy help?
I am thy self and thy self in thee:
If that, and all my grief be true,
Let them that love thee, thou art my self;
And if thou art not thy self, then thou dost love me even more.
‘That is to say, my self, in my self love,
May I do this, my self that makes thee so.
I love to thee that made me so,
In every part of thy face,
And in every part of thy head,
The same sweet image thou that I hold to be so,
I will do this, mine own self may do
Thy own self to do with thee, thy self alone.
I will do this, my self in thy self will do,
A thousand fold more to the love of my self,
Thy self, and thy self to thyself,
And to myself as thine own self,
Thy self, and thy self to me,
And for love’s sake that was thy self,
A thousand fold more to the love of my self,
To thine own self for my own sake:
But my self and thy self do not keep;
And mine own self with my self to be,
Thy self to mine own self for my own sake,
My own self to thee, thyself alone thyself:
Thus it is, ‘twixt me and him in scorn:
That he looks upon me as a thief,
That doth he dare to steal his name,
And then to rob him of his name would he slay,
And to rob him of his true name would he drown;
As thou wast stealing from thee, and dost rob of thy name,
And to rob him of thy true name doth rob him of all.
And so it is, ‘twixt me and him,
Wherewith, ‘twixt me and him,
He turns to his sword, and looks,
Like a man who was slain by a boar,
with his head down his sword he lays his head
Whereon the boar, with his head in his side,
Shows his skill in hunting by the boar’s sharp teeth,
Saying, ‘Look what a fool that doth stand in wait!
What a man, that ever his eyes have seen,
Shows his strength in the field to catch the bait;
And how much greater a strength it would be
if he could see his horse,
Whose side of the field a mouthed pheasant lay,
Then as he was grazing, a boar,
He began to ride away, and chase it;
Yet on the bushes the gentle bird would chase
The horse and rider with speed,
And in the chase would they have their lives.
‘”I hate,” quoth she, “all sorts of grossities in me;
And it seems to me that I have too much,
That all my foul deeds were made worse by my fair blood.
That this vile offence that I have engrafted,
Sets this false pride in my soul,
Which is as much my fault as his own,
So my praise of thee can not live in me.
O, my dear friend, I did not sin!
To my sorrow was I so sorry;
To my distress I did not know,
Nor knew that I was so.
But I have no shame in this,
Because my love for thee cannot stop,
If my love should kill him and give him his.
‘And now


======== CHECKPOINT 029 OUTPUT # 001 ========

monsters to show their worth.
‘And how many more thy favours shall my love draw thy eye?
Who on thy face will bear such a sight!
Thou alone art such a lover,
Which all eyes will behold, all eyes are eyes to thee,
Yet when thou see’st thou know’st how far thy love goes.
Look where thou dost see my love, where thou dost not behold it,
Or where thou dost not behold my dear body’s wound:
But look on my life, my dear love’s wound!
Look what life hath wrought in me, my dear friend’s wound!
Why dost thou not look on my blood and weep,
And yet do not weep for thy love?
For if thou dost weep, how can I please thee,
And if thou dost be so kind, why shouldst thou be angry?
‘O love! love hath not death but life,
But death hath life and life neither death nor death:
Thus am I told, ’tis all death, and I am not dead.’
What are they, then, that do torment thee?
Where’s thy treasure thou hast buried, and where is thy mind?
What dost thou think of such a treasure?
‘I once saw the fair lady whose face I have pictured,
And the sun that gave it life!
Whence did she stop and kiss the earth?
Whence did she stop and kiss the ground?
Her pale face did nothing to remove;
Her red lips, as white as snow, did not stain;
As snow she did not stain, like silver in the sun,
But in the glowing blue of heaven’s sun.
She took him by the arm, and her hand he threw.
Her eyes were full of tears, and she writ her love in them.
‘‘O, how can it be,
That thou art so dear to the world,
When, as thy self’s, thou art so precious?
As it is, it hath power to kill me;
And, like a dreadful thunder,
As it flies, it hurls all to the ground.
‘But to kill my friend, thou shalt forfeit mine,
And do me shame with thine eye,
And then die, thy love to death.
‘Thus concludes her story, in sorrow;
A lovely child, her lovely beauty so lovely,
As the lily did her lips touch,
Make the lips of the lily so warm:
They too quickly the child was gone,
But the lily again she kiss’d,
In vain, for she had not the time nor skill
To give herself all that she was worth to crave,
Even now in heaven she hath her fill and all her beauty,
And all her beauty all at once doth seem,
The sun is burning her soul in flame,
And all her beauty all at once doth appear,
And all her beauty all at once doth seem,
The sun is burning her soul in flame;
But all her beauty all at once doth appear,
The sun is burning her soul in flame;
And all her beauty all at once doth appear,
As the sun is burning her soul in flame.
‘Then shall I wake up again, and my day be doth end.
My love is a thousand objects,
A thousand tongues to read,
And each tongue will speak a new and different story.
‘Tis true,’ quoth she, ‘there are no gods but men;
But it is not my love, my love, that I speak,
Yet for every thing I have, the most is wrong.’
‘But what makes thee wrong then is thy true love?
‘O then is thy beauty thy right,
And so my self thy right,
My self mine self thy true;
O then am I wrong, as thou hast deceived me,
Who have done such a decease
That thou alone shalt know mine true purpose?
And yet have I not done it before;
But I did betray myself, as the thief so,
And now by thy stealing act have I confessed my deed.
O, let me tell you, though I not see it,
In my tears I have sworn to my eyes,
The sun and moon have given their light
To the heavens, and I have sworn in them to behold
The heavenly heaven, whose light I will look upon
As you see my true self to-morrow appear,
And in mine true self to-morrow I will tell.
“The poor slave,” quoth she, “look on that dear slave,
And on that dear slave with disdain,
And on that worthless thing dead with her will remain:
And so they leave each other, and with sorrow return


======== CHECKPOINT 029 OUTPUT # 002 ========

pioneering you, and I, you, and your love is greater than that.
You are my friend, I am not your friend;
And the better for your self, you better be my friend
Than to me is not my friend’s fault;
I have sworn that thy love to me is greater than mine.
But this verse is not mine;
If thou canst swear a man thy love is so,
How shall I prove my love when thou art me gone?
Thy love to me was never to be forged
And thus the fault lies not with thee, but with thy love.
‘Thus did the sun make thee shine,
Thine eyes, that through them doth light thee,
Each eye the light of thy soul doth shine;
Thou lov’st, that thou dost in my name dost stay,
For thou art mine, and not to me thou art.
‘But how can I say I love thee more than I love thee?
For thou art mine, mine own, and not mine;
Thou my loving love, my self mine own, and not mine;
What if I love thee more than thou art my love?
Then say what thou wilt, and make this excuse;
But if this excuse prove false,
By me I know not love, but to thee alone is said.
If thou wilt lie in such a state,
Thy self-same self is my love, and that thy self love
Thou lov’st not, thou lov’st not love to me.
thou lov’st not, thou lov’st not love to me,
Thou lov’st not love to me, thou lov’st not love to me.
Thou lov’st not my love, not my love to thee.
O that which is so much farther thou know’st,
For if it be not so, thou lov’st mine more;
Thou lov’st to me thy loving self’s true love,
If thy self so like it, why not I love thee more?
“What dost thou make of this?” quoth she;
And she in answer shakes her head and exclaims,
If thou dost make my life worth less than that of thee,
I will kill thee for thee, if not for thee.
No, I have no love, my love is like thee.
No, my love is like thee;
And if thou dost kill me, so shalt thou live.
O what a false hope he is! his will did break,
And thus all the truth did perish;
‘Thou art the true and right, and all the wrong is,
To live to be a thief and betray,
And death to kill, if thou dost live to be dead.
‘Why,’ quoth she, ‘you didst steal the life of my son;
By this did I gain my life, and I lost thy life.’
‘This is false,’ quoth she; ‘but do not tell this to my maid;
She knows what to do, and my maid knows not what to say;
“Lo, it was mine that made my life lasting;
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘it shall not be my fault,
That I should not have been born again;
That in thee was a stain of thy sins,
Which on me hath no stain,
Thin blot upon my heart’s pride,
Which thou gav’st no pen to blot out.
Look, if thou wilt kill me, I fear no more;
I was not born for thee, nor thy part be.
O, if I be of thee, then my sins are thy parts.
But if thou wilt live to kill me, let not my sorrow.
My life shall not be so heavy, my love’s length shall not be heavy.
The old man, whom thou dost love, and whose wife thou dost love,
Shall have thy part to spend, mine part to spend thy youth,
And my life to spend upon thee, when thou shalt live.
As thou art by nature’s hand, thy hand doth extend,
And for a moment doth she turn it on;
When she gives it up again the force goes,
And a hand’s length that’s too short doth lend,
And a long hand doth lend the same.
‘If I die, this, that is, shall never die.’
And this she exclaims,
And this she says, ‘all men die by their own hand.
‘”Thus we are, as a thousand times in a thousand threads,
To each other we fly, and both of us dead;
Then, wistly, I bid them kiss each other’s eyes,
To make love


======== CHECKPOINT 029 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Quentin I did love you more than I loved him.
When she saw me, she said in a low voice,
If thy love could be my death, thou shalt not live
So shalt thou live with me, and with my death my life.
For I have no self, and neither true, nor true worth,
To live by thy love and to live by thy death,
For thou didst love me less than I have lived,
To live by thy love and to live by thy death,
And I never to die for thy love;
Then thou art my self, and not mine.”
But thou have no power of my love,
Nor art thou the gift of the world’s love.
The day doth seem as though from her eyes the world’s eye would look,
Though for the very first she did smile so.
Her eyes well know the deep grief which ensues.
When the light hath been gone, the darkness have begun.
“Thy eyes shall not open to behold me;
For my eyes are spies and thieves;
Mine eyes have been spies and thieves for naught;
My heart hath writ it in thy breast.
Who says that if my heart did hear you,
That I should kill you?
Well then, my dear friend, this is all my fault:
I must say that I did love you better than I do now.
‘Tis true my heart did love me best,
That it would hate me if I did not.
So to myself I hold the shame which lies concealed,
And think that I have done nothing wrong,
Since in that shame I had not said so.
That shame did mine own eyes make,
Which then in their own darkness still gazed upon me.
If this blush did stain me, why should my heart be so pale,
As it now glows from a burning torch?
The red of that which it was, that burning flame still shines,
Sets the tempest from where it falls.
‘Tis not such shame I fear to behold,
The foul act that such hideous shame engirteth,
What of that which I love more than I love thy.
I love thy blood more than I love thy name.
I love thee more than I know thee to be,
than to believe in your good deeds, or in yours.
‘”If thou lov’st that which is in me,
What of mine is not in thee, what of my friend?
If thou lov’st my life and my friend’s,
If that life’s self be aught worth nothing,
But my self in thee, thou art my self,
And mine own self in thee, is my self,
If the world should say so, it will be my death,
Love’s sting shall not kill thy sting;
Nor his sting, mine self’s sting shall kill thee.
His sting shall kill mine, my self’s sting shall kill thee.
Love is as weak as a feather to feathers,
And, like a sickle, with a feathery wind,
Grows strong, and, to make a sound, is shaken,
To shoot a bullet which his body in his hand can take,
And to kill me in that shoot, I must swear:
No, my oaths shall not deceive thee,
Nor let them break thy life to this:
But with thy oaths are I bound,
To all oaths that ever I swore to you.
“If you should say so, O fool, if thou shalt say so,
Then I’ll let thee win for good!
So, ‘twixt thee and me, I’ll swear to thee.
Thy love shall be thy best, and mine mine best is,
And neither mine nor my love is to be loved,
Yet in my loving heart thou wilt live:
And I thy love shall live to be revenged.
This is the worst slander that can pass between
Th’ unapproved love and his hateful lust.
The first, in whose pride he strives,
That all his shame in his hate may live up:
The other, in his pride, he will never live.
‘Since love is not self-love,
He that hath lost it, he may as well go
Against heaven or earth or heaven’s face;
Then to the world from whence it came,
With him shall go to himself and his foul-doing foes;
That from thence they seek to divide,
And divide in themselves they all will have;
If from thence they come to their own judgment,
They all will come to the same thing,
For heaven and earth and all men are one,
For hell and all men are one,
Then love shall dwell in love’s own judgement,
And hell and all men shall dwell in hell’s


======== CHECKPOINT 029 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Susan it appears:
For where did he make his woe?
Where did he give his death-beaten wife to give?
Where did he do his sorrow upon her?
Where did he live out his sorrow on her death?
Where did he kill himself on her death?
What made him so wretched then?
What made him so happy then?
Why did his deeds deceive her,
When in his she bore him lies?
What told her such lies made to impress him
Was not her self a part of his mind,
As his self the star to his constancy?
What gave her power to make him love her more?
O that the time which shall most suit my eyes,
Will my sight be all dull that in thy night,
And still my love thy self more well?
O that in thy soul art thou thy friend,
But thou, my dear, the fairest, am yet stranger.
‘O, who could say so?‘Yet all my woes were mine to tell,
For as I was sick of my bed-wetting,
For as I was thirsty, yet I was never so thirsty.
‘”O then,” quoth she, “my heart is strong as coal,
For when coal burneth the coal,
So shall it burn at noon, and then in my bed,
It must burn as fast as the flood can stop;
Which when my heart hath the flood and thou thy woe,
What shall I say to thy help?
‘I had imagined him, and there he was,
The painter’s knife that I took from his hand.
What might he say, or what should he say?
Or was he not a man to be observed,
For he wore his armour to impress his wit,
For beauty did not deceive thee with a smile,
Yet thou art mine, not mine to kill me;
Nor art thou the other to kill me,
If thou my friend I slay, not mine own face,
Then will I be in thy breast, which was thy face:
No more, thou lov’st not, for this was my will.
‘How dare I tell how thou art to be harmed,
For if thou art mine, what excuse canst thou have?
Thou art thy self, and to be thy self shall dwell.
“Ah, that thou mayst not be so fair,
For, lo, I cannot live to live to be wronged.
I want to live to be true and true shall live,
Therefore this question in my mind shall answer,
And then all will give me another excuse:
My eyes are red, my lips pale, my thoughts heavy,
And I’ll have all this in vain.
O no, that is why thou dost fear,
When, fearing that all my woes may be put to rest,
The shame of my woes will kill all that rest.
‘If my death be my self, then how shall my love be done?
For there is a god, and I, and he is father,
And I have no father except myself,
And yet the one which is father shall be my love,
Love my father and love my love,
That he should live and live and live and die,
The one which is dead shall live and die,
The other shall live and live and die,
And I in love shall die, and in love shall live.
Then how shall my love be saved if thou dost die?
This question she must answer,
And not yet answer her with words;
But let her say this in her bosom,
‘I cannot love thy heart; thou shalt not bear me,
To whom thou art like a slave of mine eyes:
Thou art my slave, and mine are thy rights,
To rob me of all my fair self,
And to sell all thy self for my fair self.
The wailing morn, the groans of pain,
And the sighs of relief, shall my heart be filled.
This she says is said, in a voice so high,
Which may astonish her eyes:
Then she shall weep, and weep for thee.
And as she says, ‘That man that hath power such as he hath,
Is mine and thou shalt be mine,’
And like a lamb she chides it,
“Give it the chance, and thou art mine,”
Then she quits, and he replies,
“I gave it thy life, and thou wast mine.”
‘If thou art mine,’ quoth she, ‘and thou hast it for thy will,
And mine that I give thee shall be thy will.
For thou art mine, thou art mine, and thou shalt be mine.”
And to this it seems she answers,
“O my dear friend


======== CHECKPOINT 029 OUTPUT # 005 ========

boxes and his own will, which he owed to thee
When thou hast sent me for them;
A thousand lines of golden locks, in their antique shape,
Made them, as thou hast done, in my will,
Since my will, that thy will, and my will,
All shall abide therein, I hold thee in debt
And mine will to repay thy trespass is
From thee, thy will to steal mine treasure,
My will to keep thee from stealing and stealing me,
And hence, as thou wilt steal thy treasure away,
Thy will to give thy treasure back is one
As thou wilt lend mine, if I shall be gone,
And thou giveth my treasure to my death.
So I give up my false hope, and I die,
And in the end it is thy will, I die,
I shall die, and never hear from thee again;
So long as thy will lives in me, mine will
In thee in eternal time live.
“Now have I seen thee before I saw thee,” quoth she,
“and in their pale faces did he thrust a knife
In my thigh, and my face did thrust it
in his hand; yet his hand was not to kiss me.
‘”He that would have done me a favour,
When he had done me a good deed,
When he had done me wrong, and in my name;
Wherein the shame that his act did make,
A blot to blot out his stain upon me.
And now this I read on the paper
The oath she made me, that she had sworn,
That thou shalt never kill another in my name;
And on this oath I am dead,
And thou wast thy last.”
But at last she adds, “Ay, but I will not kill.”
She concludes the book with her oath,
With oaths as strong as steel,
So strong is her will that she must make oaths;
And oaths that cannot be sworn,
Unless made of some more strong and holy thing:
‘O, the best and safest oath that ever my will
Amanc myself to thee!
This in a book that she in thee writ,
She had read, and now she had sworn,
Her will did lend her will, and now the oath,
She hath sworn that it is my will to kill him;
That he is a deceiver of my will,
And then as if in secret he should make it known,
Thy will for my sake be sworn,
That I must his will to kill him.
‘But where this book hath begun I do begin,
As if there were a fountain to spill out
Her blood and water that could drink it.
The stream is full of water, and the fountain
That drinks it from the bottom.
But as the fountain is full, so her will,
Wherein lies it, shall I pour out from thence.
‘O, when they had taken possession of me,
They had said, ‘Let him be king, and he bear the light;
Let him be slave, and he bear all.’
‘O, I will not tell the tale!’ quoth she,
To keep her true heart from thinking,
To see what it will do to be loved;
To love your neighbour as it loves your self,
To be proud of your own self, as a proud citizen,
When you yourselves are proud and you not proud.
And for this it is not so,
As for love of this my friend,
That my will will in mine will lend my will
To be sure that you will not be dead.
What shall I say? I do not live,
Yet can’t I say, ‘Love did kill me.’
“So you love me, and so shall you hate me,”
And this sad excuse for not giving
To your love what is best.
“Ay, but love is love, ’twas your dear sweet love,
And your love, and your love is my love,
Like the rain that doth fall from a tree
Like the summer that springs in the night;
Like the fall that falls from your summer’s spring.
So long you have loved me as you have,
That love, so long I have been your love,
Have I not been your love?
As to that, you seem to be your true self,
And yet I have been your love to you and to you to me,
And now I shall be your true self,
And you as my true self shall be my false self,
When you, and I, as well as you shall belong,
To each other are three parts,
That each one of us should look upon,
To see what we are, what we did,
And that we are all that we


======== CHECKPOINT 030 OUTPUT # 001 ========

ps of the wind,
Swinging the sea, the wind, to keep her eye.
The gentle ocean is thy breast,
And thy womb thy womb’s breast.
‘My life, my love, be not deceived,
Thy eyes should not see it,
And I the world may say that my heart is deceiving.
No love shall hide thy breast,
My lips do not kiss mine own lips,
My lips do not kiss mine own lips,
My lips, my lips, my lips are the kiss,
And all the rest of mine are the sin,
That I did not hate and then did love thee.
‘Yet from my bosom may I breathe,
Even through the deep night I can see the sun,
And all the starry night’s stars in me glimmer!
So may thy heavenly glory seem!
And then she bids him breath, to give him light
And the gentle kiss of truth, that never doth stop,
Shows him what his lips have wrought; and so he kisses,
For the sake of thy life.
‘Therefore say not thy part, my soul,
As thou art to die with a careless lie,
And yet let the painter take thy place,
And art thou the son of a fool,
who is not worth my life,
Till death’s pleasure be such an honour as my life.
‘O peace, that is not so,
A more or less warlike strife of many sorts,
My love hath been my subject since thy wits began.
‘Why should I, then, for my love should perish,
Thy love’s self-same defect being gone?
What shall my grief say? ‘Thy love, my love, thou wilt find
a more than modest home;
Thy self, thou wilt be thyself again,
That by thy self thy self thy self may live.
“I’ll stop now, my dear friend, and return
The time of my true self, the time where thou livest,
When time is my love’s purpose, thy self is dead,
The body, thou hast no heart left for thee,
The thing, thou shalt never be, is none.
O, by that time I have told, thee too late,
Even as a glass of water doth break when it doth see,
And as if by accident it doth break again:
So I am of love, my soul my heart,
Thou lov’st not the life to whom I am so often held,
My heart, I love, and thou lov’st not,
My self I love, and thou lov’st not.”
If thou dost weep, thou art dead,
And thou shalt not weep for me till the end.
And for that, I say, he that thinks thus,
Cannot have much love, and for this reason is bereft,
That thou art dead, and thou wast the thief.
‘In vain, O dear friend, as I say,
By thee didst kill my life and my love:
And thou hast nothing to live for but my death.
‘But this, as if he would slay me,
With that, as if from thee mightst slay me,
So with my life, in spite of my love’s doom,
By nature’s power I might break the peace of thy heart,
And leave you in that bosom of mine,
With such a sad heart to die?
‘O how I did not love your sight,
My thoughts did not imitate your taste,
My tongue did not imitate your beauty;
No wonder, then, I was your friend, your friend
And my self is mine, and mine shall live,
And my self shall live, and mine shall die,
Because thou hast given them your love, and mine shall live,
And mine shall live, and mine shall die,
And thy self shall live, and thy self shall live,
The living thing that thou wast but thyself,
And thy self was thy self, and thy self thy self,
I think thou in thy self’s self didst kill me,
The living thing that thou wast but thy self,
And thy self to be the living thing that thou wast
Was a living thing for thyself and thy self,
Which, like myself, thou were but another,
Till thou were the living thing thy self and thy self,
For that thou were so made,
For I thought thou shouldst still be living in me:
For if thou were, thou couldst still be dead:
And to think thou wouldst still be dead,
And to think thou wouldst still live in me:
‘For then is that thought but a little false,
That no one hears


======== CHECKPOINT 030 OUTPUT # 002 ========

ésir to hear her tale.
Thou canst not not compare thy love to his,
Till he be converted, if thou do not love him,
And he be converted unto thee with more delight.
This verse is very heavy, and I must make no comment,
For I think my love is a man-killing thing;
No one doth compare the thing with what it is,
But thou that dost compare the thing is more heinous;
Even so in that verse I did marvel
Where I saw one of my beloved ladies writ:
I love thee so, so much more than I do hate thee,
And love’s love is that which, as it grows,
Is grown to that which is no longer there.
‘”And as the wind doth blow, the night-colourless moon
Or bright mist, on it with pale eyes:
The sky being filled with her splendour,
With her beauty and his grace is gone.
“That is not so,” quoth she, “this sun is not so,
Nor his virtue as well as mine is strong.
And when he hath made him a goddess,
He doth take it from thence, and make him kings.’
This, if I may add, is the way he travels;
He takes the way in his pride;
It is no crime to be proud of it;
He gives it up to show his virtue,
To show his shame, to show his disgrace.
For if thou do this, then that is thy grace,
And if thou do that, I will not reproach thee,
But then thou art thy self to blame,
For not being thy self, I know no other shame:
Thou know’st me that you all have my strength,
Mine all, mine none.
When thou art mine, let none say so.
‘And that thy life being told,
That thy life being shown is of lesser import,
The man, who as he sleeps, begins to shake;
‘Twas no cause for thy self to be afraid;
O therefore, thou wilt not excuse me,
Or else let my sin, thou wilt excuse
My guilt to be pardon’d in the sun.
When love doth stain his cheek with his blood,
And wear all his face with his tears,
Whose stain so to my sorrow should I not know,
He will yet love it, and now thy spite will live.
‘Why then,’ quoth he, ‘you do not know?
Look how many things you have done that should not be undone,
And so you do know that I was once thy sweetest;
And then you know that thou art thy self,
And thou art so thy self can never be undone.
How then did my love, my love’s love, decay from me?
It’s a shame to hate, and to find fault in thee,
But yet it is sweet when thou hast said ‘It is a shame’.
‘If that be the case,’ quoth she, ‘if thou didst,
Thou were once my love, thou didst find fault,
And I am as well-favour’d with foul passions as thou art.
Thou art the mistress of my heart,
And I should never kiss her now.’
“The earth will not bear the blow,
nor heaven the deep wind that bloweth away:
The wind that blasts out of the earth is dead,
The snow that grows out of the earth’s ground is fresh,
The wind that blows through the cloudless sky is warm.
I am her mistress, and so is the world,
And then my life is a show, and nothing more,
But it is no true show, but to me
The beauty of my body and mind,
Thou art such a fool, and in me such a wretch,
That thou dost call me a lie, and so to me
Thy true nature doth prove
The most false story, and thus the truth doth bear;
I must confess thee in this falseness;
Since thou hast taught me not the truth of this verse,
I will confine myself here in my heart,
To let the sad story die.
Thou art the cause of thy self,
And all thy self’s faults in thee are mine;
Then I love thee, and I shall never be gone.
But then thou didst write a verse,
When thou art my love, and I am mine:
But now I hear that thy love died not,
And it hath not begun till thou see’st
the dreadful effect of my death.
‘Then was the year thus, and therefore thou dost know,
When it doth my spirit call me again,
And for the first time call me


======== CHECKPOINT 030 OUTPUT # 003 ========

patrolling in his head as his heart quaking,
He finds himself staring with a twain’s eye,
Which to his head doth show the wound he wounds,
And the wounds still remaining are left till the end:
When this, in his heart’s pride, gives pleasure to think:
How might he in his heart, when he so lov’d,
Have been this, and yet yet he is this?
O could not that be this, and yet he is this?
Then did he bequeath to his posterity
A certain legacy which he so well attains,
Which in his bosom shall remain with his youth,
While it may in his bosom be left undone?
How then, if his name remain,
Is not his spirit to the grave the better for it?
What do I say that might I say?
“Ay, that thou wilt come by again,
When I should go to bed and look upon thee,
Or I to sleep in thy arms, or to creep in thy breast:
Or I to look upon thy beauty’s wound,
When thou art mine, then, as soon as I can stop,
My breath can bear it; but as soon as I breath again,
My heart stops, my tongue cries, my lips writ;
And still my soul doth moan, my heart beats harder,
And still the lips of my tongue still remain
As if they had not been put to words when they were sung,
As if they were not as they are now, though they be:
Her cheeks, my lips, my nose, my handkerchiefs
Tear from my cheek like a wracked turtle;
Her nose, my handkerchiefs dry, her eyes white,
That when she looks at me her eyes are filled,
And then from the bottom of her cheeks she starts.
“O,” quoth she, “this doth make me want a knife,
And when I see this knife I would not have it.
Yet when he comes, if he did not kill me,
How can I be sure that his tongue was the only knife,
So cold is his lips that cold can be warmed,
And still so cold can be warmed is he;
No, if he did not kill me, I would die.
‘Then may I tell him my friend,
Who was to blame for my life’s death,
And then I’d have him answer me that his woes are imaginary.
I have seen the love of thy life grow,
And when thy love did grow in spite,
The child would have him take his name;
Or in the spring would he take his name in spring.
What a fair-goose hath he that did not bow
To give a poor dove a look, when the breath is full?
Why is not the breath of thee, whereof thy spirit doth run
In the wind that blows from thy nostril?
Nor yet I think the winds that blow on thee have warmed,
And thou dost sigh, wherefore hath my heart sighed?
‘Tis an hour, to make thee stop,
And to make thee stop still in my pilgrimage
Sorrow would soon be said to have begun:
A thousand a hundred hours a day spent
Catching what time he spent on thee, and then thou wilt come,
And tell me that thou wilt stay this time
In this place, and to this date:
And then may I tell you
The true story of that time when thou wilt come again:
From his horse at her sides he drew a hound,
And in her bosom he gave her some kiss,
That she did do to show it to his eye,
So as the horse’s rider hath in his pride,
He shakes her cheek, and the young maiden in her breast shakes,
And from her breast she woos him with her moan.
And yet that she thinks she hath not felt him,
And that he had no power to do her any harm,
To do her, she thinks she hath done him wrong,
And with that he shakes her, and she sighs again.
“Ay, that doth thou dost, in mine eyes
Saw the wolf that did feed on my sweet-son:
Then will I, in thy blood, be thy nurse,
Till thou art born again, and thou shall live,
As the dead whose flesh thee in thine eyes:
As the dead whose breath thou dost breathe,
Or as those that did bear thee the load,
But were not my nurse, for I in thee die.
‘And yet if thou wilt go, then shalt thou stay;
And then in thy breath I swear I love thee,
Thy breath, as thou livest in this, thou shalt live


======== CHECKPOINT 030 OUTPUT # 004 ========

supplementation of such wealth and such a care?
‘My life, my soul, my soul is dear to the world;
Yet in thee is life and death to me;
And for me to this is death, and for me to this is life:
When love, love to me, was the flower,
And in thee it blossoms till thou wilt flower again;
For thee, my love, it grows and flowers again.
He, with his back, shakes her by the shoulder;
Her voice, with tender grace, bids him go;
And with her neck he turns, to look;
Then in the general direction of her sight,
Her eyes, seeing him, shake their heads in confusion.
“Come,” quoth she, “do you see the face of a king,
Of many a gentle spirit, that thou wouldst fear;
For behold his eyes and see all the world are eyes?
And when thou wilt see their faces, all the world with thee,
O, behold them be as they are to thee:
All men look upon thee in amazement,
Which then would I be compelled to do
For some secret reason, and leave thee here?
Then where can I in heaven find some secret love,
Since there is no love, that will not be forsaken?
O, be kind to that, in my case,
Thou art, though the world would not love me.
What is love, what is true and what is fals?
What is wrong and what is right?
O, if one look upon the world, their eyes would wink;
So be it to thee to say, ’tis not love, but evil,
Who in thee stands the root of all evil;
That from thee all evil is sprung,
And from thy foul-mouthed part so doth I fall.
‘In him hath my love sprung, and from thence it doth lie;
In him hath my love sprung, and from thence it doth lie;
But in him hath my love sprung, and from thence it doth lie;
Therefore thy beauty doth grow like thee,
When thou wilt find thy beauty so pure.
“If,” quoth she, “my love had thee in love,
I would weep and sigh, and say, ‘Dear husband,’
I’ll not leave thee, but give thee some more grief;
What can I say that I love, but thou dost,
Thou know’st to be my friend. I’ll be with thee for thy sake;
Yet thou shouldst betray my trust, and my dear love,
The time will tell when my love will be dead,
The truth will teach me how to live again.’
‘For what reason would I not leave thee,
And thou mightst be the first to find out?
My mind was troubled, and therefore my soul fell,
And the heart that feeds on that feeds no more,
So doth the heart grow weary of all, and all my rest.
I cannot bear to do all this, and yet none can help me.
When in the midst of many a great fight,
When the enemy is armed with a thousand swords,
When each side is so heavily armed,
When the horse-drawn carriage doth double cross,
When the wind blows in the clouds’ fire,
When the dead cannot breathe, or even think,
Then my heart being strong, will not let go,
Nor my soul to rest, nor my body to cry;
And being gone, I will not give my light light a breath;
Yet would I still stand still as if nothing were to live;
Therefore to a heavy night I will wail;
And if thou wilt live long enough, then my prayers will be answered,
And then my mind will be strong again and my mind rest;
But now I feel a strange fear, and then a more fear,
To say, ‘I am dead,’ ‘this,’ ‘this,’ ‘this,’ and so on,
So am I with thee now, till then I will say,
I never love thee still;
Then it shall seem to me my self shall have thee;
And when thy self shall have thee, I will leave thee,
Nor thou thy self’s self shalt I remain,
My body, though made with thy part, yet shall be
In a sad state, not of joy, but of sorrow,
To say, ‘This,’ ‘this,’ ‘this,’ ‘this,’
‘this,’ ‘this,’ ‘this,’
this,’ ‘this,’ ‘this,’ ‘this,’
I never know how long I shall live, and yet thy name I know,
Though at this thou art dead, yet this is not my,
Which I fear as much as thou hast dead,


======== CHECKPOINT 030 OUTPUT # 005 ========

opt is this:
‘It is enough to make thee moan:
Let me be thy mistress and have the cure;
As soon as thou art done, so shalt thou be.’
“O love, if thou wilt, behold the light of day,
Showing the morning’s glory;
And when thou look’st on the night, let no shadow shine
On the sun, nor any thing else:
But every thing in thy bosom shine,
As the golden sun in the eastern sky,
Gazing on heaven and earth with that blessed radiance.
But now Adonis leaves his wife, and leaves his child
Who by his side he doth beguile;
He takes with him a son, whose name he did make
The boy to kiss her face;
She replies that she loves him most,
And that thou art one of his sweetest loves,
That she, that thou dost love to hate, thou dost love
The man that lies with her.
“Lo, as he walks, his head doth shake;
His eyes dote with his brain, and their faces
With his eye they look, like those pale sepulchres that the roses left;
Then shall they see, and he will wink:
Thou shalt never see the love of thyself that doth live,
And therefore, my dear, it shall live, for I am
That art such love, and yet thou art such a fool.”
‘And thus the young king begins,
Till his fingers, and his lips’ faces are to the wind,
With a windy sighs they cry aloud.
“O thou art such a thing, poor fool,” quoth he,
That is to be blamed for thy woes.
‘O, why dost thou then lie with such a coward,
Whereon thou art such a thief?
Or what is thine own sin that doth justify it?
‘”Why dost thou then lie with such a coward,
Whereon thou art such a thief?
Thy self was slain, and thou art thy self:
If thou then be thyself slain,
My soul be thy self again, and yet thou art dead,
And thou the dead, I thee to die,
Thy self to be thy self again is thy self still.
And yet if thou hast slain me, thy self being dead,
Thy self, or some other, shall reign again.
Thou art a coward, and that coward doth live,
And thou shalt be dead.”
‘Now, O, if there had been such a thing as death,
A painter would have made it, and he would have done
Another thing to make him famous,
His love was the object, and he did give
A kiss of sweet delight, and to taste
The best of his sensual skill,
And as for this, he did remove his coat;
And then the old fool doth shake off his suit and lay,
And when the youth of that picture shall say,
He calls upon the birds and exclaims in terror:
Thy tears are bleeding, thou hast gone, for thee,
My sake, my sake, my sake, my sake,
Thy blood, my blood is red;
So is this my fault that thou didst stain,
Thy love doth my blood bear, and thou dost live.”
‘”For him the door that held me was locked,
Which if I would open it he could not open;
Nor let him in the door that in his night
Shall be locked, nor hear him say aloud:
His secret, and that which he did not know,
Is to be questioned by the dead, and not the living.
“What foul trespass hast thou committed?” quoth he;
Her hair falls, and her eyes appear:
The one on her lip, the other on her chin,
Tiresome, and weary, to behold
Are such a spectacle to behold:
Yet, for my sake, may I be silent,
When in my breast thy self hath committed
Thy crime, and thy life wasted,
And that thou livest not with thy self,
For all thy self’s death I must weep for thee.”
O blessed day! O blessed night!
‘Tis a true-day to me, that in thee
A true night to my eyes,
And in thee a true night to every eye.
O love to love is a sweet, yet hardy subject;
That in thee one with thee may live.
For thou art so soft, yet hardier,
That mine eyes cannot see thy face;
But mine eyes must see thy face,
That no eye can see thy face,
Which is thine, therefore thy eye is not a fair


======== CHECKPOINT 031 OUTPUT # 001 ========

contin’st self;
Her self she is and she is not,
So far she’s not but the living,
And if you can see her, we see her.
And so Tarquin did in his verse,
From thence he went with a party to see
The sickly-bewitching boar that hunts;
Then, perceiving them ill, he did relent,
And they, feeling so, did stay in their plight.
‘Gainst that Tarquin did kill,’ quoth Lucrece,
‘but he did not kill him’
For Tarquin was a woman of fair blood,
And his image as a child is no picture;
What a child would look upon his mother’s face!
O, what a life! let’s say he’s in love with her,
But she’s not his wife, he’s not her mistress;
For she’s his mistress but he is mistress.’
‘But,’ quoth she, ‘he that lives, his will is weak;
He can’t give his will, he can’t give his will
But that which lives is his gift, and I, his will is strong.’
“The poor boar, poor lamb, poor swine;
Then there are these three, one by one,
Whose looks, but their parts are so far apart:
Each looks for his liking, and each for his defect;
As I the poor boar, the lamb the swift bear,
I the poor swine, the dove the hawker,
I the boar the dove the hound,
And to myself the birds sing praises,
And to the turtle with his proud voice:
‘”And they in the budded buds
Of their own bud break open their buds,
As flowers do open their own blossoms.
‘If you may, thou wilt give me all the rest:
For by me you owe a lot to every thing,
And by me all the rest is to be desired.
Look why my self in thy sight
Doth dwell on thy shame and make me worse!
When the worst in thee shall be well known,
My self my self in thee will live
Under this self-same tyrant’s shadow.
So shall I, thy self, to bear the light;
That this my self, which thy self doth bear,
And thy self that thy self doth not bear,
Or my self that thy self doth bear thee,
Thy self this alone can bear,
And thee thy self thine own self alone bear.
I, this myself as I am the world,
Or all others as one, is self-same,
The world and I, as one.
But though I be in the world, yet the world
Is in me, and he in me.
Thou shall I die on this earth, and thou on the ocean;
This shall be thy destiny, thou shalt live with me;
I will not steal thy breath, but thou shalt take mine.
For thou art all my love, and all that thy parts hold,
Thy parts love thee, and all that thine,
Thy parts be all mine, and all that thy parts give.
“For what purpose canst thou live by reason’s breaking,
That thou in a moment, from the womb,
May live, in death, but in this life?
For thou thy self, my self, and in this life?
What purpose canst thou live by reason’s breaking,
If thou die by this life’s breaking?
For how canst thou live by this life’s breaking?
For how canst thou live by this life’s breaking?
But wherefore in this is my answer
Which thou shouldst know, the day is coming when thou art come,
That all this world is slain, my soul to die
With thee, that I might live again.
‘Thou art not dead, do not die,
Unless in the grave, then thou wilt die.
For as death is my end I do not want thee;
Even so, like an infant being nursed,
I’ll do thy death with that child and not thee:
With thee it is thou which thou shalt do my part,
And in that which thou shalt do my part, thou shalt live again,
For if thou survive, what of my part shall I die,
For what then of my part shall I live by thee,
Even as thou livest where thou livest?
If so, in thine own self I’ll live in thy self;
Thou livest where thou art, and thou live not at rest,
I’ll live on thy part, as thou livest,
For if so, in my self that thou livest,
Thou liveth only on mine part, and I no


======== CHECKPOINT 031 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Tray and kiss his hand; and then she began to weep with a loud cry,
To make me sad by thy tears, or else by thee.
But at last she exclaims, and says she never saw him kill,
And now she hath set her eyes on me,
And they behold the desperate sight; and, lo, as the night
Sings in my heart, so mine, too, was the night.
As long as my love lived,
O how long I did not love thee that loved me more.
‘Tis well that you might imagine that he be gone;
His death, my death, was more cruel than thy life’s;
But you are sadly forsworn of any sorrow:
The shame of your youth and you that did wrong thee;
But, O, how thou lov’st not thy time to boast
Of that sweet, unvarying praise which thy lips gave.
Even so, in that which thy lips made praise,
For all the praises of praise are made,
That even those which thou wilt boast of have,
In every thing done I should like to hate thee more,
Yet at last, though my thoughts may be full of praise,
When thy self I love to despise,
When that self I hate to possess,
The thing I love is not that I may do it myself,
Then can I live on but in thy love.
‘Tis well that you might imagine that he be gone;
Yet though my death may be more cruel than thy life,
Than still worse, to live on in my spite,
And still be worse still, for ever living I must live.
He takes a liking upon my body,
And I a lover’s love, and both are my love.
So may thy thoughts be blazoned with blood,
Even so, the painter doth make them liv’d
Within thy frame, and not in thy heart,
As being in me, which they see but as the matter.
“Thou art love, yet I do fear thee.”
This word may be translated: thou art not love,
Love is love, yet I do not love thee,
Thy love is but sour lust, and so is thy love,
Thy passion the flower of love, the flower of love,
That is love’s flower, to thee still is not bud;
But when it is set to flower, sweetly it is blooming;
But when it is set to flower, sourly it is blossoming,
For beauty in this sweet sweet flower is dead.
The time of thy love is past, and thou art past,
That for thy self’s sake thou livest and die.
“Poor boy,” quoth she, “being confined in my bed,
What would I say to him if thou mightst look?
I have thought that I saw thee when you were sleeping,
And that you were my wife, and all my subjects
Within the world of their acquaintance,
For my husband hath seen you, and none but you see.
‘But now,’ quoth she, ‘there is a boy gone, and his name is
The gazelle, and all the night there lies,
Who thinks to wake him, till his eyes with his eyes have seen
The gazelle to the east and west with them;
And the gazelle to the west with them;
Then when they have done, the gazelle to their west with
Hath seen the gazelle before, and the gazelle to their east with
All their many sights, but one in one,
Where is thy love when I cannot touch thee?
But when thou wilt see, I in thee
Canst thou hear me that thou art ill,
Whose voice I shall not hear, though I make a bed?
And being gone, yet still I can hear thee say:
He will not hear me; the sun that doth burn this world doth stay
Which in the sky doth set upon the face
Each night his shining eye hath but seen;
And if thy eye behold this, thou art sick;
O, how much blame dost thou bear,
How much blame dost thou bear when thou dost see?
‘”He that looks is dumb, and he that speaks dumb:
All these that he takes are but thine,
For his eyes are dumb, his hearts are dumb, his mind is dumb,
His body is feeble, his mind weak, his mind full:
His parts are like to those of a turtle;
His balls like to balls are like unto thorns;
His brow like to brows is like to wrinkles;
His eyes like to eyes are like stars;
His head like to eyes is like a mountain bottom;
His nostrils


======== CHECKPOINT 031 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Rapin to him; but now the door open’d; and lo, all alone, he was gone,
In a sad, dark-walled mansion with a naked babe.
“So be it,” quoth she, “for he would have done me wrong;
But thou, blessed of me, wert thou to be thine own,
For my sake shalt thou wert thou my self in bondage.
“O! I have never sought to kill thee,
Nor ever felt my soul wrong;
Not once did I fear for thy hurt,
But when a thousand miles’ journey I should find thee,
And wilt I but wish it were none?
Or else why didst thou this sad tale
When I once doted in a virtuous man?
Or didst thou thus tell the truth, as thou hast said,
that I was thy self in sin and thy self in hate?
Now the time hath come to tell this sad tale,
And to give you the pleasure of reading,
And to see what a happier state of my affairs is,
With my affairs in paradise, that now thy fair life doth lie:
With other loves, my happy state I live in,
But you have but one love to give me back:
And that is me, my fair, my sweet love.”
That said, her eyes fixed on his head,
Which with her bright lips the painter had painted in her eye,
Were full of proud ambition, of fear, of envy;
And her lips as white as night were filled with the sun,
For their lusty faces did all their beauty lend;
Who then was not so bright, as with all her beauty fled?
But now, a stranger in her closet
Came, that from behind her to her eye,
A glassy portal, where all the other lamps were;
Now the sun herself is seen, and not the other;
Or as in a dream the crystal curtain
Is broken from Time’s golden hue,
So this crystal door will stay in Time’s night,
And all that time hath doth entertain the rest.
She looks sadly in his face; and the pale glass
That in Time’s holy fire shines up through is gone;
Now this strange lamp which in the fire shines doth
Cannot be seen, and Time is gone, his sorrow is greater.
O, now I see the fair-sprung flower
Of roses, the sweetest of all the roses,
With this she takes to herself, and bids her tongue kiss;
The young flowers seem sweet, but that which grew out of them were
Planted in the earth’s soft mud, where they thrive:
If these flowers should decay, what can the world endure
That makes you so good to be so poor?
But here he stops again, as the wind blows,
Or when the sun takes off his brow, as the fire begins.
‘Now let me say to myself that this tale is true,’
The author of love is my friend, and she my friend:
But the woman that speaks so true speaks no better,
For love, like a sad dog, doth neigh as it neighs;
And then she sits on the curb and robs,
And cries aloud, ‘Lo, I must go!’, and leaves her.
“Well done, well done, and good night!
Love’s foul instrument of punishment,
And sweet instrument of war, for the sake of all my love,
To die with thee, in my lust for thee,
To die with thee in my hate for thee,
To die with thee in my love for thee,
To die with thee in my love for thee,
To die in thee in my love for thee,
So I have sin’n thy false-sack’d virtue,
Which, with thee, thou art my lord, and the world’s fair,
Whose guilt shall my crime carry, and thy fair praise,
From whose fair hand my soul mine eyes have pried
The sweet poison that shall bring me here to this tomb,
And thence abroad to make thy way to heaven;
But my body being in thine eye, thy guilt shall have no pleasure,
Nor for my love shall thy self be saved,
Nor life for thee to see thy life,
For thou art thine, and that which thou art thine is mine,
For I did kill thee, and kill thee only.
‘If I may do,’ quoth she, ‘I should kill thee as soon as I find thee,
Because thou livest, and I thou die.
‘But if, by this, thy love should have done me wrong,
A mortal plague that shall never be cured;
I would slay thy love and yet live.’
‘My dear love,’ quoth she, ‘it


======== CHECKPOINT 031 OUTPUT # 004 ========

oft”d, though for thy grace I had never seen him till now,
And when I see thee again, for me I think thou art dead
And die with thee, being dead with thee:
That which thou wouldst not possess, still to be beguiled,
Is thy self-same purpose, and I my self as my self die,
Like that which is thyself in self-same measure,
So to myself I will prove, and in thy self I will prove
And prove the same, and in thy self I myself die,
Since both of you my self did prove
And both of you my self so will prove,
That I alone am both present and dead,
Which is all but to spite this false spite,
For all of you I still do be present,
The false love that hath so many to love:
“If that thy true love have love,
Nor my love be so true, but my false love,
That my false love still is thy true love,
Which to love is all false the same
Till there were my true love with a foul reproach,
And a false love with a foul reproach:
The one false, both true, both true,
Both to be both one; then that thou art,
Thou art two: not two at once.”
‘”What is the first? Who is it, dear boy,
Who makes a present of thee, what part thereof?
Or who sets a store of your sweets, what part thereof?
Who buys a piece of paper and lends a glass?
Or is he one, and sells that to another,
To sell another for that same object?
Or bids her be her maid, to take care of thy part,
Or bids her be with others, to nurse her in need,
Or to leave him that is mistress of his,
That will do him a speedy death by thy side.
For if he die, thou shalt be with him in the flood,
And for him thou wilt live to kill him,
As to two lovers in one, one is dead, the other alive;
And now is thy time with the dead to die,
And yet no sooner is time spent in the dead’s way,
By making thee a perpetual mote.
‘When thou mak’st the present a perpetual season,
And to your present a perpetual mourning year,
The present thy love will bear, the present thy friend,
The present the present the present your sorrow,
The present the present the present the present thy love,
You will all present in one: and each to his friend’s part,
Will thus form one man and one woman,
The present, which is your love’s, the present your friend’s.
Thou art one, and one woman,
both alive and dead in one; one true, both living,
Both living and dead in one:
What didst thou intend, to eat my life?
To kill my life? to live my life?
When in love didst thou live, to spend your life,
Or, as in a dream, to live like a fool?
Thou art neither living nor dead, but living,
Both, both, dead and living, in one,
That I may, on thy side, defend thee,
And yet in one, that I may deny thee,
And yet I do defend thee, and yet thou art not I,
I never did, or never will make thee so;
Thy love is a thief, and thou art an adulterate,
That in thee all lies and truth is made.
In thee all lies and truth lies not.
To me love is nothing but the earth’s earth,
From whom all thy sins are taken,
And to what end that thou wast lost turns you anew;
Wherefore with thy suffering me thou dost extend
The summer from this hell with my love,
To live eternal life, to live like a fool.
When by nature gives pleasure to men,
They do not, that they should, kill women’s eyes,
As they kill birds’ nests’ nests’ nests,
For they with their wings do their nests kill.
Now what will not be said is this:
“I have no love; yet you did love me:
Mine eye hath seen the beauty of so sweet a boy,
Which by thy bright eye hath seen the sweetest of love’s,
The boy’s eyes in thy cheek seem to fly to heaven.
Then why then did I weep with tears,
Since thy love in thy cheek so much sorrow’s ended?
Now thou art sad, and I am sad,
Who in thy weeping cry dost thou rest?
But thou dost not live, thou dost not die;
Let all our sorrow


======== CHECKPOINT 031 OUTPUT # 005 ========

workload, as a painter, or as an actor.
He hath made many such errors that, being done, he is again condemned,
To see the dead and their reproach,
When the dead themselves are glorified:
But when the living, for whom he makes many errors,
Shows his faults in his glory,
In his glory he shall be praised as more great,
By the audience that he so laudeth,
The general of that audience to him he cheers.
‘And being in him, yet in me you see
That his love, although not true, yet is
Within your self your own inward eye behold,
For you behold him with all your eyes in mine eyes;
This eye so many that you see with your own,
When you look upon others in my sight,
For I in them love not my love,
That they in you they in me love love well.
Therefore for thyself being proud, why then canst thou not live?
Thy honour be thy own but to make thyself so proud,
That your fame should have such a glory,
That some might call it thine, that it might be thy fame,
And thou in this you should make thee one
Of true and true worth.
‘The time hath come for that which is in me told,
That from thy face I could write a goodly tale,
Which by the grace of thy name might know
The secret secrets which in thee have been hid.
That all the world may know that thou art that,
The world that did not know thee is mine,
and by thee art thine too.
Then I will tell the truth of this time, and this place,
If your love’s will will be so kind, I’ll do this;
For that which is said to me to be told,
Is what I’ll say it will be told, though not my tongue,
I will write for you this most excellent account:
“And at last he hath emptied his pen,
And laid the book that thou shalt see in thy bed,
And made it thy object to read again;
But I can’t write but with my lips lips do lend,
Which in my heart’s desire shall survive.”
What is the world worth when I am done,
Where nothing you do with mine, I love and want,
And love is to me most simple,
And most sweet, most lovely, most kind,
The least adjunct to love, and least adjunct of love,
In the pure, or most pure, the least adjunct,
For love, being sweet, still remains, and then,
Reservoirs, and beggar doth the same,
The best is found in a semblance,
By the best adjunct, that in the least,
Hates the worst, even in the best.
Now that this was said, I thought it was my friend,
And did my heart’s desire lend it to thee.
The true love that’s well understood is
Anointed with anointed stones, and put on fire;
Thou hast the gift, and thou shalt never have it.
By this, the true king is dead,
For love, truth, and beauty’s truth,
And they both at once convert thee:
And as one, another by themselves,
To their own wanton torment, they slay each other.
When thou art thus reconciled with them,
Thy power to win thee to this unyielding torture is
And now is my last thought as a question,
Why canst thou be such a tyrant when I am not
Thy power be the tyrant’s? let me say that,
And that shall suffice to say so.
Love in this state is my friend, and it is
Within my control that I govern,
And thus it seems to me in my self-love
That he in my self is the cause
Of that I self is my master, and then I am his
I will govern the thing which he in my own cause desires,
And will in his own self I will control,
Being his master. (Ought the world not her duty to see?)
And why is it this: ‘For the sake of peace I will stop
From kissing my self, nor from fond words of praise,
From love, that I might be thy mistress,
Or that I might be thy true mistress;
That thou mightst never think to betray me,
Thy worth, thy worth’s worth’s worth must never be touched;
For love, and thus is it reconciled,
Love in all truth doth convert my self,
That by it I should die and my self be left alone.
How true and true is his spite!
How true, and true, are his words doth compare!
How true,


======== CHECKPOINT 032 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Child, in my bed,
Or when I wake, that I may still perceive thee
My own self, or one whose power I have.
She did not know this, but in a dream, she saw
And with her beauty, did perceive him lie,
For now she is a goddess unto me.
‘O shame that thy self had done me wrong,
Thy self dost thou, the traitor doth lie,
Thy self dost thyself, the traitor doth lie,
‘O shame that my self doth thee make,
Thy self dost thou, the traitor doth lie,
O shame that my self doth thee make,
Thy self doth thou, the traitor doth lie,
O shame that my self doth thee make,
Thy self doth thou, the traitor doth lie,
O shame that my self doth thee make,
Thy self doth thou, the traitor doth lie,
O shame that my self doth thee make,
Thy self doth thou, the traitor doth lie,
O shame that my self doth thee make,
Thy self doth thou, the traitor doth lie.
Then he rose, and on she stood,
And the two of them kissing;
Then Adonis came with her, and Lucrece,
Shall join hands for the conquest of thine.
This poor creature’s shame she hath wrought,
Her body in disgrace of all his might.
The man’s breast hath her name,
In all his power, in all his majesty.
How shall the world’s love with love in me be blest?
‘As he goes, she runs; his pace with his steps;
And he by her side, she leaps, and cries, “O pardon, O pardon!”
O pardon, my sweet friend,
I have heard all sorts of stories,
And there are some I could not quite say,
How sweetly he came to my bed.
‘This thought seems very hot,
The wound breaks open, and the painter is gone;
“Oh what a shame that was,” quoth she, “if thou art alive!”
The painter was dead when she painted him,
And thou shalt see me still now,
As you see me now: this is not beauty,
Though for it thou art beauty in thy soul,
With a more beautiful eye it will not be,
The better for what thou art, the worst for what thou makeest.
When thou art dead, thou shalt know no better,
Nor you for that matter will ever be remembered.
‘The painter, though he died, still doth still look
To me now and then, still more in awe,
Lacking that which is so near dear;
But love itself being with thee so,
Shall do my woes grow greater with me?
To-day my thoughts are pure and simple,
And still no sin of my sin seemeth
To make me change my mood, my mind make me wilt.
How many a time shall I be forgot in that time?
Let it not be thought I am fond,
The painter in his youth is fond of fame,
And his youth with fame he fond of fame:
How can such an image be made proud of me?
To make him proud of my self, what else could I say?
O let me tell you my story, my love,
How you love in love can make others proud:
My love did make the painting of my love bright,
And in it your love drew the image of my love,
Where you can see what my love meant,
And all those which by your love I did bring:
‘The painting which made you my love,
The one I did make you in love,
The one that gave me the sweetest impression,
Where you can see what your love made my love bright,
Or in which your love drew the image of my love,
When you can see what my love made my love sad,
And in which my love did make your love so happy,
I never could love you but in one.
In truth, all thy goodness, all thy qualities,
And all thy worth all mine were the work of some,
A man’s self in some respect,
A boy’s self in some respect,
A man’s self in some respect,
A man’s self in some respect,
A boy’s self in some respect,
A man’s self in some respect,
A boy’s self in some respect,
A boy’s self in some respect: this is not beauty,
This is nothing in beauty nor in life:
Look how I was never groomed, nor ever taught,
But my self is the most beloved


======== CHECKPOINT 032 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Chapman’s picture as well as his own is shown,
The one in his face, the other in his chin,
The two are as distinct, like a fair-beholding dove
And the dove in her back-back circled.
When I saw him on his back with his head,
With his cheeks painted with his pale cheeks,
And the pale cheeks in his cheeks his nostrils,
That were white in the world’s wide daylight
With his lips black in the day’s shadow:
That is what I am, and not what I am,
And that is what I am, I do not know;
But those that have the truth do I perceive,
As though they themselves have tasted;
And when they have tasted of it their hearts know
It is their true sight to view it:
And they that have tasted it believe it themselves,
And their hearts have sworn it to be so.
“Then where are I now, a stranger from another world,
To see my husband, whereon love begins to break,
My sister my brother’s sweet child, my wife’s lover,
my love in you is death, my love is life.
Look, thou lov’st my eyes, that I have not seen,
Thy true love doth me well, and for that reason do not
Disturb thy eyes’ infamy in my sight;
O for my eyes, thou art my love, thy love’s true self
Hath defaced this image of the world’s fair:
Even as thou art my love in the world’s eyes,
Where thou hast defaced this image of beauty,
And thy defaced art in a world that doth love me,
For thy defaced love doth love me as thy own in love.
This verse is, like that of some jade,
That the maid whose hair her son’s brow doth wear
Grew the fairest shade with each stroke,
And more of what she saw were in her eye so much,
And beauty did not love more than beauty’s fair shade,
And beauty’s fair shade was less fair than beauty’s fair,
Nor beauty’s fair fairest shade had greater beauty in it,
than beauty’s fair fair fair or fairer beauty’s fair,
beauty’s fair fair fairest beauty’s fair,
Thou art thy true self, and yet thou art not so,
And yet for that reason do not hate thee,
For thou art thy self so great, thou art a man,
And not so to himself so great,
For that which thou makeest, it makes thee to be,
To be the object of love, to be your self,
And in this, to be one with nature,
Thou art our self-love, and that you are
So, being such, I must live beside you.”
Then she doth answer him,
And now he is going,
And now she is gone, and then he remains,
For her, and for him, she hath no voice,
The quiet of the house where we were,
His eye is fixed on her heart and eye on her heart,
His mouth is wide open and wide his lips flat,
So that no one should see but his own eyes.
So long as thou art with me, I’ll be with thee.
For thou art mine, my love is mine.
If thou lov’st, then all the world is mine;
For if thou lov’st, then no good is made of mine.
But if I lov’st, then thou art my love,
Even so my love must not live in my love.
Therefore, for my love and for thy love’s sake,
I’ll do my best to kiss his cheek,
And thou alone in mine self shalt kiss his cheek,
And thou alone in mine self shalt kiss his cheek,
And thou alone in mine own self shalt kiss his cheek,
Then do thou art mine, mine only,
And mine alone in mine self shalt kiss his cheek,
But that is not my love,
I’ll do my best to kiss his cheek,
And thou alone in mine self shalt kiss his cheek,
Then do thou art mine, mine only,
And mine alone in mine self shalt kiss his cheek,
And thou alone in mine self shalt kiss his cheek,
Then do thou art mine, mine only,
And mine alone in mine self shall kiss his cheek,
Then do thou art mine, mine only,
And mine alone in mine self shall kiss his cheek,
Yet if my love are love, thou art not my love,
For I thy love is love and thou hast thy worth,
And thou thy self mine own worth is worth.
O Time, where art thy love when thou dost not see,
O Time, where art thy


======== CHECKPOINT 032 OUTPUT # 003 ========

suitcase’ had already been taken.
He took his way; but it was lost in the distance,
As shadows that must hide them still,
As shadow that must not hide them still,
No shadow but your soul to betray to me,
For thou art mine own, the same as I am,
You are all thy own, I do believe you all
My love and pity, my self-love and hate,
Your beauty and my self-love, my own beauty
And mine own love and all my self-love
As thyself, like my self, and all other,
As thyself in thee, all my love in thee.
‘But where are thy friends’ eyes?’ ‘In them?’ ‘In mine?’ ‘In them?’ ‘In them?’ ‘In them?’ ‘In them?’ ‘In them?’ ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them?’ ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them?’ ‘In them?’ ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them?’ ‘In them? ‘In them?’ ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them?’ ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them? ‘In them?
This is their grief, this poor thing is their delight,
And to have that which belongs to others is to be pitied;
If that be in you, why didst thou in me forsake,
The sake of others’ praise, that which is yours,
To make that which your self with thy own image gave
Thy self my self’s expense, thy own profit, thy own glory,
Thy own image, with thy self thy self’s gain, thy self’s shame, thy self’s pride, thy own doom, thy own sin,
So on that day didst thou make my self thy self’s expense,
And I, with thee, as thou gav’st with thine,
Thou gav’st thine own expense, thy own profit, thy own shame.
To make thy self thy own expense, to make thy self thy self’s expense,
So, by thy self, the self whose expense thou gav’st,
To make thy self thy own expense, to make thy self thy own expense.
So that thou mightst make thy self the self whose expense thou gav’st,
And thus thy self mayst by thy self be thyself thyself yourself’s expense,
Thy self mayst by thy self be thyself thyself’s expense,
Thy self mayst by thyself be thyself thyself’s expense.
If thou shalt be my self, and thou art my self,
Or if thou wilt be a different self, then both be lost,
That being made me should in every thing be,
As if I were one with thee, with thee, with all thy fair.
So in the hope of such a thing,
Myself, my self, my self, is in a state of despair,
And wailing, ’tis all for wailing to hear thee;
Then, lo, I beg pardon for the foulness of thy name,
When in thy own self thy name, my name, my self, was slain,
I besiege thee in all my rage,
And on the way, the captain doth complain,
That his rider’s speed is slow,
And that he stops where he should have stop’d him,
And now the horse is gone, and the rider
Hiss his horn, and the rider’s hand goes to heaven.
What would you have done for me if I could have been so kind,
Even to-day with a slave your image had brought


======== CHECKPOINT 032 OUTPUT # 004 ========

disconnected by her husband’s death.
(As they were speaking she thought to herself,
When they were all sitting, gazing on her,
Whilst one in another doth moan and the other sits,
She looks upon him with her cheeks and smiles;
She then goes to kiss him, and being kissed he again,
runs away, for fear that he shall catch her up again;
So she goes and kisses him again, and still others see
Whose mouths her heart doth open, and her heart beats:
For why should one heart’s plea pleadings leave
The other’s weak heart, in so strong a plea?
“What is that?” quoth she; “this wound?” “Why can’t you get away?”
He bids her look, and, in her trembling fingers,
With trembling lips she lifts his hand, and,
As he lies on the ground, with pale face he shakes;
His cheeks, though white, they had been the red of her cheeks
And he would have drawn them back again,
And she would have drawn them again with her fingers,
Her breath, or else she would have put them away.
Then thou dost see the knife thrust on her cheek;
That in thy soul is thine own injury,
Thine own fault in my bad act,
And that thou art the reason of all thy deeds?
Why should I, though thou so free, bear wrongs worse than mine?
The time’s right, I must go, and be right,
But that time must be spent by thee or me alone.
This she says again and again, and again she says,
As if she might say, ‘Time doth wrong me now,
I am in love with thee now.’
For as soon as she says, her eyes did her tears stand:
She puts her lips on his cheek, but the lips of his nose,
She looks upon his eye with her head’s open eyes;
Her eye is in his cheek, she on her back;
She turns back his cheek, and in his chest she holds,
He looks down upon her from his lips, and she on his cheek.
“And why should not thyself thou live so,
That thou wilt see thyself as thyself,
When thou art thyself the painter,
And in thee art all this to live?
When in thy beauty’s power am I painted,
If in mine as in thine are thy images,
Thine worth be so grossly corrupted,
That, even in thy own image, thou alone,
Have I not taught thee to imitate me,
Like to him are thy images and all that thy image:
But since thou art thy image, so shall I not be.
For now thou shalt find me again, but in this,
I will not be so, neither shall I be with thee.”
The birds and the mouse began to sing,
Like birds which like nests were slain,
Like in vain they did chase the night away;
Laughter is the sound of the dove,
But to be merry the crow would shriek,
Lily’d in haste did she herd the birds;
She did herd the birds, and the mouse to run;
Then the boar took to the field, and began to chase;
Then the dove began to chase again;
And when the boar had fled, and the deer fled again
Lily began to scratch his cheek, and moan,
Making him seem mad; yet he was not mad.
‘”Thus says she; ’tis my duty to look after thee,
And that thou dost so often find,
Thy self doth still abide with that poor slave,
That hath no man to love but him alone:
So for thy self thou wast a slave, a slave of that time;
Yet now it doth complain, and presently it cheers;
‘Thy self doth still be a slave to me,
And now a slave to thee I am but a slave.’
‘But if my self was my self, my self should stay,
And this self should no more be a slave to thee,
Thy self for thyself doth remain a slave to thee:
And this self doth stay a slave to thee:
This self doth stay a slave to me and yet remain
Thy self for thyself doth remain a slave to thee:
This self doth stay a slave to thee and yet remain
Thy self doth stay a slave to thee,
Thy self doth stay a slave to thee,
Thy self doth stay a slave to thee,
Thy self doth stay a slave to thee,
Thy self doth stay a slave to thee,
Thy self doth stay a slave to thee,
Th


======== CHECKPOINT 032 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Zucker will make my hand my tie;
What would it then have been, had he not his wits,
Which tied him up so tenderly?
“My wife, what a doting wife you are!
She hath given me my heart, and I love her so,
That my mind can think of nothing else but her,
She doting loves like herself doth live and die,
And when she dies she doth make me bleed for her.
‘So shalt thou excuse me from this, thou shalt not make me forget,
In this I will give unto thee some small recompense;
My body shall bear thee a heavy punishment:
For the poor child thou shalt love doth die;
For the poor child, in the shape thou see’st,
Thy self in the matter thou art guilty of thy grief,
Yet being dead shall not make thee better;
So shall thy husband and his wife make thee more,
Which will they so love and so love thy life;
For if in thee this love should stain thy heart,
Then I have never in thy soul been bred,
Nor never in thy heart a son shall reign,
Thy heart is as strong as thy womb and thy brain
As his youthful limbs as his body’s brain’s body;
My soul is like thy spirit, and in me like
The body’s sweetest part, the heart’s part,
My heart is as bright, and in my heart like
the sky, my thoughts sweet, but not so bright.
No love hath power to stop me,
But at the hand of a man or a horse
The same man, with same speed, so fast, so fast,
That I cannot catch up to him in my thoughts,
And yet with my thoughts I see that I am not,
And therefore cannot see what a world of false excuses
To me seem strange and ridiculous!
‘”And now he starts, and bids her turn
Her lips to their own accord, and do his wont
With gentle touch and tongue; and in their tongues
She calls the fair Lucrece of Cyrene,
For she will speak of thee in Lucrece’ chamber;
O, how do I love you, but my heart hath sworn
To kill thee? thou wilt, I fear my dear heart,
To make my love of thee my enemy?
My love, I will love thee like to kill thee,
Unless thou give me thy part, or one part
Thou art to blame, and yet I’ll do my worst.
‘But why, what of thy true self doth lie,
And yet his eyes do not see the fair Lucrece doth lie,
For thou dost love to love, and not to love doth steal:
For love doth kill; love doth steal; love doth make thy self come;
Wilt thou help her to steal the precious jewel
That shall bestow upon thee all eternity?
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
Or should I pardon her in my rage,
O pardon her in my lust, and in her jealousy?
Or should I pardon her in my woe?
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
Or should I pardon her in my woe?
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
O pardon her in her tears, and in her grief:
And yet are not thy kind to forgive,
And yet dost thou make me laugh again,
And then dost thou think I am in love?
O no! thou wast not my lover when I was
So cold and sober, and then thou livest
In the cold cold and sober state I am.
When the fire cool’d and all fell asleep,
A lovely dove, with wings on her back,
Came down to feed, and laid a hand upon it;
She did kiss the fair dove, and, kissing it,
Would make the sweetest puddle she could find.
“Now, sweet Lucrece, how shall I begin to look after thee,
The one for whom I strive, the other for whom I fear?
How will I say this to my friends,
Or to them that I have to blame,
Or any of their worth to my benefit?
When the other for whom I have to complain
Sets their faces white, and bids them see that I am gone,
So shall they hate me, and hate me no more.
To


======== CHECKPOINT 033 OUTPUT # 001 ========

OWS of a woman’s face,
Whose fair lips did they view with astonishment;
Which of her own accord did the sun begin
To sing a verse, of which I must say:
O no love, love; my love is none but my heart!
Love’s true heart must live with thee in thy parts;
When thou wilt, thou art my true heart,
To love, my true heart thou art,
And yet love is my heart’s enemy.
If thy soul in thee were true,
And my true heart as thou art,
The enemy could not be, nor the matter
The course of my thoughts would permit
To pass my soul’s way, and thence from thence I dote,
To go where my sweet will lives and live,
To live with others, but not with thee.
‘My self thou art, my self I am,
And my self thou art, and mine is neither.
My self, my self’s self, my self’s self,
For thou art my self, my self thy self’s self;
To be thyself in this false world, so make it true,
For every part of me thy self’s self shall live.
No one shall steal my heart’s treasure,
My heart, for love of thee, but one thing;
For me I love, and thee I love,
Thy sweet spite and the world’s pride
Shall be revenged on me.
‘Love’s true heart cannot live,
Love’s true heart, my self’s true heart,
My self, my self, my self, my self,
In my self’s false self do come,
The false self’s true self kill me,
Or else do all my heart’s music rehearse.
Who with that fair love shall I not die,
To die like a poor beggar, or like a froward beggar?
I am not made for thee, nor I have been,
But thou hast been the father of this wrong;
But now, this poor boy being put to bed,
Than ever I can think, and no imagination do know,
This dark stain shall leave my sorrows in clear;
And hence shall he remain till he be blind,
For it doth I not know if this man hath sight
The world hath but pity’s sickness,
He hath no sorrow in sight;
But in spite of that he hears the rustling,
The poor thing being driven to the ground.
‘Tis he, his mistress, what thou want’st
For him in his own private love; for him no man can love,
but thou must myself kill him;
‘Tis him that kills me, not that I kill him;
And if this be thy self’s wife, thou must kill me again.
“So be it: I’ll obey him,
And keep away from my friends, where thou lov’st them:
If thou go, I’ll kill thee at that moment.”
Thus he leads her to the door,
To where she finds her father weeping.
“Oh let me not toil with this, my dear boy;
The day is not far off, and yet time’s night
Is short and weary, the hour’s time of end
To put on the cloak of a more wintry mood;
But do not be weary of me, for I am strong:
For tomorrow I do swear to thee, and not to thee,
That I am thy lover and not a fool.
Look at my pretty face, what beauty hath it
Made of thine eyes, that have all the beauty of stone,
And of thine own face did stain so;
But now, like a sun that hath no place,
Sinks this vile hue into the sky:
From him he leaps, but all his wind takes his eye:
And from her the wind comes in his way,
Whereas his face was in fair curls,
And all fair beauty fell into her cheeks,
Which, wringing their curls, each cheek lay
Like an earthling, as one in a bath;
And the painter drew their faces in his glass,
The subject to his craft the painter made,
And beauty the same to him,
Like a child, to the earth, that was his child,
Hath put all his beauty in my image,
And made all my life in my image his;
Then was it for thee to tell me,
The reason why thy love lives and thy death?
‘Yet this, O good God, shall thy reason make,
And to mine you shall belong,
That is to me to give thy love back.
Now, I, that art a god, and to thee this,
O, that art a god, not a man,


======== CHECKPOINT 033 OUTPUT # 002 ========

crib in the grave of the deceased, which had him brought by her hand; and as they did so, as if from desire he should say,
“‘Tis ne’er begun;—’Tis writ upon her brow, and in her cheek.
The woman in question hath been to be confounded,
That the thing which is writ upon her brow is new,
When by old age the beauty of your soul have
Made a new discovery, thou art a son of mine.
Thus she lies still with the sighs of her mourners,
To hear the bereaved sing, and yet to love her weep,
She thinks them dead; and when the nurse will speak,
For she’s sick, and the cure is near.’
The old lady is a nun, and a nun is a murderess.
‘Now,’ quoth she, ‘if it be lawful,
To leave my arms behind, and leave my breast behind,
But for love’s sake let those breasts be full of fear;
That on their lean breasts it may be supposed,
That their deaths were to him the sole end,
Even if by death the spoil were no more.
And, being so hotly ensconced,
with no resistance she bids him stay,
Who being gone she bids him make the move.
Then did her maid depart; as she had not seen,
Or seen her for a second time,
As she goes along on her horse, till she sees
A woman in the air, and a man in it:
And then, in a desperate attempt, her maid did speak:
“Ay, excuse me, but I am not afraid;
She’s no maid to your fair good-will,
She’s your kind, and your kind not her.
She’s but your father and your mother’s daughter,
The two being equals, the one your dear heart,
The other your mortal heart, the other your mortal body.
Thy heart is old, and thy flesh is young;
The blood of life, thy whole being dead.
‘For thou art in debt of the devil,’ quoth she,
“‘What debtor of mine didst thou lend me?”
‘My dear boy,’ quoth she, ‘you have a lot of work to do,
Take me away in time of need,
Let me not live till I have done all things well.
My good-pleading father in my heart hath been slain,
And he hath no love, but in this, that thou dost love,
With the whole truth, with the truth, with thyself,
For it is true, thy self, thy self, and all those;
That thou art so self-conceit that for it all thee.
But in my heart the truth is true, and the love is false,
And all thy truth’s false with thee, as thou gav’st
For theft is but theft’s fee, and thou wast thy friend.
‘Let me have no love with this, no lust in that.
Love is a gross devil, not a devil,
Nor a bastard, nor a swine, nor a bear,
But a child of a gentle and kind-hearted father;
For by that he meant to do this harm,
When, feeling an offence being done,
With more vehement rage, and more severe fear:
Her face doth look upon him, his lips do smile,
And with her breath he spongeth, and with his breath she sings;
And in her arms she rests his head,
And then his head doth fold back;
That being done, his lips do likewise begin;
And each part thus exclaiming,
As one to one the wind did fly,
Who by wind did fly, that rose that from the air.
Then is he so overcome, as when she stood,
she gives him his hand, and her breath
She gazes on him with eyes that have seen her;
And with that she shakes him by the neck,
And bids him go, but with her own motion
She drops his hand upon his neck and wails:
And with that her fingers fasten him to his bed.
As he walks she wails with sorrow,
And like a clamorous dove she calls
“How can love live?”
Then will she plead with him that she did see him;
She may say it for him, she thinks it for himself;
Her tears may well have discharged;
And when his breath is out, and her breath sweet,
He will drink it from her, and she must take
The rest, and to herself he will not go:
O, poor child, thou art too much to bear;
My tears must be sweet, and my weeping shall overflow
Till tears drench my face and wrinkle my


======== CHECKPOINT 033 OUTPUT # 003 ========

letico and Rome have been the only two sovereign powers in Europe to live together, as well as be their equals in common: so that when the Romans have confided their minds, the Romans have confided ours;
The argument I make in my life, which I hold true,
Hath made the common bond between them,
And brought forth the new bond between them.
‘And thou, in this matter, the brawny pate,
And chaste gentry so credulous?
What will I do to defend thee in my case,
Or to reprehend thee in my argument?
‘But in thy argument,’ quoth he, ‘this is a matter of skill,
And thou shouldst have the advantage of this plea;
The defendant will be thy self, and thou the guilty;
Then, like a fair thief, he will not be caught;
And thus the question is put to rest, with the defendant’s plea:
‘O shame and scandal, that on my brow this disgrace doth lie!
This, in my self-declared state,
That I have no other purpose but to dwell:
For this, as in many murders, is my name,
My love being my own, and being my friend,
Hath drawn it from me, and from all other men:
Then ’tis my own right that hath it made.
Love for me is a love of duty,
For duty to me is not enough,
to love me is enough:
“This time I will not hunt the huntsman,
Nor drink his liver’s water;
Nor eat the liver’s liver;
Nor kill him in a second;
Nor lend him a hand, nor borrow his sword;
Nor lend him a knife, nor strike him dead,
Nor make him swear that he hath no part.
‘But thou wilt see the love-sick fool,
Thy sight doth prove so evil,
My self forswore the cause that thou wilt live.
‘And being late, lo, her eyes were as bright
As summer’s drooping sun, and violet as her light.
‘”Thence he began, ‘Thou art thy friend, my friend;
And I am thy god, my god, my god,
Which by my deeds I did swear the oath,
With which I have no other object but my will.
‘This,’ quoth she, ‘I am the painter, and thou art my god,
Which thou shalt bring to life the painter’s image,
And to the image of my worth in posterity;
Thy gift to my gift shall live and live to die,
So to live thou shalt have to live with me.
So thou shalt not give me life, nor life to die,
But life to die with thee, and I shall live with thee:
And then shalt thou die, and life to live with thee,
For I am my own, and thou art thy lord and master.’
A look through the floodgates of Troy,
Will show that this image which thou sought doth lie,
And show thy worth, which in thy worth doth lie:
For this thou must show me, that thou art so rich.
Thence Troy doth approach, and her majesty
Sets upon her fair face the captive of Troy,
And calls on the Greeks, who on the shore hold her,
To render the swift-footed beast their arms.
‘And now, as she was gone,
A loud moan came from out a hill that had been her seat,
The sound being said in praise of Lucrece,
whom she had drawn to her breast,
To show where she would spend her long life.
“The question is this: why, in your sleep did I make thee sit,
My love and mine in one bed?
And did I sleep by accident or accident?
But now this, why didst thou leave me so far off?
Or, supposing I may make another suggestion,
By some mortal fault which no man shall ever behold,
Or by that foul fault which cannot be blamed,
How did thy love come to this?
I have sworn never to tell the tale
Nor to touch the heart of this matter,
My oath, nor my conscience’s advisance to forbid it.
‘Thou art my true love, thou art my friend;
Thou art the true, thou shalt not betray;
Thou art the false, thou shalt not confess:
Thou art not my friend, thou shalt not trust:
Thou art my friend, and yet thou art my thief.
Thou art my friend, and yet I am my friend’s slave:
Thou art my friend, and yet I am thy thief.
thou wast not my friend, thou


======== CHECKPOINT 033 OUTPUT # 004 ========

neurological it did call for his aid,
And she, as if he were ill, did do him the kindness.
She takes him by the hand, and she in him by the neck;
She with all her might, takes all the strength,
And if she could not get the strength to push on,
Thou hast no strength, and nothing is left
To force the wound, and it being eased,
The wound cures with a continual groan,
And being discharged, it lives again.
‘So thou shalt be the first in this line,
To make this my theme: so shall we be;
And for the sake of thy glory, be thy advocate;
And in this hope shall he grow, and he die in thy bed.’
‘Ay,’ quoth he, ‘I will teach thee how to kiss;
To kiss in the tender breast, if thy breast be open,
Give me a fresh kiss, and thou shalt see it;
Be happy I, and you never again.’
‘”For love is a thing of extremes;
That you may give it life with your tongue.”
“And then she goes on to say,
“As a boar, being fed by a gentle moose,
Tends to scratch and scratch with a tail.
He takes the lead, and falls again;
O, what an audacity to say that thou art a tame;
thou hast made my soul your acquaintance;
Thy brain hath been thy nurse, and my heart my guide;
For when thou dost give my soul his breath,
I will be thy slave, as the turtle takes him;
My heart hath my soul, and mine dear heart my wife,
Whilst thou livest in me thy servant,
My heart’s treasure I may not make thee,
And do me no good with my part.
‘Thus I pray, thy help, to have me,
So as I may return, thy aid to my doom,
And all my love’s effect, to my love’s end.
“And then he is gone, and we both join
In a dark place, like a hive,
Hiding a shadow, which, like a poisonous weed,
Entombs the pine with fresh sap, and leaves the green.
“Ah! my dear love, thou shalt not find me
The true beauty that thy love doth beguile;
For when thou art old, thou art no better than I.
This iniquity of thy body did tempt thee,
To spite her love; and when she did tell him,
Her eyes were wide open wide, and they doted
On the thing he sought, and on the thing she saw.
And, having thus commended his trespass,
She begins her story, and bids them abide,
With the thought that their wills should govern.
‘But in my heart, if any foul deed be committed,
And in the rest of my body my conscience base,
But as I am alive, it may well be,
That thou, my life, be so foul that none should touch it.
This I did not intend; for he did make
an oath of secrecy respecting me.
‘O that I am not to say I know,
All the rest are true, and none false,
And thus my soul, in judgement of them,
Doth question every part of the world.
‘The sun being up, as it goes about,
Whilst my eye upon this moving cloud bewray
Comes on a cloud that clears the sun’s sky.
In this state the moon lies,
Whereon his heavenly head doth hover,
Like an angry devil, with a devil’s brow,
And on her back is a mirthless frown:
‘Look how her eyes did change,
When she was a devil’s slave, when she a god,
With all her might and all her grace,
Her eye, which had the heat of a fire,
Was bright, but did not do that which it should know.
‘Thus being advised, she begins again:
To quench her angry desire;
To mend his eye, which so weakly
Asunder did fly from his skill,
Like a turtle breaking from his turtle shell;
To scratch, and to fly again,
With a mighty tide that shakes all things from their shore.
‘How should I have a child with thy husband,
And love be a husband’s child,
Nor a father’s son, nor a wife’s husband?
Why should any but thy sweet wife be so kind?
Thou art my husband and my husband my husband;
To love you as I do you, I will teach thee all;
To love thee as I do you, I will teach thee nothing;
And then, being gone, I’ll call


======== CHECKPOINT 033 OUTPUT # 005 ========

siblings but in his hand drew up another knife.
‘Why should I do this?’ quoth she. ‘I’ll kill him first; but then be a butcher,
I’ll be a nurse; then a husbandman.’
The poor old man shook his head, and the young man by him fled.
And he that was so fair-complexioned and so fair,
To the world’s eye her fairest show would seem more than short.
But, seeing her, she hath fled, and yet her love
Is still with thee, and where is her;
She shall remain as a poor widow;
Or in the form of a woman, whose wits, wit, and will,
By their blood-drenched properties will mix and match;
That every part of thee is as white as snow,
But in my self is as white as snow.
That his face I did not see,
In the midst of many, but in thy face,
Whereon, like a king or prince, I was dazed.
‘Thou know’st not thy true name,’ quoth she,
‘Thou know’st not thy true name,
but thine own self shalt inherit all mine;
But mine is thy true self, thou shalt not steal my name,
Myself thy father’s wife, thy own self thy husband,
Thy own self to be thy husband, thy own self thy widow.
‘”And if thou live, I’ll set thee to hunt;
For I did desire thou to hunt; and by this I gave
My life’s worth and power to hunt;
Thy body’s worth is none; thy body is all.
‘But to chase him with another, I will use
The means of my pleasure to give thee more.
‘”This, dear Lucrece, is not enough;
Nor I this day in a remote city
But to answer Adonis again will not say;
For if it were, it was not a word I spoke;
‘Yet’— ’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’tis true—’


======== CHECKPOINT 034 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Brand and the rest,
Which each in his self, doth give and take,
Each gives life, but he gives none:
Which by him life takes a lesser part;
So, from his own free will, every last
Of his will, and every last drop
His will, lives or dies, and thou shall not be.
Thus to me the night is a wondrous day,
The sweet light and gentle spring fresh from the ground,
Which, from the fresh air, takes on a fresh colour,
Showing it from thence in fresh and fresh plants:
For to the fresh air in fresh and fresh plants,
Fresh flowers, fresh shapes, new blossoms,
Of fresh and fresh plants, or fresh matter,
Fresh wit, fresh smell, fresh colour, fresh grace,
A new beginning that was before,
Showing all new and new creation,
And new delight to be had,
And new delight and new loss to be had,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to be had,
new sorrow to be had,
And new joy to be had,
new fear, new delight,
And new fear and new delight,
Making each new thing strange, new delight to find,
And new delight to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
Making each new thing new and new,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A new beginning, new ending,
And new joy to find,
A


======== CHECKPOINT 034 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Peace and her husband, that thou dost strive to make a husband of him,
The better of two beauties, whose parts might more interchange,
Or each more bright, than all their parts may seem.
So am I with you this night, as thou hast come by night,
For fear of foul night, I will slay thee with fair night.
So do I at supper make my bed, and then
My bed that thou hast laid for my needs,
But when you have done all my parts in one,
Then all my parts in one shall seem so,
And one beauty in one in thy parts is lost.”
‘The thing I call my heart and heart’s art
And every other thing that is in it,
Or makes it what it is.
‘”Nor by the force of thy words do I fear thee;
The heart, that lends my heart music,
Presents him to the eyes, to be toyed,
To kiss his back, that should in it render ill,
And then all the world will see him writ teary,
When in a world so full of heaviness
Hath not so much heaviness as to weep,
The sick would think my heart was dead,
And, behold, the painter of my face was liv’d!
‘Thou art this,’ quoth she, ‘a painter’s wife:
And by this her husband did appear;
My heart as one, and his being my head,
So are thy parts one, and one for me,
Which my heart, like to a dove, is gored.
And if thy beauty are not as thy face should bear
The proud eagle, then thy beauty is not so;
Even as thy beauty doth bear my name,
My beauty doth bear thee that I do call thee.
‘In the hope of thy sweet desire, I’ll do it
The more with thy outward strength, to show you my shame,
To see what it is that thou art afraid of,
That thou dost fright my heart to this end;
My heart beats the world’s heart, that it beats thee so.
O then thou art true and true,
that in this state thou mayst stand,
Or that in this state, thou mayst do my face wrong.
By this thou shalt never know me,
Nor the days to come till I do tell you of me,
Thy heart I know but from thy outward self,
And from thine own self mine alone to judge,
Or else thou art the self thou dost see,
Yet I can not see thee in that state,
Because thou in me do not yet possess.
The stars do not make the heaven dim
with their glory dim their light.
‘Then tell this to my dear sweet wife,’ quoth she,
“This night I’ll be here, and tomorrow night I’ll be gone.
When in thee, I may well approve
Of the beauty of my self,
The other to that beauty befits,
For it behooves thee most to be here.
That thou art thy self, and not thy self,
As to that which others perceive thee,
To show what we are and to speak of thee,
Thy self hath not been in this life and thee not,
And for this I will not reproach thee so,
Till all that is written shall be written to tell
The story of thy self, my self, thy self,
Till all this is out-dated and out-recalled,
For my self shall be remembered by posterity.
When all of you in me have died,
When all of you to me have come home,
And all of you to me have died,
Now I am gone, my sorrow and my praise,
And mine shall dwell in eternal memory,
And all your praises shall dwell in eternity.
O if you were not a true love,
Then how can you be a true friend?
If you could not be a true friend,
How can I be a true friend to you?
Then wherefore do I seek revenge for my loss?
O if you could not be an instrument,
And make a true instrument, what a false instrument!
But when you are made an instrument in me,
If I was a true instrument, you would be an instrument.
And then I do repent of thee, and thou wilt repent.
‘And now the sad crow, that hath begun to cry,
Is upon a tree in one of the hills;
When it sees it, it cries out ‘O, thou devil of a god,
Wherefore love is my sport, and beauty my delight!
For thou, my love, art my true love,
And thus my love is born again,
That by thy help


======== CHECKPOINT 034 OUTPUT # 003 ========

gio that the world may know;
And in thee I give praise.
The best of all is love.
But to hear a song by a pretty mother,
To weep for the world’s loss,
As the lark, that loves all, must,
To have the most of it; yet not the other,
To leave all, and live where all are lost.
Her grief-stricken husband sighs, his blood
Cried, “O, my darling wife, thou wilt not be gone,
I’ll live where thou dost not drown me.”
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘he will live where thou dost drown me;
The sooner we die, the greater our glory!
This false heart of a sad woe,
To blame all offences on the faultless:
His name, his office, his majesty,
His honour to his subjects, his fame, his fame’s disgrace:
So many, that by their treason may be blamed,
In others’ affairs, his orators’ disgrace.
‘In thee,’ quoth she, ‘I give thanks:
No excuses, no excuse of my offence:
But in thy deeds, do I not say that I love thee,
To show myself to have praised thy name?
For where else but in thee thy name’s praise,
O where else but that name in thee lies,
Thy honour, to thy honour, thy honour’s disgrace?
In thee are these words compounded,
To show that in me thou dost show
The true love, and the true shame,
That in thee dost all lies the true shame.
O, how false a conceit
I was! I am, my self I am!
But if thou think on my deeds,
Thy self I am not, and therefore thou dost compare,
Is thy self thy self, thy self thy self,
And my self my self to thee be.
The best of all is love.
To say so, that beauty in thy form
Was so perfectly made,
By a man’s grace, a man’s lust, a man’s envy;
It is not fair to make a false painter so,
By that which is but imperfect.
In his painting, his worth did not increase
As his worth as his character did increase.
He that doth call him by his art,
A master that no painter ever saw,
That he did in his work his own image;
His work, in that, he calls his art.
‘So that it may seem, as a fool to see it,
With my own image it shall be,
And yet the poor fool which buys it will be.
For, being poor, my eye cannot perceive thee,
Nor it beholds my ill that it doth view thee.
‘But he hath told me, that thou dost be wise,
And my tongue hath told thee, that thou dost teach,
Of the time of thy decease, to the next,
When I must call thee a deceiver,
When the time hath forced thy fame upon my lips,
So my time, in my self, is past.’
She sits, smiling, still, in his arms;
And in his arms, in his brow,
Her chin, her chin in his hand,
Her chin in his breast, his breast in hers.
How could she that by nature should bear
Thy part in her own infirmity
Have she but to love him so.
When she heard the commotion of his name,
She did the thing, and he the thing,
And they both did go.
“The roses are roses, the air sweet and clear,
They are the chief flowers in every park,
Sweet as summer’s day, and yet milder than snow.
They are spring’s season, sweet and mild,
Of prime abundance and short of decay.
My self being but my love,
Or that which I am, being of thee,
If I ever was but a thing,
Then love is thy other self.”
“O then I will never love thee,” quoth she,
“O love, what are you?
You have done more than me.”
“How much less?” quoth she, “why then do I have
This dear thought, this dear feeling,
Which your love and I have made?
What a world you made where love was confined!
I’ll take my joy elsewhere,
In your love-drenched State;
Or else in your love-drenched State,
Or in your love-drenched State,
Do you not see the same thing?
O, why, love hath made love’s objects so much clearer!
All things that were before, are now gone.
For with the wind


======== CHECKPOINT 034 OUTPUT # 004 ========

mg with love?
And where is thy body, to show thee shame?
That thy virtue, that thy virtue’s worth,
If thy virtue are to be seen, thou mayst need
That thou mayst do me shame, and to show my shame.
He that fears me, I will do thee harm;
And when he that fears me, I will do him good.
She sighs and shakes her head, and on her knee
Bending his chin, she runs, and leaps again,
And to the horse on his back comes she
And, like a bird, leaps; her high-pitched hoarse voice
Grieves her to see him again;
And like a clam when it is blown,
A clam to drown in a well-blessed well,
Will be the clam that drowns the well:
Her grief will not drown the well;
Her grief will drown in her sorrow.”
Her sweet love doth give her light and cheer,
And her fair love doth give her fear;
Love doth kiss her when it doth kiss her.
She that did kiss her, doth kiss her in the wind,
And in the air that she should kiss her own sweetly:
If she doth kiss me, I’ll kill her;
And if not, kill my self and all my friends.
‘I think my soul to-day with this plague,
That she herself in her sorrow hath left,
So I to-day am dead and gone,
As she to-morrow wakes again to-morrow.
‘Well,’ quoth she, ‘though I never look upon thee,
My soul knows not thy face, thy name, thy name’s name.
My self hath sinned against me,
And then my self I cannot blame:
But you did that for me, and then I blamed you,
So do I now, and then you do my fault,
So do I now, and then I curse thee,
O thou whose true self thy self so boast,
Even as thou maketh my love false and false,
That thou in thy self is in fault of me.
If thou lov’st, thy self is dead.
“O, look how I did wrong her; how I did make her happy,
She took away her glass of water,
And put on the hot bath, like a lamb,
Which in the hot water did drink forth the juice.
I have often been astonished with the beauty
Of so fair a creature as she,
That my dear Lucrece’ tears do more than cover them.
O, dear boy, as thou shalt look upon my face,
I will not say to-day, “O shame,”
“O, oh dear boy, my face is black;
A bloody eye, crooked, and deep red;
That in my cheek is a deadly infection,
And that in my face’s base hide is decay.
‘Look at my face,’ quoth he,’my face looks like a devil’s tongue;
To that which on the cheek appears a sad frown,
Then is it for my sake to say,
That my face is like a devil’s tongue in my tongue?
Yet, on my chin appears in true dread;
So my face is like a devil’s tongue in my tongue’s?
How strange then my eyes when they shine red!
O, my self, with my self my self’s shame!
When in thee that on earth doth hide,
Mineself am I mine own disgrace!
As mine own self mine self in shame doth hide,
Mineself am I mine self’s pride!
Thou art mine own thief, thy self thy self’s shame!
Thou art not mine own, mine is thy self’s shame!
Thou art all of my self’s self’s shame, my self’s shame:
O how many proud and self-sabbrings of thy self’s pride!
My self, my self, my self’s shame!
My self, my self, my self’s shame!
thy self, thy self’s shame!
thy self, thy self’s pride!
thou art all my self’s shame, thy self’s pride.
Thou art all mine own pride, thy own pride!
Thou art all mine own shame, thy self’s pride!
Thou art all mine own shame, thy self’s pride!
Thou art all mine own pride, thy self’s pride!
O mine self, mineself’s pride!
O mine own pride, mine own pride!
O mine self, mine self’s pride!
Thou art mine self’s shame, thy self’s pride!
O mine own pride, mine self’s pride!
For thou art mine self’s shame, thy self’s pride:


======== CHECKPOINT 034 OUTPUT # 005 ========

DEBUG.

That’s why they use the plague to keep the poor from selling:
And to my love’s delight I kill them not;
For then they, to sell me, must be rich and be
Poor, I have no right to kill you,
Even to call you dead, you see to it
When you die, I love you still, and to thee still.
“If I lived, thou wouldst not love me,
For love is in love; why art thou in love with thine eye?
Thou art dead, thou dost not love me,
Or thou dost return to me, my lord.
‘Why didst thou leave me so far, my love?
‘Why didst thou forsake me, my love?
For I love thee, thou shalt return my love.’
“O, this false wretch, heretic, and fool
Who in her poor state, like a child at a feast,
Strayed all night, and day till noon till sun-dapp’d.
The thought of her youth seems a riot;
For, in the shadow of the stars, the night’s glory
Held forth his fire, and his light fled.
Yet to this the birds’ nest-lily,
Like the proud princess of a fair hill,
Where she shows to be proud of age,
Her self is no beauty, but beauty’s slave;
O, she did not fear him; in her heart she was kind;
She that knew him not, knew not love’s disgrace.
“Ay, hie, ay, but thou shalt not kiss my hand,
When thou art bound in bondage to my love.
For mine, love is the holiest stone,
And when mine is set to decay,
No man may question it; no man, though he look
To see my tender hand, touch it till I die.
‘Why,’ quoth she, ‘this time thy love doth commence,
Even so thy wits have begun to break,
And in my absence hast lost all sense of thee.
Thy beauty hath shrunk and gone away.
The sun doth stop their sun, and the cloud
Will not disperse the hot glow of their hot face.
But ’twas the time of your birth,
With an older age than your fair self did endure.
“Ay, hie, ay, but thou shalt not kiss my hand,
When thou art bound in bondage to my love.”
‘Ah, yes, my love! what shall I do?
Avenge me, my love, on that which thou dost curse me,
For love’s stain hath not yet begun,
But the same thing that I did before was.
That thou art now the debtor of my love!
Then why dost thou not repent,
For then the debt my love hath committed,
The sum is not even my sum will bear,
What it would cost to me.
A hundred silver shillings, I will not touch;
Then let the fair queen weep, and give thee rest.
“Thy self is no beauty, but that of thee,
Which in thy pure form hath it thine own power,
And makes the true self a god and to worship;
That it may not be false, but may be true,
Of which thou art thy self’s debtor,
And, as a debtor, to owe thee again.
What part of thee should not he played
When that honour is so expressly sworn?
Then by this fault all blame shall lie,
And each of thy offences asunder shall lie:
Yet now, being so much loved, I have been told
My poor soul shall never live and never die.
O, then thou art the one guilty of so great a sin!
O yet thou art my love, and thou art in no way my friend:
As thy self art not thy self, thy self, thou art guilty of this sin.
But thou that art my friend, thou art my sweet friend,
And yet thou that thou hast no one, canst not bear me,
The world is my friend, and so thy self is my friend.
As thou art my friend’s sweet friend, so be it,
I will not have thee in my soul to kiss.
Love is but a false god, a deceiving fraud,
Who disguiseth in counterfeit and in falsehood,
And in deceiving men deceives women,
And in deceiving the world in deceiving,
All things are made of two, and they are one,
To make one more false a better,
And this false a worse be.
Then do I say, ‘Tis for thee to love me more,
For I will not be loved more in thy bed.’
Love is love, or at


======== CHECKPOINT 035 OUTPUT # 001 ========

restraints of time; and with the rest he beheld, to the very end he might know their shape.
But not his eyes, nor his ears, nor his eyes’ colour, nor his lips’ taste, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his lips’ colour’s taste’s smell, nor his eyes’ colour’s smell, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his lips’ colour’s smell’s smell, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his lips’ colour’s smell’s smell, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his lips’ colour’s smell’s smell, nor his eyes’ colour’s taste,
Nor his eyes’ colour’s taste, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his eyes’ colour’s smell, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his eyes’ colour’s smell, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his eyes’ colour’s taste, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his eyes’ colour’s smell, nor his lips’ colour’s taste,
Nor his eyes’ colour’s smell, nor his lips’ colour’s taste.
O let his brow, his back, his chin, his back, his neck, his lips, his chin, his neck,
Or his tongue, his chin, his back, his neck, his chin,
Let every part which moves in his being,
Then his body may not dismount,
For now, for some trespass, my mind doth detain,
And now my heart doth question;
And now my heart doth question, my heart doth tremble,
And now my heart doth tremble, and now my heart doth rage,
For now, for some trespass, my heart doth arrest,
And now my heart doth arrest, and now my heart doth fight,
For now, for some trespass, my heart doth arrest,
And now my heart doth arrest, and now my heart doth fight,
For now, for some trespass, my heart doth arrest,
And now my heart doth arrest, and now my heart doth fight,
And now my heart doth arrest, and now my heart doth fight,
And now my heart doth arrest, and now my heart doth fight,
And now my heart doth arrest, and now my heart doth fight,
And now my heart doth arrest, and now my heart doth fight,
Yet all these things I have not thought of,
Yet have not seen, yet I have not imagined.
“This,” quoth she, “this foul and venomous suit of mine eye,
Whose foul and venomous eye shall not be disarmed,
Nor his foul eye shall be disgraced;
And so, in my rage, my revenge be;
My foul eye be put to death, my foul heart to die.
This was my sovereign duty to you,
A sovereign slave of the devil,
But if not from thee, it may be my doom,
To slay a king, or break the sovereignty of my land.
“Thy servant,” quoth he, “why wilt thou leave me alone?
Or else will I come, and be thy guest,
And by thy side I will be thy servant?
Thy love will bear my poor eye, and thy worthless heart;
thy worth will do me shame, my shame is my disgrace:
And for the sake of my mistress’ eyes,
Hang on that thy loyal tongue will wail her praises,
Thy voice shall hurl the fair winds that blow:
My lips shall wail her sorrows, and my lips’ sour strains;
Mine own eyes, in thy self-controlling lust,
Will ever stain my face, or stain my sight,
And to thee, I will pay eternal debt.
“Ay my dear friend, do not break this oath,
If by thy will thee break, it is lawful for me to do.
And then, Collatine, thou gav’st such a scythe:
So shall I be revenged on Collatine,
And Adon this false-god-like night,
Who deceives with false prophecies,
By disguising himself in deeds of virtuous deeds.
For behold, there’s a face that hath power and beauty,
That would not wither, nor bud wither,
But would die with him.
Then, Collatine, behold my soul, so bright it doth shine,
That from my eye it doth ill-appear,
And from my heart, being blind, I cannot see.
‘”How often, Collatine,’ quoth he, ‘during the night
Have I seen thee, and thou hast given me my night,
O, if thou w


======== CHECKPOINT 035 OUTPUT # 002 ========

deeply to see her love,
And in her heart did Lucrece express her delight;
Yet as the tears that fell, did the water change;
Whence Lucrece’ tears seemed to spill forth more,
And to his eye, on my fair breast, did overflow.
She, with wailing eyes, did exclaim;
‘O help me, my dear love, that thou art so kind,
My love,’ quoth she, ‘do help me, that thou mayst lend
thy wits to his purpose.
But my heart, having a certain love,
Will not make me abide for thy sake in frown;
If that, in my heart would make me love thee so.
‘For thy self I’ll prove false,
And be perjured, and be perjured too.
‘Therefore,’ quoth she, ‘canst thou prove me false,
I know thou art false; therefore canst thou prove me true.’
O then, sweet and gentle, thou hast my mind,
Who’s tongue, whose mind thou dost make my heart sing:
For thy lips I dally to taste thy sweet taste,
O tongue, and tongue, whose lips thou dost taste;
In these words do I hear a tune grow,
Which in thy brain is sung a tune of cheer,
For thou, gentle heart, by thy side treads:
‘Why dost thou stay, O coward fool!
And bewitch thy pride, and thou be rul’d away,
That from the day when thou dost delight,
With that day in thy pride doth life begin,
And never stops in the day’s fresh growth.
‘”O! ah! where was my heart when I was youth?
O! what foul trespass did thou make!
O! o! this foul-tun’d bed of mine eyes!
O! that wrinkled old wound, which thou dost hide!
O! that pale, woe-swelling eyeball,
That now it glows on the earth like a fire-god?
O! that rotten tooth, whose rotten grout is
Breathing forth deadly vapours like a cloud?
O! that bloodless face that doth dwell in thee,
That from my face’s pale brow doth hide all my woes?
O! that moist grave that doth dwell in me,
That from my moist grave doth lie all my woes?
O! that woe-sick and woe-sick eye,
That now it doth gaze all that foul stain:
This, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this,


======== CHECKPOINT 035 OUTPUT # 003 ========

02 in a thousand rings,
He who hath to die shall inherit thine,
And thee thine, and thy fair title.
His name is Tarquin, he is not so.
‘Dear queen,’ quoth he, ‘it is not my fault,
My faults are not my faults.
My love is strong, my love weak,
My love’s true, my love’s false,
Love’s sweet, my love’s tame,
‘But thou art thyself, my love is weak,
My love, my love, thy sweet is weak.
In mine honour dost thou dote,
And mine honour doth honour those whose name is
O that where is thy sweet? O that where thy sweet’s absence?
O that where is thy dear, my dear is bereft?
O that where is my heart’s content, my dear is broken?
Yet thou art my love, and I thy cause,
Whilst my heart’s content is thou my sorrow’s cause,
In mine honour doth thy honour’s content belong;
And hence I return again for your praise.
O my dear friend, you may in secret stay,
But in my view you see I am gone,
And if my eye doth look, thou wilt be gone.
‘So thou art dead and no more to blame,
The guilty of that which she had not even begun,
To bring blame on himself.
‘Then why didst thou make me suspect
That thy lips could taste sweet, and so did my tongue,
That I did change my motion to imitate?
For I did not know thee would ever speak,
But you should speak, and my tongue would repeat:
For by this thou know’st, I hope you still do delight.
‘O my love! how are they so dumb! they thought my heart
Was dumb, and did their eyes see all too well.
I do not intend thy love’s passing,
Nor thy good will, nor my worth, nor thy grace,
May but so be thy will, though by nature it be dead,
Bequeath this to thee, and all my will it remain,
In thee I should desire, and you, in me:
To have you, I did crave, and you in me.
‘So thou didst make me suspect that thy lips could taste sweet,
And so did my tongue, and my tongue would repeat:
Thy beauty was not so, that thy tongue may say it was;
And thy worth thy will is not your will,
And thy grace is not my will,
Nor my grace’s scope are yours.”
For this, with a heavy groan he goes,
To kiss his cheek, and to kiss his hand,
Which he again doeth, till presently they both yield.
‘Why should he not leave this, and come home,
Where he thinks he sees what he’s done?
He hears the maid’s voice, that his friend is speaking,
And she, too, to greet him in speech doth moan;
She tells him she hears him, and she in her heart
Doth adore him, and he is her heart,
And she shall kiss him more than ever, if he will not.
‘”How can my love’s love be so weak,
When I have no love besides,
Unless I do the same to him again,
And as many a date as he hath in me
May give him ten times the world’s treasure;
When he must take one of us both from thee,
And make him his own owner, and all the world’s use;
And, in thy love’s arms, in thy bosom,
And all thy parts, with the greatest variety,
Saw to hear my heart, and breathe it forth again,
And all in her whole being surfeit,
She shakes the roses and the sweet flowers with her might,
And then she woos with her love and tears the air,
With sorrow’s fair tears so dear they do bleed,
And with her tears her heav’d-up heart beats,
like to thunder she shakes her head in joy,
And makes all the tumult of Collatine’s night.
Thy love, my love, my love’s will, my love’s will be gone.
Thy will, my love, my love’s will, my love’s will be slain,
In this very place, that thou wilt so much as look,
I will do all in my will, all in thine own will;
In thine own will, my will, thy will be free.
In thy will, thy will, thy will be free.
‘So with that said, his cheek fell on her shoulder,
And she, being gone, gave him a kiss;
And with that


======== CHECKPOINT 035 OUTPUT # 004 ========

quintan’d with a cold chill, as it should be;
Yet in my bosom it was like a weeping dove.
‘O, I would, my dear love, and love you too,
Give me one kiss and let me write of you,
And tell the truth of thy love to my poor, old, and ill.
But poor Lucrece, whose breath is so cold,
Sinks, and looks pale, and doth cry aloud;
But poor Lucrece is pale, and his cheeks are pale,
To make her cry again, and again to give his breath.
‘O pardon me, how many a day have I been away,
How many a day I had no pleasure in
Thy fault, my fault is not thy fault,
Thy fault my fault is not thy fault,
Thy fault I am not thy partner in sinning,
Thy fault thy fault I am thy self’s guilty,
Thy fault my fault thy fault is thy self’s guilty,
Thy fault thy fault my fault is thy self’s guilty,
Thy fault thy fault my fault is thy self’s guilty.
‘Thou lov’st me in thy bed, in thy bosom,
That it should my soul behold, that thou shouldst lie,
That thou couldst not be my lover’s eye,
My love shall not be my object,
I will love thee in love’s dim hour,
And in love shall not be thy subject,
Nor mine own beauty shall be thy love’s sun,
Thy true self is thy best, thy true self’s worst:
That’s thine own, mine own thy self’s foul,
And mine own foul, mine own self’s fair,
Who with thy false self’s foulness hath thy fair queen,
Her name is like a cloud to thee,
And with thee is like a cloud to my self,
Whose true self, my self, thy self’s fair self’s devil,
Whose true self I, mine own, thy own and others’ owner,
Have no foul or untainted sin or crime,
And all these dainties shall not impair thy light,
O therefore this self I will make the bed,
If thou art thine, and this mine be thine.”
This verse is more than most, and most of my heart
Seems to contradict itself, for my heart hath not made this copy
Of my own, or of thy thoughts.
This thought, or some shadow thereof made,
Whose dark and false aspect seemed to hover in thee.
This thought, or some shadow thereof made,
Whose dark and false aspect seemed to hover in thee.
This thought, or some shadow thereof made,
Who seemed, from thee and to thy lips,
Thy true self thy self’s fault, thy self’s foul,
Thy true self thyself’s foul, thy self’s fair,
Whilst thou art, my self, thy self, thyself’s foul,
Thy self is thine, thy self’s fair, thy self’s fair,
Thy self art thine, thy self, thy self’s fair,
But thine is thyself, thyself’s fair, thy self’s foul,
Thy self art thine, thy self, thy self’s foul,
Thy self art thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s foul,
Thy self art thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s foul,
Thy self art thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
And thine is thine, thy self, thy self’s foul,
But thou art thyself thyself’s fair, thy self’s foul,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
But thou art thyself thyself’s fair, thy self’s foul,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s foul,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s foul,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s fair,
And thine is thine, thy self, thy self’s fair,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s foul,
And thou art thyself’s self, thy self’s fair,
Thy self is thyself, thy self, thy self’s


======== CHECKPOINT 035 OUTPUT # 005 ========

gloves.
‘And I am not a god,’ quoth she, ‘nor of my kind, nor of thy power,
But that thou art my friend.’
To that end he quakes, ‘O no,’ quoth he, ‘though mine eyes be pale,
Thy hair doth hang in th’ inviting fashion,
For now the wind thy pale hands wither’st and wither’st,
But sometime on that cold spring-cold day
My heart breaks with a soft-tun’d cry,
And from his lips all my love, my best fears,
The world knows his heart but hears his weeping moans,
Which I do think shall stay his sad words.
What shall I do now that he never hears my wails,
If I kill him first? I will not kill him,
And then he will not say, ‘Kill me first.’
He will not even weep with her,
She, like a dying lamb, will take it captive.
‘Now is she with her husband; now she with him:
And now, with a view to her husband’s death,
She falls, and his knife falls again upon her.
‘And now,’ quoth he,’my mistress, this time I should have kept
Till now I should have been dead: but now, lo,
I will die of love, and not thee.’
His heart thins in her lap, and his hand on hers,
‘Hadst thou not, he would have laid hold upon me,
And now, in love, thou shouldst not hold me back.’
“The boar, the bear, the boar!
The lion, the wild boar!
The wolf, the hawks, the bear!
But my dear dear dear love,” quoth she, “I’ll go; and that, I’ll tell;
‘Thou shalt not kill,’ quoth he, ‘nor will I ever kill;
As long as thou livest, thine is life’s end.
‘Love is dead; and death is liv’d,
With no-breath’d breath will he tread the ground,
And with his rider he lies panting,
Like a dew-basket’d horse, wreathed in sweat.
‘O, look, I am thy dear friend;
Thy love, by thy hand, will give thee all my pity.’
‘Love’s love,’ quoth she, ’tis that which I desire most;
And this I fear more than he should say:
“Thou dost abuse,” quoth he, “but this is thy fault,
That we do abuse thee: let us all pray.”
“Father, that is too good a bawd
To teach me, ah, that thy sweet self still doth groan.
What a pity would I then have been,
For that sweet toy which thy sweet self doth bear,
Who in the sweetest buds doth delight,
Which from thy breast thy loving buds love to taste.
“Ay,” quoth he, “you cannot take this;
Thou wast the first, and now I am the other;
I know it, that thou didst give it to me,
For it was thou that made it to me.
‘For thou hast made my heart his slave,
My heart his slave’s slave;
Thy own heart, that gave thee thy part,
As thine own, to make it my own again.
Thy own heart, that gave thee his part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part to make it my own.
Thy own heart, that gave thee thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part to make it my own again,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart, that gave thy part,
Thy own heart,


======== CHECKPOINT 036 OUTPUT # 001 ========

-| the best thing in the world
Whose eye he did behold, as if he were his own,
And for his eye the gazers so proudly show’d
The one proud ornament, the other an ill
Like a boar’s hide, whereon each did lie.
“And why should my lips should my head weep,
O’er which mine eyes have writ down all mine offences
And my soul’s sorrow all mine offences mine honour,
Which like the bloodless rain doth fill the ground?
How then will my eyes weep if my heart doth weep,
For what is my fault is not mine own,
Which not my own blood, but the bounty thereof,
Have in the blood in the city of me.
He looks upon her, and she by her side
Will not believe what he says, and so he begins.
Thy eyes are dumb, thy lips are strong,
thy joints strong, thy heart full, thy heart full,
Thy blood in thy lungs in me is drained,
th’ excess of me, thy quality is gone.
Thy proud joints are done, thy joints are shaken,
Thy heart is gone, th’ excess gone, thy quality no more.
In this he concludes to list
All that thou dost iniquity hath done,
And all that dost thou wrong iniquity’s done.
So then, I can say nothing of thy shame,
whatsoever thou dost say or do,
Then nothing is mine, but my worth is well expressed.
For all that my worth in thy state,
Tells me thou art a kind of love and praise,
And to others praises of thee are well expressed,
And in thy thoughts is well advised,
The sage’s verse, the rich tale,
With all praise and praise of thee all mine.
“Lo, it was my father’s day, and he was gone,
Thy light, and all the rest in darkness:
My eyes were set upon the sky, my heart upon the ground.
No more to sing, for I know not how
To speak with lips in quiet desire,
And yet by your sweet grace give me thy tongue,
And by your sweet grace give me your tongue.
And I do love you in all your fair show,
Fair and pretty, and thou with me with all thy beauty.
‘For it is with my heart, for thy self I must be,
And thy body in me to be my mind.
‘When thou art dead, return again to me,
If in a few minutes my heart nor soul be left,
My spirit can breathe again, if thou wilt permit.
This said, he takes her by the hand,
And in their mutual embrace she wails,
Like unto a drunken maid pleading with her husband.
She looks up at him, but she doth not think he
That she saw his face as it did belong.
She replies that he must not know it,
For he hath no eyes, eyes of fair-white:
He doth not look at her, but she hears him say;
He hath no eyes, eyes, but his face lies:
Her tears are still, yet his voice is faint,
He replies, “No,” and so she on.
“No,” he quoth, “do not see me so,
My blood, that breathes, would breathe again,
And breath again still, which is the cure,
Since my blood should breath again.”
“Good night,” quoth she, “and let us go.”
Then went he by the side of a grove,
where the white-fac’d princess lay,
Bearing the poor creature in her arms,
And lo, her beauty stood in view,
As if from some cloud she were to cover it,
And thus to gain her favour she did her act:
And now that her beauty is so admired,
So do I, by this, strive to imitate thee:
‘To give thee some excuse, that thou mayst not prove so,
that thou mayst not accuse me of treason.
So shall I be revenged upon thee in this crime,
And for my sake shall I die in this unhallow’d crime,
For I know thy guilt not, nor thy guilt not;
But thou in thy act of perjury,
I do swear to thee that I am guilty of perjury,
And to avenge my murder I do swear
My life to thy self that thou wilt forgive me.
‘If thou willst repent of my murder,
And excuse me from my doom, then let it be said,
That I was thy mother’s son and was born
And that thy beauty was her child’s child,
And to thy good beauty be they both bred,
Which in


======== CHECKPOINT 036 OUTPUT # 002 ========

GENERAL

“The moment that he hath his sight to look, he’ll beheld,
The man, that doth look, is dead;
That which doth entertain him still remains,
Which is the object of love:
But now she hath an hour to tell
The sad tale, and we all laugh;
For sometime he is so dumb and speechless,
That he dares not look;
But as one should wink, another would do him good:
That was one night when, pale as day,
Like a jade in the midday sun,
With a fiery torch, doth he venture;
Like an angry boar, that would bark in the distance;
But as he is stalked, the boar replies,
By chasing him in the meantime.
“How can I tell if my love is slain?”
How can I tell if my love is saved if I stay,
And yet my love is extinct if I do stay?
No one can tell but me that my heart
Pitch’d up all her might; but one with a moan,
She falls, and that proud cry she makes.
She hath said this to a nun,
Which hath a solemn ceremony to tell
The fate of the world’s first happy age.
The grave-hanging gazers do not mourn,
Though their ranks in the world’s fair forests be laid,
Even so this, that in the pride of age,
The fairest were born but by men’s death’s quick decay,
The worst, by far the better, by virtue of age,
In virtue of old age’s quick decay but not young.
‘I’ll put my hand upon the heart of a dove,
And hold it still, till I can put my hand to his cheek,
Or tie the knot so to prevent his being gone.
‘And now that the dove is gone, I’ll swear that
The thing I am fighting is murder,
And I will bear what I shall bring to death.
If thou dost love me, that shall be thy will.’
As he prepares to kill her, her husband hears her cry,
And turns to look, fearing the dreadful sight,
To kiss his wife, her son, or none at all;
For to hear him speak, such a fear would be fatal,
That all men’s eyes would be blinded by his sight,
That their sight might see but such a thing.
“I will not kill thee, till thou wilt have thy self slain,
And then the world will excuse thee from my sight,
And from all the world thy self to be buried:
My self I will confine to thy love:
That my love may live and die in a state of grief,
The world I did not like, nor ever desire,
But from heaven I am bound now to die,
And die in an unbending web of shame.
O, let me not say that I do love thee as much,
Because in thee we have all one love,
And all one true desire, and one false heart,
That ever, ever I can see thee in my state,
The love that I so long for is dead,
And never was one for me, ever, nor ever was love renewed.
Yet for this love, love must die and be buried,
For now it lives on a living grave,
That no one may make a wish so cruel
That by a dying breath he may have a son.
O never in this universe can I see thee nor hear thee cry,
Nor ever can I love thy face nor breathe thy name,
for though thy breath breatheth it foul foul,
And yet thy soul is good and full of shame,
yet thou hast the honour to rob my blood;
I swear thy blood I am dead, and my life shall be thine,
With thee my love’s blood shall cover thy honour,
And I the living life to live in thine own blood.
‘Thou art not, ‘twixt Sinon and Troy to steal my life,
And yet thou live’st thy life by thy own crime,
Which thou hast done to steal my life from me,
Thy self being dead, thou thy self again being free.
“Lo, to make this crime more severe,
A thousand tongues may utter his name;
For where in a thousand tongues there is no offence,
Or at least none that ever harms,
If ever at all, that tongue doth utter it.”
I have sworn an oath to a false god,
To kill him, and kill his living friend;
And yet, being told this false god’s decease,
I am afraid to swear again,
To swear I saw him deceive me again.
“The thief,” quoth she, “if the warrant be


======== CHECKPOINT 036 OUTPUT # 003 ========

brance to be obdurate, that thou must not be so,
That I my love may not be reprehended.
But, in thy bosom are proud towers built,
Of gold, and jewels, and precious pearls,
Of brass, and all sorts of other dross,
And then shall I be a false god;
So shalt thou die, and I die again,
And thou art mine, and my life’s purpose is to die;
To die by that which thou hast wrought,
And to live by that which thou hast wrought for me.
He takes his knife, and hurls it at her head,
Which, trembling, she takes up the knife.
She must not have him, for he is with her;
Nor should she be so deceived;
That the world might not guess at her reason.
‘This thou gav’st me to do with my life;
But my friend’s death I intend not to stop,
Love hath power over mine, and I will not curb:
But all my self will do me wrong, and not so much,
As to be revenged on my self in my state.
‘”So that in thy sweet soul thou have done this,
To tempt thy trespass in wrong,
And so the league between thee and me to be ended,
In my body shall not play but be my sport.
Let him thus kill his lustful lust,
Let him this adulterate father of his child;
Let him this bastard that commits the crime,
That this poor bastard commits a bastard’s crime,
And for this sin is thou to blame for his crime.
‘”For as to a boy that should lose his sight,
So to a sweet girl that did lose his sight,
To a deformed infant that did lose his appetite
To a deformed wife that did lose his sight,
Thou canst not then be an object of shame,
And thus in the image of love,
O my true, my true love’s name should seem so:
That, for love of one thing, one thing else,
Thy beauty should not so easily appear,
Or so well a pure rose to be termed.
O where’s thy mistress’ face thou art when thou art most beloved,
When beauty, in thee, remains but beauty’s shade?
Or when all beauty dead, beauty’s beauty is living,
And beauty dead, beauty’s life is no better?
Or when all the best beauty live dies,
Thy best, in all, is none but twain.
‘Thus said she, ‘I have told the story,
The thing to which I have to tell with my tongue,
Which, being told, I do add to it,
When the heart which it hears calls to the aid,
Upon my tongue, I enclose it
Till every other part in a deep dread,
Is at once felt and the heart writ in mine ear.
‘I hate to have to obey another,
When I have to obey another, I fear not to say;
My heart, therefore, hath the power to make me obey;
So I, as thou art my beloved, am my love,
But as thou livest, so shall my love live,
For thou art my beloved and by thy help,
And through this thou art my friend:
Yet do not despise my love as I do,
That in me thou art my friend, though thy strength be
Die, and in me thou wilt die.
‘Tis my desire that my verse be remembered,
But thou art my friend, and so am I.
And though my friend, yet for my friend’s sake I say,
That ’tis thy beauty that makes thee my friend,
And ’tis my friend that ’tis my friend,
So is my friend to me ‘gainst my loss.
Thus did she say, ‘And thou shalt make me my slave,
And shalt curse me for my innocence,
For thou shalt have thine eye, to steal my life;
And all my shame shall be my doom,
And to be revenged upon all my shame.’
But that which my love had to give away,
Shall my soul that is left free,
And to this gain gain still to steal,
I’ll sell thee my life to be revenged upon,
By whose blood my fair fair life shall live,
And to this gain thy fair beauty in return.
And this she did conclude,
That I must live, that ’tis my love that doth die;
And this I will live, that ’tis thy friend that doth die.
‘But being dead, yet not for thy sake ‘gainst life:
‘”This is the very place where you shall dwell,
That your


======== CHECKPOINT 036 OUTPUT # 004 ========

weights you must not make haste to kill,
For then you will not see such a shame as this,
That to your sorrows you did not prepare,
Or see your cheeks full of shame,
But your grief-sick eyes, which are pale,
Have as trophies their beauty added to mine.
So she, Collatine, was born of desire,
And thus he lives.
“Let me tell thee my story of the day,
Of thy poor health, and the cold and hot fire
That burneth in the heart of a king,
And then I in his state, in thy body,
Came out, I have often wished to see thee,
And so did she leave, for I felt her desire.
But they that were with me did not return,
To-morrow, thou wilt have no need of mine,
Even if thou art dead. O no more grief’st thou that thou dost fall,
Thou shalt not love nor touch my body,
But be revenged on that which thou lov’st,
By my decease thou hast done my husband wrong.
How many a sorrow I in my state have,
And that did not last my life,
I never saw my husband bleed, nor had my love
But for his death was never so fair a sight.
O how that fair-sprung flower which thou wilt flower,
Doth grow in a bud as soft as a flower,
And in such a flower is thy beauty born.
When in the summer’s day thou hast left,
Till at night do my days pass I to-day,
And to-morrow do my days end and my nights begin.
From me, O my beloved, I will not rest,
And all my self that hath lived, till sometime thou return
Receives all my trophies; for I never had pleasure,
But all my trophies have been mine;
And as thou dost bring them to a place where they shall stay,
The treasure of a thousand lands and lands,
The gaudy revenues of so many a mansion,
Or even the honour of a thousand sovereigns,
Or even of all the earth’s one million lands,
I have the glory of heaven and earth,
And thou dost give them, and I the earth gave thee.
My love is strong, though it be hollow,
I have no strength in it but love,
And then I hate with love but as I hate,
As if from thee I should fall dead in love.
To me love is the best, though it be hollow,
Which in some kind of foul-built place,
Lust in others is strong,
And mine own reason strong, as well as his own reason strong.
‘Tis said I was a king of Rome,
And for that sake I did take this vow,
Which to this day I am so strangely silent,
That no one will believe the things I say.
I have many a love-killing story to tell,
For fear of this, I never read nor write,
If I had, I would tell every one of my friends,
Who love me so well that they cannot know me.
I have often seen the silver tongue in her eye,
That says, ‘What did I eat?’ ‘Ay,’ replies she, ‘I did not eat.’
‘So be it,’ quoth she, ‘I did but crave that thou take,
A sweet glass of sweet-smelling crystal water,
To sweeten the heart that with thy mightst crave thine.’
“That I might prove the world right,” quoth she, “for I had prophesied
And was a believing man, but have not had the light of day,
For love hath no beauty that ever may appear
Nor any thing but the semblance of one.
‘”So, poor thing, what are you, in thy might,
Thine eyes are windows into the world that do see
Thy eyes may never open unto the world thy sight,
But on thy might, that which by thy might is seen
Thy inward might canker might still see.
In his might that his might might might open the world he sought,
And he did conclude it he would not see;
And so he, fair Collatine, fell and fell he fell;
And yet he was not death, as some supposed;
Nor beauty, nor truth, nor heaven’s treasure,
But death, and death’s spoil of all goodness,
In his might his might did make him live.
‘O, what an evil deed! let him not see
What is said and done to this poor devil!
No fair that can say is fair,
Nor can a king so fair as I,
Not at Rome, where


======== CHECKPOINT 036 OUTPUT # 005 ========

>= of his skill, though for him his aim was to do good
The best of his skill was in his advantage:
That aim at which he was chiefly premeditated
Is best known to himself, and by him best known to men.
He that is fond of sweets, I shall not crave;
But whereof love is my sweet desire, I will crave more,
The one for love and beauty.
Love was not my self, but my self,
That was my self when my self was dead.
‘”How many poor eyes canst thou see that would,
Look upon those wretched eyes that were never made,
Even as death stares in sorrow at his sorrow’s wound,
For their fair eyes should like a dying sun,
Thine own will may still hold it, though death be
His sovereign executor of his will.
Love made me lose all sense, yet to myself I lose,
To live by my lust, so love may live
From me alone with others to the west,
With others by their own will to kill.
‘Why’ so? When I was young I did delight thee,
That thou shouldst be so proud of me,
Since it is thy will, that I be a proud slave.
That thou art so proud to be so proud of my face.
‘”O false excuse, my dear friend!
My tears did show thy cheek, my tears did show thy chin,
As though they were the drops from a rose which doth lie,
My love-killing breath did bring thee out of thy breath,
Even as the rose that doth drop from a rose doth lie,
Yet thou thy self dost seem thyself doth love,
And my dear friend, thou know’st mine, to be thy friend’s flame.
“When thou art old, when all things are set aside,
O most wondrous creation, how shall I praise thee,
Thy living eye, when it sees thee not still
Holds in thy face the dreadful sight of youth,
Or how thou, as the world about thee,
Makes me wonder where thou wast born and dies.
But, O most wretched thing, in thy youth didst thou turn,
When thou art old, and no longer liv’st then,
Who from me, thou art descended again
To earth, to heaven, and thence to hell.
‘In thy youth was a king in a tent,
With fair-fac’d figure he gave the king’s face;
His fair hair stood in fair place, and in short’d band,
That when his lordship should command it,
The fair queen, whose sovereign sweet did command
The hot oath to the king, would answer,
How many false gods thy highness was doth hold
Of such modest gods and modest kings!
And if thou shouldst destroy thy sweet love,
Then shalt thou be free from my love,
For never have I felt my worth nor my name,
Nor loved one that was not your own.
“Iniquity with lust, lust with treason,
Creed to kill in the least by force of love.
Thus is it, that the Greeks call it ‘the sun’s head,’
But ‘the sun’ is not, but the goddess Venus.
Love is a sun, Venus is a moon.
In thy blood shalt thou pine; in thine, thou art free;
And thy body thou mayst pine, in thine I will pine,
And thou thy body shalt pine with me, and thine,
Thine for my sake is in love with all the rest.
For mine is love’s pride, thy pride’s pride
And all these two belong to one love.
And thou, from thence, mayst from thence remain,
In that wherein thou art my slave,
Whose absence, the shame and unhallow’d night,
Cannot make the thing he seeks more,
For that which thou dost crave remains so,
That no longer in my possession
Will the thing that I crave remain,
For I in thee remain my slave and slave’s love.
And so thou art my slave, as the sun is my love,
And thou mine, as thine, is my love and mine own.
‘For the sun,’ quoth she, ‘is the same as snow,
And in it both thou dost fall;
When in thee thou dost fall the snow takes place;
And in the snow doth his snow fall,
And in my self thou in thy self dost fall.
‘Thou wilt be mine, and mine thou in thy self dost fall.
This time, as the sun is up against the west,
Till the west with clouds of their fresh droop
Pawn upon the cloud


======== CHECKPOINT 037 OUTPUT # 001 ========

vs in that of the blessed,
That whereof love, or love’s lasting effect,
May come to be a blot on the face,
That by this mightst thou be cured of all suspicion!
‘That my love, that was my self,
To this false jewel of mine, hath so many a crown,
And as oft as my love doth stain thy face,
so mine own false jewel doth hide thee.
His love doth lend a heavy sigh to all his woes,
And all his grief confounds with tears his eyes,
Which, like misty mists, seem to leap, as if in some remote wonder;
His love doth lend the tide of fortune a hush,
And thus it comes, that by him his woes are discharged.
And this seeming sighs he makes;
And this he makes by so expressing his mind,
That all my words of praise may bear,
That my praise, and praise of him shall cover,
With words his words shall cover with their tears.
‘The world is full of mischances,
And all mine faults do tend to my friends’ and foes.’
For those who love, let them find fault with me.
“My beloved daughter, do not make me beguile;
I assure her of your love by my love’s side,
And if she do prove her true love, thou dost beguile my love;
Mine eye is full with wonder, and my heart with sorrow;
As for you who have seen the lily pale and sweet,
And all the other plants in thy bosom bearing fruit,
Have not I seen thee in thy looks,
And I have never seen the fair roses but in thy parts,
And yet thou shouldst seem to blush at thy fair self,
And blush at my beauty in other parts.
“Thou art no like of them I have never seen,
Whereon this sad face hath made me sick,
And every thing sorrow hath done to mine eye,
Which it saw, and did take to make new grief,
Making fresh sorrows for thee again.
‘”Therefore I say to you that every tongue that hearth
Of thy sweet words hath done a maund for me,
And yet thou canst not know my true love,
I have but one love, and thou none,
That ever my heart hath seen,
O what a world hath thy sweet voice made
How long I with thee I cannot be forgotten,
And then thou art as fair as crystal still,
Nor mayst thou the world’s fair diamond be broken.
The world is dead, and thy sweet love lives in my breast,
Whilst my dear heart’s love lives in thee.
If thy heart live, why the world is gone,
And all my sweet love in thee doth live.
But to this the world will excuse my false boast,
Whereas to the world my true heart’s love doth live,
I have one love to live by, and no more;
So far from my love’s loss, from my love’s gain,
I can do none of these things;
And yet the world can but see my self, my self,
And then the world’s self can no longer see me,
For then no one can hold this false witness.
O if then your father be so kind, how wilt thou strive
To find the cure of all my ill?
That was my self-love to seek;
O no, no, dear, what hope dost thou have,
Love-killing desires cannot survive
In that which the sick toil in spite of rest.
If love live, how much farther is thy bed
Than my verse in verse can tell
Of thy beauty and of thy state.
If love die, how much farther is my bed
Than my verse can tell of thy youth,
And of your beauty and of thy state.
‘Thus did she in her haste take,
The carriage that did her honour ride;
Her thoughts did their task, and did leave them
With thoughts of their own accord, and did not depart,
And thence did they leave.
‘And this is to make the world a better place,
Which is to have more of my body’s beauty,
And of my worth more worth.
‘O, that thought must it pass,
That the world may in one night find out
What kind of a woman I was,
And what kind of a wife I had,
And how much I owed them;
And whereof that thought did in some part
Ask whether I was a good wife or a bad wife,
Or whether I was husband or wife,
To find out whether you should give me your bed,
Or whether you should part with my rest.
“That


======== CHECKPOINT 037 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Feet of his face, and the lips thereof, but no more;
In his cheeks did he draw with his lips’ soft lips,
And in the lips of his cheek did he draw a little,
Or two or three kisses in one;
Which is but a little too brief:
In his inward eye let us behold
The form of this dreadful beast,
In his outward face did we behold
The terror of this dire-sighted devil,
And in his inward head all the world’s woes were pluck’d.
‘Then have I seen her face which her eyes bore,
And have pity’s fair sun espied her eye,
Which on her forehead hath his visage spent,
And yet no shade the more to blot her out:
And yet beauty’s fair sun, whose fair moon she doth behold,
Which doth every thing in her eye look,
May well enchant the eye, and the mind,
Which hath the same love to all, so mayst thou behold.
But behold this, that in thee doth art done
The love of thy sweet self I do make the list,
And now the list being made, thou wilt never lose,
For I have love in you, and you in me.
The sun, in shining white, shall cover thee with night,
And make thee pale in the morning till noon rise.
And then the night shall darken his picture,
And night his picture shall shine bright bright,
Whilst my sweet self hath in my soul mine own place,
For thy self I am thy self’s slave,
And thine own self thy self’s own self’s debtor.
‘O if thou be the one, that thou art this,
Thou mine own image, and mine own self’s slave,
And the other thine own thy self’s debtor,
By my soul alone in thine own self thy own shame
Doth attend my self with my self-same eyes,
And mine own self with mine own self’s self in thee.
“Look,” quoth she, “this young-bedecked beast
Who like a cherubin graz’d in the bush,
Shone by the keen-tongued hawk, and by the fawn-eater;
That they both with their sharp fangs do the wounding:
Look, the dove, the boar, the fox,
That all their numbers now are gone, and none left:
Then is it lawful that we should do,
As some who, though hunted, slay others in their rage.
Thus Tarquin chides: “I did not kill; let me kill you all.”
A thousand woes to my face do list.
And on one gentle morning
A weary, and weary nurse in a state of rest,
She doth lie in her seat, and cries: “Tis not so.”
To make a pause, the weary one doth stand,
And sits upon the grass, thinking the wind heft’d,
Whereat a pale apparition proceeds;
And with a loud voice they join,
And the fair maid, seeming to take him in,
Whose eyes are pale and dim in hue,
But with a gentle touch doth she lend him,
His sweet lips fill his lips, and in his gums fill;
They that would love him with their lips would kiss him in,
And kiss him with every hand that did love him fast.
Then is she quite out of breath, and no heart to cry;
Her lips, like pearl encased in her lap,
Tear up her tears, which she often leaves behind,
And often their tears exceed the water’s level.
And now this, lo, the ocean is full with gouts,
And as they run, like a band of sickly pirates,
They murmur in their ears, and cry in their blood,
And often their voices, like coral coral,
Like sapphires to the heaven-hued shore, do sing,
Like sweet nuns to the blessed salve that makes them stay,
And sing a hymn in praise of thee,
Like a dew of roses, the white of them:
‘So be it: thou must not be deceived.’
She looks upon him, and concludes by a kiss;
She says, ‘And if thou dost, I do vow to stay,
To do thee good, and to do thee shame;
To do thee true, and to do me false:
And do I not in that I am mad,
That my sins are your honour’s memorial,
That you are the first true and worthy of my name,
That you all to your love made fair
By all who in your name have done this good.’
‘And lo, I’ll do thee every favour,’ qu


======== CHECKPOINT 037 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Butterfly, with a kind of disdain, with her cheeks redoubled, and her eyes fair, with her hair tied up.
‘Had I not been born, would not I never have had thy love,
As thou art, to me thy son, thy dear, thy only love.
And now, lo! behold this strange-green serpent,
In her hair and forth again her wits swelled,
So much more than thou wouldst have if I had been thy child.
“Let me say,” she says, “my mother was right,
So am I, and thou are I;
That’s all: no more, dear.”
I sigh, but he sighs more,
And then she begins again: “Now, you see, my mother’s name is
‘Tinny; I have no love to lose,
And thou canst not bewitch me of thy lust,
That I have no love to lose in thee.
‘I hate to think of thy self as I have hated;
Yet being mad, I shall not make thee angry:
For I shall be mad, and thou shalt not be mad.
Yet bewailed as thou are as thy woe is so wide,
Thy self, and thy self I will not love.
No, thou art not such a fool, for love of thine own is thine,
And hate to hate is not love’s acceptance,
When thy self be converted, to love is thine acceptance.
‘And thus she speaks in her sweetest, most sweet voice;
‘It shall be lawful to hunt with the wolf,
Or else hunt by the boar,
Or else by the owl,
And hunt by the hawks, or birds by night.
Thy beauty hath beauty’s edge, and all these are mine;
‘My self, that is true to thee,
Thou art my shadow, and mine is thy shadow:
My self to thee is thy self-love,
And all to thee as thine to thy self.
And if my self in thee were slain,
Thy self to thy self, thyself thyself thyself thyself myself myself thyself myself myself myself,
But thou art none of mine, and mine is thine.
Look this, that fair white in the window that holds all this,
Tells me a certain ill-advised night,
That she should leave this sad tale to herself:
She will be gone, and leave the fair queen alone,
And thus do I her own shame;
For shame shall never forget my name,
And my self shall die and be remembered,
For shame will never remember my face,
For shame’s own self and all my beauty’s is lost.
Thou art my shadow, my self my self, and all my beauty’s lost,
And all beauty’s lost, thou art dead.
The present time doth not stop Time, nor stop his eyes;
He that art dead, dies in this present world:
And to this end Time doth say ‘Now my dear friend,
It is Time’s pleasure to talk, and to make me go;
The present time doth not stop Time’s pleasure to make me stay,
And to this end Time doth tell me ‘Now my dear friend,
It is Time’s pleasure to be sad, and to be sad
‘Tis Time that makes the world mad;
In Time’s madcap state mad men come to see
The boar that stole my father’s cloak, and now lives alone:
In Time’s madcap state there comes a butcher
That he doth rob the sick, and beggars their income;
Thou wast Sin when thou wast Sin’s lamb, and now thou wast thy lamb.’
‘But as Time hath churl’d this thought out,
The pale-fac’d old man with the pale-fac’d woman
The sickly boy, the old woman and child in grief,
Then thou art Time’s fair-shining jewel,
and thou shalt inherit Time’s fair title.
So then did thy lovely cheek my heart make,
And that fair heart that nursed thee so,
Since I have begot thee now, I’ll kiss thee more.
For my love hath been fair in thought,
Fair in thought’s form is fairer than thee;
Fair in thought’s form is fairer than thee.
That is why thou wast the fair, and thou the fair,
When I was no greater than thee, nor yet such a king,
Thou were but thy fair, and now I no more,
Then have I no more, then all my grace is gone,
And all my beauty’s waste gone,
And all my beauty’s sake gone,
And all my beauty’s sake


======== CHECKPOINT 037 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Grab for some help,
Till she hears a thump, and runs to the door,
Till her friend doth cry out, “Who’s there?”
For the door’s latch he stops her and holds her still.
“Hallowed be thy birth,
And I am thee unto eternity’s end.”
And by this she agrees, and sits still.
“Let the maid take care of thee,
And in thy bed she will remove thy garment,
And thou shalt be thy good queen,
And not my maid, nor thy love’s love’s slave.”
“O then thou wilt, my love, and I love thee not,
If thou wilt, it will not be my love that lends me these;
And to prove it, I must undertake some action,
To prove it not by force, but by oath;
When, by oath, I do prove the truth.
When oaths are made against oaths,
The more I swear by oaths than by faith,
The more I swear by oaths than by love,
And the more I swear by oaths than by trust.
This did her tutor bring her to,
And he to her side sat her, and kiss’d her;
She, with kissing, did win their favour;
They both did throng one another, and they gave thanks.
‘Gainst she thyself the strength to speak,
For that which she herself thinks,
Her self self she herself doth think wrong,
So to herself all ill, to herself all praise,
Who, though they have done good in her sight,
still for him that was their greatest evil:
He was their minister, their minister their minister.
Their music, their song and their song’s effect
For hours, hours, hours, hours, hours of this,
Sometime he lays in bed, listening intently;
Sometimes he sleeps, waking up in his head,
And all his hard labour doth distract him from his rest.
‘Why wilt thou make my day worth my rest,
And leave all my thoughts at home in the field,
Where nothing but your love’s beauty doth dwell?
Why weep when your love’s tears have done?
Why fret when my dear Adonis’ eyes have daff’d
Or when my sweet love’s tears have done?
Or when my sweet Adonis’ eyes have told my eyes,
How sweet she appears to me now, now and ever.
O why weep when I have thought to-day,
O how sad that time can seem,
And never be remembered once again!
‘But do not weep aloud, as I am wont to do,
For if I do, my eyes will be blind,
As soon as my face can no longer read what I say.
‘And where have these spies been gone to forage?
And yet no spies found them in such hard fear,
As in that dark dark cave where their eyes lay.
My love hath not gone to hunt, but only to take
The bait of his prey, to catch it with his tongue.
My love hath not gone to hunt, but only to take
The bait of his prey, to catch it with his tongue.
For in that dark cave where his eyes lay,
My love hath not gone to hunt, but only to take
The bait of his prey, to catch it with his tongue.
For in that dark cave where his eyes lie,
My love hath not gone to hunt, but only to take
The bait of his prey, to catch it with his tongue.
For in that dark cave where his eyes lie,
My love hath not gone to hunt, but only to take
The bait of his prey, to catch it with his tongue.
O be my witness, how many a poor child doth
By thy help doth that poor child doth seem
As the moon doth in the night arise;
And when, beholding this great star,
Who on it hath a fiery flash,
And that bright sun on it hath a flaming flash,
And that bright sun on it hath a flaming flash.
Yet do not blame my love for her neglect
When I am all alone and idle.
She sighs for me, and for her, and she sighs still for me.
‘Father,’ she cries, ‘this day I see thee with that dreadful eye,
That hath all thy power, all thy honour, all thy name,
And all your wealth that I owe you.
‘The earth’s fair flower shall stand,
The sea’s bright jewel shall die,
And in the ocean a gentle ocean hath flow,
To be sure, there is no loss in thee:
But as that which is dear to me,
My love hath lost all, and thou shall


======== CHECKPOINT 037 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ishable the grace of death,
Which he so graciously bears;
When thou wilt find it, I swear I’ll leave thee.
But if thou be thyself forsaken,
And there rest, thou shalt find me,
And yet thou wilt have me, despite of my sins.
“So then he takes her by the hand,
And leads her away in a dully pale;
He strikes her on the head with a heavy quiver;
she cries; “Grief! how sorrow befits murder!
How love iniquity so unjustly disgraces!
So long as I dwell here, I’ll never rest;
Unless my absence be the death of this world,
Which may thence be my life’s end.
For when the clock is up, his name shall be sung.
‘But if I am forced to speak, be quiet!
Unless I shall be forced to be sad,
My fame shall die with sad music and sad looks;
The world will see my sad groans and wails;
And my fame’s sad tunes the world will know.
So shall I be confined in a closet,
And there the sick world (eating away his sleep)
Will read the sad news of death, but never see it.
“Thus shall my story tell, and my tears, and my woes be told;
As my self this sad thing, so shall my self be loved.
‘”Why should my love be so short a story
As for my love and your poor heart to love,
When they themselves are full of errors,
And never more pure than their content is supposed,
When all those other fair things in you were base,
When all that is in you as base is said,
And yet you, pure as your self are in me,
Have been made from the first base of all things,
And you from the second base of all things,
Which were all bases of you but pure perfection,
To be you all things were but one, and nothing was;
For that was to you that gave the rose,
To you that give it to us all,
To you that change every thing,
And then the world, being your self, will have my love,
And all your faults, your imperfections, will be yours.”
The wise would not suspect this, nor the fool that sees
Thy eye, or thy heart’s ear to hear thee speak:
The wise would suspect it, but the fool in it thinks:
“Thou know’st that thine eyes are blind,
That they never saw thee nor heard thy groans;
Even so thou know’st that I am one,
And as one’s eye sees a star, so mine eye hath a name,
Thou know’st that I am one, and as one’s eye hears a moon,
All alike in my grove the same thing see.
And as one being in love hath many a part,
One of whom all others in one,
All one in one, both like one sweet and wise.
This is to him a lesson in love,
And for that, he doth invent a tongue.
‘But if thou wilt use my name, what use can I make
Of thine own name? that name may bestow thy self
Which in thee so aptly doth thy name live.
And how much more shall I praise thee now,
Thou art well know’d to write a good book.
‘”What shall I say, O boy, and what shall I say
When I hear thee tell my tale in my heart,
And not in your tongue, but in your heart’s content,
With me as in love is wont to chase?
If thou art well understood, then tell the tale in my heart,
And then in my heart in love be accounted.
‘”For whiles I were young,
My self was thy enemy,
When in thee I was dear,
I owed thee what I owed thee is owed;
And to steal what thou stole in my deed,
Thy self bequeathed that to my self shall live.
So love may be a sad-tun’d music to the ears,
Who, like an old woman, feel the sad and weary wind,
Which in their faces fill’d with trembling joy:
Who, like a sad-tun’d song, cry out, “O my dear, my dear,”
And whither their plaintions fall, whose echoes
Whose cries their hearts imitate: for pity’s sake
When love is dead, thou art new-fangled grief,
For I am old, and yet thou new-fangled beauty,
Who hath my soul in the fire of thy grief.
“Poor girl! look what that wretched thing in thee
P


======== CHECKPOINT 038 OUTPUT # 001 ========

fox in the bud,
And that to you in your pure form doth live,
To me that art pure, I beg leave;
I, as the bud that doth grow within me stand,
If my spirit should rob it of fruit,
It would not be dead, but would have grown
Like a flower, but with a bud in it.
When he sees me, he tells me,
‘The thing it is I sought: that is, to make you
A bud that can take away all that remains,
For I would use you to make my life better.’
This love, she thinks, she will kiss,
And kiss again, if I will with kisses yield.
‘”To-night, gentle mistress,” quoth she, “this letter from me,
This promise, this promise, this promise,
The one from my heart wherein thou art to be buried,
Thy sweet love, that thou mightst live, to-morrow liv’d:
O, what kind of world canst thou deprive,
From thence he must leave me, and all shall have rest.
So now for the sake of love, I send this
Sometime to my chamber wherein I sit and
Have a long chat, as they themselves did rehearse,
Hath had this past year’s grievance begun;
The plague that once had her forthwith confined
And thence was no longer welcome to her sight.
But now the plague began anew,
In a state of dread that did not stop thence.
Now this sickly dread she herself inches forwards,
But when she is out again she leaps at the swift pace,
As if from some remote channel she might strike;
But the swiftest she leaps, the quicker she doth speed.
Then doth she draw, as if from some unseen hand
Her bow, or to put in her place some trim:
What shall I say to her, but then I say,
What shall I say shall be my verse?
For oft as I see she in the dim lights,
She sings, and then she turns her head to look.
When I saw she in the dim light,
She drew and drew, and yet no breath could speak;
Her lips were cold and soft, and her eyes black,
And from the dim light she began to rave,
Like a cloud that obscures the sun;
That cloud thus smother’d, by melting with her hot breath.
For in the fire which she had begun to cool,
She set to work, and then she would tear her eyes from light.
He would fly, and his spleen would fly again,
And all the world would sing hymns to him.
‘Thou lov’st, and thou hast harmed,’ quoth he;
‘Thou lov’st,’ quoth she; ‘it is thine own fault,
It was thine own fault that didst harm thee;
Myself, thy fault, thy fault, thy fault’s fault.
For what are thieves that do not steal thy beauty
From my image?
Myself? why, thou art that thief’s-giver,
And beauty that thou art that beauty’s debtor?
If thou art that, then why am I that thou art so fair,
For why dost thou steal my fair beauty?
“For if thou shalt beget aught of me,
Then in mine am I subject to all abuse;
Then would I have died, and thou wast one of my friends.
So is her story true, unless we live,
We will live a sad and barren age;
We will live a wretched life and die a glorious death.
This said, he takes another breath, and throws it
At the eye of a maid, and then proceeds
To kiss the eye, and kiss the heart,
And then on to another, and again on to another.
‘But, poor fool! thou art such a thing
Thy beauty didst betray, and by her death fled;
And in her bosom wast nursed that murd’rous blood
Which on the knife to her breast she lay fast,
And now her heart hath slain this thief,
And now her blood hath slain a man,
And now her heart hath slain two thieves;
Let them be slain, and their deaths be two worlds.’
That night she doth bid a sleeping man lay,
Upon a pine-shaded grove, as if it should rain,
Laund’d with blood, in the sweat of his brow,
And in his vapour’d lungs all this force
He bide his time; and his body began shake;
And, lo, this helpless thing being struck with lightning,
With a groan, and a thundering cry,
The cloudless night the Greeks view’d


======== CHECKPOINT 038 OUTPUT # 002 ========

eki are dead, thy love, which thou lov’st so well.
Thy dear mother’s name, my dear father, my dear mother,
Aye, but for love, thou art dead, and I live only to be with thee.
“Father,” she says, “how canst thou say I am of this use?
Thy loving eye, which thou on so strongly doth charge,
Came hither for thy husband’s sake to view;
And now it is your duty to give the boy
A groom’s rein, and make him groom for his owner.
“I’ll tell you sometime when I have the boy,
Thy love may be gone, my love will be revenged on thee.
Thy loving eyes, and their beams shall never be bright;
I will burn him that made the fire,
And make him his slave to every eye;
No man but thou art my love, if thou ever live.
This she says, when he hath begun to bathe,
Her beauty doth quake and shake,
like the earthquake-like force of a sudden.
‘”This sad device, to put an end to this hopeless strife,
From my mistress’ bed quoth she, “The plague is soon upon us,
And in that time I cannot give,
I do vow to thee that I will keep thee in my love.
And yet she lives, and yet thou art my love.”
But for her love she herself commits
To be confined in a prison in a brook,
Who in return for his ransom bids her stay
The cure which her true love seeks and commits.
‘”So shalt thou excuse the infirmity of my heart,
Thine own will, my self’s will, thy will’s will,
And shalt with thee be cured; that is, I will say to thee;
And sometime to th’ effect will cite,
Or sometime to cite, the lines we do hear.
And once, long since, he said ’tis thy will.’
Thy will, thy self’s will and mine,
And in return shall we both be cured.”
O Time, when doth Time entertain thy part?
O Time, how canst thou dote on the grave of youth,
When youth doth grow old, or doth old die?
O Time, that thou art, and that thou art done,
The grave of all age was Priam’s,
And this time it is mine that doth live,
For I have lived all thy self’s time, and none thy self,
And this life I thee live by thee,
In thy will, in mine own will, and in thy will’s will:
But this thou shalt not live, for I have died for thy will,
And all these for thy self’s sake have died for thy will.
‘And why shall I not tell the tale of thine,
When I have lived to make you my friend?
But I will tell thee the time when thou thy self,
When I love, and not when thou shalt see me:
Then ’tis none of my will, not of thine,
To love thee, but of thy will, to hate thee.
And so he walks on like a weary old man,
Where his weary legs he bounds, in what haste
Th’ unbounded course they follow,
And oft their woes their gazes extend.
‘Lo, my son, behold this steep chasm,
That the tide of this eternal day lies:
No wind but wind cannot bring this place to quiet.
“But the boar which lives by his owner’s power
Comes upon his back, and in it lies
A hairy beast, that can do no good;
But that which lives by the self-same owner,
And that is dear to my heart, my flesh,
For that I owe you all this me, and to thee,
You shall live, and thou shalt live, my love.
If thou do this, my love shall live on thee alone.
But if thou live, the love I owed thee will live on thee alone;
And to die, I’ll live on thee with another lover,
And this time my love shall live on you alone.
If thou be dead, then mayst thou wert live again.
Look to the grave where she lay,
And to her cheek the roses that now cover it,
With silver lines that date her life.
‘I love you,’ quoth she, ‘but I am guilty of stealing from thee.
To pay my debt, and then I’ll die,
As quickly as I could with nothing more.
‘What did I steal, then? I’ll never speak again;
If thou wilt, then let me live where thou wilt best live,


======== CHECKPOINT 038 OUTPUT # 003 ========

athy of his life, that hath not told of death:
But by thy self I might be thy friend,
For if thou mightst come to know me, then this life must die,
And yet thou art not my friend.
“Then with mine eye thee doth gaze,
And where is he that spies this eye hath seen,
That his eye doth gaze upon the shadow doth look,
Where is he that spies this eye doth look,
Where is he that spies this eye doth look,
Where is he that spies this eye doth look,
And where is he that spies this eye doth look,
What shall he say, and shall he answer say?
‘”My love shall be new born, and then old age be:
Then can thy love be new born or old age be:
O where is my love, my love’s child,
Or when my love grows old, my love dies,
O where my love grew up and left me,
My love died, and thou art my friend.
But thou art my friend, and that friend was thy self,
And in that, that self thine own praise,
As thou art thyself thy self, in me thou grow,
And that self thy self was thine self,
My self that thy self so praise should have,
Where mine self thou wast thine, in me thou wast thyself,
That thou, myself that I thyself thyself dost divide,
So doth my self be thy self my self grow,
Whilst I myself am thy self thy self dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thy self dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide:
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide,
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide:
Whilst I myself am thyself thyself dost divide:
For thou art thyself thyself, and me thou art thyself thyself,
And in me thou art thyself, and me thou art thyself.
“This time thou shalt not tell, or prophesy,
This time thou shalt not be patient nor kind;
This time thou shalt not swear an oath,
This time thou shalt not bear false witness
this foul slander upon the heart
Thy name, thy pride, thy pride’s shame.
These offences shall I list,
And each one shall bear an ugly title:
The one that makes the grave shrinks;
The other to the honouring rich breeds:
The one that makes the honouring poor dies:
These two do not interchange, but die together,
As one dying in the other’s honour:
The one dead is born again, the other dies.
And from the womb where the foetus lies
Shall he be brought unto a furnace where he shall sweat
His face, or his lips, or his eyes,
Or his joints, his veins, his eyes, his lungs,
His liver, his lungs, his breast, his veins, his joints;
That to the lungs in him dwells the heat,
So he will not breathe in my sweet lungs;
Yet the greater part hath some grievance in his mind,
That he thinks it ill to breathe therein;
In his grief he interprets words but cannot hear,
Which with sighs, and tears do convert,
Like vapours which the air melts in water.
O most dreadful night! what a fright, wherefore dost thou fall!
Or what a worse disgrace, wherefore dost thou dwell?
But ’tis night, and thou in it doth dread!
‘Tis night that breathes the life in her eye;
O foul, foul night! ‘Tis night with the dark and cold,
And to the light shines a little moon.
“So is this lovely day, that makes my cheeks burn.
And now I behold that my cheeks’ hue
May be so bright, that when thy light shines on them,
They wear their beauty with so much weariness.
To hear her lamentation, he strikes her on the shoulder;
His lips are tied, but no words can speak;
His handkerchief is tied, but no tongue can hold it,
His handkerchief clip’d, yet no breath can utter:
So when I think this blessed rhyme,
A kiss hath


======== CHECKPOINT 038 OUTPUT # 004 ========

glare the sun with his fair shine,
And lo, beholding a youthful face,
He runs on, and I with him,
To make our cabin some honour.
My soul, with thee, mine honour is no more:
So now the shame of my life hath my self been burned;
Now the honour of mine honour hath I lost,
No, I have lost all, and thou thy honour is none.’
But still he calls her by name,
That she may sometime look upon the thing she dotes,
And know that the deed was done;
And in her grief she speaks, ‘O, this is the fair end of all;
Then do not construe what thou wilt write,
That all shall know it to be true;
And, for that, that you may truly know it,
Then may I say with all my heart,
Love was not the best and best excuse:
For with my love is found fault so faulting;
That in this fault is found the cure,
And by this cure comes to my guilty end.
“This was thy excuse,” quoth she, “from thence I began:
To my absence was thy excuse removed:
For from the sweet air thou didst breathe,
The flower thou didst consume grew,
And where was my breath when thou wast breath’d?
Then why should I breathe in thee?‘”Why shouldst thou breathe in thine own mouth?”
O therefore, wherefore hast thou no self-trust,
And no self-love to steal thy breath?
To-day this verse I do amend,
And amend to-morrow I make better,
If thou wilt prove a better man.”
“When, therefore, I first saw thy face,
Or read thy lips, or even touched their lips,
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Grew dumb, and writ on in my face
Like to a dying churl that breathes no breath;
Then my heart began, and died, and then my face,
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Grew dumb, and writ on in my face
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Sometime my heart, as it was filled,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died, and then my face,
Grew dumb, and died,


======== CHECKPOINT 038 OUTPUT # 005 ========

buffer that made me forget
The hours I had spent together
Bridging my thoughts that my own heart had kept
To rehearse your verse in memory.
And here the painter begins to stroke his pale cheeks,
And now all beauty, all her majesty doth show,
The golden crest and the scarlet crest,
And to the stars, that do them good,
Myself to my self, my self to thee,
I in thee, in thee, in thee,
Thy image, thy image, my self to thee.
O then for your love I will confess this favour,
My heart’s delight to hear thee moan,
And in my soul’s sweetest groans rehearse:
That for thy good in me thy good may be,
Mine in thee as well may be thy love.
O let me see what my love’s effects in me,
My heart’s sweetest groans rehearse:
My heart’s sweetest groans rehearse, thy good will rehearse.
Now wake I to the weary eye that stares
Where thou art distracted by the weariness of night,
Or in the burning eye that sees the burning of life.
Then how can I say, Time’s eye hath made me a god,
To give thee a semblance of a mind,
And no earthly form but thy might,
Sings thee, ‘Lord, thou art my love.’
Here she sits, panting, as if she were dead,
And hears Collatine in her bedchamber weep.
When this sad show concludes, she says,
That in her body Tarquin’s visage lies:
And therefore is my Lucrece dead,
For to him my eyes in the Lucrece’s light
Hath haunted thy grief’s time, and thy light’s time.’
My love is dead and thou my light’s youth
Shall, like a dying man, leap from thee,
To leave thee for the time, or else stay thy way,
To make thee my own grave, and then thy heir,
My self, my soul, and thy part of thee.
And yet the thought of him I did believe,
Would not expel me from thee, although thou leave me here.
This she tells, that for his part he hath been kind,
So hath she confided her sorrows, his joys,
And from them her sorrows have flowed her sweet spring;
She that love’s sweetest fountain hath her fresh water,
As the spring that feeds the world’s summer doth grow,
To be warmed only by her constant feed,
And all those springs that she feeds to keep her rain,
And all those springs that make summer his delight,
Which all this toil and time to time doth fight,
This she surmise’d to the point that his tongue quack’d,
And now he begins to answer her;
‘It is an old story,’ quoth he, ‘old Roman,
That, as it is carved out in Greece,
It shall not be denied, but that my name is writ
Thy true name, whose due may be debated,
That in my blood thy worth is crowned;
Thy virtue, thy worth thy strength doth seem,
And all thy merit doth seem thine; and by this, my love doth grow;
To me, thy worth, thy true worth doth seem
Till I do approve thy sin, thy crime shall seem.
‘This verse is but an instrument,
But is of the heart, and is no other instrument
Than a drum, which will sound but a tune,
And no tune of sound will register it,
Whose tuning is but to entertain the ear,
To entertain the brain, to make him smile,
To make him grin and make him cry,
Till all those sounds in him register with his mouth;
And all those soundings in him register with his ear;
O then I think, there’s one part of me
That thou must not see, nor hear, nor touch,
But in thee, and in me, thy beauty grows.
His eyes, like fair cherubins, he likeeth,
Then his lips are full of praise,
And his brows are full of sighs,
And deep groans fill his nostrils;
They are like pearls in the hot summer’s hand:
And fresh crystals are applied to his cheeks:
Their colour hath his grace, and he never doth blush;
His face is but white as snow,
His lips, like crystal hearts, he looks like;
The more, the more the red his cheeks become;
And when he hath bathed his lips and his lips’ cheeks,
His face hath done his utmost harm,
And every drop his breath hath brought


======== CHECKPOINT 039 OUTPUT # 001 ========

cancers are too small, too rare.”
To see his heart with his cheek he doth say;
Yet in his heart he can see no cause of grief;
And yet, for that reason, this grief,
His heart hath no cause of grief;
He that is bereaved, that hath no cause of grief:
O pardon me, my ill-spring did lend
To him the flower of the fair,
And lent it that sweet, pure and kindly odour,
Like roses, but with flowers of purest,
Which on the bark are affixed,
And in his palm on a bud doth stand,
A kiss of pure love; and then the wound is closed,
As it would be impregnable with blood,
Even there bloodless heaven’s breath might stain it.
For what blood could he shed, no stone could stain
Of his bloodless body but his bare bosom’s.
That thy bare bosom’s breath may breathe forth some,
Whose foul stain shall not be so great a blot,
As thou blot’st those wrinkles that thy body doth hide?
Or when thou hast blown these up,
The hairs which on thy forehead do cover
Are like twigs in the ground.
‘His nose with his tongue, to my part,
Sway’d the wind that blows it downward,
And, like a band, did manage to break the wind,
Which seemed to catch him by the neck and hang him from;
“Gainst my spirit, which hath power to control me,
Is to kiss the base of a tree,
Like unto a bough, whose bark would scratch if it were pricked;
Or to my sweet Venus’ hair, whose base leaves would scratch
If the sap be spread on it self:
O, the sap will stain thee with rain,
For thou art so beloved of many.
‘But that I may prove that thy sweet self art
A living flower, a living image,
And that thou shouldst in this still strive
To imitate the life that I left behind
Of this dead body with thee, dost thou then seek
To stain my life with more sweet things?
What beauty in thee that art so rotten,
And then thou livest as a dead deer,
When all nature is dead, and the living dead reigns.
‘”And now the morn the dove, for sorrow it will seem,
Hearing my woes, the mourning tears will follow,
Hearing my woes, the tears will stay:
Then shall my lamentations be like a dove:
Then shall my weeping tears be like a lion,
And all the world shall watch on me with a watchful eye.”
“Wretched being,” quoth he, “how often have I seen
How rare a thing is as grief to thee.
O, why couldst thou not say it was mine,
For what couldst thou say was mine in thee?
Or how couldst thou deny me that I am such a thing?
If you did, then my verse would prove so,
With a happy ending I will tell you soon.
My sweet friend, my love, my love’s heart and all
To the world is all that I care, I could say so.
What are you, that dost thou think to complain
That thou wast not so kind to my sweet wife,
That she was not with thee when she was slain?
What sorrow in thy deeds do I reckon,
But sorrow in thy trespass, or at thy trespass’s end?
In either’s deed thy heart’s desire finds
All manner of excuses, for one to make,
And each argument one with another,
Who is left wanting despite his argument’s length.
‘Now the wind is hot, and my torch is out,
That hath the wind blown in his direction,
To blow at me from afar, and not at me.
‘This, my dear friend, is a strange beast:
This beast, too cunning for fair, too quick for rash,
Doth follow a rider, like him in time,
Who obeys to stop the horse;
The rider obeys, and the rider obeys,
The rider obeys, and the rider obeys,
The rider obeys, and the rider obeys;
But when the other obeys, the rider obeys,
For he himself is mute and unprovident.
‘For here he meets a tall, lean-back being
Whose neck the lion would not stoop to;
He stops to bow, and that untied beast kneels;
Like a brave, strong, and armed pilot
He chides the wind, but his strong hand is unswerv’d.
‘And this voice that mine ear cannot hear,
What a fearful thing that


======== CHECKPOINT 039 OUTPUT # 002 ========

movie is to be obdurate, and that is why we say of things of that quality is the chief: for by him, like a proud lion, stands triumph; for thou dost hold the true eye to the thing that dost deceive: so, from the fair, in him the false eye hath no part, that his fair parts boast: so is it in him, that his fair parts complain:
So is this verse true, that in the bosom of Lucrece’ cheek lies Lucrece’ eye,
And where the eye of true Lucrece lies,
True truth must the love to leave her;
The love to leave her, that did kill her.
As for his part, it shall never be called love,
But as a general lie, that is, or should be,
Which to deceive, is the most vile and most abhorred crime.
‘Thus shall my lips receiv thy will,
And, lo, thy will will shall thence be corrupted with this decree,
And by that will th’ worst be the least affected;
My will is dead, thy will is alive;
And I shalt be buried in thy grave for ever.’
“And being told this, he stops his horse,
To put his hand upon the hound’s neck,
And hold it in place till he hear some more;
Then stop and think some more, and then straight stand,
To let the horse think; then straight stand,
So the hound takes the view,
Which is to my lips what my will is,
And what my will to thee remains,
That is to your will all but to my desire.”
When she had said these things, all at once she did sing,
‘Why, love, why, why then I say my love is dead,
When Love was the fairest jewel in Paradise,
And to that sweet jewel gave this lovely name,
Love’s image, and beauty’s form,
With thy worth in many things, in little things:
Which in one is better, another in many,
Whilst one art best in some, another in many;
The one best in the other, the other in many.
If any two are, and one art best,
The one best is best; the other best is best.
So the one being best, the other in many.
Then if one be all the world, the other in few,
And no world being all, the other in one,
Or one a few, the world being many,
Or many no, then you can not love me;
To me, for you were not a place,
To me you were all things, and nothing
Can hold you back, except me, whose breath
The world with his breath doth blot the air.
O how my body hath been divided,
For thy picture thine own worth doth appear.
O how his pride, which in thee doth grow,
Is like an abomination to thee,
to the world and to thy posterity.
‘How my heart hath been converted from a dove
To a dove, and all forsworn,
And from thee this fair world was sent;
And I to thee this fair heaven, for to thee
He shall have my name, and for my fame.
If in me my fame shall ever be called,
That in you I may live, and in you all your fame,
All mine, and all for you all my fame:
What shall I say about this poor beast that did give
The name of that name to my love,
And I to thee this to be called all-wise,
When in thy body thine was born, and in thy dame
Thine was all thy creation, and in thy dame
In thee I’ll be all that, and all that
That was in thee all that was not in thee,
When thou in thee art all my whole.
‘”I’ll go, sweet Lucrece, and tell my tale;
I’ll return, and then let the story tell;
I’ll read, and then read again;
I’ll die, and then die again;
The better part of me quiver with amazement,
While the lesser part writ with all her might.
‘Here, in a hollow grove, barren of plants,
Do you see how the poor beast that robs thee
Comes in and doth steal his load.
The poor lamb in the grave, having fed,
Sits sadly on the spot, panting as a man;
“Oh, oh, oh,” quoth she, “why hast thou no leisure
To hunt down the boar, and, by?
Or to carry the lark off, and, by?
Or to throw the coal-black from a hill


======== CHECKPOINT 039 OUTPUT # 003 ========

amins of this book, and many others.
‘This is an open book, that it might read,
And with your help might better be
Which to your advantage may your advantage,
Whilst I alone you alone are blind.
In vain look upon this book, and do no more
Look on me as if I had been
A mortal creature, with you were I made.
Even as a snail, with a plume
Sits where it belongs, yet not quite dead,
Or as a bat, it cannot know where it lies,
For bat do dart hither in the moist night,
Even so when in your living light
All your shadows in my living shadow doth grow,
As in your living sunshine doth live the sun.
‘But,’ quoth she, ‘now let me not say so
Since it is not my duty to say so,
I assure you I have my wit, and my memory,
That I am as true as they come,
And you are as thy father was when I was young.
‘That is,’ quoth she, ‘the worst abuse of my tongue
If ever your invention shall be able;
That your tongue, as the tongue of men,
Will ever be your mother tongue, and then be your father’s tongue,
And then will your language be my book,
And your music to your eyes shall be my music,
With my love your love your love your music to your eyes.
‘But now I wake, thou wilt wake, and I will not wake,
Because I am tied to a wall that cannot do thee good,
As thy lover is tied to a horse that can do thee well.
‘”When thou shalt see a man of your will,
Whose will, not your will, is right,
Let him ride as fast as thy heart will take;
And if he be slow, then speed, for thou art slow.
So do I with my will; and this will be,
When thou shalt see a man of my will,
Thine will is true, and mine is not;
But when thou shalt see a woman of my will,
Thou art so kind, and I hate not thee.
This, O, hath power, so force, so danger,
That nothing can restrain me from this fearful thought:
My thoughts, my heart, my blood, my bones,
But what is the force that keeps a man from his will?
Who in this body is thy will to restrain me?
What is the danger that thy will puts me in fear?
The sun that shines with his light
Or the phoenix that crosses the waterless morn
Can best his image when it doth shine in heaven;
If it doth not then it doth disgrace me so.
If that doth best, then my will is thine,
And nothing else doth but my will that make me fear
Those ineffable objects which my will cannot make,
That are not kept in perfection for their own sake.
The reason why I shun thee so,
The reason why thou forsake me so,
the reason why thou dost not seek me again,
For in the one, which in thee dost lie,
The other doth hold it in thy own disgrace.
‘O then, mine eyes do mine own repair,
The reason why thou forsake me so,
thy heart’s music to my ears beats more quickly:
Thy will, my will, thy heart’s music to thy heart beats faster:
The heart shall ever be my love, and in thee,
I’ll sing and dance, and in thee I’ll do things more.
‘My soul’s music to my heart beats faster,
Thy will, my will, thy heart’s music to my heart beats faster;
My will, my will, thy heart’s music to my heart beats faster.
‘For my love, my will, my heart’s will, my will, my will, my will,
My will be my muse; my will be my muse’s guide;
My will be my muse’ guide’s tongue; my will be my guide’s tongue’ tongue’ tongue’.
The lines and wrinkles of her face,
Making her wrinkles his mistress’ eye,
The deep raggedness of her lips’ edge,
The deep raggedness of her bottomless breasts’ edge,
And the deep raggedness of her chest’ edge,
So do the lines of wrinkles in his eyne,
And wrinkles in his cheek’s orchards’ orchards’
And wrinkles in his forehead’s cheek.
And wrinkles in his nose’s, orchards’ orchards’ bristly bristles,
And wrinkles in his cheek’s, cheek’s, bristly bristles,
The wrinkles in his face


======== CHECKPOINT 039 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Sung in the bud is made an ugly disgrace, and it is so with me;
That in my head a scarlet thread, the same,
As in a bloodless gulf, is flown away:
As if through a portal his thoughts should be,
The portal to hell is as smooth and as unlooked for,
With the portal all was black and gone.
‘I’ll tell, I’ll sing,’ quoth she;
‘Tell me not, but thou thy art the thief,’ quoth she;
“That thou art in possession of a soul,
To steal thy love from me, for I have thee:
But yet, when I behold thee, I am as thou in thee;
This is why thou wilt seek revenge,
For thou hast dishonoured my friend by so much:
‘Why dost thou make a pilgrimage to Rome,
Which from hence travels thy weary-witted son?
Thy face is like a cloud that falls on the ground;
For now it falls and thither’st no cloud for my bed;
So now it dwells on thee as a cloud doth dwell:
Since my bed is but a cloud, yet my bed
Upon that cloud is tempest; for here I lay
A dying and dying woman: ah, and here
A living and dying man. When thou wilt wilt,
I’ll let thee die of my lust;
Then dying of lust will kill thy self and make thee a man,
My sweet self and myself as objects in a dream.
‘For as I am weary, so is my love,
So is my love’s life in me,
Which to a dying man dies a living man’s part;
To a living man a living thing is beguiled.
And this I will list here a thousand ways,
Where love’s beauty lies within the flood;
If the earth’s salt, moist water prove,
The flood-god would not stop his flood,
To rid the world of this stain, that this may remain.
‘”Then thou hast stolen my heart, and my treasure,
In one swift motion, that from my breast
May overflow thy treasure and make a river:
Then thou have committed to my tomb a thief,
Which, like a dearer angel, stands gazing,
And in his shadow lies the thief that didst convert.
‘To curb my jealousy, I have this task:
To put to death the traitor in me:
To curb the good odour from the bad odour:
To put an end to all these annoyings:
Let the day’s woes of my youth
Be ended with a bath of love,
And let the summer’s sorrow drown the world in summer;
And let the summer’s joy drown the world in winter:
Let that world and all things earthly live in thine,
Then thine in eternal shame shall live as one.
‘And, lo, for thy fair self thou hast cast into the brook,
Which deep-wounded Tarquin the bane of a thousand fights;
The poison’d boar doth dally to the earth,
And death’s sharp claws and sharp teeth to the deep,
Which once so often did trot from the boar’s nest,
Whose foul jaws were sharp in their bites, and that their sharp teeth bore,
To kill or wound his prey; or else to give them no aid,
They would kill themselves or themselves, to show their poison.
This said, he strikes her, and she takes his hand,
Which, like a cross, it bears like a curse on his cheek.
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘do not abuse this,
For I have a wife, and thou wast my wife,
And I shall be thy guide and guide to thy doom.’
‘Then can I not be depraved by thy lewd abuse?’
She replies, ‘No, but thou shalt be depraved by my abuse.’
‘My love,’ quoth he,’since I know thy heart,
Thy love’s use, in use, in thy desire,
Is to entertain thee in that false respect,
Where, as a captive, thy worth is assailed,
And thence they do what they like, till they lose their wits,
The shame they feel, and their remorse;
Then it is thine own shame to blame what they do,
And the guilt of thine own sin in the guilt
is thine own guilt in the guilt’s imposition.
Here the old rhyme ends, this shows the beginning.
‘In this verse, a young man comes to his bed,
Like as those that have slept for want of rest,
But sometime a look on their youthful faces,
Doth note their silken faces, their silken hands,
Their


======== CHECKPOINT 039 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Uri at thy parts shall I no more be
Thy pure substance nor thy worth,
So shalt I have my pure love as thou art.
Now be of thee, and do not be of me.
For my sake thou shalt find me, and I shall live
Thy sweet love within me, and none within thee.
“The morning doth burn with my beauty; the night doth burn with my heaviness.
‘O, my sweet friend,’ quoth she, ‘how couldst thou bear
The death of my life if this mortal hate
Shall arise in my lifeless body the night so doth lie?
And for aught I do strive then
With my heart that which lives and to death so doth live:
For by the way there comes a boar to greet me;
She takes it from a nest in the grass,
And upon the bark lies a gazelle;
O, what dost thou mean when thou dost call me a creature?
O what a foul deed wouldst thou dost not kill;
For if it were murder’s seal, why shouldst thou be sealed?
So let my woes be eased with my love’s aid;
The world being full of woes, why shouldst thou be so kind?
O let my heart’s pleasure be the spring of my sorrow,
And my gentle breath the sweetest respiration;
Let thy tender spirit grow a second spirit,
And in thine sweet flower grow a third,
Which will then to thee shall be added thy due:
Thy worth, my worth all in one,
Tis all the better when we all have equal.
‘Poor morn, poor muse, you are gone!
Hang on, the horn stops and the boar stops;
O, your fair flower in the midst
Thrice with thee sits at a table;
Look how much greater beauty still doth dwell:
When you see them as they were, they were beauty’s parts,
And beauty did not dote upon them as their shape,
In spite of their beauty’s effect.
O pardon my grief, thou ne’er love’s decease,
O pardon my grief when thou art bereaved,
And forgive my grief when my life is spent:
The worst is that I am the least so disgraced,
When, all alone, all alone with my loss,
This makes one sad breath, one sour eye,
And one heavy heart to wail that my verse is forsaken.
But thou, that hath done me wrong, return the kiss.
“How can I?” quoth she, “if this thy heart should do me wrong?
‘If thou shouldst do so, my life will not end,
For it is not thy fault that so many are dead.
The world with itself doth make my being live,
For it is thy fault in it that so many die,
And so many live to love me with another.
When I in the ocean die, I live,
When in heaven I live I die.
And yet when thou wilt live, I in heaven die,
The earth being warmed with thy love’s fire,
The moon to the east and the stars to the west,
And all the ocean being warmed, so do I go
In search of thee, my love to thee.
For thy worth must I check the beauty of thy face,
And in this check must I be a god, a queen.
O be contented with my fame’s spoil,
If the world with fame’s spoil I do lose;
If that be the world’s world I do thrive,
My love to him is so much ado,
That he thinks it might well be called mine;
He thinks it makes him boast his fair name,
He thinks it makes him wear the garment of grace,
He thinks it makes him swear in his power
That we shall all live in immortality.
Love hath twenty proofs, but love’s twenty is none:
Thou lov’st no fault, and all thine is thine.
Thou lov’st no shame, and all thine is thine.
To this my verse with thy verse’s ending be added,
And thou mine, in the world’s fair end,
To be the world’s author of sorrow.
Love’s first discovery was the fire,
And when this fire it burned in darkness,
Laund’ring her eyes with the filth of it.
“Foul creatures in the air they burn,
So vapours seem’d to do the effect,
Th’ impression on their foul cheeks:
Foul men in the earth, foul worms in the sea.
My heart’s duty is to preach the love,
The loving heart’s duty is to preach the cure;
The loving heart’s


======== CHECKPOINT 040 OUTPUT # 001 ========

tools is an old-fashioned religion.
And yet still that the eyes of men with shining red have seen
The true beauty of thyself,
The eyes that with their glowing fire burn with his majesty,
That on his visage with all his might
Thou dost see what a happy state thou art.
If thou art forced to undertake this task,
In truth thou art contented to live by thy self,
The world’s best example to us shows thee so.
‘O thou youth of youth! what a shame to behold
That in thy late thirties in the market-place
A careless and wretched citizen
Doth this poor boy spend his time with such poor mothers,
That in the hope of some welfare they make him grow,
And then to that end in their eagerness gives him light;
So when he grows old, when poverty seems not so,
The proud and happy monarch will bid his guest well,
And, lo, happy monarchs do bid such good deeds well.
‘O love! ‘O truth, the love that thou hast concealed,
May in it be supposed that thou hast done some hurt;
And yet is it not the cause why thou hast done
so much injury to that dear jewel I keep.
What will I do then if thou wilt return
A kiss of such tender kindness? Will I be contented to die,
Or will I be contented to live a deathless life?
Or shall I be contented to live a deathless life?
Or shall I be contented to live a dying life,
Or shall I be contented to live a dying life,
Or shall I be contented to live a dying life,
Or shall I be contented to live a dying life,
Or shall I be contented to live a dying life?
Or shall I be contented to live a dying living life?
Or shall I be contented to live a dying living life?
Or shall I be contented to live a dying living life?
Or shall I be contented to live a dying living one?
Or shall I be contented to live a dying dying one?
Or shall I be contented to live a dying living one?
Or shall I be contented to live a dying living one?
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘this poor widow’s face
Is forlorn,’ quoth she, ‘and weepeth for Lucrece.’
‘”O, comfort, dear friend, how often do I hear
The mournful note that says ‘not long’
For Lucrece’ dear love’s sake shall be,
As soon as my heart’s content is sound’d,
I’ll drop her all and have no other excuse.’
When this, from the couch of Lucrece’ eye,
He begins a groan, as if she were asleep,
Whose pleading is the sound of birds’ ornaments.
‘Come in, and lay down on the ground; and I will make your bed,
For I did but groan at your poor ill-working tongue.
‘How many a thousand words of praise have I read,
So many essays, so many essays in my mind,
That I am astonished to find are gone,
To have you but as a mark of esteem still,
With that honour still with you I’ll dwell.
O what a pleasure it is to meet such a friend,
As you, I pray thee again, and all the treasure therein.
Thou art all mine, and I thy love,
I’ll be thy advocate, thy help in obtaining it,
And thou, my loving, shalt govern my destinies,
From thy lips all my errors to thy lips praise.
But for my love I do love thee so,
That they all love each other still more.
Thus were I reconciled with thy beauty,
The beauty still embracing thy parts,
When in truth I could no longer say so,
That beauty is all-perfect in all respects,
Even to the last, yet still to be forgotten,
What thou hast in thy soul was lost, and what remains,
Haply weeps, ’tis thee, this was thy best,
But what thou lost is still thine, thy best shall be.’
So for him, like a jade, Collatine lies,
Which forlornly his lips on her face do hurl;
He ducks and throws himself in a deep chute,
Whereon the violet sparks fly, whose course he parallels.
What folly to defy that which thou art afraid,
That which we think, in thee we seem.
Yet in me thou art like a king, a tyrant,
Who in his pride reigneth,
As if from thence he did not depart
In some gentle pilgrimage


======== CHECKPOINT 040 OUTPUT # 002 ========

outfield to the fair and sweet flower, and he takes his leave of her;
He is a man, and she a woman,
With him her majesty hath confined,
They kiss the base of their rank, and he, that in the ground,
Doth sit by the flower, and peep at the young,
And that beauty that peepeth in his visage?
He that loves her, he doth kiss her;
She a woman hath his eye, and she his mouth;
She his lips, his lips his lips, his lips her lips;
Both possess a full faculty, and their parts are kind,
Like unto a pair of thong which doth live,
But when the garment which they wear is torn,
they will not kiss the same.
The thing is thy dear mistress’ fault,
For in me your love so well is thy love’s foundation;
Myself thy dear love’s love, thy love’s love, thy love’s love,
Then my love was the sun that set in Paradise
And you were my true love, thy true love’s love,
As you are now, I love you now to some extent,
And now to a greater part, with your constant love.
So from this true love, the mind surfeits,
As your false Muse’s eyes, that do not know what
You mean when they see what you mean;
They will look at nothing but their own amazement.
‘”Then why shouldst thou be the son of such a father,
With thy kind kindness given to mine eye
Threw forth thy power, and by it grew mighty,
And brought my love to thy aid, even so,
His power by force was but feeble,
And to my love was no power more;
And in spite of all that he did win,
The old love he did possess lost his power,
And I to him my love, as all men to thee,
Wished him with all my love would live, even so,
That his strength might not lose but by my love’s death.
‘”Therefore in the night I’ll make the sick-bedir’d vow
That tomorrow thou hast no excuse to hide,
For thou in me shall seem to be the prey,
And to this sad vulture be thine eye,
Saw this dreadful night I with my tongue did kill;
That night was as bad a time as I had thought it spent.
‘I love thee in the best sense, and yet no feeling,
Can persuade me thou shouldst forsake me,
To go and make thee my friend again, or make me thy foe:
For love hath no right to lie dead, and death no right.
To kill thee I’ll do; and lo I never kill thee again.’
She clears her eyes, and turns her pale face pale,
As if on some fright, or other, or for fear,
As if from some fearful dread she should feel,
The pale-fac’d Lucrece comes back with some speed,
And in a quick haste comes in sight of his foes,
The heralds of war and peace stand and watch,
Where men have slain and made them look ashy.
O thou that hast so forsook me,
The day was past good enough to make me ill,
So must thou now be in hope of another’s death.
But if ever my hope in thee was short,
And ever I lived as a present-abstraction flower,
That thou wouldst still be living, still in me still
Thy shadow doth live on, and on that thou lov’st me.
That is to say, thou lov’st me in spite of loss.
I think thee well, though all my thoughts are mad;
Yet thou lov’st me not in spite of my death:
And though all my love doth live in thee,
Thy love is but a shadow of my true love;
And yet my love’s worth as well as thy love’s worth,
And mine own worth as well as thy own worth,
Whilst thy own worth thy self doth live,
Himself thy own worth doth live, but mine own worth doth live.
‘Then what is thy fair name? How many beauties are there,
Or what kind of name are you? I cannot tell,
I have not been taught much about beauty,
But I have seen plenty of examples of it,
Thou art so pretty, even in a fair city.”
“Ay, dear friend,” quoth she, “this poor dame hath
a knife, that will strike at thee in three or four hits;
And as it strikes, thou wilt catch my eye;
It is hard for me to breathe; but when I look, I see thee breath


======== CHECKPOINT 040 OUTPUT # 003 ========

HIM in a jade-green sheen:
Whose bareness so lends grace a hue,
Which seems white to the eyes that use it.
What may I say, dear boy, that you have seen this face,
In a jade-green sheen weeps at your passing?
But let me say more, since my love you are newer,
When beauty (not youth) shall be your guide,
Whose pale complexion will not wail your worthless deeds,
For that which you have in store in me is thine?
Or is it love, which seeks thee with scorn,
To make you smile, and then you can frown?
Love looks for love; lust for lust; and hate for hate:
What should my love have made then, but now the sun hath stood,
And from the clouded heaven doth fly,
That through the cloudy heaven doth dwell.
And from her flame-black bed lies a babe,
As she slept for his sake on the ground,
To give her some good cheer and see her again:
If you want to know the reason of love’s spring,
Look here at the little angel that was
With thee when thou came to the gate, where thou didst stay,
And there you sat listening, listening to me tell,
Thy true self thee that art (though thou appear)
Hath sworn a greater crime than thou slew’st.
But how many more lies false than thou wilt wilt find,
With every stain that thy life can show.
So do I in this dire hour:—
‘”My poor boy, what are you afraid?
Why dost thou look on my helpless face?
My poor boy, where dost thou hide?
Where are you to find me when I am so much better?
‘”Look where you are now, and if it grow
That will make your heart flatter with your tears;
Let there be no excuse in vain:
‘Tis said there are three Lucrece that live,
If thou dost say so, there is no excuse in grief:
Then how could I not weep for thee?
That was thy good night, and my last:
The painter did bring back the dead painter,
That he may be remembered as ‘twain.’
‘”But that painter, in that dead creature
With whose visage all the world’s fair plants were put,
Hath buried their sepulchres in mud and tears,
His shadow was so well imprinted in my face
That I did scratch him, and said ‘Tell me, how many times
do I look in those sad windows again?’
And in those windows did I see the roses and the rose,
The stars would not touch them, but their light
Show’d them in some dim blot upon their pale cheeks.
For shame we all must live under a sun,
Where all evil reigns in vain.
“So many others see the lion, that none knew well
But the one with whom he runs, that none cares,
For fear of being spotted nor his lusty tail.
Thou hast done me wrong; yet I cannot think of thee again,
For when I am come back I must begin again:
Now I know thee better, but the shame will live in me.
Love can change nothing, and yet thou art in such a state,
Thou cannot change thy mind, I love thee so much more than I hate.
When thou return I’ll be ready to kiss thee,
And then I’ll kiss thee, and kiss thee till thou wilt say ‘Love me’
If thou wilt, then love cannot change thy mind.
Let me tell you, sometime before this,
When thou grow’st I’ll wail my discontent,
And when thou wilt I’ll be mute and weep for thee.
Let me tell you, sometime before this,
My old friend in the brook beside you,
With his old habitude and skill, came to stand
With him by a sweet stream that flowed to the river;
And in him had stood some proud herd, their hair tied,
Dressed in costly cloaks and of white;
For in their place stood their silver statues
As if from some unknown place in the sky;
If their stars did thence follow their course,
Their silver rings would seem to enclose
The world with their silver web, each part
Which in the round globe, on either side
Shows their destinies from thence to come,
Whereon their lives they might be measured
And be reckoned by your heavenly wills.
“My grief shall not leave you still,
Nor my sorrow may still detain me in thy breast,
Nor thy suffering eye still remain so dumb.
Even as thou dost


======== CHECKPOINT 040 OUTPUT # 004 ========

REC.
THE eye hath done him wrong;
But when she hath done him no wrong,
What’s the matter? he thinks it is her fault;
His heart doth wrong, and she forswore it.
And why did she not, thou wilt know,
That in his heart a proud bragg came,
And took him for his mistress’ sake?
If so, why then she is a coward;
When in his pride she hath done him disgrace?
If not, then she is the fairest,
For he is a proud lord, the dame a fickle groom;
Her self-love is in him all beauty;
He himself is master, mistress and all his self;
Her self, and that in him all difference
Of all, is his self in every respect:
The painter is not the master of what he is painted.
That which he in himself may do make use
Of every thing else, to his advantage,
Or give what is best to the worst, or best to each.
For he himself cannot do all things well,
But in the workmanship of his art,
When all is done he doth well do most of his part;
Yet still all that he himself is contending
And all the other parts do lend the parts good,
That his self, like an arch-doting nun,
Writeth all that his heart doth owe him,
And all his self to this end agrees.
‘Then why hast thou not begun to use the book,
Of rhetoric to your advantage,
And read well the works of those beauties that are
Made in thy image? what dost thou make use of it?
O what is thy duty in thy image?
Or else tell me, when thou shalt write what I say,
Which one I like best? which one am I least?
‘Why’r thou that which I have writ,
Wherein I was once a lover and fond
Of new-fallen-melting love? why should I still say
Love’s breath breath breatheth moisture in stale air?
For thou art both breath and fire, and cold fire and cold fire!
‘But, what is this, gentle man,
But with my tongue canst thou translate
The following words of praise to my ear:
My heart, thou that art my guide,
To guide this great wind that winds my way,
To push the clouds which are above me,
to make mine own will more gentle,
To make thy self thy guide, and to make it stronger:
My tongue therefore hath many a lease,
And never so much as hath taught me the way;
And then I have read in the bower a book,
That many a sweet verse I in the bower sing,
Which, if you would read it, would tell the story.
‘That your self I may say is the best of me,
But I know that thou art nothing else than me.’
If thou prove this false, what is the matter,
For thy self I will be thy mistress,
And mine own self I will be thy slave?
O, if thy self be such a deceiver,
The thing which thy self should be,
Thy self art thy self, and therefore no other,
For me thy self is my mistress and slave.
Then from me thou canst not draw away,
If thou shouldst waken this self in me.
The hour is nigh, where thy self I once stood
The vulture stole thee, and thou hast brought me all to grief.
“That thou mayst bequeath me to this night’s rest,
By granting me the right, so long as thou abide,
And me to this night will live as I have been,
If life in me is such a turning,
That thou shouldst live and live again in me.”
So says he, and so she on he goes.
At this her lips change colour, and on her cheek
Piercing the wound, the wound is sore.
“My wound,” quoth she, “it shall heal,
And from thence it may then be re-grafted
Like a virtuous physician’s hand,
Which cures infection, like a saint’s patient.
“My wound,” quoth she, “it shall cure,
And from thence it may then be re-grafted
Like a virtuous physician’s hand,
Which cures infection, like a saint’s patient.
“My wound,” quoth she, “it shall cure,
And from thence it may then be re-grafted
Like a virtuous physician’s hand,
Which cures infection, like a saint’s patient.
“My wound,” quoth she, “it shall cure,
And from thence it may then be re-g


======== CHECKPOINT 040 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ISM in me,
And as their beauty doth their worth,
So do their faults remain as I do their worth.
‘In thee,’ quoth he, ‘I do live,
And thou hast made me to live by thy side.’
This said, her eyes began to move,
Touches of all shapes, sizes and lengths were seen
Like twisted needle-work in the dark,
To show the dire wolf that lives by deceiving day:
Then would the birds at their leisure sing and tune;
‘Tis well bred for sport; yet that tongue doth sing,
Who can boast of that praise so?
O heartless wretch! the world cannot hold thee in esteem,
Nor is it in thy will that thy will be
To remove me from that which I have sworn of thee.
And that will be thy will, when thou shalt be free,
Thou shalt be his slave, as he that art with thee,
For with thy love thy servile hand it doth hold him prisoner,
Even in the sweetest hand of love’s love,
I fear’d his will would extend with him still longer,
Since, like a fearful bat, he shall never be free,
Even to a barren womb can he breed another.
When thou wilt, O thou pure-minded wretch,
Be with me, I will be thy guide;
Thy office, thy heart, thy heart’s content;
Thy will, and thy love’s will, are one,
And all the other are two; let it not be,
That thou art in me all that befits me no more:
And if that be true, then let it not be so;
For nothing is love that can repel thee;
A thousand faults do atone the other’s name;
Love was a thing of thine own, and that was
Not made for ornament, nor made it to scorn.
Love’s light never dimmed with darkness;
Love’s brow was brow black and brow brown,
Love’s face was brow black and brow red,
Love was a flower, but it was not of that hue
It should be called Desire, since in it
There was both truth and falsehood:
It should have been Desire, and beauty would not approve,
Lest that said love should bear it wrongfully.
‘Well, my dear friend, you may confess
That I am wretched and do wrong me,
The worse for your welfare is I to blame,
Whereupon with my negligence you are to suffer.
In thee, all these faults will attend,
Each to itself did prepare the grave.
But if he should do thee wrong, thou wilt help me to mend,
Till I myself do him disgrace by my deeds:
Till then thou wilt do me honour, for which thou wilt lend me;
And when thou wilt, my hope of victory,
Will not be shaken; but thou shalt not let it slip:
For all that praise thou hast spent, my wonted will,
Gives me peace, and makes me forget this doom,
As I do thy self doth forsake me.
Thy love, to you, as dear friend, to all that hate,
Thy love gives me joy, and that is to hate me still.
To me thou gav’st my life, and to my friends no more;
To them thou gav’st mine, and they thee wast left.
“But when thou wilt, as a weakling,
Divert all ranks of me from thy sight,
And every part that touches thee I fear,
Against thee thou, I beseech thee this day.
“O, hear me out, for I can see thee well,
And know thee well, but with that blind spot I cannot see.
If there be eyes in me that are kind,
To pity me if thou wilt, I think I must die,
Even where thou art buried in thine eyes.
‘But what if thou dost not see me,
Then are you dead and in me living,
To make me hear thee again when I am alive.
If you are dead, and I in thee living,
Then for ever, and ever, I will be alive,
And die for you, and die for you not.”
So goes the story of her death, as it were told
By Lucrece’ eyes, still with death’s death,
As she still with life’s life, still with death’s death.
‘For thou wilt kill me,’ quoth she, ‘I have no desire to kill thee;
Nor am I bound to kill thee in any way,
Unless thou kill me sometime at least.
‘Look at these black clouds that hang on the west,


======== CHECKPOINT 041 OUTPUT # 001 ========

wines’ true nature was not, nor could ever be,
That she might in the worst-favour’d form find,
The gentle kiss of love’s loving hand.
‘Tis thine, O Love, thy soul’s due;
But if thou, like a dearer slave,
May, like an unapproved wretch, forfeit
To such a greater disgrace.
Thus ends his troubled hour, and to-morrow he doth survey:
In this he spies the fair, which like a shining brook,
Pursues the nightly pilgrimage of his eyes,
Where sun and moon dote each other’s ill.
‘But be this brief, I wish I could say more
When I shall have seen such a sight in the sky.
What a spectacle it must be,
For there it sits, as a monument of light,
And all the world at once seen, in white,
As if from some unseen eye some wonder did draw
That all these powers should think it odd.
‘But that no ill or crime should ever creep,
So far are they from all my thoughts and spirits,
that in the heavens I am thought to lie,
But where I love, the earth is thine own,
And in thine own thoughts I do change my mind.
O, that fair and holy spring which thy hand doth cover,
Where life’s bounteous harvest doth store,
That life’s fair flowers yield and where life’s rarest
Gives a sweet semblance of beauty to thy brow,
Yet beauty’s fair flower is dimm’d with decay,
Which makes the shadow blunter and blazer,
As thou the flower’s self being dimmed doth appear.
As thou their fair sun doth make the moon red,
So shall I in the spring, where I love thee best,
And in thy fair spring doth spring thy colour.
‘Tis lawful to hunt for trophies,
That in thy fair store the harvest may be bought,
Wherein they may live, and where they may die;
But it is my duty to let them live where they please;
They that live, I want none, mine alone to kill.
So then he (being coy, and unwilling to slay)
As much as he takes, thou dost give thee,
As much as thy worth doth command thee;
And as much as a beggar doth beguileth thee,
thou ‘gins the day with all haste,
And dost do it with haste to-morrow;
When thou dost start the day with tedious sighs,
Who, mad, dare not wake the day,
And not let that night be thy welcome.
The wind sighs at thine eyes,
Which is so much ado about nothing,
That her heart’s drum beats with a beating,
Which like a dying bell makes a loud cheer:
The sad voice thus quoth she,
“Ah, this verse should I not translate,
If ever I could do it in one word,
Which I would gladly translate,
Where one might write a short hymn to thee.”
‘Now she sits, with tears still in her eyes,
Sorrow still in her eyes, sorrow still in her eyes;
Like the two she now looks upon,
Which she now admires more hotly,
And yet for the same reason doth frown more;
“Now this is to your good pleasure,
I will not deprive you of mine;
You were not to me beguiled,
The thing was yours and I did for you.
Thus she looks upon the night, and by, as the stars do,
They rise up, and in her hearing palmers fly;
Her lips do tremble, her eyes do shake;
The airy green leaves that cover her face,
Are in every part clouded up in rain.
And when the skies seem filled with night-beholding,
And every where with a giddy eye,
Or with a heavy heart’s eye,
Showing endless batt’ry from the sky,
And all with this mighty load of doom,
The poet quoth:—’And now my verse needs some correction
And correction of my love,
To be true of this vile device.
“Poor soul,” quoth she, “how long have I not slept,
And begun my verse thus:—”The earth’s rich soil doth feed
The cattle’ herds, the vine’n groves, the meadows’ fields,
The fisher’s rushes, the brook’s roaring:
In these three seasons of winter,
O dry summer, why doth this winter still
Such barrenness and barrenness
Of all things earthly and of things heavenly?
O mild-mannered wife, what love can hold still


======== CHECKPOINT 041 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Nob-suborned,
Ornaments in gold, precious stones, ornaments
In antique brass, precious gems, ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments,
Ornaments in stone, precious stones, ornaments.
‘O let not my tears be the parching tide
Of winter’s long-weeping weather,
Nor be my love’s tears the spoil of spring’s golden spring,
Nor his groans, nor his tears the burning of summer’s burning,
Nor his sad groans the loud beating of winter’s growing,
Nor his deep-pounding sorrow with his tears yieldeth;
But let them not to drown the ocean,
Nor live but in shallow graves,
Or else in sepulchres of graves where none,
May be found such a sepulchre in me,
As shallow graves of dead men’s graves lie,
Where graves themselves themselves must have their date,
For in those graves lies death, and beauty lies,
And beauty’s date is death’s date,
For beauty’s date is beauty’s date,
And beauty’s date is death’s date,
And that is what is to come;
So, o’er the heartless world, that you boast,
Thy proud boast shall still be thy boast,
As the sun to a shining star,
And all that is in thy face thy glory boast,
And thou shalt see all my lines in the ground,
But never the stars that set in my sight.
Let th’ imagination deceive, let th’ imagination make sense
And to my thoughts so false my thought doth appear,
To make me wail my doom by thy will:
Now that my eyes are open wide, so that no one may see
My thoughts to myself, and yet no one sees
My thoughts to my self, yet no one loves me:
This in me is thine own doom;
But thy words, in my words, I hold to be high,
Which thou lov’st my self, though thou lov’st thyself no more.
‘”If he had spied my complexion, and in it
A pair of fairy horns that had not wiry bristles,
Ornaments full of gold ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments,
Ornaments in ivory, precious stones, ornaments.
“Since thou art dead, I will not kill thee,
But thou must be found to rob thy soul of thy will.”
‘Gainst me not thy self a living image,
But let me live in thee as thy self doth live,
Let thy dead self live not in thy living being,
And let my dead self live in thee as thy living being,
And let thy living self die in thee as thy living being.
O how thy death shall our dying day behold!
When, wistly amaz’d by thy untimely haste,
Weeps at the earth with sad eyes, at the sky with light,
Sad ears to hear the proud countenance
of one rarest of all creatures;
Who in her ecstasy doth entertain
The proud queen of the proud monarch
Who on a golden throne,
As white and shining as heaven’s sun,
To greet the prince whose image doth stand
Into the wide-angle sky, where they will stay,
So sweetly she chides his foes.
‘To win her heart, I’ll kiss her neck,
And I’ll kiss her cheeks; so she will not love,
If my lips do woo her heart; if her heart woo’st,
If her heart is slain, she doth lose her tongue.
‘Thou wilt see how the wretch that so doth lie,
Shall stand in the way of the wretch that hath sought thee,
But thou shalt see thy self thy self do dissemble,
And die, thou wilt be gone in a moment.
If that then thou shouldst desire,
I will not forsake thee, nor forsake thee;
Though thou livest and I die and never be gone,
Nor live again till I am dead,
When I am, thou shalt live and never be gone.
So, if that be true,
Thy self be the wretch that lives to see thee,
And thou the wretch that lives and dies


======== CHECKPOINT 041 OUTPUT # 003 ========

settings, that are my bones and marrow, my lips and tongue;
That are my marrow, my liver, my bone, my breast,
My liver, my brain, my brain’s heart.
To thee, I say, I am thy friend,
And thou thy neighbour, and thou thy friend’s slave:
Thy face doth thy heart a sight,
And by my heart’s sweet concord doth troth,
The whole body chid’st to meet this doom.
But now her voice is gone, and she hath gone;
And thou, the thing to blame, I the fault of thy time,
My guilty breath to breathe anew,
And my guilty breath to swallow up any guilt,
When I am truly guilty of the fault that thou dost make,
Let my guilty breath hold the breath of all thy rest,
And I thee as the day were wont to blush,
That thou thy self, with thee, thy good name
Shall rise in the clouds, and march not to thine eyes,
Where gluttony may boast on thy state.
For that thou art so kind, I beseech thee:
As my self to thee, I wish I had such a thing,
And such a goodly self as I am now,
To give to those poor with me thy living:
Yet in the abundance that thou hast left,
If thine be such a spoil, how canst thou get rid,
If thou give up thy self in love?
‘For love,’ quoth she, ‘love is death,
and life is death’s punishment,
And beauty’s fair death be praised if it be fresh.
Thy beauty’s fair death’s rein will not renew her
In a fresh replication of thy state.
‘”Let us therefore be reconciled to one another,
If in our grief there is such a thing as disdain,
That it shall never vex the eye to see,
Nor shall our bitterness exceed our offence.
The reason why we should hate each other is,
Though some part of us say so,
That we would kill each other’s spirits;
So might we slay one another’s fancies,
And never cease one to talk of murders.
O my friend, if those eyes of mine that read,
Have eyes like those of those fair beauties that live here,
Or, if those eyes, like those fair eyes, love’s fair state,
Then thy fair self must have eyes like those fair eyes,
If such eyes thou art, mine is thine.
Love and pity seem to one another equal,
When each by their equal part doth give,
But, being neither, neither shall have either’s eyes;
Yet for each’s true eye there appears
an equal part of shame, and much grief:
Her name, though unknown to all,
Sorrow to him is not so much esteemed,
She so called, that she did manage
To keep the place she’d hold in so much disdain.
“And be not so fond of him, I have seen,
That you are kind-hearted and kind-deaf,
And though our tongues be as dumb as stone,
you with my verse can read in my verse,
Which, like a scroll, you will open and close.
When I am dead, when my verse was no more,
Where was my spirit when you made me immortal,
Or when you redolent me to the fire,
Or why the sun that set on this earth befriends
The dead earth from heaven again,
Nor leave your heavenly name in your sonor’s name.
But my love, my love’s true name, should your name be,
The one, that shows how true your love was.
Now that the summer’s end is past,
Let me count the days from now till then,
And let the days lengthen the length of my life,
To give you more leisure to begin again,
Since I will spend this time here in my bed.
But I will not spend you till your will is done.
Thy fault I have not yet made am excuse;
Thy fault will take thy self to a faraway shore,
And then I’ll be gone, and thou must stay.
Thy spirit I do shake, it shall shake no more.
The earth may be full of worms, yet mine eye
Pleads on the sky, and on the ground,
Which through the web she guides obeys.
But my heart, my heart shall not win in that which it contains,
For if that be true, what shall I say?
O then say thy self, thy heart’s sweetest heart,
Tells thy heart’s content to wander aside,
Which shall leave nothing but that which is found
That lends thee truth, beauty,


======== CHECKPOINT 041 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Awakening in an age of darkness, where the weak sleep of reason did dwell.
‘Look how she walks, and yet she no shape can hold her hand
With such a slight pace, as when she enters a park,
With such gentle pace, yet no shape can catch her hand,
But woe to me when I ride along, if I die,
When life-force, by nature’s command, is in excess,
And so much more is in my strength, than in thy face.
Whence are we not all that in spite of one,
Each son, or every daughter, or any of us,
All for one thing have we done, or been done to deserve;
As when I, as his name by mine own name
Sets out upon the ocean’s current,
The ocean’s current with his current takes his place,
And all the rest rest takes his place,
Like a heavy-slaughter’d boat, in the water,
And now this heavy boat doth he proceed,
To make him return again, and so return
To kill his breath by a harder blow:
For no man’s breath can remove a heavy blow,
though water be heavy, yet it seems
Heavy indeed to me now, as when I was light,
As when the sun goes down in a cloud.
O, that thy light so pure doth my body doth boast!
that thou dost breathe in the form of man,
To show thy self on thine own terms,
Which thou dost not yet possess, despite of me,
If it prove true, thou art all-wise right.
O pardon me then, how rare then thou wast when I was young,
A thousand times more rare now than when thou wast old!
Thine eye the better seeing better,
For this better being, mine being thy good,
Thine eye the worse losing the better gaining.
So am I, now all those that do the duty
Of serving thee, in my power do forsake me,
To stay my headlong quest of revenge.
For though thou thy name be buried in thine own pride,
yet I never saw thee shine a whit in thy face;
And yet thou in thy deeds didst stand in need
And by thy deeds I should esteem thee:
And therefore did I love thy face even when thou wast dead.
What shame dost thou make of me now that I see thee so green,
For life’s golden age thou so coldly disdain’st?
Or of this beauty thy beauty is like this:
If life’s golden age were but like thee,
How could thine beauty live that age so cold?
To me thou art but the same,
If beauty’s colour doth stain the same,
My heart with thy colour doth stain all, my soul doth forsake me,
Yet thou art my love, and I his love.
To be blunt, and thus blunt in my words,
For to me, the knife is bluntness’s dullest knife.
‘”For there lies the sweet jewel in thy hand,
That hath not yet been scythed, and yet no scythed,
Canst thou still live the flower? or else
That thy living flower to thy self will be?
The one, though alive, still thy self shall die.
O how many a flower hath her in thy hand,
And yet no flower in thine is living,
Which by thy own hand, and in thy deed
canst not be thy flower?
Who, that thy beauty in thy self liveth,
What self canst not make thy self love?
Whose body no form hath of his acture doth give
Thy self thy image doth hide, thy life doth give,
thy beauty doth hide, thy life doth give;
So, thou art all these, and all these doth live
As one, and all these in one.
thou art all this, and all these in one.
“Why art thou all these, and all these in one?
Because thou art all these, and all these in one.
What is this, that thou mayst speak,
But to my verse, whose true form thou wilt take.
What dost thou make of this false cipher,
That hath not already been done?
Who was it not with much ceremony
That gave the herald the green?
And what good had it to gain her that time,
Whose name was not yet born to praise?
Why should men’s eyes open when their pen doth begin?
But he that is rich in thine, so doth he steal,
Wherein the eyes of men are made blind.
This boast, which she makes of him,
His denial is his own reason


======== CHECKPOINT 041 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Measure on my poor face,
My joints were broken in a knot;
But as her lover she did not mend,
She did fix a sharp knife to pry;
Then in a trembling motion, her eyes, now dark,
Are in a frenzy, like madmen plunging;
She, mad, strikes him with her hand, and so
Her other hand she holds fast to his neck.
So, lo, he doth hear her complain,
Lest she should break his will, and be set free.
This said, Collatine did give his eye
A desperate look, and presently she
Charged the knife with great danger,
And made him her main pursuit.
‘For this purpose will I kill this poor man,
If I will, and yet thou shalt not slay me.’
“Die,” quoth she, “if thou shalt, and yet he will not catch me.”
“O yes,” quoth she, “I was deceived;
By this my spirit did betray me;
When I met your fair Adonis,
O yes,” quoth she, “you were a son,
And a true son is to a true father a son,
I’ll bear thy image in vain, though thou make me proud.”
And from her bed, whereupon she lay
A glass of clean crystal water,
That she as the sun still might see.
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘do not believe in witchcraft;
A kind of enchantress’ fair, well-built, and modest face,
That doth smile and bear the picture;
Who, as she prepares to appear,
Looks on with surprise the eyes that doth behold her;
And to the eyes of men she gazeth,
And frowns upon the unseen,
And puts on the false pride that so thrives on fear.
And thus ’tis done, and Adonis
Is forced to make his plea;
And the maiden fair that by his hand he doth cherish,
Doth in her hand his love-sick habitation,
That he by turns ravish’d, or else give him relief.
‘Then would I have died if I had lived,
I suspecting the night would have given thee this,
So thou shalt die alone.
‘Thus far, my love I have given nothing but ill;
This I’ll forbear from again, till the better dispensation
May make better use of your time.
To whom do I not appeal when I go,
That you have a greater store of time
In which to rehearse me than I in you?
My love is true; to your sweet love I am afraid.
The more I think about it, the less I love you,
For in the thing it is, I find the defect
A little of love lost is almost lost,
Or lost all, but more for that which we see:
Thine eye hath his fixed place and view,
The heart’s fixed place and view,
and every little wound which might conduce
To help thee in his cure will remain
An injury of your death, even to death’s end:
‘O well I, if not to you, then at least
To do thy wonted will I do to make thee more:
But now I have all for thy will done.
O no, that I may have been of your will,
And for my sake did not do it for fear,
That you might so advantage your will.
‘If thou wilt, thou wilt fulfill all my will,
Thou art my friend, my god, and will bear thee
To every blessed date, to every holy hour:
Since from thee dost thou this day’s work come,
thou wilt live, I have no duty to kill,
That you should live by my example,
In other respects am I better qualified.
This said, his hand came in a fist,
Whose hollow body it met with th’ outcry.
Now she was deified of his power,
The thing he had in mind, the thing he sought,
And in his desire doth convert it into force,
To give his will full power, and make the deed stay.
She looks, and the place where she sat is white,
And as it were a place where her eyes had rest,
Her cheek being filled with that which it cover’d,
Her brow being full of that which now she shows.
‘This sight, that thou dost behold, in thy heart
Shall wittily thy heart be misled:
Thy eye in thee, all things else else controll’d
Are dreams, made for shadows.
‘And this wondrous spectacle thou dost behold,
Which every one above thy prime will bear witness,
Thy self to


======== CHECKPOINT 042 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Rebellon’d, not for thyself.
But thou hast, like a dying god, been wrought a king:
He hath been but a living god;
Then was he thy father’s slave, that thou mayst bear him,
Whom thou dost destroy, as thou dost destroy me,
From me thou wast a son born of worth,
And that thou mayst live on, still dost kill me,
From me thou wast a son born a dame,
And that thou mayst live on, still dost kill me,
From me thou wast a son born a dame,
And that thou mayst live on still doth kill me.
But if thou survive in this, this is thy death;
For if thou survive in it thou wast made for,
And not to recreate, so is thy life.
“O father! pity the fool,
By whose sinful thoughts my love doth confound!
O shameful heart! O proud pride! O false heart!
O false thief! Let him be freed now,
Let him be freed soon after;
For his crime he hath committed, but his guilt still remains,
His honour is not worth the loss,
So why should I then forfeit the thing I covet,
For what I think I have deserved?
So are you. Collatine, I do not know
All this, nor all my good in you lies,
The thing that you, in me, make me grow,
For me you make me better. Collatine,
For Collatine, I am Collatine,
And Collatinus is Collatinus’.
And that Collatinus hath done this to me,
And in me, he hath done all this,
that all men might believe Collatinus.
‘Thus in a certain place did Tarquin appear,
Hiding the wound from which she fell,
Towards whom he was wont to rest his strong arms;
For the boy, seeing his wound, would at once bow,
For he was not the thing he sought but the fee.
‘So did Adonis slay Tarquin, and he to thee,
When in the midst of them both Adon slew,
And in the name of both worlds confounded,
So did Adonis betray the two truce’d lords,
And then the prince to Tarquin slew
At last, ‘twixt their hands he was tied:
Her maiden name was Adonis’ and her mother’s name,
Her maiden blood a queen’s shade confounded,
To keep all things private, and therefore not public:
For that name in the watery blood
Which by that name she bore confounds
And kills all good women and all creatures good.
‘”O, what a sight that endures when once struck,
It seems to me a spirit to fly from a tree,
And in the air where it lands it doth flit;
Such vapours, resembling heavenly vapours,
Are apt to burn immodest buildings and make them more shaded.
If that be the case, this fire, which is burning,
May in my body thence be purified,
And my body in it be purified again.”
He that doth flatter himself that he doth flatter,
Yet ’tis his poor self that doth boast of it,
Till he on his self boast so, to gain what he cannot get,
The rich steal his treasure, the poor he lends;
For then their lords in debt do lend him,
Which he doth dismount in his haste,
Like those that would break from their boundless arms.
Let him, not in haste to the bottom,
That he may not wade nor sink before he takes,
Nor live by delays so long,
as his own might prove.
When he hath so surfeit, all enmity breaks,
And thus Collatine, Collatine of thine,
Against his will doth he dare not speak,
But when his will doth speak, he shakes his head,
And neighs upon his foe, and loathsome stories fly,
That with his foul tongue their enemies may well know.
When Collatinus, Adon, Tarquin, and the rest,
Have defeated their own armies, their state is made plain,
their foes their enemies themselves betray.
Thus Collatinus, Adonis, Tarquin, and the rest,
As Romans when they conquer, make the war,
And then themselves themselves themselves themselves betray,
This conquest is the more grievous.
To have her in war with him thus, is treason,
‘Tis, she’s my love’s husband, and he my wife,
That my love loves not her when he’s not with me,


======== CHECKPOINT 042 OUTPUT # 002 ========

fright of them will make them forget him.
‘O, what a dame of hers I have been!
As queen of Rome, or mistress of any,
My dear Lucrece must have wished me dead,
To be buried in thy tomb alive.
‘How can such a fool deny that he loved me,
As if in my tears thou dost then weep,
To say he loved me in the least?
Or else that he never saw me?
What gives him pleasure that he so doth boast,
To say he did not even think of me when he looks?
But as the gouty pines he now doth pine,
So do we pine, and pine for ever,
If in thy thought thou dost resort to my song,
Or if thine to speak of me so,
The sun will not scorn thee, nor pine at thy verse;
All praise be to thine own self that doth live,
Even where thou livest, not where thou livest:
I should therefore write thee the night before.
When thy love hath writ in my heart,
And in my soul hath writ in thine,
Thy love shall live in my heart, and in thine,
Thy body, and thine in thine, shall survive thee.
‘So then is he forced to leave his lord,
To make him wait with more eager eyes;
And therefore the gaudy groom, as he prepares to lean,
Shows not hospitality, but oaths that he will take,
To woo his captive still farther away.
When all these batt’ring gates are but for one,
And all these with no breach of trust
Will open to every eye that can see,
Which eye which loves this most, that beholds,
Will look, and say Amen, and straight
To each and every part of him, wherein he dwells:
At the doors which open are like windows;
The one to open will not yet see him;
The other will not yet see him.
‘Thou wrong’st us, ’twas not the time,
It was a precedent to his course;
The other’st a precedent to his ending.
‘So, in the heart of thine own will,
In what thoughts and wills hath life sprung,
Who by thy deed through death shouldst live?
In whom in thy will’s wake art thou to dwell?
What is thy soul’s will and purpose,
That ever by thy will or will’s end canst thou stay?
This question is the hardest to answer,
For every one by a single wish,
can the cipher still hold out some light;
Till his cipher will say he loves thee, and yet
He says no, he is a coward and he will not stay;
He would not betray him with words, but would wail him dead.
‘For why should men decease women,
When they themselves themselves themselves themselves would betray?
Then is the fault of the livery moon,
And all things foul in the fair are but black
From thy beauty to thy lips, and forth again:
She hath the white, she loves the red.
‘And when the sun in heaven’s blaze hath dyed
The face of the heavenly host,
And all that is in him red, pale, and weary,
With his lips hath done his purpose end,
And yet all the world, from thence, to see
From Tarquin’s flaming furnace, all this motion
And all my part in all his work so troubled,
So is this verse mine alone, or mine alone,
When all men’s eyes, and all their parts together
Made that verse my own, to thee belong.
Thus did he say, ‘I love thee,’ ‘O yes, ‘O yes, ‘And by this my verse,
To thee belong I leave no farther fear,
For thou shalt live, and all my parts shall live.
So live I that in thee belongest.”
Thus did she answer her alabaster eyes,
Which with more red than blood now lies,
Hearing her bewitch’d tongue, as she was woo’d with the wind.
‘Had she not,’ quoth he, ‘experienc’d me thus,
And seen my face in her glass;
‘Had she not,’ quoth she, ‘experienc’d me thus,
And seen her in her glass!’
What a spectacle then, that in thy face,
A careless wretch, with a mirthful laugh,
Let his visage in a bath full of woe,
And let that be thought a kind of hell,
whereon our fairs and gardens are made,
Thy face, and all those that are in us made,
And all


======== CHECKPOINT 042 OUTPUT # 003 ========

tremendous a cloud, and she on him grew as if by the wind.
And now with the wind she doth begin,
Whose course that she doth follow doth not alter.
“So soon as this wind shall blow away thy brow,
My eyelids shall be set on fire, and thy lips burnt out,
My joints shall tremble, my joints shall tremble.”
She says these words to fright the boy;
“Let them see,” he replies, “there is no god but love,
But there is no god but love that loves.”
That’s all there is to say.
‘But why should I not kiss his lips?
What kind of kiss would I give him?”
“Ay,” quoth he, “breathe deeply, breathe gently,
And kiss his lips again, and repeat again.
‘That is, but a dream,’ quoth she, ‘and I know not what it means.
My heart’s sealer, if his heart break,
Then shall my heart break again and be drown’d in filth.’
‘But for that, I say, thou shalt not take my tongue,
And put my love in the mouths of fools.’
‘O, that shall be thy fair name! Let no man tell what it is!’
O none but that name will bear it:
let him have no love without a fair tongue,
And no love without a fair tongue a fool!
let him have many a pretty tongue,
And many a pretty mind, and yet no true mind
Like herself were espoused to be.
O let him have many a pretty tongue,
And many a pretty mind, and yet no true mind
Like herself were espoused to be.
‘Poor traitor!’ quoth she, ‘if I could break this oath,
No doubt I should; but why should I break it?
I suppose it is lawful that in my lust
I should so abhor the theft of thy face.’
‘Why should not I?’ quoth she; ‘if it are lawful,
I would say so, and yet no man would say so!’
Thou wilt get, thou fool; then my trespass will be thy reward;
Thou art a thief that didst pay a ransom:
But thou art not thief enough, that pays the ransom not.
“Now I have said,” quoth she, “I think I may say more;
I have seen thee before, and thought thou dost look.
But now, beholding me, in a dimly-lit room,
Thy eyes are like glowing fire, whereon the cold smoke doth dwell.
What should I say? Too early I was afraid;
Then in the course of my speech did I find
A shadow till now, and now is none.
“How did my horse get on that bridle so fast?
‘I do abhor him,’ quoth she, ‘but I did shun him
If he shall show true character to me in the near.’
Her eyes, too young and too old, did see;
Her lips did, too young and too old, tremble;
‘Thou wilt find the kiss,’ quoth she, ‘appear in my cheeks,
And smile, and seem to wink, at my cheeks,
And say, ‘I love thee more than I ever imagined.
But how shall I kiss thy cheeks in their full glory?
A kiss of thy cheeks, or of thy lips?
To win me back, I’ll have to kiss on the cheek;
When love’s flame dissolves in my tears,
Or like a jade falls from heaven,
Th’ fiery venom disperses everywhere;
His fire cools with the wind, and rain doth boil,
Like rain from a snow-white morn.
To make the worst of it, she doth begin
To scratch his ear with some blunt instrument;
Then ‘gan I tell her ’tis an accident,
That thou didst rob thy maiden face
Of one precious bate, that on thy chin lie.
She thinks him dead; and, beholding him,
Her eyes, burning, and smiling, in her vision;
Her face is warmed, her hair is tied,
And round her back lies a hound;
Like a lamb, that like a lamb trots;
And like a lamb stoops, as if it would find a prey;
But like a lamb stoops still, as if it would find no prey.
‘That sweet angel that hath wrought thee this,’ quoth she,
“shall he not steal another kiss of my life,
For she hath wrought thee all these offences:
She hath done all these to me; and yet thou shalt not have
Those foul thoughts that from thy lips hast crept.
‘”O pardon me


======== CHECKPOINT 042 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Upper, for he was dead;
She in his bed he did lie,
She in his bosom did rest her head;
‘Yet, lo, there shall he remain,
So shall I remain, till thou take him from me.
‘Why dost thou leave me here alone,
Thy eyes, that made thee this world’s babe,
Are in thy chamber a closet to hide;
My hair was the height of high-pitch’d virtue:
No, no more than a silken pail hang’d
Of bristly pearls, that in thy hair
Would hang like a woeful strumpet.
So, thy beauty shall never remain
Unless thou lend me thy life,
And be my ornament when thou shalt have to live.
‘This was my plea to the tyrant king
That he should not be so kind as to give it life.
He was quite right in this, and so was she;
But he that did give it life still did give a second death,
Like fire from a furnace burnt out in night.
‘But that fire which is sweet, yet cannot flay
Into the channel open’d to it find;
As soon as it is closed, the flame
Which burning from the flames cools the body,
With cold disperses it, and cools it again.
So when by the hot-burning pyre the sun
In the eastern sky hath burnt himself out,
To feed his prey with cold air, I will lay:
My thoughts, my words, my music to you,
Will sing hymns of praise to him, and be sung here.
“Well, ah, ah, what a sight it was,
For from the crystal vapour she descended she fell;
Her hair, wrapp’d in a careless puddle,
Shook loose the thread that tied the knot,
And now it must be tied again, and never be tied again.
‘For lo, from the crystal vapour she descended
She fell; her hair, wrapp’d in a careless puddle,
Shook loose the thread that tied the knot,
And now it must be tied again, and never be tied again.
‘Thou art but a man’s-bonnet: what a dame’s soul doth wear!
Till at last she puts on a nun’s face,
And looks on in astonishment; and when she looks again,
She sees a hideous wretch devour whose flesh she lies;
She takes him by the hand, and kisses him on the cheek;
The rich were wont to lend him this thing they owed,
And, lo, they had him not, but as a ransom,
Lending them, but in his own right did kill:
So are their wills to love and loathed be,
To kill the other two, and be never loved again.
‘But what of her beauty in thee didst thou steal?
Thou art the worst of both, lo, and I do believe
That thou wast not the worst of all.’
‘The world hath no such thing as a right to slander,
But foul slander from her eye she hath cast,
And for that slander she doth spend in slander’s sight,
And all that foul creature that by her hand doth spend,
Is for naught but her that doth spend it.
‘”In him, therefore hath Collatine lived,
Who by his blood the fair prince doth spend,
And to his fair blood doth spend the gain;
And thus Collatine lives, and to his fair blood doth spend,
‘The gain,’ quoth he, ‘from me I give thee,
And thou shalt have it for my sake, too.’
‘But be not fond of me,’ quoth she, ‘I will not kill thee,
For if I should, thou wilt kill me alone.
And then shalt thou go and kill me in thine own hand;
Thyself shalt live and then I shall die in thee.&#8217#8217;
‘For where,’ quoth he, ‘in thy self thy self thy self lies,
Myself to thee was to belong,
And thou to my self to thee me subsisted:
And thou to me was to live a part,
Which to thy self and me was to live a part.
Then if thou shouldst desire it, how can I persuade thee,
that it should be so, though in my self
No such self-will can abide?
Or if it should survive, yet remain,
And therein abide the unwill?
But if it should perish, is it not enough?
What can it but abhor that such a thing,
When such a thing as thine,
Like himself to the fire, must burn the earth with thine eye?


======== CHECKPOINT 042 OUTPUT # 005 ========

create all these blessings from thence, that thou mayst see the merit of their due.
‘For why, what of thee, let me say,
If thou wilt, I will tell thy reason:
For what I have, thou art all that I have,
And for that, from me thou mayst draw,
And from me I derive the things thou hast.
O how thy sweet, true, and truest form canst not lie,
What art thou that we scorn, and in that we view,
Thy beauty gives the earth a crown,
Who, for that, is crowned with this good fortune.
‘Thus shall I say, ‘this poor boar grazeth on my knee,
If this be true, my leg is out of speed,
He takes the life from my thigh, to chase him:
To kill himself he ducks, and with him the boar
Tires down the banks of his flaming beseeched foot.
‘If it be true, then thou wilt try,
And bewitch my soul with thy silly story.’
‘O then mayst thou behold the boar,
For fear thereof is neigh’d, and neigh’d so.
O, that thy soul may suspect the night’s foul deeds,
Thy lips the eyes of heaven doth behold thy crime.
O that thy soul may suspect the night’s foul deeds,
And that thy soul may suspect the night’s foul deeds,
Thy lips the eyes of heaven doth behold thy crime.
O, that thy soul may suspect the night’s foul deeds,
Or that thy soul may suspect the night’s foul deeds,
Or that thy soul may suspect the night’s foul deeds,
And thus may I prove thee false, and prove thee good.
What dost thou prove with all these false tongues?
what dost thou prove with all these false eyes?
O, that thou hast the power of thine,
But that thou alone possess’st all these powers!
But what power hath thy hand to do with my verse,
Wherein I draw thee a prey of fear?
O pardon me then, if I might, write a lie,
Like those sad-bemoaned pages which on my cheek lie,
That on their pages I sometime glance on thee,
When thou hast so much as touched with mine eye,
What is thy pity that thou dost hate me with so much,
When I thy shadow did mine likewise abuse,
And yet didst not love me but thou thy shadow dost love me,
And yet didst not love me but thou thy shadow dost love me,
What is thy pity that thou art so bereft of me,
When I my shadow did my body imitate thee,
And yet didst not love me but thou thy shadow dost love me,
Which was thy shadow’s pity still to my eyes,
To whom thou gav’st so much as thy fair face.
O what a sight that creation makes,
Save what beauty hath in it lost, it remains!
And beauty’s beauty is not even attaint,
But as thy beauty willeth not with his beauty,
his image hath as his worth lost,
No, that is what makes him worth lost,
he’s not worth nothing, but lives.
And if the knife toucheth his tender neck,
the dear boy shall soon have lost the day,
For he is dead, and that made his moan no more.
‘”O, my dear boy,” quoth she, “if thou wilt kiss me again,
I would not but scratch the top of your head.
You were a wolf when I was young, now am I a dog,
Hiding in your blood the stain of shameful crime,
That in me you too much shame should read.
‘Therefore shall I die in the ground I lie,
And never again my fair self again to dwell,
That through your blood I toil, till you are rid’d with me,
And die, for you alone I have the privilege.
So may that fair fair flower that blooms in thy field,
Who, like a dew-bedded dove, lies panting in thee;
Her plaintive hand sheaves the wound, till at last she hears,
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘it is raining;’
‘Rain,’ quoth she,’so drop I drop;’
‘Rain,’ quoth she,’so drop I drop;’
‘Rain,’ quoth she,’so drop I drop;’
‘Rain,’ quoth she,’so drop I drop;’
‘Rain,’ quoth she,’so drop I drop;’
‘Rain,’ quoth she,’so drop I drop;’
‘Rain,’ qu


======== CHECKPOINT 043 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Ars the old man that did it serve,
And old man that should live.
‘Why should men’s eyes be blind?
When in heaven are they not seen?
when in hell do they not see?
When in the fair gardens are their fair lights hid?
When in the burning fire burn their holiest flowers hide?
When in the cold-burning hot brine lies done,
Do you not see the fire?—why should my eyes have power
To make those false shadows more bright?
Why should I be silent when my heart desires,
And yet still my heart desires, still shall you see,
Even in the airy puddle that doth sit?
And wherefore dost thou, the heart of my heart,
Save that which thou dost make for love’s use?
In my time do I strive to show thee
And that beauty which thou dost prove,
As to thee in time’s fair creation,
When thou shalt see the day’s glory,
And in that time thou shalt see time’s faults,
And time’s glory shalt be eternity.
Then are they not my enemies to shame,
But rather the world’s good graces, to gain their praise,
That they may speak, and do amend
Fair tongues to men, and fair words to women.
When thou art the sweetest tongue that ever taught,
Who in thought and deed doth praise every thing,
Thou art my love, and I am thy sweet love.
The best I can say is so, and I vow to live,
The one, I’ll be, the other not be.
The poet loves so, and so should the painter be.
What’s more true than ’tis untrue?
What’s worse than a superfluous feast
Won’t his pride to wear out his fame?
His pride to scorn and all his fame to disdain:
So am I, and yet in love, my lust is so great,
And in my boast so is my pride:
How should I then live, and still live to say
I love thee, thy name is in thine,
And in thine my pride thy name is hid.
So shall I live, and yet live in thine,
And in thy pride in thy pride in thine.
So shall the ocean drown and thee drown again,
O most wondrous ocean, thou hast not called,
Since thou art thine, and thy owner still doth call.
‘”How are you so fond of mine, and so fond of mine?
Is it because you did my father steal the day,
When you must be gone and make me return?
If so, is this my fault, and thy fault all;
So am I, and so are thy faults all.”
That poor me the rest by this said,
By this said I saw how much more my heart craves
Than my cheeks, and yet for them their white,
Since their faces in my brain were painted so black.
But to my weeping eye this well-painted tear,
My tears are in glass, and in his eye they fly.
His hand upon that thigh is double-locked,
He holds her head, and she on his thigh.
To put his hand in my breast she strikes him,
And he, to quench his passion, quench her fire,
And kill himself before he drowns.
‘Tis he to whom she speaks; ’tis she; ’tis him, it shall be.’
‘Tis he, she says; ’tis him; ’tis him, it shall be.’
His hand upon hers doth obey;
his lips to mine do obey;
His lips to mine obey me;
Mine eye obeyeth mine heart;
Mine ear obeyeth mine ear:
Mine heart obeyeth mine ear:
Mine ear obeyeth mine heart:
Mine eye obeyeth mine eye; mine heart obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart:
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart;
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart;
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart;
My heart obeyeth mine eye; mine eye obeyeth mine heart


======== CHECKPOINT 043 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Ages it shall be as a mountain bewitched by the wind;
And all alone in darkness doth pine the day.
Thus shall life, the sweet end that canst not die,
With this life doth make death seem like a journey.
‘This said, Collatine his fair maid,
In the meantime, on the banks of the Muses,
The banks seeming drained, the Philistines rose,
And from the green fountain whereon they lay,
A thousand fountains rise up to the sky,
Which as they fly from the sky, their contents
Seem to overflow the channel below.
‘The painter could not deceive his art;
But as the flood from the heavenly fire
Which in his fresco now encloses
In his pupil the gaudy rose,
So should the painter’s skill be harmed.
For from thy fair eyes the painter lies,
the picture being blackened from my soul.
In that case I will think how to best make thee better.
‘”This day is nigh, and night nigh;
All things are but shadows, and things dimly seen.
In them you have no feature, but nothing:
That makes you better or worse, what you truly are.
“For this reason I would swear I saw a boy,
Saw beauty die and beauty be reprobate:
The flesh would take away, and nothing of beauty:
But beauty do slay, beauty replete,
To nothing but in the endless war of ages.
So that I was thou in this present shadow,
Shall I not in thy fair beauty, like to thee?
And yet thou hast the right, I do wish I had.
‘Now wake up, let me hear thee again.’
Now wake up again, and hear me tell more:
For then I think more upon my own negligence.
This she says, and I hear her speak;
For he replies by beating his beard;
And now the painter, in rage, outstrips her:
To make him answer a harder question:
She replies, and now for that question he shakes;
For he replies by beating his beard;
And now the painter, in rage, outstrips her.
His art is so well known, that his wit
Or even his skill, to the best of his skill,
Will find no respect in our time.
Thou wast my love when I was young, and yet, as I age,
Till now, though I see thee again, yet,
thou shouldst be my love again, and yet not my love:
Thou art my love and my love is dead,
When I will live again in thee.
“This, this, this, this, this,” quoth she, “this, this, this,
I can not write that I have not read thee:
The night will stop the day, and day’s joy shall last.
This he tells her will in his will,
And sometime he intends to take her,
And sometime she intends to lose him.
When this, her eye cannot distinguish,
Her will is not so strong as thou seem’st,
She can’t break her will, but she knows she cannot,
She is bound to obey and obey her Will,
And obey his will till he break,
Then she must swear to him and swear to no one,
That his breaking will be no break,
Even to a stranger that he hath sworn.
‘What will befall her if he break again,
What can hold her back, that she cannot keep,
Or can she still resist but with more strength?
O let her be contented, the heart’s vassal;
But that it is so strongly with me,
Is all my duty, to lend thee this help,
Of mine own free will, to lead thee this harmful night.
If this promise be not enough, how much more shall thy Will?
For how shall my love live but by thy Will?
A thousand vows would have me still free,
And I would leave my beloved alone,
The worst of all evils being fair.
‘That she may say she’s sorry, and be silent,
The better is to persuade her;
Which makes her sad and her joy to the left,
In the worst she may be, which she thinks best.
What is it that makes a man mad,
When his passion is so great, and so rare?
And what makes an unkind act
such a storm to hit an hour?
Is it love that makes so many a fool go wild,
And so many a thousand a day stay at home,
That they seem so far from home again?
No love to love but those that are,
By the power and strength of my Will


======== CHECKPOINT 043 OUTPUT # 003 ========

crus, and I will give thee the best.”
‘Thou art a fool,’ quoth she, ‘and thou shalt not be fool’d in the day.’
“Ay, sweet, and yet thou shalt not be deceived,
For I have seen thee to this end and I am sorry;
So I will not look upon thee like an infant,
Nor say my name despite thy beauty,
I will not kiss thee nor hold thy hair;
I will kiss thee, and kiss thee so,
That I will kiss thy sweet face, and keep thee afar;
Then my soul with my sweet body’s repine,
Will not forsake thee, and will live beside thee;
So thou, my love, and I my love’s repine,
will live beside thee in spite of thy repine.
“Thou art a fool,” quoth he, “and every fair woman will,
Feed thee, and leave him, if she have a heart.”
The painter did not like her so well,
That she did him wrong, and she no better.
But, seeing her scorn and scornful eyes,
She thrusts him down by the neck, and that she doth hold,
He straightly obeys, and they both to the fire.
‘”O false goddess! ah, but what treasure thou hast hid,
But theft, which no man well can steal.
For if thou giv’st to my stolen jewels,
If I lose thee, my love will hold me ransom.
‘Now all these papers that my soul keeps bound,
That keep my verse from thee,
Will write a note in me of my love;
And for this I’ll write a sweet note,
And by this note I promise thy dear love a place.
But since thou art dead, I hold thee to be
my constant guide, to make thee happy again.
‘I’ll kill myself to kill love,’ quoth he,
‘if my poor soul shall dare,
My life shall be thievish, my death wretched,
And my dear soul shall never find a son.’
But what wrong hath he in her sight,
Till, like an angry hawk, with her wings in flight,
She flies, and then, like a dove, her wings fasten’d.
“Look what she did to my face;
The venomous vapours she threw forth,
Her blood was shed in my veins, and her tears hid.
She that did stain my face was no match for my wit,
For to her disgrace my life was stained.
And yet no cause can hide her crime,
She that did stain mine, too, still cannot prove.
‘”Had Collatine not been sent thither to fight,
Or had the fleet-foot captain gone,
Or had he been captain of the fleet-foot’d chase,
Or had he been captain-in-chief of the fleet,
Or had the fleet-foot captain taken away,
Or had the fleet-foot captain been captain-in-
Of the fleet, and all the crew to blame.
So had she for Collatine slain,
And her for him she’d for the lives:
She’d for him the pride and all the fame.
‘And with this she concludes, ‘Had I not, he would not have done it;
So now I see the grave of him,
And with that the thought proceeds, ‘Had he not, he would not have done it.’
His lips, though still red, still did open
When in his hollow choir the choir doth sing,
And by this purl they prove their worth;
And now the curtains are close, and the birds sing:
But, true to his love, he holds the fire and brimeth:
The birds to their sweet melody do sing,
And each part sings to their liking,
But all those parts to the choir doth sing,
And each part to the choir doth sing a new song.
‘Now what excuse,’ quoth she, ‘can any mother give
For her daughter’s wounding or for his father’s wounding?
The world can never forgive her son,
And so I hold her in that guilt,
For that she did not make him come to die.
Look what happies he did steal from me,
And now mine own loss I make mine defence,
To keep the coward heart in my side.
‘”His face with scarlet tears and golden thread
Seems as white as night, as fine as snow;
His lips are platted like snow, his nose like crystal;
His eyes like dials, his lips like coal-black;
His hair like lusty thread, his beard like gold;
His breath like snow-white foam, his lips like fire-black;


======== CHECKPOINT 043 OUTPUT # 004 ========

ro from the Greeks she could not comprehend;
And in her fair cheeks she bears the cross,
Like sweet Venus, to shame the Greeks,
To shame herself for being so despised:
Her passion on that fair face doth burn,
And from the fiery pit that burns so hot,
As from a burning furnace, from forth her flame,
And out of her flame comes the bateless night:
When from out his foul vapour doth sit,
Her cheeks, red as snow, flame up his visage,
Whose hot breath he then doth fill up his glass,
And all smiles confound him, to make him wonder.
When they have said, ‘O, I will not kill thee,
Because thou hast done me wrong, that which thou hast done,
Thy self art thine own, to reprove my self,
Thy self to my self am I condemned.’
‘Thou shalt not kill me,’ quoth he, ‘and thou shalt not kill me,
No, the statute will stop that man’s crime:
No more shall my life, my friend’s life be wasted,
And death in that case shalt be my own torment.
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘this night’s offence is my offence,
My self was once a lover of thee;
And now that I know thee and love thee,
All my world being blown away, I in love with thee,
Being thralled with endless hours of tedious fighting.
‘Gentle boy,’ quoth she,’my heart’s heart’s clerk,
My heart’s storehouse for thy part I keep,
And I have more to give thee, than thou in me.
By this I mightily conclude whether
His heart was mine, or mine;
Either in or out of me my dear love will remain,
Which should make thy love so great a part of me.
And so begins to play with me;
My dear Lucrece is sadly set upon her breast,
And all alike gazeth in grief,
Like wolves which their prey doth chase.
But now she cries, and now it shall be ending,
To see the shame and sorrow of it all.
Her tears, like blood from a casket, stream o’erwhelm’d
To his cheek, and forth again, a swoon:
For shame and disgrace, her tears themselves do bide,
And now she bids them drop like snow-drops, as if from some snow-drop,
Hiding no colour in her tears.
‘Then be gentle, and do not use my tongue,’ quoth she,
‘For shame is too small a thing;
Nor being too small a thing, being too large,
I will not curb thy flood, nor do thou put thy wind in
The way of my verse, although thou wilt have mine.’
When she concludes this said, her sad eyes still
Upon his cheek, as they dreamt of thee,
Whereon their sad ears he falls, as on a pillow,
As if he would quake.
For he, perceiving her distress, braketh her from her bed.
Her lips, so white, his nose against hers,
Show’d in all her silken cheeks, the red colour enclos’d
With white the blood that from his lips reek’d;
And as one should a virgin be, the other his blood,
To wit or skill, or colour, or age.
As one who hath lost, to lose again his place,
To lose all, he will fight with a thousand limbs.
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘it is a common crime in this place,
To rob a man’s wife’s life;
Yet is it not so with thieves and murder’s children?
What heinous crime is it then,
That one cannot rob a man’s wife’s life?
Why not with thieves or murder’s children?
When in their pure innocence did steal their life?
When did the guilty take advantage
Of the bereaved’s fair reproach?
When did the guilty themselves betray
Their woe upon the woe of their crime?
Or when were all those guilty eyes that taught
How to see evil done, and how to see good done?
Or when were all these red lips that red had,
So red as blood in this eye should bleed?
‘Dear friend,’ quoth she, ‘if it may, let it go,
And then every eye seeing it, shall have a look;
Then shall all my friends be red-green,
Each one a pale shadow, and each a pale sight,
Which neither eye nor mind knows is,
Which is but to steal, nor love, nor knower,
Where either is nor loves, but only to steal.’
“My friend,” qu


======== CHECKPOINT 043 OUTPUT # 005 ========

pharm
O, why not her face, or her brow, or her chin,
That in them all would appear white?
For she with her brow, and in it white shine,
If she had none, how should she live with thine?
A man’s nature, by nature too strong,
Is too weak, being weak, being strong bred to fear,
For in his power is so strongly shaken.
A thousand ways in this, this, this, this, this,
For the victors he will fight, and the other he will wither,
And she herself dies as soon as his strength takes her,
When death shall stamp all my earthly rights,
That my earthly garments shall bear my name,
And all my honour to this world’s memory,
And all this for nothing is worth,
But for one last good ending to give me,
From the bottom of my heart I should give him more.
That was my purpose; now I dally,
And do my best to help him achieve his aim,
Or at least stay the blow from which he would clip,
That he may take from me this long night to gaze,
And keep this dream a pure night, to make him happy.
‘Then shall she see that my face is true, and that my brow
And her lovely thought become the subject,
Of which nothing is, nor ever is,
Even to this self what thoughts form my brain,
For it is my will to convert it to pen,
And that pen is this crystal crystal pen:
To make it anew in my soul to write,
Of this the world, my will to convert,
And this in this self I in thought convert,
To make this the world my heart is the better,
And self for me I call your Will.
‘But do not let false thieves in my house,
Shall steal my blood, my life, my wealth, my fame,
And then steal my life’s life and lose all that.
‘Thou wilt not steal, or I shall not steal,
I have lost thee, but I have thee, and thou hast me.
Thou art but a weakling, and a lame woman,
As children are now, that is, to thee.
“That is,” quoth she, “the chief cause of thy sickness;
Thy soul’s fault is thy will, and that is thine,
Thy will’s fault is thy self,
And all thy self thy body in one place.”
He shakes her gently, and with a sad frown
She takes his hand, and he her arms.
So do they, and all my love from thence will fade,
The grave will bear their shadow, and their name.
‘But now,’ quoth she, ‘you tell me, this old boy,
This is what you see in my eyeballs,
These windows to the east of this hell are seen;
You now I saw the shadow in the sky,
And in my eyeballs was this shadow concealed.
O how sweet that daylight can seem!
O how true that love is!
The sun in Paradise is white,
And his shadow in the ocean is red.
No, this my son, this old man,
This old man’s face I did not know,
And never know it still, despite of my eyes!
‘To the west this crow flies that hour,
For this crow flies that hour,
And this crow flies that hour,
So my son for this crow flies his speed,
And to this crow flies the deadly night!
So should I sleep that night as thou sleep’st,
Which is to me the hardest task I must undertake,
For what seems to me so sweet must appear so dark,
Thy glass is full of deceits,
And beauty dead and forgotten,
The dull of day still shines and shines with night.
For me thus night and day are alike,
A pair of pale-fac’d hounds, pale as night’s cheeks,
Who like birds, sing, and do fly;
And now I am dumb, and like birds, do fly,
And make no sound with my continual motion.
‘Tis true that thou canst not see what I am thinking,
But that thy lips (my lips) are disguis’d,
In thy speech, in my words, and in all their parts:
In the course of my speech I measure thy part,
And to this end mine own shows me thee how I measure,
For beauty doth make thee beautiful too,
And beauty doth make thee unappetizing,
That in thy beauty doth thy parts appear:
Beauty doth make thee to myself resemble,
And in that thy beauty doth make me to you resemble.
“If


======== CHECKPOINT 044 OUTPUT # 001 ========

ivari, that is my duty,
So must my good report be kept secret.
I can assure the world that he was not my slave;
It seems he took my life, and then I was slain.
‘”Therefore by him I will live,
And live with thee, by him I will die;
Thy name’s antiquity doth speak of thee;
And now this, thou dost say, the tomb will be
And thou shalt dwell in eternal sleep.
The painter loves to show things moving,
And beauty, in his painting, holds it in great pride;
Yet when it is in decay it is esteemed so,
It is esteemed a second summer’s delight,
And summer’s sweet season is ne’er warm nor dry,
For ever a winter lies, despite of summer’s freezing heat.
But now Adonis, that proud boar,
The sun that doth not see him, or the sky,
Grows to his eyes like a rose that doth bear
Her colourless hue, and yet like a flower it bears:
The sap, which on it doth bear such dank sting,
Is peel’d, and sticks in the bud, and thence proceeds:
To the sweet sap doth it get, and thence proceeds.
I have often heard that the son is a goddess,
And yet have not seen her in action;
And yet no one loves her more than I,
I am old, my dear, and therefore no more,
What shall I say to old Time? I am old now,
And yet I love him more than he did me.
‘O then, my dear, my dear friend,
Have my love-killing instinctive heart,
As thou didst with my father, or with thy mother’s.
‘I,’ quoth she, ‘desire, and seeketh for means;
If that which it seeks I can’t find,
If I cannot find it in my desire,
For it is false and cannot be found,
So to win I must make false love.
So with this I give an account to your wits,
That, like a gentle-pied fool, your wits may know
That my heart is deaf and dumb, and thy thoughts dumb.
So can I, in all my true and true skill,
Have some false learning to impart,
And, like a sluttish skilful, with bad manners:
By this I should say I am old, and die poor;
But I am old and poor, and thou art old,
That is thy dear, and in me is thy liking.
This he answers, with some stern disdain:
Thy eyes, like flaming swords, they will not defend thee;
All that fortify’d is thine, and my soul’s defence.
Her cheeks red, her eyes daff’d pale,
Their lips red, and she hiss wildly.
He throws the knife in her face, and she in him.
“For this purpose hast thou drawn from thy heart,
That thou mayst read the name and characters thereof;
In short thou know’st to call me ‘Herc,’
As ‘hisc’ in Old French ‘bronze’ or’slack’ is used here,
And ‘Hisc’ in Old English ‘bleeding’.
So should thy sweet self in the name of ‘Herc,’
If thou wilt speak and hear them speak.
thou in them hath sent all rigour;
If the strength do me, thou in me must fall.
The wound is deep, it heals only in so deep a wound;
When I have receiv’d the wounding note,
The feeling is faint and deathly,
Then thou art the poet’s muse, and thou must die.
‘For if I live, if thou art dead, my verse dies.
If there be no living breath in thee,
Then all my verse shall survive:
What tongue can speak of dead love is to die,
As it had no name to die,
It was but dead, as such, to die.
For in thee I will live, in thee I die,
In thee I will die, in thee thou must survive.
‘O, what a day! O, what a day!
I did but look upon thy face,
And on the stars, and in the deep dark
I was afraid; but then, lo! I behold the bright moon,
In her dim dim glory, bright with her radiance.
‘But come, let me see thee, dear friend,
With the crystal orb that holds thee in this ill:
O no, mine eye is not the sharp one,
My heart is not the giddy one,
But thou art like a dial, like a bell:
And thou


======== CHECKPOINT 044 OUTPUT # 002 ========

demand’s not so; she hath done my husband wrong; yet that’s not so.”
‘Thou shalt not kill me if thou wilt,’ quoth he, ‘this deed be so cruel; ‘why shouldst thou kill me?—Thou art a wife, a true and lawful wife, and husband, and daughter, and mother, ‘—now excuse me: ’tis a true wife, a true mother, a true and lawful father, and son, and daughter, and daughter’s mother, and son, and daughter’s father, and son, and daughter and daughter’s mother:—Now excuse me, I will not kill thee; but thou shalt kill me by thy hand, and I shall kill thee by thy heart.’
‘Look what thy fault in thy servant did wrong thee,’ quoth she; ‘these men did act in my husband’s best interest.’
‘Then why not thine own self?’ quoth he; ‘why not my son’s mother’s son?—’And why not thy son’s wife?—Then my husband’s worth is in me being thy partner, and mine is not in him being my husband.’
‘And why not my daughter, or my wife, or my child, or my friend?’ quoth she; ‘and why not mine too, my wife too?’
‘Do not say that this is thy will; for I have sworn to thee this oath, and promised it to thee; but if it be false, say so at last; for no false witness can bear the truth, and none will hold the truth either by it being forged or by the time it shall appear;
Therefore the knife hath not cut at love’s breast the knot in my heart;
I will not slay you unless thou wilt swear a thousand feasts of thy love.
And yet I vow a thousand feasts of thy love,
Then do I not love, thou hast no love: but thou wilt love, I will kill thee, and yet thou lov’st not love.
So my love was love to thee, to all fair women.
‘I can see thy pity,’ quoth she; ‘how much happier I should have been forsworn,
Had my love been love to thee; but as forsworn, I know not how.
‘That my love may live to tell the story,’ quoth she, ‘it may be, that your life may be told
Till death’s effect upon thy youth be ended.
For never shall your love be so cruel as this.’
The sun that never doth shine doth burn her city;
But her heat from thence scorches all, and all is done.
‘”If,’ quoth she, ‘I die,’ quoth he, ‘I’ll come back again tomorrow, and you to supper,
And you, young and of good will, to entertain me with my story.’
‘Then be it lawful for me to be woo’d by those,
That shall in my passion be woo’d by many:—
O pardon me, poor poor creature, how much I hate to hear;
Then be it lawful for me, being woo’d by many,
To have false lips, to have false friends,
To have false eyes, and true tongues:—
Oftentimes my lips are the better part, and lips the worse part,
But for that I have the better part, and your whole is
Till then I should change my state to be fairer,
For you, and I, in that change.
For I hate, and I think, to hell it is;
Yet love’s fire and rain on that ground is bare.
Thus far from home I from home,
My dear Love in the heat of battle doth fight,
For in her absence I dally, to kiss her back,
And to kiss her back every where amazes me.
She sighs so, and her heart herses,
But like to the wail she keeps on till it break.
“I love to see her,” quoth she, “and yet there she sits,
And when her lips have bent so, her tears do fly,
The hairs on her face do tend to peel.
When her tears have puddle’d up like water in a brine,
And when her lips have puddle’d up like mud in a brine,
Her tears do tend to rain down on wet grass,
And when her tears have puddle’d up like blood in a river;
When her tears have puddle’d up like mud in a fountain,
Her tears do tend to spill; for woe be’rence, woe is so great.
For woe is so great that woe may wane,
For woe wane thou dost grow; woe wane thou dost grow.
If that thou wilt grow and w


======== CHECKPOINT 044 OUTPUT # 003 ========

202, which makes it the penance of life?
O why, she doth not disdain him,
She takes him for a stranger, and she for a friend.
O that your father may be a painter,
And that his true name may be so well known,
Your mother may be such a devil as she appears,
She may be as proud as a beggar;
She may be as dumb as the world’s most treble-bonded fool,
Her self a devil that can be shunned,
She may well be the fairest of all the gods,
Her beauty so true, so strong,
That the world would swear to it.
What of beauty’s outward semblance did she throw,
Which, like a flower in mud, with her bare foot she pricked,
Like the ripe ripe pomegranate in the spring,
Whose flesh it self incorporate is peel’d from maturity,
Wherein it remains a weed but when fresh,
Doth by the continual touch seem to die and decay.
But as your father did kill himself with his drooping hair,
So shall this mourning day come for thee:
Thou art a living monument to the dead,
Who live, but die, and be buried in thy tomb.
So thou must be thy self, for all time thou art gone,
Thy sweet self this life doth entertain.
‘Tis true, and true a truth in this matter,
Thy shadow’s shadow doth bear this truth:
And like a cherubin it bears this sorrow,
And like a dove it bears this sorrow;
For what’s lodged therein it doth cry,
And where it dwells deep sorrows doth dwell.
For shame’s crest on the Collatine sits,
And pride’s crest on the Collatine lies,
And pride on the Collatine sits;
And here the Collatine sits and stares.
‘The lines of Brutus’ story
In short, they have been drawn in thought,
Which seem’d the pen of sweet words, as their shape told;
And to wit they have begun, to rhyme,
And I their mists to fill, and you to tell,
The map of time, place and shape,
Came in my glass, and it did take
Inwards the thought, which made the thing take in,
And inwards the thought, which made the thing unfold.
‘But now he comes and runs from thence,
For to him I say ‘Kill him now, and I’ll spare thee another,
Unless you stop him from thence.’
‘”Kill him now, kill him now,” quoth she; “kill him now, kill him now!”
If thou dost not then, I am done with thee.
O yes, I am; I will not be rid of thee,
Because thou art not my love; but thou hast but given my love,
To leave the house that thou so deservest.
And then with a heavy sigh she drops her head,
She liv’d on her head, to be forgot.
But I the world will not forget thy death,
for it was mine honour to die beside thee.
No, kill me, kill me soon; but let me know thy love,
And then for that purpose hast I sought:
A widow that lives by thine own death,
For thou art my dear, and therefore of my love,
Love shall not drown me, nor take me away,
Losing me will be but a desperate death,
Thy soft hand, that holds it to mine ear,
Will scratch it so it lands, scratch it so it never lies,
And every groan shall sound it wrong;
Then thou hast ’tis thy last, and ’tis thine.
And when the night is past, if thou still desire
To hunt the day, with thine eye thou dost hunt,
With thy tongue thou canst but speak,
Or like a froward-complexioned wretch,
Crawls for his wound, or wounds for his self.
‘”Gentlemen,” quoth she, “you are as your self to me,
As mine own eyes when I strive for your sight,
As the birds when I preach the good news,
as the berry-sprung plume whereon it grows,
Hast thou thy self in the bud doth flower?
The world hath lost a fair match, let not the boy,
Make thy mark on that fair fair date to wear:
Be contented thou art with my verses,
And I’ll write in thee my verses,
Sweet sounds, dear love, which thy verse should make,
If thy love should doth make thee sad.
That thou shouldst read them all


======== CHECKPOINT 044 OUTPUT # 004 ========

mberg for my part:
So with thy help I might my will live,
And be thy guide when thou motest thy fortune,
And with thee thou’ll keep the world’s spoil from growing:
My love will not lose his sting, and yet he may not get it;
But I him, thy loving handmaid, doth that force.
‘O peace! my love, what a sad and dismal doom!
The world’s chief ill-favourable injury;
The common grave the worst mortal hazard;
Thy health’s a melancholy object to mourn;
Sorrow hath every good thing a grim adjunct,
Yet with your gentle assistance doth my heart rest.
‘O thou hast given us this present, and thou hast taught us so
To leave us this present’s bondage,
That we this present in our minds make the change.
What of that change must I make in thee?
What of that change may I make in thee?
Thy self in thy self-same self doth live?
What of that change may my self make in thee?
The world will look upon that change in thee,
And in it, the devil will frown upon thee.
“Let us look into the matter further,” quoth he, “
And that we may, through this good report,
Inving new grounds for new love,
Finding old grounds for new love’s springing,
With love that in the past thou dost remain,
Love shall never be a common good again:
Therefore may I bequeath thee this good news,
With thine new love to thy old love’s good report:
And that good report in thee is lost,
For thou hast lost that good report,
And all for nought can love revive thee:
Whose side is thine, what dost thou yield?
What dost thou gain by thy deeds so much?
Thy self thou forfeit’ning thy self to decay.
“O how ’twas thy love, thy love’s flower!
And in that flower doth live a beauty,
That hath not in thy self harmed thy self:
But when thou grow’st thine own, how many flowers dost thou have?
When I was young, thou didst play the father,
When thou wast old, thou were my earthly home:
But now I have been your lover’s toy,
And thou art the beauty which ’twas thy father,
And thou art my body’s toy too.
Let the painter draw his own pattern
Of his own self-portrayal, where those wrinkles
Between two shadows doth lie,
To show the false beauty of thy painted face.
Look how that my shadow, as painted by thee,
Will the gaudy turrets of Troy stand,
And every noble air that creeps from thence doth fly,
The clouds will wink and dint and fade,
The sun and moon will not rise,
The world’s rich in silver, and yet doth live!
That I thy image in this fair world needs is well knew,
I have seen thou appear before every eye,
I have seen thy face carved out in stone,
Since time immemorial in thy face.
And yet my verse is so plain
My verse, mine own being told:
For why should you not to your love tell,
Though you in a tongue to others praise me so well,
When I in thee live my love so well,
That your love’s praises in mine eyes are blown away,
O, the world’s fair queen I should so far fall,
For then my loving love to thee would be lost.
‘O night, day and night! what a wretched world it is!
dark labyrinths in the deep hollows of winter!
What dost thou mean by night-killing night?
No, I mean night that hides a deformed devil!
O false thief! (But where thou art not true thief)
How can I then complain that thou didst steal thy breath,
For thou art like to such thieves, that steal thy breath?
Let me not be blameworthy, for my praise
Is not all my praise due to thee alone.
‘Therefore have I chaste been of thy kind,
And by thy fair sun and moon doth stay,
A perpetual wife and child,
Whose due shall never be questioned, nor love reproach,
Or dote on me, nor ask me what my name is.
That was thy fair name, and gave it my all,
To call thee not by that name shall go,
And to be called nothing else by that name.
Thus had she borrowed all her treasure,
And now she hath borrowed more than she should bear,
And she more, she thinks her self more poor,


======== CHECKPOINT 044 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Parish, this is not to excuse thee;
This man was his father, his mother his wife;
He slew her, and now he seeks revenge.
For this murder did he not betray his oath,
For I have seen no signs of kinsmen
Of either sex’s blood, nor bloodless love.
‘To stain with blood the sepulchres of men,
To stain with death the sacred date of days,
To stain with blood the rich wealth of mansions,
To stain with blood the honour and majesty of kings,
And bloodless lust with bloodless lust reigns supreme;
And lust for wealth and wealth for wealth reigns pure;
And therefore not lust for pleasure nor for pleasure
For lust for lust is lust of men:
And therefore not lust for wealth and wealth
For wealth and wealth are lusts of men and women.”
“O, dear friend, you are as straw that bleeds
In your face’s bloodless ointment as straw in my cheek;
O, dear friend, you are as straw in my cheek
As straw in thy bloodless ointment is everywhere;
O, dear friend, you are as straw everywhere else is shed;
This poor life’s waste thou dost throw away:
And here and there thy spirit of filial pride
Lifts up the curtain that blinds the thing thou view’st.
For I was once a virgin and thus die,
Had you as offspring not married to water,
O, what a wretched thing it was!
And yet your image did you recreate,
And it in your beauty, in thy perfection,
In other words, in your nature,
In other words, in mine own nature,
My nature as you were then was new,
And new all, fresh all, is your beauty new,
And that you are no longer alive to love,
I’ll kill myself, kill your false god, and yet you still live,
And yet love you still live, I’ll kill myself again,
If you shall permit it.”
His lips were crimson and he gave them a kiss;
Then they gave each other another kiss,
And the old man fell asleep again;
He seemed to catch her by the neck,
And, bending for his prisoner, struck her on the breast;
Her tears did fall and fell on his cheek;
He lim’d them for his own defence;
The shame was too great, the shame confined;
That shame so much more lodged in one’s mind,
And thus it seemed to say, ‘He is dead, there remains a son.’
So was he done, and left for Lucrece’ sake;
To stay his poor body, whose parts were torn
From him in decay; for this purpose did he pray,
To make sure her eyes and lips, that she might see
The dreadful truth behind the bloody knife.
‘So shall he be king,’ quoth he, ‘nor I his subjects:
He is gone, and shall never return;
So shall I be queen of this fair city,
And doting sister of yours.’
‘Why hast thou not asked her, daughter of thy love?
she looks on us as unkind,
Hateful that thou didst break the seal of trust;
‘Tis true, but I do abhor such dishonesty,
And yet thou didst mend the seal of trust,
That thou mightst break the world’s seal by this deed.’
‘What was the matter?’ ‘That thou shouldst leave me
Though I thy self be absent? what did I say
To spite thee, and to prevent thy flight?
Thy honour, thy whole being, thy whole being
All these in one, in one being so gone,
You can live and die by that, for that,
If you live long, you die with me.
The lily doth flower, and hisses, and hues pale,
And he, sweating with fear, shakes his head,
And all alike, exclaims aloud, ‘O, kill me!’
“Fie,” she says, “fie, what a fool thou wast!”
But when he says ‘fie,’ the woman replies,
‘O, oh lo, lo, it is an old-fashioned cry,
And old favourites are blunted;
Thy lips and thy teeth may be tame;
I do not hate thee for that;
I do not hate thee that I do hate thee.’
“Fie,” quoth she, “it would not have been so,
But thou art fair, and all things beautiful.
For beauty is thine, and beauty thine alone,
And thou, beauty’s child, shall never die;
The world to thee, and thy beauty alone
Have thine in common, in thine


======== CHECKPOINT 045 OUTPUT # 001 ========

viz, I have no love but to love thee,
And in that I list thee, I have no love but to hate thee,
I do not regard thy worth to mine eyes,
But then I have no love but to hate thee,
That I do regard thy beauty to mine eyes,
And in that I do regard thine, I have no love but to hate thee,
Yet in that I do regard thy worth to mine eyes,
And in that I do regard thy beauty to mine eyes,
And in that I do regard thine, I have no love but to hate thee,
I never have wished to see a nun die,
And now all too soon I must return to my bed.
‘And here she meets a platted pion,
With pale ornaments on it,
That seem to show the dead in the living.
What beauty lies concealed is as plain as day,
Which no shadow shows, nor no shape can convey.
So therefore she takes the pion, and feeds it on,
Whereat the pion whips round, like crystals,
Whilst the spirit feeds still on the vapours in the brine,
To drink the distilled breath that through the brine
Heavily doth lend his aid to replenish;
And as the spirit feeds, yet ’tis weak,
No man can take his part, nor part his spirit,
Nor part nor part nor part neither is in the same
Of several things, and is assailed as idolatry,
And idolatry (all men make idolatry of thieves)
As all fools make idolatry of fools,
And that which is taught in childish schools
May well be termed idolatry,
To make us all like one another,
For one our love, one another our folly.
She throws on the mantle of thine,
Lifts her head, and neighs, and throws her eyes about,
Whose mouths the air, filled with vapours, doth swallow,
Like a coal-black ocean whose colour doth hide,
Whose vapours thence disperses like mist in the brine,
Whereon the vapours thence seem to boil,
To boil the pure water of the brine,
With such hot ashes as her body would burn,
That her breath, in it, would dissolve,
If it ever return again to water?
Is it jealousy, to see that your heart doth call
A pilgrimage from thy self to me,
To do me honour, that I call pilgrimage?
Or is it that in thy deeds shows grace,
To invite in my self grace that grace so rich?
I love you in secret, and in secret I love thee,
That all this toil away, and nothing of you,
is there to love, but to delight.
He looks upon her in his pale-fac’d eye,
Like to anon he stares at her still,
Drawn from forth his bosom, through her nostrils,
Who now are suck’d up and down in his mighty bow;
He dotes on her like an unripe deer,
When nature gave thee pleasure and sorrow,
To love, thou must yield, sweet lord.
Love in this, that and all the rest.
This said, his hand, like a falchion,
Doth stop the wind that bloweth from his wings;
Which on his golden chin doth hang a sceptre,
Or from his long-sack’d hat, as it doth hang from his eyne,
A thousand favours from heaven pay’d.
What else hath thy power but to call it thy due,
That thou mayst live a son to a pure mother?
Or that thou mayst live thine own son and thine own daughter,
But no man hath the right to use thee in this cruel,
Which thou shalt by law make an end of every year.
That thou wilt live to be buried in thy husband,
Or else be buried with him as your son,
Or else be buried in thy husband’s memory.
In either case he shall live, and thou wilt never be.
‘”His scarlet hair doth cover his face,
His pale, jet-black downy eyes do cover his cheeks,
His short, pale, straight, and jet-black tail,
With red and white, do cover his lips, his nose,
His soft, round, and quite round ears;
And low he stoops, still on that downward curve,
To look upon the wind that blows at his head,
And hear the rustling of his woeful cries.
“My tongue,” quoth she, “do not teach it to thee,
Unless thou wilt remove my lips’ painted bark,


======== CHECKPOINT 045 OUTPUT # 002 ========

executions from their mouths?
Their faces, that sweet smell that they possess,
Are so familiar, so flattering,
That they fear not the touch;
Their lips, which to your salving eyes fill,
Breathe forth your sweet breath, that with blood might breathe.
“The diamond, with ten thyself’s strength
Hath carved a precious date from a puddle,
Which thou shalt cipher for twenty years.
‘Gentle maid,’ quoth she, ‘you did summon me hither,
To take my letter and to affright me.
Have of mine a feeling affection to show,
Towards which I may aspire;
For that purpose thou dost strive to gain,
For I am thy self, and thou dost strive
To set the perfection of my art,
To set the sweetest and fairest age
Upon the earth, and to destroy all things short.
‘But when Opportunity comes, I will strike him with a hammer,
And in his pride will stamp the day
With my blunt sword, till Opportunity is slain.
‘Why should I then have strength to stand by my friend,
when Opportunity is not slain?
when Opportunity looks on Opportunity,
Will he frown at me when he sees Opportunity frown,
And smile as if at death he were my friend?
When Opportunity smiles at me when he sees Opportunity laugh,
The lips of Opportunity, as they did him shame,
Are lips in hell, lips in paradise;
And all things holy, by heaven’s eyes, are made sweet,
When Opportunity smiles at me when he loves me,
The tongue replies, ‘Thy eyes have seen what I have not.’
And the one true heart that loves no form,
Is asperg’d with all evil therein;
Which, by his hateful abuse, can no fair forgive:
But as his foul abuse with loving eyes,
To love all, all love’s fair parts to give,
That to himself alone, to none else,
Shall base and unjust, enrich all their parts.
Which, being painted with her own hand,
In rich filching, makes them white,
And looks like so much wealth in her eye.
This image was used for Sinon’s charmed show
By Ajax, and Tarquin’s son;
They both took their seat in the saddle,
And Ajax did the rest, the one fell,
And the other the prize.
‘Poor fool,’ quoth she, ‘now my image appears,
And from my sight it may appear,
Whose eye it self from forth a blasting fire doth droop,
Which on that burning iron doth enclose
Thin globular bulge which gives life to every tear,
Whose blood being boil’d on that fire, gives life to every tear;
And by this fire, a bloodless flame
Appalls all who in it encounter it.
In this ecstasy all the powers of nature
Under the sway of their influence did fly,
And from thence did fly away all their grace,
That all by themselves their judgment had done.
O who with her beauty didst thou invert?
For when thou shalt see her frown, turn back,
Or let her tears drop like drops of rain;
What dost thou art that dost smile and laugh?
Or give them tears, that they do shed?
Let them have no tears in mine eye,
O give them a tear in my heart, I will bear
That which I do not hate, but you must hate.
‘I’ll burn you alive in my bed,
Or kill you alive in my bed-wand,
Or kill you alive in my bed-wand,
Or kill you alive in my bed-wand,
Or kill you alive in my bed,
Or kill you alive in my bed-wand.
‘And for a thousand favours do I smother,
Of blood, or of feathers, or of silvered ivory,
Whilst I in thee am bereft, thou art all mine,
For in me thou dost hang the feather.
Thus do I vow to my love,
That never to forget thee live nor know thy end,
Unless thou help me make one anew born.
To that purpose doth I begin a rhyme;
Who by this fair work doth invent a rhyme;
Of those fair gems doth my praise live,
Which doth not survive my fair name to write,
To make a poet of thee, to me thou art.
Let me then tell thee of mine own blessed birth,
Whereon my love in thee doth stand and live,
And where doth thy love live, and where thou art in me.
‘Yet may I hope that love, in thee, shall ever live,
And


======== CHECKPOINT 045 OUTPUT # 003 ========

stanbul.
No, no.
No, my love was not born of desire,
Nor could it have been
If from the time I was born a man of sense,
Or if any such thing ever shames me,
I must look upon it with more suspicion,
Because it doth not fit the picture I call,
And therefore with more disgraceful looks doth it grow,
To bear new blood in new sins?
Or if those fresh eyes that by thee grow
Shall gage thy self a more holy dispensation,
The sickly blood thenceforth to thee bequeath’d,
Showing me not by my deeds but by thy life.
‘O gracious God, if thou art the one true God,
And only good, and true in thy self,
And even so love did seem to dissolve,
And do away with the picture that doth lie,
To my shadow doth live and in me remain,
To the shadow doth live and in me remain.
That I am buried, thy picture here remains,
But as thy picture now remains, so shall my picture go.
But as thy picture cannot be buried alive,
nor your image can be forgot,
Nor your self (being self-same)
be forgot for ever.
‘But thou who art the grecian and all-breeding flower,
Till you taste it is sweet, but it is bitter,
Thine, and nothing else but sweetness remains,
Sweet food to thine eyes, sweet drink to thy lips,
Sweet smell to your sweet senses, sweet taste to sweet smell,
Shall every tongue taste with thy sweet odour bequeath?
But why should I then beauteous bequeath
To one, that can’t change his taste,
Or one, that loves so much, with thine own taste,
To one, that doth so despise thee,
To one, I have one, and none else,
To kiss, no kissing being pleas’d there,
Is love so sweet it is self-will’s only delight.”
My dear Muse, do not so much as blush,
Tear thy lovely eyelids; for fear of injury,
I’ll wipe them all away with a blush;
My dear Muse, do not so much as blush,
Tear thy lovely eyelids; for fear of injury,
I’ll wipe them all away with a blush.
The lily he would not scratch,
Nor the rose she would not flower,
She would not breath, she would not love, she would not love;
She would cry, ‘O comfort, my dear, my dear,’
‘My love, my love!’ quoth she;’my love I’ll scratch;
And scratch at him with my knife, and then kill him with my spear;
And do not let my love be confounded with thine;
Nor let my love be a hind, a hind to gain,
My love be a hind to gain, my love be confounded with thee.
Let me assure you my love was not stolen;
For that I stole, and thou art not mine,
Thy honour will thy death prevent.
“O pardon me, ah! the clock is past four,
And all my quiet hath ended.
Let me confess to be false my dear friend,
When I have some kind of report,
I will make my defence more sharp;
And in the morning, to-morrow tell lies,
Thing like a sad-tun’d man:—
Who, feeling pity, with red lips,
Shiver’d the cheeks of his fair cheeks,
And set on a course so sad!
‘Thou mak’st the time sweet and long,
If I cannot be mad with all my might,
By my deeds thou hast done me wrong;
O, do not excuse me, for I am not mad:
But be true, thou art my muse, and I will write:
Thou art the true love, and this is not my will:
And when thou art, the painting of love,
Thou canst not live again till I die.”
Yet when they had asked her how he did,
She advisedly replied that he had begun
To talk to her, to get her by the arm;
And when he, too early, had begun,
As soon as she could speak, the white was blown away,
And on she fell, whereupon he, being tied,
With a chain-mail-like device did thrust,
He thrusts his sword in her vale, and falls, whereupon she cries
Whose hollowal womb resounds like unto the night,
Whose piercing shrieks do throng the dark chamber,
When each by him hearing do so dread,
D


======== CHECKPOINT 045 OUTPUT # 004 ========

ameda’s blood, the tender blood of the sweetest of all,—in other words, his worthiness is to me to be found in nothing, but to be his delight, his delight is to be.
‘So oft hath he gone by day, and night by night by night;
As oft as night he stayth on his horse,
His weary woes upon the ground,
His weary labour in the dark;
He never leaves a cave, though his light
Shall consume his light with wasteful hours.”
I think my love is as wise and kind as thou art,
As thou shalt see in the fair gardens set,
Which have a blossoming bud in the bud,
And in the spring the galled jade doth thrive,
In the winter doth summer decay.
‘Yet,’ quoth she,’such was thy youth,
That he should seem old, to my ears delighted;
For why should my youth complain of such an age?
How canst thou compare to a beggar,
whose wealth she buys from abroad,
And makes her neighbours pay more than she lends?
Or why should my youth complain of beggars’ stories,
Whose stories sell themselves like fair gems in Greece?
or his beauty, with which she admir’d
The scars of battle, the scars of battle’s scars,
Whose scars in my soul are like those in your eyes.
‘My love is love to none but of friends,
I trust, but I do swear, thou lov’st me;
My love is not my love, nor may it be
Thy self, but my love’s defect is thine.
The sooner thy soul doth see this,
The sooner thy love doth think this,
The sooner thy love doth think this thy friend.
‘But what of thy love doth this love undertake?
What is thy love but a jade?
I have no such thing, but one that grows on thy brow,
Hath beauty in thy brow thy beauty’s spring,
And beauty in thy brow thy beauty’s date,
So beauty doth beauty live, beauty die.”
But what of her love doth she undertake?
Which love doth so live a love in scorn?
For where love doth live she dies, and beauty is liv’d;
If beauty live, beauty die, and beauty be liv’d,
She forlornly doth plead that she loves no more,
Than she forlorn that she may have a daughter free.
The time hath come when thou shalt not delight
with my love, but with all my foes.
O yes, I loved him all; I did hate him not.
So shall I be revenged on thee,
With a happy death, and a hell no hope of cure.
‘”Look, what a fright it must have felt
That my guilty heart should cry in her pain,
To have such a punishment, by thy side?
I will not relent, nor leave the lawful place,
That thou mayst not reprehend my trespass,
Nor ever detain thy wrong with a kiss,
But by my side shall repose no excuses:
Such an honour to me, for Collatine,
To thee shalt all honour be,
If thou do my guilty wish violate.
“And for thy sake,” quoth he, “this night I will leave
The night, and swear it to thee,
And spend the rest in thought and deed.
Look, in the stars thy constellations line,
What virtue doth in thy breath shine,
What doth thy breath decay, what beauty doth change.
These lines they make to thee, which thou dost draw,
And to thy self thus set my heart adrift,
Whilst thou art the star that doth all other shine,
O, what beauty dost thou thy breath deface,
that I for my life can see,
And no shadow can stop my sin from obtaining thee.
What am I when life is death, and death no more?
When life is freedom and freedom perpetual?
when life is death and death no more?
When life is freedom and freedom perpetual?
When life is freedom and freedom perpetual?
And what is life when freedom is absence?
When life is freedom and freedom perpetual?
And what life is when freedom is absence?
And what life is when freedom is absence?
And what life is when freedom is absence?
And what life is when freedom is absence?
And what life is when freedom is absence?
And what life is when freedom is absence?
And what life is that which is not kept
When nature herself is kept from releasing her offspring?
Or when nature herself is kept from releasing her offspring?
For why should nature’s offspring be kept
From


======== CHECKPOINT 045 OUTPUT # 005 ========

steered the ragged time.
She sigh’d and whetted her heart;
She put her lips on his lips, and each other’s,
And, as she did so, his were full.
“What a hell of witchcraft was she in!
Shall foul tricks of foul craft lurk in thine eyes?
If any, let thy might abide no more;
Thy fair might, though foul stain be so green,
For there is no fairer test for such a fall.”
She kissed him, and he, in turn, on the lips.
“Lo here I was, Collatine’s friend;
In his shady car he sat,
In rude ignorance, the painter was naught;
But now he came and sat down beside,
Came again, and sat down beside again.
Here Adonis sits, and he doth sit,
Look at his dead friend that sleeps,
Who by heaven did not so wake him.
‘”And when I told her I would not kill,
Thy beauty fled, and life fled again,
And beauty’s fled and life were liv’d in thee.
O that thy sin may be shown not in thy days,
Thy guilty shame can never be put into thy face:
Thy sin in thy guilty guilty years should ever stand,
And even in thy guilty years thou shalt never be free.”
“Thou cannot make amends to wrong me,
No, I assure you, I am not mad.”
‘”What of that, my friend?”
O pardon me then I may say,
I have but one desire, one desire of woe:
And that desire is desire of self-love,
That I toil with my self, and then with my foe,
With this in me did my self grow,
Which then, I suspecting still, is the time,
Of all my restings, which is this beauty dead?
And if thou wilt give me grace to excuse,
I’ll tell thee what I do, and he will know
Who is my self and that part of me
Which doth play such a part in thee.
My self as thou art, my self in thee,
Sith that thou in me, thy self in thy me.
But then the verse says, ‘Thou in me’
I am thy self and in thee,
And in both, thou dost in me’self doth live’.
‘Poor soul,’ quoth she,’my part is in thee,
I should be thee, my part in thee,
And in thee was my body, but in thee was thine,
thou didst give the world to my body,
For that body in me now doth live,
thou gave that body thine, and in me thy.
‘Tis not enough, then, that thou give’st thyself a head,
That thou lov’st the whole, and that thou all’st is found.
‘But do not say I did not,’ quoth she,
‘The book of life did give thee thine;
A present worth of praise and favour did lend thee;
But if that present belong’d to thy self,
then his beauty shall in no sense live,
And nothing will in it may live again.
‘But what of this, my friend, how fair is this?
Let the fair herald thy name appear,
Let the giddy pioner my picture live,
Let every flower in thy bounty be green,
Where all my graces, all thy blessings belong.
Let all thy beauties whose blossoms do cover
all that he hath that doth live.
I must not let that sour tongue in,
Thy graces dispense with all sweetness.
‘I do, and shall bear it to thee in spite.
By this he crosses the threshold of the brook,
When in his golden chain his high hand rest’d,
To kiss the sweet lord of his high estate,
who in honour doth he bow.
For why then the sweetest man doth abide here,
For who would give so fair a fair offer
To such a wretch as he would render such a fool?
For he that obeys this king doth lie,
he will not, nor none else will, dare kill him.
But if it be true, his will will he overrul’d,
And kill’d her husband, and set her in servile night.
‘Why dost thou give my life to tempt fate?
Or make the unkillable death of a child
In the line of succession of thy surviving lovers?
To steal from my self a potential life,
Give all life to the child that was born anew?
But if my death were immortal, thy beauty


======== CHECKPOINT 046 OUTPUT # 001 ========

nesty that we may be, are but shallow adjuncts to our praise.
And yet our praise of him is a thousand things.
Look, here’s a nice, plump, short-jointed little hound,
What ungainly objects are there,
that the world can see but by thy eye.
How can the world, that is thy seat,
When that poor unloose frame can with a blow,
Have thy self, thy self again set free?
But that self hath nothing in thee,
That nothing can make him part,
What may but be a part of thee,
The world could with greater beauty see what he was,
He was nothing, in thee nothing he was:
But now he is all that, and in thy lot he is.
How can my love make him a part of me,
For that is my love and him I part?
Thy pity, my sweet love’s fair grief’s fair cost is:
And thou dost give the fair a part in my grief.
For in thy thought’s thought’s thought thy self thou art,
Thy self I’ll pity, my self thou dost spare,
Yield thy pity to his fair will.
Thou mayst for sure return and be fair,
To the gaudy day in his fair fair fair,
When no fairer yet is but free to pass,
For through a gilded gate a king lies.
This he did with a little diligence,
Which, by the tender enforcement
His gentle hands in quickening their pace yield,
So quickly doth he turn and leave his way,
That his rider seems to him to follow him:
The poor hound obeys, and so
The lion takes up his hind legs, and with him goes.
‘”What shall I say? ‘”Well, good night, good day,”
“Good night,” quoth she; “this is good night.”
“Fie, fond love, fond fear, false ambition,
Grief will not laugh with me when I am gone.
Yet are some with greater courage gone:
What treasure thou dost bring back in thy face,
When in it thou art full dearer still,
Than the weightless contents thou vassalise.
The day’s task is to persuade me to attend thee,
Then to myself I’ll entertain his show,
To see him with my poor daughter, and then he takes
The thing he sought, by conquest gave;
For when in doubt he willeth, he plucketh
The thing he sought, and there his will take.
Then to myself I’ll bow before my reason,
And to the general conscience hold the plea,
The worst is best, the worst is best both.”
The boy that did her proud defy slay,
She was her own mother, and her own god;
But when she saw the disgrace in her husband’s eye,
he thought her love were dead; and now she
For his use takes place in the heart’s delight.
‘”That thy Grace might stain thy record,
With a gloss like that of his own blood,
That thy picture should not be despised,
Or be so heavily profaned in print,
That posterity might more aptly call it,
‘Thy face is thine own, thy heart thy self;
For by thy self thy self art glorified,
And thou self worth’st so much to all men.”
‘”Thou unused slave, for whose good will will do me harm,
Under an antique knife’s dull hasty scythe,
Whose sharp knife wounds at every vein,
And never once plungeth into an infected spot:
Thy love, therefore, to hear my argument is,
Thine own fair, to be suborned to thy will.
‘Thus in a pure state she looks to scorn him;
As in a pure state the world doth disdain her,
When beauty doth stain so black a place.
She that hears him speak, takes heed,
He in her thoughts doth comment and she in tears.
‘I never saw thou on this face nor
Witness my sinful looks to others.
‘So was I, as thou fled thence,
And by the hand of nature had suborned thee,
As from a virgin womb to a man,
Or to any fair yielding herb,
Thy sweet smell to that sweet odour bequeath.
‘And whilesth I in my ecstasy do behold,
When I in ecstasy do comprehend
Thy face’s force with the shifting of thy breath,
The thought doth on that side conclude,
And my will in that side undertake:
“O yes,” quoth she, “though thou art dead,
My will be


======== CHECKPOINT 046 OUTPUT # 002 ========

visitor and in her own honour she did hold the key.
‘”In vain,’ quoth she, ‘hast thou not sought, I have no appetite,
And never shall be thy friend?
If you desire, be kind to me, and if you do find,
Then be kind and find no desire of me,
But be kind and live in desire of my self.
‘Then be kind as ever, and do not be fond
Of words, if they ever will hold you in sway.
Then be kind as ever, and live in love of my self:
I will be thy love, and thou shalt be thy love’s guide;
Love’s golden hair, long and light,
A pearl which shall in time wear out,
Thy beauty’s breath must expiate.
‘Then be kind as ever and live in love of my self,
As thou wast thy self and thine self shalt live,
And die, thy self in thy self shalt live.”
“How then?” quoth he, “if life, that which thou hast,
I will not live, because thou art dead,
And life, that is life, dies with thee.
And this shall thy life in life depend,
That thou wast not born, is life-killing.”
“Then be kind,” quoth she, “and live in my self,
as thou art thy self, so with me.
When life is done, there shall be no more pain
My body, so to speak, is done away.
‘But be kind as ever and live in love of my self,
A thousand favours from your fair store bequeathed
To your happy-purchased hand, hand, or foot.
“Good night, friends,” he says, “if my heart were told
The contents of my hand, that is to say,
the turtle, the wolf, the boar, the hebrine, the eel,
How will you like them all, to see them in your nights,
And in my sweet imagination did you draw
When you in dreams you must dream them, when you dream words,
From your sleep do you dream on my face,
When you in dreams imagine all these shapes in your eyes,
And on my face do you make your judgement;
For I never sleep, nor think my heart wrong,
But do my thoughts make me weep, my tears being wet.
For when you in dreams, why then do I wake
And then say, ‘I never sleep that night before,’
When in my heart you in dreams do think this
I hope thou thy love, and not mine own,
By thy fair fair show to praise thy fair show,
Of whom thou in fair shows must judge,
Where fairest creatures stand, and where best to make thee stand:
But thou in this fair fair fair show shouldst not stand,
For thou lov’st not the fair, nor thy fair self,
For in thy fair self thou lov’st not the fair,
Fair self, self worth, self esteem’s charter
Is wasted with all these; and, behold,
With little beauty, with great beauty falls.
For, to the blackness of that blackness,
Love stains the picture, with it hate’s stain,
For beauty’s stain is so much better,
Which is so much better still, that I hate to stain,
Which like a black-fac’d coward I do repent,
And take a deep breath, as one that weeps,
While listening ears wail our woes, while our eyes weep,
And dost thou in the act of weeping lie,
That all our sins seem unto thee with weeping:
But thou in thy self wilt bleed, and in thy self wilt
bleed, and in thy self wilt thou wilt
Make my body bleed as thou lov’st, and in mine do
bleed on, and die in my self.
‘When I have read many good books, many of them true,
And by and by behold these fair beauties
With painted truth and nice style well known
The like of which the world may perceive,
To see your self in all things strange,
To see in me all your errors,
To see what you think in my good works,
To know what you think in my bad works,
And what you think in my good books,
To know what you think in my bad works,
And what you think in my good books,
And what you think in my good works,
you do not love where you must be.
What you do love is but where you are.
For where you are you are made of nothing.
So that your absence from me should in any way affect
Your beauty, not yours, I must your help,
To make


======== CHECKPOINT 046 OUTPUT # 003 ========

intervened-betrayal-witness, slanderous, or traitor,
Or that by his unapproved name he hath been scorned.
So are you that when I in your name did write,
You in the Old and New Testaments,
Called your witness to the new’s judgment.
Who is not acquainted with the style and scope
Of rhetoric and of the times,
In all parts of the Roman world,
Threw their eloquence and reason in hand,
To make the mind of men more dumb,
Force them to be ignorant of their words,
Then to themselves with their decrepit examples grew,
As fools themselves at first thought dumb.
“When in his course of will he make discovery
Who can answer him in a certain matter,
or give him force to say “Well, thou shalt see”,
Or he will comment upon his wits,
Or suggest him to entertain an ill night,
That hath the power to make him dally,
For when his will doth bow, he sets his aim,
And to his aim his will chides the foe.
When in the hope of some greater gain,
Or gain where none, but a fair end,
can physic me that you, as I breathe,
To recite the reasons that govern
All my happy events and to varying accidents?
The more you me, the more I strive,
And to your greater good I my list grow.
If thou permit my love to grow old,
For it to-morrow is come, and my grace die,
To-morrow’s pleasure, my grief and hell
Will live for thee alone in your sight.
So, quoth she, thou wilt wilt take away,
Thy beauty, thy pride, thy shame’s strength,
Thy worth’s whole is but to rob thee of it;
For that it needs should rob thee of more,
Than thou shalt rob thy poor treasure of it.
“Why hast’t I heard the captain tell them it
Of the time it hath cost me nothing;
And to have them questioned so inordinate
Is as being forbidden in me as in thee;
And why not in their captain, in thee it is welcome?
For, like a bad precedent, all things right abide,
Thou art as good as thine; but that thy fair
Being as bad in good, doth in itself commend.
“The old oak fell, that hath power to tear it,
And every ripe drop hath stain’d and gone.
‘O, what a hell of witchcraft lies in me!
No blot upon her face is she new-blest,
though the stalk have blackened with age,
Or wrinkle-tongu’d in spots with heavy wear.
This heaps scorn upon her face with black disdain,
Saying that she might as yet be white;
Yet in a sort of disdain she smiles, and bids him go
The straight, and only way.
But, alas! Too late, the crooked time hath past;
And for that offence there is no redress;
Her tears are reinv’d in her cheeks,
And now to the time when her husband once stood,
Her tears have emptied their cisterns into her eyes.
‘”I will not remove, nor leave you here alone,”
“My love, my love,” quoth she, “this knife hath no pleasure,
Mine is a blasting heart, and mine is a blasting ear:
Let me make a truce, where you will,
I’ll bow before my self, and then bow before thy face,
And then I’ll thrust my knife in their faces’ faces’ ears;
But you can never be too keen, being too slow,
For fear of seeming blunter, I’ll be gentle,
And when you are gentle, be bold too.
But that shall be the fault of your verse;
The thing that will do your wound most,
Is not your poor verse, but my love, and I the painter.’
This old lady’s maiden name is Lucrece,
And to my mistress Tarquin she encloses;
For to her mistress Lucrece she lends a kiss,
And for that sweet sweet kiss beauteous kiss she doth lend
To me this dear love, now for my sake.
I will be a kind of tutor to Lucrece,
And I’ll teach her how to make new friends
To me that she herself in others’ eyes,
To know when to turn to good and when not to good.
‘Thou lov’st those that are, and they thy enemies;
When beauty is subdued, thou art not so sweet,
And yet thou art not so sweet,
I have heard of a love-killing boar,
Which doth stand and fly


======== CHECKPOINT 046 OUTPUT # 004 ========

restrooms, and all in haste,
To get the sweetest parcels which the world can afford.
So in this desperate chase, from the field of view,
He doth fall, and still on the way
Doth make the swift pursuit, to be gone,
To take his weary horse, his weary mother’s,
And then to be outstripped again,
To leave the race and run away again.
‘”In vain, O comfort, I will attend this poor devil
With excuses, and yet shall not rise,
To show thy face in her happy tomb.
The rich shall suffer, the poor shall be free.”
‘Tis the time to blush, for love’s worth we boast,
That we boast of this rich conquest.
O well I will not boast of my beauty,
Nor proud of my wealth, nor my fame,
My wonted skill, nor my outward grace,
Or my outward modesty,
Could not he make such robbery upon the fair,
By striking at my brow with his foot’d spear?
And to the robbery yield, to make my breast come
Thine own eye a mask to hide thy fair.
She looks, as a curious beholder,
Bids her not to look, but to stop her breath;
She puts on a frown, and thence follows
A desperate look, and there she stops again,
Who, by some strange influence, having seen
A woman naked, now her looks are
The worse for grief, her face the greater:
But the more so we in Lucrece find,
Those in excess of our sorrow blush,
To make that fairer shade look worse,
More white, and therefore look better on you.
I hate to be so kind, and yet you are
The one, and the other to be.
The one, and the other to be.
So is the thing that makes me love you the most;
The other is love, and I in love with you find.
‘But why do I pine for you so strongly,
That I should say so oft, and still say so,
Then thou wilt keep quiet for mine eyes to see?
No, I would say ‘You must be, for the stars are watchful.’
‘That I saw thee,’ quoth she, ‘your face in mine eye;
How can they not say that I am new-waxen and wiry,
Since I did see thee when thou art old and red,
Or when I was fresh and dead and bare,
Or when thou shouldst revolt and revolt again,
Thy cheeks thus shall no man tell thee mine:
For if thou wilt, that I in thy days will behold,
I think a devil in thy sweet bending reign,
That by thy sin thou dost deceive, I will kill thee;
That thou dost reword my verse, in thy heart.
When thou shalt review this, be reconciled,
To thy love, to love’s love’s love, be reconciled,
To that love being new-fired,
So shall this love be, till thine, which in thee remains,
The world is forgot, and all is black.”
And he in his cabin cries: “My son! my son!”
“My son!” cries the old maid;
Her voice shakes, and her eyes, dimly dimmed,
Shape the dreadful scene in her head:
And from her dim cell some sound device enters,
Which, from within her hearing field, in hearing
ensures a kind of fright; and then the wolf begins,
With white, and so the story ends:
And in that fearful fearful distance doth lie
The coward, the brave, and all the others.
To hear them speak, each one to the contrary,
To say, or to do, in their wills,
Thy wills were my will, that I thee directed,
Of my good name, and thy good will’s will being done.
So love is sweet, and it is so esteemed,
That in it thou lov’st not stain’d, or thou lov’st stain’d
The grave of thy self, or that which thou livest buried,
Thy worth’s perfection in thy self,
Or at thy self thy self’s death, thy self die,
Or thy self’s self live, thy self is new born,
And thou shalt live in thine own self’s flower.”
And as she this time ne’er had bathed his eyne,
With tears, but unwholesome, his eyne did cover;
Her nails do peel their white and hang almost beside them;
But in his burning city-house, where summer is held,
The sun doth not shine, nor his shining clouds cover;
Nor heaven to earth nor water but rain


======== CHECKPOINT 046 OUTPUT # 005 ========

170 that this world may behold,
And see his beauty grow, and die of want.
What then are you that thinks on me now,
Not that you saw me on the field of view,
Not that you wink at me in my place,
But that you have observed my course and seen
My crooked beauty grow, and die of want.
Look where I am now, all alone, and your picture,
For my shame hath thy shame done to me.
‘”Now thus begins to unfold my evil;
‘Twas not long since the very creation,
My will, which for my goodly deed sought
Doth but bear my doom, and it is my will,
To lead a sinful life to death,
To kill myself, and all my loved one,
By hanging my life in the least chance of obtaining.
To live by thine own self’s stealing, to live by thy self’s stealing,
To live by all thy love’s theft, that thy self hath died:
Thy self, with thy self’s self’s murder in me,
will be thy only friend, my only friend in me,
And by thy help shall live a thousand friends in me.
“So when I have all these for thy part,
Thy fair face to all these for my sake comes in,
Sweet thoughts, thou fair heart that taught it to write,
Thy lips to all these are sweet aids to taste,
In things sweet, simple, and rare:
O most of all, my mind, my love, my love’s colour,
To think and love, is in my mind so created.
“So then my love, if I would in thy sight,
Would think twice, as many times in a day,
The same thoughts and all their different parts,
Which at thy behest would straightway convert
To one simple thought, where they all mingled,
To one sweet thought in one, one simple sorrow.
My sweet beauty, in thee I basely build,
For thee, mine is thine; for me, thou my self dost build,
And for thee, mine is thy self dost grow,
for my verse to your liking I’ll quote:
Here ‘The blackest bastard thou shalt find,
Who would steal thy breath of air from thence,
And put the breath in the eye of every man,
That every tongue, all over the earth, may know
The blackest bastard thou shalt find,
Who would steal thy breath of air from thence,
And put the breath in the eye of every man,
That every tongue, all over the earth, may know
The shadow of death, that shadow in thee:
Then, lo! this is my verse to you,
And for you, my verse still to be:
If any, please tell me that thou thy self’s slave,
For if thou thy self hereafter dost die,
The shadow of death, and that shadow in thee,
This shadow in thee, this shadow in thee,
Thy shadow in thee, this shadow in thee,
Thy shadow in thee, this shadow in thee,
Thy shadow in thee, this shadow in thee,
Thy shadow in thee, this shadow in thee,
Thy shadow in thee, this shadow in thee,
And in thy shadow lie still, and in thy sight,
The same is true in me.
‘Thus far have I been gone by night,
And now to myself have I sworn,
When thou livest in the course of my words,
Thy face that in every place hath writ
Grew my spirit to fire, yea to change,
And to change my outward forms to those therein,
To take upon myself my parts,
to write, now that I am done
I must begin again, and there shall be no end.
The sad music to his oratory is heard,
By many, each one so beloved,
That he or she may be espoused to fame,
While he, in the best parts, is despised.
My poor soul, if that which it calls,
Will but rob it of the light, and thereof blind,
And make a false star of woe, and shame it so.
‘Tis the fault of all men that they do evil;
And thus she for her, in my verse,
Thou art a devil, my love a devil.
To prove my truth I will prove thee false;
The more I prove thee, the stronger I will be;
And thou my self, with thy self’s aid,
To the aid of many, and of false stories,
To the aid of false tongues, and false examples,
To false mothers, and false children, to falsehood in me.
To make that which I believe false, that which thou


======== CHECKPOINT 047 OUTPUT # 001 ========

fanatic so, that’s to say, I have not observed.
My cheeks are bare, my hair a wreck;
The lily pale and the rose green,
I will not hide, but for thy sake shalt stay.
To make them pale, I’ll give them potions,
To get rid of the colour dead, and of the tears.
His lips are lean, his nose full of rage;
His cheek leaner than a lily’s bud,
And his lip beauteous as hell are,
Yet mine eyes, in their pure beams, do make my sight fairer,
And I see the same with my lips.
O lest these tears in mine eyes be tears,
And thy breath breatheth all in my sinful heart,
When thou shalt see how this sinful weed die,
The sire of thyself shalt suffer thy vow,
Thy mortal body shalt in thy body decay,
Thy soul’s soul thy body to be thy dame:
And thou shalt be thy wife’s slave when thou shalt live.”
She says this to him, and all amaz’d,
Her eyes, like marigolds on fire,
Touches their contents with hot determination;
And they make their wills for sweet observance.
O yes, this said, his hand he held up,
Whose purpose it was, was to kiss my hand;
Then the glove being fastened, she forth again.
She doth so beguile the haste,
That she in a little while doth fight with haste;
Then she takes up a fearful eye,
And, lo, the fiend she sees, her heart doth fight.
‘So let it be, that thou thy self art so blind,
Who cannot see but with thy own eye
Perforce perceive the danger of my trespass?
Even so I am afraid, that my steel will break.
Whence art thou so dumb? whence art thou so hard-working?
Whence art thou so hardworking, that so hard work obeyeth?
when thou shalt encounter a boar, keep thy tongue
To make him more afraid by thy desire:
Till then you with steel still possess good will,
And so by thy will relent, and relent,
Like as you, that tongue that makes the bark stand still,
May more embrac’d by thy tongue embrac’d.
She gives him a kiss, and that too sweet moan,
Tells him to keep his tongue long; and she, full of trust,
Tells him to keep his tongue soft, but soft moan fast.
Sweet-smelling Tarquin, with a solemn look
Of chaste chastity seiz’d in her breast,
Bidding the cold-fac’d nun stay awhile,
The heat of his passion still outbraves her modesty.
‘”In him the watchman, in his satchel, lay,
Into a coal-black cistern a little white,
With dials and other precious antiquities in vase,
That burning candles might shade their smoke-distained light;
The windows would open and close, and never wink;
What cold, what hot, what cold wouldst thou feel,
If thou enter in the cold closet of night?
When thou enter in this cold closet dost thou enter?
Myself an attaint of thee, and of my
aggression am I to subdue thee,
The first is conquest, the second denial;
And therefore, being both, I will my self subdue;
For thou art my slave and am I not free?
, as he runs along the banks of a rose,
He stops, stops, stops, stops again;
He grinds his teeth, till, like a drunken rider,
He drowns his blood, and, like a boar, is dead.
What dost thou that dost steal from this flower,
That thou shalt hoard and not reap it again?
My life, thy flower, and thy beauty being dead,
I’ll live, and be thou another Muse.’
‘I will,’ quoth he, ‘I will; but ’tis too late;’
And he replies by hanging his head;
If there be no further question, stay still,
And make my love a silent pilgrimage:
And if there be any, stop not my thoughts till I find some,
So thou wilt be thy friend in love:
The night’s breath is too warm, and too cold,
And all these annoyings make my heart murmur and shake.
But thou art my friend, and I hope thou will be,
That my name will ever remain secret,
Nor my body till all my thoughts are rid’d.
When I in peace see your pale and bloody face,
All hearts bow their heads in mine honour


======== CHECKPOINT 047 OUTPUT # 002 ========

ocrat as the son of the dead,
And as the son and heir to a life,
Yet still with him shall live, and still with him no more.
‘Dear lord, would my verse now be
To your use, or your own pleasure?
Do not despair, for that will alter my mind;
A man can be unjust if he be not kind;
Thou canst not be unjust if thy sweet self remain.
Even to this end my verse with verses replete
With happy themes doth so far go,
That I have seen with more delight
Than any I have seen in your fair name.
And each fair jewel in fair form a god doth store
In precious stones that will in time live replete,
Each dear dearer that is not so,
The one is thy best, the other to be,
From your loving hand, wherein are you the present?
Then what hand can hold back thy loving eye,
When in spite of all strength do you seem to wither,
Being pushy in arms and knees, and prone,
To watch his proud legs, till he with arms be gone?
Or do you but be your own storehouse and feeder,
When in the bosom of love do you seem to die,
And then be you dead and living in that.
And like a falcon falcon, he leaps from the sky,
And being slain, flies where he lands.
What a lovely sight it had! ‘Tis a shame not to see,
That you seem to wander in the dark,
But dark night’s effects wear out your dim show,
For dark hours are quickly yielded to dim mists;
So then your fair complexion is best suited
To night-wand’ring time, and nights are spent with mists and dandles,
To sad-sad and weary days.
Yet for thy love, for her, life in my sight is ended;
She hath him by death’s broken knife, and I by life’s blood.
In thy shame let no other boast go,
Since thy beauty so doth live in thee,
That lives no death, thou wast not alive to kill.
Let him go with his prey to meet his death;
The coward heartless eye of heaven will not let
The coward soul get close, and if so, what hell
And how fast and how coldly it moves!
O, what an eternity it may be!
For even here the lines begin, “Who ever shunn’d thee?”
And, ere he say’she’,’she’, ‘he’,’she’, ‘his’,’she’ or ‘his’,
Came with him to take a look, and there she lay,
To mark her troubled face, on whose smooth skin
Her pale cheek, like a pale-pink’d pear, roll’d up in her head;
Round this round eye she doth behold a fair flower,
Which seems to her to promise sweet favours,
And soon begins to enchant her sight, so she gazeth:
But then she hears a heavy groan, and soon falls,
Like falling clouds, which from their shining spheres doth fly;
And having begun, quoth she, ‘My body will not rise again.
Even in the clouds of eternal night,
As from heaven’s melting girdle doth unfold,
all in vain Love, now and then the night
Will ask thee to bless the day with a kiss.
What treasure dost thou lose when thou returnest hungry,
That thou art one of the many that dost praise?
‘For lo, the proud jewel that keeps thy city fresh,
It shall live in my unlooked-for treasure;
So shall it never die, though in decay it seem
To decay on the earth with decay.
No, it shall not perish, though it be old,
Yet till we have tasted it, we are slaves to decay.’
“But be not too fond of your fear,
For the teeth of thorns, by their sharpness disturbed,
Kill yourselves at first, and then for fear of long:
Then do not leave the party, for fear of injury:
Then I will not lie, and thou shalt see me again.
Then love’s golden rings shall never wear away,
And lo the tables shall be emptied of their delight.
‘O Time, thou art the fairest jewel I have,
Mine is thy right hand, my other is thy mother’s hand:
Both amiss, now is the time that I must tear,
To show my love to my love’s false treasure gone.
Then weep, and be silent, and then cry out,
The one loves me, the other to blame:
And the sighs that come in one can


======== CHECKPOINT 047 OUTPUT # 003 ========

nearer, my love was love not love to thee?
Her face, like that of a virtuous nun,
Was not so smooth, but seemed so heavy,
Like the visage of a sluttish goddess.
O how her cheeks should betray the deep thought
Of days full of labour, or hours spent
With no leisure but idle nap?
Love made me wake up and be my rest,
When I was tired of that rest which I thought
So to myself I wake up, wake up again, and be gone.
Yet when I was tired I would not sleep,
Till sometime Lucrece come and stay me,
As often as the Romans did stay.
Her eyes, like sappy blossoms, did cover
Her cheeks, as white sheets, do cover every part.
She had but one look with those eyes of thine,
Like young women’s eyes in summer’s scorching heat.
‘To thee,’ quoth she, ‘do write to me,
For thou art the one, and I the other.
Thy beauty, being dead, remains a virgin name;
The one lov’d, the other alive,
To dwell with him who hath no eyes to gaze,
Save where he can make thee behold his face.
‘The thing that harms my heart more,
The thing that heals my heart’s infection?
I will pity thee with my vow,
And vow I will not let that wrong keep.
I have said this to Tarquin, to get thee his tongue;
To him I do swear, ’tis true;’
‘Lo, it is,’ quoth he, ‘this day I must vow:
Unless thou prove it, I will thy fair,
When thou shalt have twenty kisses with me this night.
And to the painter, by whom the work is done,
A true copyist would be esteemed,
of painted words I might prove
my love with greater grace.
For from the wood which she herself was sawn
Proud of her life, yet not so fond of words,
That in life words should ever rehearse,
In beauty dead or alive,
Her beauty dead, and still she liv’d:
But never to-morrow would hear her complain,
In death, or things death hath wrought,
And death still live, still live, and thou wilt see
By my love’s shadow my life’s end shall last,
If life’s end thou wilt desire to renew.
So then shall those whom thou hast lost,
That thou hast lov’d with my life, and I with thee,
That is to say, to me the sole bond still unbroken,
To me the unending string is as strong,
as the riper fawn that doth scratch her groom,
Catching his prey with a frantic gait,
Stirred with sudden desire his prey by a wait:
In vain the giddy groom doth chase him,
Making frantic turns to make him fly;
And when he lands, fearfully in his haste,
He tushes her gently on the cheek, and there
A coy smile, but with her own teeth it appears.
‘Then be advised, young love, to take this knife,
When in thy power thou art tempted by many temptations,
As when in the power of lust I slay,
For every fair that touches thee doth beauty grow.
‘Look, what a world of falsehood hides in Troy
Shows in thy image all falsehood and truth!
What world can false religion, in whose pride so proud
Such a glorious show of beauty doth dwell?
What true and true religion doth deny,
Whose lips themselves upon either’s lips stand condemned?
If in the centre of all truth there dwell
Wrathful falsehood, what sin can a worthless pen plead
Be of death? if in the centre of true thoughts doth lie,
And thou the author of a false deed write,
Then is beauty a god but mortal,
And perjury a high art, a devil neither sweet nor devil:
And if in that case the author of thine,
Whose name is Tarquin, the greater sin,
Is he not the thine too? (O pardon me, I know
Thy face thou hast ne’er harmed, and my name is dead)
Then thou art my dear and most beloved: but lo,
That is, all, was but an ornament and ne’er loved.
And for this purpose drew Brutus,
In hand with Lucrece’ wound, and by him that did fly,
Bid thy body’s passage be granted,
And then, as Lucrece’ arms their pace proceeds,
Bidding them be hasten to Troy, where he lies,
To see their god Tarquin again, to see


======== CHECKPOINT 047 OUTPUT # 004 ========

flix to the sick and the poor.
That which thou shalt behold,
Thy inward spite, inward pride,
Thy inward shame, thy inward shame,
Thy inward pride, thy inward shame,
Whilst thou art egotized in all this:
All these hold together like a melting heart,
And each to a breaking point doth shake
Thy self-will and true faith, each as melting clay.
And then from their banks he throws up his eyes,
Whose view is all-divining, all-loving, and all-hiding,
Which make them unrespected, unrespected, and unrespected eyes,
When every part confessing their defect hath pow’r
To all things that are, whether that be, to do or say.
This she did disjoin from her breast,
And then she again broke forth her sighs, and threw them
Through the breach of her lips, to drown the breath.
‘”In vain I bid farewell to my son,
To my self-love, to your honourable deaths,
To your honourable deaths, your honourable deaths,
To your honourable deaths your honourable deaths,
To every fair creation that ever lived,
And in them all your right, in them all wrongs,
Thou best living, and best living not best alive,
Which I hold to be the worst and best,
For nothing, worth nothing, truly being,
By nature’s force can best make thee better,
Being born again in this respect, being born again better.
If men did question what qualities
Their beauty should have, they should say,
The sun is green, the moon red,
The stars white, but in themselves they change;
But if the sun in his prime doth change,
The moon in her shade doth change,
And on the rose doth change all.
“That I have been woo’d in dreams before,
Like to some untimely jolting hour,
Showing my heart hath stopped beating, and my heart be
Dazed, sweating, with sorrow still doth rise:
At length he doth depart, and goes to bed.
O if she had had, my life might not have ended this way,
For her life had not ended this way, my life had ended this way
For life, and death, and all.
“Thou wilt be king, and thou shalt never last.
Thy servant is too unkind; let him go,
let his foul blood flow unthrifts,
Whose sweet breath doth swallow up all clean air,
And drinketh all in his foul flight,
In his foulest excess begets his foulest blood.
So, having no other means than this,
To do my will, to do my will doth call;
Then by the bloodless will of this pent-up will,
The verse would begin: “Lo, this pentagram is to show thee how to make good
That thou must not live by your deeds alone.”
But when the trumpet once more starts,
The weakling shrieks, and th’ impression of her pain is blown wide.
In a pause, a pale-fac’d man
With a red and feathered mourner’s hat
Holds sway’d the proceedings, in her head
What may her angry thoughts convey;
What may her sad words convey; what may her sad words express:
Thy self being mute, she in his place doth sing.
‘What should I say to prevent him from coming,
From me? or what should I say to prevent him from coming?
‘In vain,’ quoth she, ‘I must say this: I love thee; but thou shalt not love me so,
Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful:
And for this, I will do thy right;
Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful:
And for this, I will do thy right.
‘Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
For this, I will do thy right; thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
And for this, I will do thy right; thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
Thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
And for this, I will do thy right; thy voice is thine own; therefore be merciful;
Th


======== CHECKPOINT 047 OUTPUT # 005 ========

hath and wert to the object, and there she stood, and there she did stain, and there she did stain again: so shall I be revenged upon my breach, that by my breaking I never mend;—I never will confess that I ever loved thee, nor ever knew thy true state.
And this she said she would remove her cap, and she would remove it, if it could be fasten’d to her will: so shall I be revenged on my infamy, that by this fast I do extend to thee some more: so may the world be warmed with my poor ill:—
Yet in thy bosom’s arms thy will, thy will I do defy not!
The time hath come to remove the stain on my life,
And to return to life’s course to rid my name of offence;
For with the change that comes to me I am purposed,
That when no such semblance to me remains,
I may return, being proud and privileged:
Beauty in itself is lost, if not in that, in thee.
‘Thus far from this edge of thievish doom,
I’ll fight the blunt wolf with my steel might,
And yet my steel might not hold him long.
“How could I forsworn to Tarquin fear?
Who would swear that I would not defy?
Who would swear that I would not swear that I would not defy?
Let those spies of yours that do open
My registers to secret conspiracies lie hid,
And all men are tenants to rottenness ensnareth:
To every fair I can devise a measure,
Which I to your help might live for ever.
But in me that all is force, reason hath his art,
But my art in things of subtle importance,
And subtle things for art in things of power.
When you look upon my antique books,
I have seen that old books are precious;
In newer works they prove more precious.
But ah, for that book which old men may borrow
Of newer and newer beauty’s beauties, my muse hath writ,
And to the praise of all ages readeth,
The antique of your times is still extant.
Love is sweet, but not sweet to men,
And it is sweet in the least to men.
For then do I wrong a man, a woman, a child,
For even as a drunken lion swerves, the rider with the goblet,
By that swift-footed lion’s sting might come nigh.
The world may well conclude that I am unkind,
For all men are kind, but most are kindles.
‘Thou grant’st to be woo’d of a wife,
Till thou thy self at last give me thy hand,
I will not abuse thee, and yet thou must use
Thy soft hand, to tame thy kindling hot:
Thy soft hand, to tame thy kindling hot,
To tame thy sweet being, thou must my sweet use.
So thou lov’st my sweet ass, and I am thy friend,
So dost thou my friend make me your slave?
, like him, Tarquin was mute, and thus remained:
So do my slaves, that thou, the author of my sins,
Thou left’st me no other choice but to torture,
Thy self, to give thy self the rest by me stealing,
Or to my self by thy self stealing,
That thy self with me to be forsaken did give rest
To thee, and to thy self thy self.
‘So will thy fair sweet self be my prisoner,
And in the hope of being free from this hell,
Return to thy self, that I may in the least belong.
And if thou wilt yield, that fair fair fair,
And with my fair fair self, I thy self may be freed.
Yet be free of bondage and bondage’s bonds!
Being free from bondage, is my bond renewed.
That’s why I have sung hymns of love to thee,
As often as I write to you,
Thy love shall live, and thine love shall live in thine own eyes,
And in thine eyes thou art the better for my fair taste.
“Look what kind of man a king should have
Who had no son, but had two, and one beauty,
Would do thee honour by selling your life.”
Such speeches are rare now, and yet they tend,
To provoke fear in those who themselves are strong.
O how did I not by chance betray
My affection to a man of thine own,
Nor my love to a man of thine own?
O never fears your love that not my blood can cure thee;
Never in thy power am I contented
To torture your love, nor love your love to


======== CHECKPOINT 048 OUTPUT # 001 ========

jerseys.
To each his fair and perfect rank did his fair name take,
Like a summer’s day and a sun that doth ill grow.
In vain he plots his decease; for fools make errors,
So their folly’s fair show doth spend.
Sometimes her eyelids are fix’d in her face’s hue,
Like crystal globes whereon rainbows doth dwell;
others see but obscure circles,
Sinking unseen behind hidden bars,
And then as they see their spheres they dim
With dreadful twilight and dismal night.
O no, she knows no such thing,
She goes on and on, her course being enforced,
Like a clock that ‘gan break at midnight,
When no time nor hour hath allotted
Whilst the world’s busy beating heart beats,
To let the sad morrow wait on that morrow,
Whilst the world’s busy beating heart beats,
Which now her sad heart so slow doth commence.
So are they mute, and then the clock tells
That Time’s minute is expired, and Time’s second begun.
“Why dost thou pine and cry, ’tis raining?’
Poor earth, why dost thou pine for water?
Sorrow mak’st the eyes weep, and tears in their tears;
And therefore her weeping eye doth weep more,
For pitying herself that she is so late.”
“Poor fool,” quoth he, “your day’s pleasure is past,
And all that entertainment with your hearing,
Doth spend the rest of your waking in idle brain.
Even here, like a dying coal, the waves break
Within the hollow wall of a cave;
The painter’s rough image peep’d through
As if he had seen it with his true eye;
The deep purple pearl encloses
Whereon the tears shed in tears stream forth.
‘”Why dost thou pine and cry, ’tis raining?
And why dost thou pine for water?
To drown the life in death of another?
Or to convert water to vapour,
That thence doth it convert to use in fire?
O neither art thou mine, nor I thy debtor,
For thou wast my earthly image, my fair wife’s tear,
When thou wast dead, I too, the image of thee,
Must live again as living Collatine did thee,
And live on as thy living Collatine.
Love made you stronger, and we all better endowed,
Both with your loving hands and our love’s feeling paws,
So do I now strive to prove
That all men have wombs and minds both created.
Love will not kiss me, but that which is left unswayed
will stain your coat of love’s best,
If it ever must be yours: for what it doth sell,
How well it doth in the eternal struggle!
And in this trial will you enjoy
The better part of the long lasting happiness
If you will the better part suffer!
“Fie, fie!” quoth he, with such a sound,
That his eyes did dart from her face,
And in her remorseless blood
From his lips did fly a dazzling array
Of white, of red, of blushing, of changeable hue:
Some on either side their wavering heads dropp’d.
“Fie, fie,” quoth she, “why, woe is me!
My parts are too weak, my strength too great,
To fight, nor be defeated by the foe.
‘So with this, he rouseth from his bed;
‘Then I faint, and then faint and win.”
“The plague will not touch thee till the next morning;
The naked thief will not touch thee till he clears;
If he smothers thee, thy sinewy hair doth wither;
Thy untun’d hair, thy loose twisted sense wastes;
Thy uncouth act of love destroys not thy dear life:
Thy bare poor, untainted body doth mock thee;
Thy untun’d body doth mak’st thy shame:
Thy untun’d body doth mak’st thy shame’s decay:
Till thine infirmity doth tell thee thy sweet time.
“I’ll give thee all my heart I can,
And tell the sad story of my untimely death;
And thou dost live, if thou dost not give it my due.
Thus is thy soul brought before thy eyes
to this sad-beholding doom,
That she may be revenged on my untimely death.
‘Thou wronged dame, and shall blame me for this;
Thy treason, and thy treason’s foul deed,
Thy spoil, and ‘gainst


======== CHECKPOINT 048 OUTPUT # 002 ========

past
His eyes were clouded,
That stern fear in his fair cheeks did frame
What might his face have done wrong,
What might his soft hand do wrong, what might his lips do right?
He would have wink’d at that foolish time,
And left her bemused husband with his woes.
“When I have sworn to thee, thou art my love,” quoth he, “if thou do, then lend
a hand of kindness to love that will do it good:
Even so thou shalt not bewray it,
That in me it is thine own fault.
Thy self, mine own wrong, is thy sovereign good,
And thou, thy true self, thy self’s foul arbiter,
That every good man can do good to me.”
‘Thou art as good as mine; but if thou keep this oath,
The world will say that I am poor,
My life is but a toy,
And nothing but mine is true,
When in the truest sense thou art made,
For such an earthly hand doth issue
As mine to the earth, my self to heaven,
What’s my colour in thee depends?
When in thy breast do thy parts disgrace?
O no, I am not your slave,
And thou my slave am I to my loathsome tongue;
But as my lord, so too my love is to hate;
And the love that is best is love to love worse,
To me the best is better than my love to love.
To me the worst is love to love best,
To me the best is love to love worst,
For loving is not love without love’s love.
When I have sworn to thee, I have sworn thee,
And to thee I have sworn my love,
And to thy false tears with thine have committed,
Thy pure love with mine eyes hath decayed,
And thou shalt never possess thine again,
For my love is thine, thy thine is mine.”
For she, that hath sworn, was never freed
From the bondage of her oath;
And that free remission which thou shalt see,
With her protestation still renewed the flood.
So hath he his guilt swerved, and her woe hath dried.
‘My sorrow shall in no way diminish
The course of this storm which shall ensue it;
It shall then be a storm of showers, bloody showers
And sad groans and bloody groans, each hour’s protestation,
Will wash the face of this earth and all her ocean;
But when, blushing with surprise, she sees the bottomless flood,
And all these sad sights shall thence remain untold.
O where hath my love been lodged,
that to the world he gave this life?
How can my love be sent away?
The answer is this, ‘He gave me this life, and I this life.’
‘But that thy sweet love may in some measure survive
The disgrace of so forsaken a name,
I’ll undertake to take thee with more pride,
That thy love may in some measure survive,
The shame of such a name being espied,
The honour and glory to which it goes,
Whilst thy name as an honoured mark doth appear,
And I in a perpetual minority esteem,
The dead, being mov’d with newer age.
‘Poor unruly beast,’ quoth she, ‘why dost thou fight so?
My body is strong, strong, proud, strong, strong, strong, strong!
If thou (my body) should break, O let my proud soul,
Be anchored there, and let no break-up of thy breath,
thy worth to me assured,
I am to thy good thoughts, thy bad thoughts assured,
If they prove untrue, I hold thee for their sake,
And by their false infamy kill thee in thy state.
When in doubt shalt thou review
The fickle workings of fortune-telling spirits,
Where thou art but a child, and thou art a man,
When beauty turns white, the best is ‘twixt thee and me,
But in the best, thou dost be best, and best is best in me:
In me, best is best, and best ‘twixt thee and me.
“The wolf sheds his blood at the sight of thee;
The lamb cleaves at the zealous mother;
The mare is so quick in her doom that she bites the rider;
The sire commits the crime of his lust:
The freeborn, free, not only to breed, but to breed
As quickly as man can, by his own skill begets;
He that lends, is not his own free gift;
Yet when he lends, his free gift is such a hind;
When he lends


======== CHECKPOINT 048 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Inner a man, as a lamb, with all his might he will devour;
But thou lov’st me, and I hate thee.
This said, she toss’d up the dead of night,
And cold-pale forth again, that their red lights did lend;
They thence in their dimness fell asleep.
‘Thus says he to her, ‘I’ll hunt the boar, and kill the lamb;
Thou know’st when thou art hunted, and where thou art not hunted.’
‘Well, foul churl, thou couldst not kill a living thing,
Nor would thou the better of men kill a living thing,
To know that thou know’st time doth spend wasting.
That thou know’st time spent on useless shows,
And that thou art once spent reading useless books,
That time spent reading and listening to things dead,
How dost thou be a fool that hast spent all thy time
In this idle, senseless, senseless book?
To write, how dost thou spend eternity?
Or even the world to say, Time’s dead and you are
Time’s living instrument, to write to thee?
What right, in Time’s dead instrument should a story take?
Or what right should a story have to you,
when thou shalt begin to ruminate,
Lest the time prove no use;
And even in thy ruminate will rhymes grow.
Thou art never all that, yet when I feel thee grow,
I’ll compare thee with the wits and blushes I had,
To-night when thou dost live, when I weep for thee.
‘Had she his arm, that nice hand that his hand did bind,
She might have wished she might have cried, “O false tears,”
But she did not catch his eye; he fell, and she fell again.
The wind that bloweth from thee from the sky,
How dare I that should call upon thee?
Or my poor muse accuse me of foul maleness?
But thou art my muse, and she my poor conscience doth
Take all my faults from mine own breast,
And dedicate them not to thy own poor tongue,
But thou thy self shalt write of mine own crime,
To be my muse in thee, and not in me.
‘Thus says he: ‘Upon thy image shalt thou sit,
And if thou dost desire to have my image,
And by and by, desire may be gave,
Thy picture shall thence be the tomb of love,
That to thee my love may dwell,
And thou thy self, my love to whom thou mayst convey.
But if thou dost desire to have the whole,
Or ten times more, for that, than mine own likeness live,
What then do we say? O let them not say that
No picture they can convey,
Or that their own self a better show
Grows from thee, as snow from a bire are spent;
My soul, my body, my soul being taken,
Lays waste in eternity the sands of time.
‘O thou wilt, despite of death, bequeath to thy bed
The immortality that is thy will,
And be buried in eternity thy sweet will preserve;
And bequeath to thee all eternity’s treasure,
With thy will, in hope, in fear, in hope
That thou through the portal from the grave mayst come again,
Will tie the knot that keeps thee prisoner here.
‘Thou lov’st not thy self, but thou lov’st too much,
Thou lov’st not thyself, it is thy will,
Thou lov’st to be, but it is no help to stay,
A perpetual torment, and a torment for thee,
Even in my will, and in thy will,
What is thy will, and what is not thy will?
Thou canst not will, and will not fulfill;
But like a fiend, whose sting wounds all heal’d,
Who in the worst of triumph doth stand
For the death of thy self, thy own death’s spoil,
And who doth not, by their dying breath suffer,
More pain than mine own body did deserve.
‘But, dear boy, if aught wrong, say not I,
My will is never shaken, nor my will never grow,
But my will be thy constant will;
And my will in your image will ever abide.
Love is but an instrument for ornament,
And by ornament it is meant neither
To do nor to get, nor ever to leave.
‘But my will,’ quoth she, ‘do every thing but work,
And that through my will be enforced.
I will not entertain the thought of perjury
Where thou art not my self, yet


======== CHECKPOINT 048 OUTPUT # 004 ========

generated, by heaven’s help;
Or at the least, by the help of a heavenly spirit,
A place where no earthly harm might ensue:
To such assistance thou help shalt find,
A home that will thrive to thee well,
And love that grows and dies by thee alone.
“To me therefore as you here set down
Each thing that shapes me, my mind doth answer:
If that, you too, were one, then all things are dreamt.
Yet if I were one, mine thought, as you mine,
Would in your thought form a true theme.
And by thy sweet thoughts did I derivate
Thy fair name, that in thy thought
might thy sweet name be remembered well.
Yet thou being dead, I cannot seem to thee
For thou art still my ghost, that liv’d in thee:
Thy likeness in thine reflects, and mine in thy mind,
That thou mayst see thy old self, for the very sake of me.
‘But where is thy sweet heart, that needs a rein?
Or where hath thy beauty left me, where didst thou put it?
‘My sweet self thou art, and for that which in thee
Shall art dead, that thou must return again.’
‘Then woe is me! Too much of this, my dear,
Cannot bear, let alone bear;
For then I am too much swarmed, my dear,
And my love lost in the flood drowns me.”
“Ay me! yet another instance of witchcraft?”
‘O father, what of witchcraft is
Of a more reproach than thy late honey?
Or of a pureer spirit than thy good?
Or of a woman possessed of such extremes,
That even in their bareness they did look pale?
What could a careless fool do wrong?
O steal their breath, and wear their own!
Even so the bank where they spent their sighs gave
Whose fresh outrages in their mess hall no cure to bring,
As men’s tears, which, like silver globes, did cover their
Breathing water down the laden river’s banks.
‘Yet from the burning furnace in whose hot head
Thou shalt not look, mine eye hath not found the way,
He will not smother it with his bending motion;
So with a desperate rage the fire heats up his heat,
That, hot with fright, it doth quake with his rage.
‘O, that desperate exclamation of mine,
Who at my unswayed hand, fearing lest thy hand fall,
Or else his bending motion seem’d to betray,
Mine eyes, which love bred, did make my heart rise.
But love hath mine eyes’ function in me,
And in that function the lily flower,
As a memorial of thy sweet youth,
Upon that flower I may my self live,
If my self grow old and I in thy sight grow.
But that thy beauty should stand in thy sight,
thy pity well may be blest;
To be blest is the least of all desires.’
As they have debated whether to kill themselves,
Or survive by swallowing so much grief,
To die by swallowing so much misery,
to die by-pass’d was his passion;
As it must was supposed he would die by-pass’d.
‘”Thus says he to her with unwholesome gaiety,
A league of thine eye’s twining shall I spend;
Such strife and strife my heart makes;
For one by my side is slain by another;
Such strife my heart makes for peace and rest.”
‘Thus says he to her with unwholesome gaiety,
A league of thine eye’s twining shall I spend;
Such strife my heart makes for war;
Such strife my heart makes for liberty;
Such strife my heart makes for tyranny;
Such strife my heart makes for freedom:
Such strife my heart makes for brotherhood;
Such strife my heart makes for fatherhood:
Such strife my heart makes for love and all friendship.
“If ever Opportunity ever Opportunity show’d
Wrack on Sin, and Opportunity miserly,
Then Tarquin I know will not win it back,
He will fall and die alone.”
Then do you not as the wind breaks,
Or as the sky being warmed,
Or like a falling thunder,
Or like a blown glass, half full he exclaims,
“Look what Opportunity did bring!”
“Let not Opportunity wonder at Opportunity;
Let Opportunity wonder at Opportunity alone;
Let Opportunity wonder at Opportunity alone;
Let Opportunity wonder at Opportunity alone,
let Opportunity wonder at Opportunity alone;
Let Opportunity wonder at Opportunity alone,
let Opportunity wonder at Opportunity alone,
Let Opportunity wonder at Opportunity alone,


======== CHECKPOINT 048 OUTPUT # 005 ========

CONTRan’d with more tender thought and gentleness;
In him a tender sense did springs the strength;
To himself the strong bonds entombed.
“The sun hath set and all is done;
The clouds have eased their light from their shine;
The sweet wind that bloweth from their blasts hath stopped;
The brook hath drained the hot river;
And wherefore did he not set forth
Some wondrous device to make his place more hot?
‘But wherefore hast thou not been deceived
Of prophecies made by spirits in power,
Of power’s seals, of bargains made before,
When bargains made by spirits in authority?
No; this was the fore-telling,
That would lead to action thou wouldst pursue;
And with this, Opportunity took hold
Of the weaker, which by Opportunity should have
Some measure of strength, some compactness:
For then my strength should under-pass thee,
And, by thy aid, thy might thy might extend:
My might would be shaken if thou vaded’st thee again.
Look what happies human rights bring forth,
By giving thy issue all patent.
Love knows best, so that the sour tongue doth say,
So fair a night is fairer in love’s sight.
“O yes, mine eye hath scope to see
What bounds my horse is moving; what course my foot takes
Is not yet known, but he in my mind knows.
He sees your face, and yet you in me are hideous.
“Show me thy glass and tell me I have seen
Pain, and yet you in me are not pain.
‘”O eye of glass! have seen but one affected piece!
Why should so many windows be blind?
How can eyes which once upon the sky be seen
Have power to open and close their windows?
Or do they make their wills windows which no eyes hath?
For blind they in darkness behold,
And therefore in darkness their wills render,
To give the same vision to you.”
The lark, whose sad habit makes him swear,
Fork’d by the strong urge to come and sit,
That he should curb the swiftness of his course,
Which from his keen appetite doth balk,
And with fearful terror doth stalk all the way,
The sweet smelling weed that doth in his mouth breed;
And being full of shame and disgrace,
The stalk doth question if he be mulberries again.
And thus Tarquin dies, ere his lust is satisfied,
He, the lion, chok’d by his prey, now seeks another;
His prey doth, too, balk; being sat, the prey being gone.
But all these arguments and prophecies kept him still,
And for his speedy ending he doth speak;
In vain they scape the proceedings of his mind,
Where they must afterwards prepare to debate.
Now the door to his chamber opens, and all eager haste doth appear;
The young man that looks upon the night with sad eyes,
With pale cheeks, and wrinkles, with hairy eyeballs
Like children in hot pursuit, do bow their heads,
And do not look upon your true colour,
For not that we can see but by looking,
Like dead eyes the wrong our eyes have done.
And if you look, you may be certain,
That the image you behold in your sad face
is nothing like the truth,
So long as love is love you shall live,
In eternal hate and dread of every tongue.
“To make the world a better place,
To make life a devil’s hell,
To make a purer world a glorious riper:
For every poor eye the red and white
Is a god, a beauty created for shame;
And each god in his glory did define
The god to be his white, his flame white;
Which to his flame likewise was burthened;
For each red or white gave his flame a blemish.
‘And as they were biding their time,
Like those thieves that preyed on the poor,
So fell they upon thy picture, whereon their eyes
Hath barr’d them from thee, and left them bleeding.
But now the rich merchant, rich in fame,
Hath bid them still bear the cost of thy show:
And now they bid thee still pay it, and yet
still the rich merchant bids them still bear
The loss, and yet the rich surfeit
With loss of face or sight or smell,
Both payed before the due day’s due.
“And now the rich merchant, rich in fame,
Hath bid them still bear the cost of thy show,
And yet they bid them still bear the loss.
Then call them their friends when they


======== CHECKPOINT 049 OUTPUT # 001 ========

latest that they should be bred in this?
Yet my dear love to-day,
Proud as a pure-beholding citizen is
To bear a mortal wrong, to be putrid
To live in hell for the crime she committed:
For every blot that ever on her face
Shows guilt or innocence, must be expunged.
And for this purpose, on a black platted stone,
In the act of consecration, stood she up,
And stood Adonis, whose pretty form the young
Borne on her tender neck;
Then stood Venus, Adonis’ new-fall’d wife.
‘Had I not, thou art my child, wouldst not have been born.’
‘”I have often felt thy sting, sweet boy,” quoth she, “but in the twain
Of many a countless number, hath thy defect thine,
And then thy part is thine, too, and so
The sting dies, and thy sweet self is restored.
But the sting is death, and thou dost return;
And if thy soul die, mine body shall remain
In this helpless tomb for posterity:
Therefore let those that are wise, bold, and bold
To bear false witness bear false fear.’
“What of that?” quoth she. “If it be true, there was no god,
So is this verse of mine: ‘Thy heart hath sworn my verse,
And my poor soul hath sworn to bear false witness;
What of thy body?” quoth she. “Ay me! I was not created of clay,
Nor ever was thy mother thy mother;
And therefore were I not, thou wast no mother to me.”
“But in thee I will compass this destinies;
And when thou reviewest the chronicle
Of my unrecalling years, remember I love thee
When thou thy self return and I live,
When thou art in love with my living soul,
For this me a poet lives and dies,
The better self to be so immortal be.
Let not the sweet ornament of true taste
Become suspect, and pervert the grace of taste;
And then shall this bad law expire,
And the world’s greatest sin die out, in peace
Of every jade, fenis, berry, weed, pebbled or straight,
Like a drunken fool stuck in a river.
For to the world that gives thanks is beauty slain,
And death, like a drunken wreck, is liv’d
Upon the cross that we consecrate to thee.
For why dost thou then make this vow,
In hope of eternal life and blessed sight?
Then love’s eye is but a storehouse for theft,
And beauty’s eye is a prison for crime:
And woe is me, my love is but a storehouse for wantonness,
For in the eye of love there is none love,
nothing can stop her pain till he runs away.
‘”It shall be thy seat, O comfort, where I may sit,
When thou shalt have heard that music thou shalt hear;
And thou shalt be my witness against false alarms,
That my soul is mov’d from thee:
Then shalt thou excuse me not from judgement
To speak my mind in the morning of rest,
My poor soul, as sick of rest, would wail thee thence.
When I have heard from many aieb,
that thou thy self in spirit was made of stone,
What of earth’s faults hath thy breath made,
Whose action hath been the womb of thine eye?
O answer, if thou wilt, earth’s foundation hath smeared thee,
Thy breath hath smeared forth misty vapours from thee,
earth, that is our common carrier,
For to our earth we too are left,
And to thee too we must return:
If thou wilt return, be so kind as to bring me there.
thou wilt, too, my love, for this purpose seek:
And if it find no help, let it be lighted for thy woe.
No, honey, no, no, no, no, no, no, sweet Lucrece’ eyes,
My lips are dead, my heart no longer heart:
Forfter then, I was then alive, still to die.
‘Why then am I blind? why is my sight so hard?
O, answer I,’ quoth she, ‘in all truth there lies,
What is thy heart but a grave, a tomb?
Mine eye, that false jewel which my heart hath wrought,
Which the world to render false, so harms my heart
That I cannot see what it is nor know what it is,
Whereupon it doth my heart leap at?
Why then am I deaf, and my heart mute


======== CHECKPOINT 049 OUTPUT # 002 ========

NYC in the bosom of a dying love.
“Thence on foot to my chamber, where is lodged a little girl,
Of whom I commend this letter:
‘To Lucrece,’ quoth she, ‘I need not say so,
But I must assure you my lady is true.
She says her love is as fair, kind, and kind
As any in her sight, as sweet and tame,
She being captain, would have it all;
Yet she too late hath lost her tongue, and sung a tune
Poor bird that doth sing ere well he lands;
But her voice hath lost a glorious life,
And is extinct when a reverend sings it again.
“Sweet boy,” quoth she, “once more I behold thy face,
As sorrow’s shadow doth his image dim,
When, like a falling plume, like a cloud doth lie;
Then that’s mourning o’er her eyes, whose hot eye
Lends light to all fair eyes in darkness fled,
That can see all that’s hid in thee alone:
For thou, my love, is not to be concealed
From all fair eyes, but from the fair heart.
For this reason why I pray thou thy servant,
That he may see my sorrow, and leave mine,
And never hate on my love, even if he should see
my love as some dearer being.
His true sight, like a cherubin,
Shows the proud sight of many a blessed thing:
He in it the lion see’st and feel’st,
And in that it self doth self esteem,
Then to thy self, it doth strive to shine.
He sees the lion neigh and neighs,
And in her panting doves his panther meet;
Then love hath a spirit of majesty,
Ashy-fac’d Lucrece’ face to the fire,
who in this picture gives thee an ill
Of things past and things to come?
The world’s best beauty dies, the world’s best is disgraced,
And all our poor deformed forms fade,
In the decay of the world’s best:
O if these objects thou didst leave,
Thou couldst not reprove me then, but in this ill.
“When thou wilt, that day is nigh,
To see his dead father’s face again:
The clouds are dead, and thou hast no time to lament:
To make excuses for his fading night,
I should add this to a long list
Of well-acted tragedies, begun with the eye;
Or as poets, they do their fair words,
Take advantage of your fair sounds, and entertain you:
At first your gentle verse will suffice
To make your praises more lasting.
The worst is past, the best is to come again,
And nothing to do but moan of it,
For you can make your speeches more lasting;
But that you use all the arts of speech,
You must for your style govern your style’s scope.
O, how she that nurseth young should not be so cruel!
She that nurseth old should not be so kind!
She that nurseth young should not be so kind!
She that nurseth old should not be so kind!
She that nurseth old should not be so kind!
O heartless murd’rous beasts, why hast thou begun
To breed such hideous blushes by thy tongue?
do not so, my love, but that tongue
Which thy sweet self so lov’st, might well thrive.
“This man that stole my life from me
Saw thy worth buried in dust and cold,
Shook off the chill and made me feel better
To spend my living in eternity.
But now that thy beauty is dead,
Thy beauty’s worth renewed, and I thy friend,
I no longer must live in fear, nor lose sight
of thee, for my love you must remain,
And live beside me, and live beside you,
And be contented to die in your place,
Because I love thee no longer than you do.”
‘Thou traitor, I do not know thy heart,
It was thy will, thy last resort,
And never proved but for my rape to survive
In this stain so false a testament.
And now thy hateful knife, as sharp as a spear,
Grip’d up his rage, and laid an end to my woes:
With the wound, with the wound he drew,
Both seasoned by combat and skill bred,
Till he emptied the Lucrece gun, and that struck
Whereupon all fled, and’stonish’d the moment.’
When, O most wondrous creation, canst thou not say
That in thy face thou art descended
Of such a


======== CHECKPOINT 049 OUTPUT # 003 ========

silhoual and sweet, that is, to thee,
With my body, by thy life;
For what then shall I say?
Or shall I say, thou art dead and gone,
But return again this time for another of mine,
And be contented with that?
The worst is never quite done, for ever’s lost,
By every gentle appeal, every fond appeal.
Thus she quits, and all in woe,
Fornication still doth torment her soul;
She that drinks her sorrow acquiteth,
And to herself self-will subdue
all that good that can be added
In one fell drop. �Even this slight addition, so great
That by it his majesty did raise,
Through a puddle he falls, through a rock:
Or falls by a steep-up fell hill, whose steep fall
Sets a dying plenitude o’er-painted.
So do I, with all my might, keep my Will,
That never being shaken, or troubled with shaking,
I ever shalt be free from this false grip,
Whose crime is not to kiss me, but to kill me.
“Now let us all be contented, Collatine,” quoth he, “if thou wilt, go
To the wayward mountain whence thou mayst seek.
‘Wilt thou wilt have more than one wish, or many?” quoth she;
“Perchance, quoth he, I must wish his ashes were
Another way of meeting: but no, he sticks by
To bear me to Tarquin’s tent, where I may be buried.”
Then Collatine again replies,
‘”What wish could my sweet wish have, but death?”
“No wish,” quoth she; “nor friend nor foe shall intrude.”
So quoth she: ‘”O, madam, if I could wish to speak,
But by the law of nature I cannot wish;
Even as a kiss cannot prevent the sting;
But if it kiss’d, and I was sting’d, what good is it?
then my love will mine own fault;
And by that my poor dear wife’s death,
Thy fair self, that hath done this to me,
Will be mine own torment, as well as the thief.’
But as he answers, all enrag’d, her face inclines;
Her eyes with her whole array incline;
She sees the faults that lurk in his brow;
Then wistly she leaps, as if on some ill action;
Her lips on his are pale and red as snow,
Her eyes, like fire, blaze forth her light,
And all at once she tosseth them in her head.
The painter, seeing how painted she appears,
Doth with a jealous eye stain her best appears:
But when this blessed-pale-red blush
Upon his brow her utmost hue dissolves;
And when his bare face’s full hue doth stain,
His full and bare parts give salt to her tears;
The deep-green rose that her cheeks bear confounds;
Her bare lips gloss over all his face,
And down her back a river runs, which flows up a steep hill.
“Lo, this man that didst destroy my life,
In blood his own image he must die, and in thee
What he shall possess shall live, to quote him another.
‘”Lo, this man that didst destroy my life,
In blood his own image he must live, and in thee
What he shall possess shall live, to quote him another.
“This was thy father’s day, and thou shalt see it done,
When thou shalt hear the trumpet of praise set:
Harm have I done to him that done this to me;
But if his life, or his soul’s, or his sense,
Give him up where he dwells, let him beauteous remain,
And never let him tempt fate, nor fall
Into his bed, save where he haunted his night.
Now thou shalt hear a sweet livery done,
of old, the patterns of the dead,
The silken ruins that under them they grew:
Now look upon the graves, whereon men laid,
And there stands the dead body, standing on its face,
With weeping mother’s brow.
Now come, O comfort, wake me up;
Let me excuse thee thus, and tell my story.
For shame hath seiz’d me here a heavy one,
That hath seiz’d my breath, and hath seiz’d my mind.
‘But now he runs, and thou hast no cause to run,
Let me excuse thee thus, and tell my story:
So thou who on thy swift run doth deny,
When on the grass


======== CHECKPOINT 049 OUTPUT # 004 ========

sonic from above,
That foul odour by raining on her face.
This poor creature, that is but mortal,
Is by her controlling power imposthroned;
And with a desire makes her advocate
That false-speaking Muse be her slave.
“Poor flower,” quoth she, “canst thou not eat the sweets of love?
Till now I do begin to wonder at thy worth,
And fear to harm my self with thoughts so cruel.
‘”Dear boy, how canst thou be ignorant
Of all these petty annoyings of the eye,
When even I have heard your cruel cries,
Of your tears, your murders, your bloody cries, your groans?
Or all those forces that make thee to do me good,
And yet do me so by supposing thee,
That if my woe were physic, what else could it say
Of your pain, of your groans?
O what a pity then be not so,
when Fortune’s eyes have sung, the choir sings,
And sung hymns to the fair altar,
O where’s she now that hath fled to spend?
‘Why, for a holy jewel, where art she now
The very thought of time spent in her painting?
Who ever shunn’d so fair a present?
And yet, the world could not but pity her,
That the fair queen’s picture still stood naked
In the clear night out in the dark of night.
“O love’s antique knife!” quoth she, “shoot it at thee in my hand;
And why dost thou use it, if it shoot at thee cold?
Thy heart knows that thy finger, that sweet heart
That says in praise thou art well,
Will do thee honour. Let him go, and never return;
And never be afraid to leap, though in hand
The threat thereof with a thousand dangers.
As for her beauty, if she did stand,
Whose fair cheeks on the roses did cover her eyes,
So should my gentle love hold her in his eye,
That she may see what is in his eye,
When in his will is done, what remains of you remains.
And yet, in the hope of having such,
He smother’d her eyes, that their tears did cover her eyes;
And then his will with trembling alarums prevailed:
Her eyes as lightning fasten’d together
Like flaming fire, through his wide purple eyne,
Her brows, his nose and nostrils, together make all harm.
His heavy spongy neck makes her heart race,
And her spirit falters, her strength doth lose his sway,
To lose the dear heart and lose himself,
For himself and for her sake to lose herself.
“And all these forces that make me hate thee now
Are trophies of my unfavourable years,
O, by and by, the times have turned against me,
And I have no other object now save
Thou art my slave now, and now I am old.
‘O pardon me! I might say so; but thou know’st I am unkind;
Therefore let my words speak; let them not to my ears,
To make my words more laudable, to make my tongue more vile.
I am so fond of my fame that no excuse can bring
My tongue more sweet, nor my dear love more hateful;
‘Fool, fool!’ cries she; ‘why, why stop there,
Time’s best jewel is dead and all is but for ornament;
Time’s best jewel is dead and all is but for ornament;
Time’s best jewel is dead, and all is but for ornament:
Time’s best jewel is dead, and all is but for ornament:
Time’s best jewel is dead, and all is but for ornament:
Time’s best jewel is dead, and all is but for ornament:
Time’s best jewel is dead, and all is but for ornament:
Time’s best jewel is dead, and all is but for ornament:
‘Then, lo, the hours are out, and my hours are in,
And Time’s night my muse shall draw, and Time’s day my sorrow.’
‘Then why should I night my muse draw?’
‘To fright her;’ ’twas not good;’ or ’tis good’ to borrow;
And thus concludes a sad tale;
When in the night her fair fair face with snow-white lies,
She doth lamenting how dark she is,
To see dark Lucrece’ face with bright eyes.
She is mad, she wails, and yet her voice is soft;
Her eyes are full of love, her heart full of hate.
For if my love were dead, my heart were still alive,
To love, I should at least


======== CHECKPOINT 049 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ums’ was my sweet youth,
And as the sun that shines upon the earth doth his shade shine,
So shall I beheld in that golden hour,
when all is but wasted and dead.
And now for my sake I might as yet be free,
The mind to gaze upon things past,
That makes me see where I have done some thing,
That some good or some bad I did do.
As thou hast made me a painter and a story
Of objects and of things done, so am I a storyteller;
And art in the use of words as a common one,
Hanging like marigolds in the air,
Making all his beauty seem newer and better.
As those dead stones which with her eyes
Rot through the air, so those living stones
Shalt be dead caves, and liv’d on sighs buried.
‘I could not for trial have been more wise,
Had not been a partaker of the wind
Which made my hair o’erwhelming, as straw being
Forbs, tears, and all the goodness of things green.
So did thou, the fore-bemoaned flower,
Whose tender flowers yielding fruit to thy galled hand,
Coral bequeath’d to thy soft arms,
So thy beauty’s colour’s gilded shape may stand:
The diamond will hold thee in such dread dread dread,
That even with thy beauty’s strength I plead guilty.’
And with this she proceeds to tearfully besiege him;
Her eyes, which on the lattice of his face were
Seeming to open new windows, now they would open
Of new windows wherein men’s eyes should peep:
And now she would smile and wink, and seem to entertain,
Being asked where he was, and what he would say;
A question, no doubt, but answered presently,
From Lucrece, where she came, to attend the morrow;
Who, lo! had Tarquin not come, not bid his eye
Which on Tarquin’s brow was feathered.
Thence seemed to turn to black and vanished,
In a deep sleep till, as it were, he wake’d again.
‘O, my sweet, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the hands of thieves and murderers!
Who ever saw a woman’s face but with blood
Like blood she in the fire was confounded.
O, my beloved, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the hands of thieves and murderers!
Who ever saw a woman’s face but with blood
Like blood in the fire was confounded.
O, my beloved, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the hands of thieves and murder!
Who ever saw a woman’s face but with blood
Like blood in the fire was confounded.
O, my dear, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the hands of thieves and murders!
O, my dear, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the hands of thieves and murderers!
O, my dear, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In bodies of stone, tongues forged in blood,
That cannot be but verbalized with pen?
O, my dear, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the hands of thieves and murders!
O, my dear, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the hands of thieves and murders!
O, my dear, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In hands of thieves and murders!
O, my dear, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In tongues forged in blood, tongues unapproved?
O, my dear, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In hands of thieves and murders!
ou canst not know her not by looks but by deeds;
ou alone art thy lord; and know then I love her,
I will not abuse that trust, nor you to violate;
Therefore be wise as thou art wise, O know thy heart,
In deeds and in words what thou dost prove,
Then make thy act thy duty, and not my duty.
Now turns to Night, and to his look, still hath she seen;
Whereas she straight on to greet him gave,
And as he was to kiss her she straight on to remove;
But in her haste she calls him Night, and she straight on
To greet him again.
“I grant,” quoth she, “this man is here,
I pray he will not see me;
Then do not despair, for I am as fair
As he, if he dare see me, will kill me.”
She concludes his reproving word with a look,
Which makes him seem to wink again, as if he did wink again;
And his lips, as white as snow, do seem to dry,
And in his redward grey do seem bend for the kiss;
But do not love me


======== CHECKPOINT 050 OUTPUT # 001 ========

locations for the time being,
And therefore thou look’st to the wrong of this time,
To spend his living in pleasures past,
Since then he hath but lived as we do now.
‘Thus often in her face she hath her view
Turn’d to scorn, and oft she sigh’d,
That sometimes she hath writ her self false things,
And often her voice still hath writ so:
Even so Adonis’ lips were fair lips but lips black.
But she was bold, and in her rage would rise;
And from their ranks a loud cry would do them division.
‘But be it lawful for a dumb beseecher to wits,
To pluck the life from the life of others’ eyes,
To swallow life in worms in feeding,
To swallow life in worms in surviving,
A life in ten thousand living dead leaves,
But life in one fell plume drowns the world in weeping.”
O what a sight it was! a flaming torch with shining fire!
What a spectacle it was! such a light, so clear!
That through it the fire could throw light
On every eye, every cheek, every bone.
For to this flame he set his light, as bright light,
As the sun that shines in the west.
‘Now from the forests of Ilion I list
The wildest plants which grew in mead,
And from their prime yielding fruit I pluck,
From my unripe buds my leaves, I give them light,
And from their buds yield flowers so pleasing.
But now she shrieks, and, lo, beholding the sun,
He stares with ghastly eyes, like idiots.
‘Thus far he hath my will, my heart’s will;
To hear him whetteth he desires, will cite him;
But now she hisses, and will not cite him again.
O, that my heart which doth my will depend,
Can by some cunning device persuade the wretch away,
from Lucrece to Troy, on the prairies.
Thence he goes, like a lazy beast,
Stands by the channel where she were stay’d,
To let the rich-proud Philomel know
He comes from some noble birth to take,
Whose honour is the fairest in the skies,
Whose proud legs to him challenge seem’d proud;
he, in despair, fears not;
For his wanton desire he ducks, and plunges
In a soft channel sweetly copes well.
O, that his poor mind, like a lazy beast,
Pushes this helpless creature to the spot,
For fear of being misled, to swear his innocence:
To swear he hears the voice of his decease,
So feil thou wilt, and thus shalt we live!
‘Thence comes the next frost, and he in his fair hand
Sings a heavy-hasting swan, whose white
Like milk will perfume his complexion.
The beauty of his being so strongly grieved,
That it hath to the earth been dyed,
With thy blood thy legacy will live!
And to this end I throw my light, my love’s light,
To that flame which in my bosom doth live,
Whose flame doth the earth burn, burning with sweet desire.
She takes him by the hand and by the throat;
And, like a dire-beguiling malcontent,
Whose wailing plaints her face with wringing,
Like a pale-fac’d ghost she sees his face.
‘What is wrong, then,’ quoth she, ‘in thy state
From this fault be I misled?’
The witless but kind ‘Tarquin’ answered ‘No, no, no’.
‘Fool, fool!’ quoth she, ‘I did not kill him; kill him now, kill him soon!’
“And now he hath his breath, and from his lips breatheth;
And this foul breath he takes, and he reeks again.
Then are they wet and dry, till they wet again,
They have dyed their garments, and dyed the face;
This man, this swine, this swine’s pride,
The hunted, the tame, and the tame’ring;
Who like wild beasts when nature hath blown,
In this huge hail of his foul breath,
he takes, and he takes fast, and he wastes:
His habitude, this brief leisure,
Shows him with his leisure begun and ended.
‘When I last saw him, thou art the sun,
And thy stars do glory in that I see.
Let those petty cares that do their objects lay,
That their affairs are neglected,
Give their neglect a more praise;
That thou hast more, thou hast more in


======== CHECKPOINT 050 OUTPUT # 002 ========

lyn with black as the sun,
And red as a melting-stonish rose.
O, that thy beauty should by law stain,
The shame should the world exalt,
For all things black and white are black’d so.
In the midst of her grief are mute vassals,
With sad looks, and poor brows blushing,
To weep on Tarquin’s pain and her doom;
But her sad music did the Roman monarch sing,
And for her she praised so well;
That on her visage were but the same,
As those on his back were cedar,
Whose sap did cover his soft flesh, the thought doth make it wet,
As sweat, which on the skin is kill’d.
Her eyes, like saucy turrets, did their light fall,
And on the youthful sun, their youthful hue
Doth show where they grew and where they died.
“But the better part of her fair face,
Of the white, the opal, the opal wither’d
Whereon it would seem dead, had she not died.
, thus she did in secret dread
Against the day, wondering on shadows she did behold,
As the straggling birds that in their flock sing;
Such signs of sleeping discontent she doth behold
As night-wanderers dreaming of worse fears do:
The sun being up, the wind doth fight with care.
Such amorous touches do oft make thee seem tame,
As Achilles when he urg’d, mounted on a horse.
‘So shall I be remembered not as the boar,
who for fear of harms in thy reign
Underlines his unhallow’d lust, and iniquity
With nameless deeds registers, not with words.
‘When thou shalt see what sort of a man thine image doth stand,
With thy fair face I’ll blot the poor wretch’s name,
With thy fair complexion I’ll blot his name,
And put him to death by force of will.’
Ah! what shame then must that be!
O thou reveng’d on my untimely death,
Who, like a bastard, so craves the good name,
That in him a gracious death doth lie.
Then what worth lives in one poor worthless bawd
Where one poor beggar’s name lives alone?
what worth lives in one widow’s eye?
Harm must those deaths to whom I live add
One twain to all ten lives that would be
Had Collatinus live.
‘Thou art,’ quoth she, ‘a king,’ quoth she;
And, ere he commits the crime, ‘the earth doth force him bring,
And every light impediments his path.’
‘Ay me! ah my sweet, ere I hit a ripe weed,
Or kill myself, or else being near,
Would not look for cover for the knife, nor weep for his friend,
For ’tis my body’s duty to hide him where he goes.
But, lo, some in the revelry of revelry,
Hath disputation engirt their hue,
With lust, with rashness, and murder’s riper parts;
Who with their fiery tears mightily be shed,
To rid the dead of their liveliness,
Which were not their own, but were society’s dignities:
Who in their presence, like marigolds, would stand
Like upright mountain tops, with shining golden towers,
towering embers that burn the sky with their light.
Now to my beloved Love, to her all for rest,
I do extend my hand to her heart,
And to her that by me restrains, here restrains me.
‘”O, that thy bright jewel may never die,
For I have debated with thy beauty,
To know thy dear self still amazes me,
For thou, the sun that doth set this day,
Sits upon his brow, and all his gross form in dark
lying clouds, that to his visage hide
The fearful sight of every thing he sees.
And yet these impediments seem strong,
To make him tremble, and wring him with her arms;
But his trembling heart, in fear, holds it aloft,
And with her arms she doth charge him;
And when she sees him, trembling in his rage,
Her bright blue eye doth catch his eye;
She takes him by the hand and takes him by the lips;
She kisseth him, and kisseth on his lips the tide;
She kisses him again, and kisseth again on his lips:
‘Lo thus begins a tedious story,
The authorizing circumstance:
But from this brief abridgement come
The poor authoriz’d age to


======== CHECKPOINT 050 OUTPUT # 003 ========

traumat, she hath no honour to boast of, let her fair share in eternal shame
Upon this blessed woe she says:
She was never her fair, nor never her fair delight;
Then for my sake she would be prettier, if she were dead;
Thou her fair flower, to whom thou wast wont to yield.
“Fair flower,” quoth she, “this is my muse,
And beauty in thy works so obeys,
That no words can express what it is.
“So thou hast fled to Tarquin’s cave, and there kill’d
Thy boar, and kill’st thy wife, and kill’st thy son;
And then thou shalt hear thy neighbour hunt,
The deer, and the boar, the wolf,
Who, being hunted, shall then be forgetful.”
Thus her husband’s trespass did fulfil.
‘To have him forlorn, to curse him forlorn;
And loathsome in that he did hold so much treasure,
that in his absence she hath receiv’d.
She beats him on his back with a hard oath,
Whose sharp teeth she thinks to make him stop;
She kisseth him on the lips, and then she begins:
To fright him so, to torment him so,
As to annoy him so, she whispers, and ‘gins to weep:
‘Lo, here comes a creeping creeping thing; whereat his tail doth catch,
A creeping thing that is not afraid to tread; whereat the mouse creeps fast,
a rough-shod hered his unruly youth,
A pretty mistress’ maid’s son’s disgrace:
‘No, no,’ quoth Lucrece, ‘this ill-timed night,
He did sometime jest at her; but she heft’d his torch,
And softly on his neck did she light his torch,
Which bright-point’d his torch by his side,
Making merry merry sounds, as they passed by.
Then to the sound of her cries she hears
her husband’s untimely death;
“Tired of this,” quoth Lucrece, “how shall I mourn for thee?
To-night I rail at thee in thought,
As guilty fools sleep, and awake in night,
Hasting to wake my husband in a dream,
Who, madly dreaming of night, would put his finger to my ear;
And in the dreaming time would look with troubled eyes
As if in imaginary hell he must go.
When this thought seems to the fore,
She wakes the night and sets her eyes on him,
Who in a flash do they behold,
And in their dim darkness do they behold
The blessed apparition of a king
Who in a cloud of dew of dew of night lies.
He, with a cloud of sweat, sits,
And looks upon his beloved youth,
And by his beauty is he pleased;
And, lo, by his beauty’s moisture comes in measure,
As rain from the sky falls upon the ground,
So do’st thou rain what thou wilt bear.
‘That thou mayst in this be a kingdom kept unspotted,
And all in welfare unspotted,
Not in thy deeds and unapproved
Believable hope is to be had in this,
As in all men’s wills made known.
Then is she recreant in thy guilt.
“And he (his servant) by himself took,
The coward and the true, the lawful,
And by them all together with others died,
Like children slain in a sad accident.”
O how her lips when they have sheaved,
They red with blood had she shed,
As blood that on thy lips it was masked!
So do I now, and never again!
Him have they emptied all into my soul’s bosom;
Yet do not so with mine own, that have emptied
My whole being, to thee, with my whole.
But thou wilt fill up all my rest with thy part,
And then I thee as sovereign dame doth sit,
And dote on thy good by-pass,
And sit with me in that wretched prison,
Where thou dost remain, and why shouldst thou come
When Time, our sweet friend and neighbour,
May for trespass disturb the quiet rest of me?
Why should mine own parts be confounded?
And why should thy part ever confound me?
Why should my soul’s parts be left unacted?
Why should mine own parts be confounded?
The night would seem but sweet and just,
And all the world would be sad and dismal,
But now, as we wake, all things are pretty:
But now, as we wake, all things are dim,
And no quiet rest


======== CHECKPOINT 050 OUTPUT # 004 ========

waterproof as a spring,
But when the hot sun hath set,
And hot springs do hush the world in cold haste,
That weeps more, and we more have.
So I answer that your love is dear,
And all love’s faults are but their own infamy:
For I have said unto you I love you in such a spirit,
as those antique glasses which on them read
Each part of you which still bear your glory,
With antique style or other content,
Your true self with your antique style imprinted,
You self-skill’d with modern craft, you true master of
all things else, or rather of things thou lacked:
For this I have engirt thee with thoughts, and laid thee to sleep,
That I may render to your vacant mind,
For the time being my wish (though death do me shame)
To be true to thy parts and to thy state.
As your mother forbade, so yours amending,
When thou grant shalt see thy love thrive again.
What should I say to your praise, your dear love?
The better part, if not to your advantage?
“Fair flower,” quoth she, “you seem fairer in complexion,
And therefore you must respect your complexion.
The one that cannot hold up his head,
With his fair head’s outstretched, doth mock his face.
His fair handmaids, that did ornament his face,
Make him dance with them, and to win his heart.
O let not my maid’s blue eyes deceive me
That her true eyes may in my painting still shine,
That all those fair gems with crystal dolour doth lie,
Shone in my blood, and all my living love.
For though her face my colour hath changed,
Nor that of my lovely wife, nor my daughter,
Which like a sober-shining slumber dwelleth,
The scars which it hath upon my youthful brow,
O how thy complexion change’st with every hour!
How thy fair cheeks, thy fair cheeks’ wrinkles!
In all beauty’s freshness thou dost grow,
Then beauty doth thy self grow age by dint of age.
When beauty doth exceed youth’s height,
And youth in spite of beauty grow’st age,
Age’s waste and decay thou shalt see,
thou, my love, will attend this false hour.
For what will I do but weep for thee,
When in thy bosom dost thou dost fall,
And being newlywaxen, in thy face doth wail thy woes?
O let my maid’s tears, my hairs, my lovely hairs,
Give them still, and do not so fast as in me,
Make the will, and lend it force to my will,
That will more than double will do my will.”
In so speaking, Adonis breaks from her purpose,
Strikes her down, and the two break again;
Like to a river that is not yet willing
To carry water, the banks hold still.
What can I say, that mine eye can see,
When no other can but the mind to his picture sees?
But look what mine own will is willing,
Thy eye is deaf, and thy will dumb,
Who dares not make obeisance to thine eyes.
Thy lips are white as snow, and thy lips red,
To win back the hearts that long have hated thee.
And therefore did I make the wrong of my will,
And so this wrong may my self be cured.
As I have many thralls and tears,
As his blood stains mine own wounds,
So now his pity-painting skill is done,
With her tears, his tears shed again:
‘Dear Lord,’ quoth she,’since thou wilt have to have thy husbandry,
What should I do?’ ‘What should I say? ealous, but true?’
The door opens, and she finds Collatine
In bed abuzz with a load of fears,
He takes her by the hand, whereupon he begins
To fondle her; and their fight to the death,
Sometime a Roman nurse by her side lies,
Her pale hand upon his throbbing prick,
Or as she shakes it, the other hand doth side,
Like a dove, scratch’d with a stick.
‘Had he not,’ quoth she,’she would have shriek’d;’
But she hath, and they have not.
‘Had he not,’ quoth she,’she would have cried’—’Not now!’—
‘Ay me!’ quoth he, ‘but now I know she is fright’d;’
The trembling man turns, and drops to her breast,
Whose white was so well she knew not


======== CHECKPOINT 050 OUTPUT # 005 ========

bat to make them come to his bed,
And that vile smoke which in his face they behold,
With purple hot tears their hue doth confound;
What potions did he have for rage, sorrow, or spiness,
Of sick or tame fear? what virtue did he have,
Worthy show, shame not the least?
Then was his will strong enough to make the flood,
Who on it would overflow, and in it would overflow,
And in it would overflow so full a sea,
That all the strength of this powerful ocean
Would overflow this short-lived city.
‘I will not kiss that white hand, nor bear false witness,
When that is the more certain: from henceforth,
Love shall never stain my coat of arms;
And that my graces may be stained woe,
I hold my city still, and shall never tire,
Nor change my mind nor abide by it.
‘And to this sad-beholding baiting cry
His spirits, drumming heart, have their meeting,
Like soldiers in the field of battle, who are too hotly
Muster their weapons in their ranks, with little skill make use,
As the dead, the wounded, and dying,
To march with their dead companions beside,
Which their deaths themselves did convert.
Yet this I still believe, and do believe still,
Because thou shalt see in them the lasting sorrow
Of a life, if they survive a second.
Look how his face, like a jade, glows with his tears,
And with her tears on her face he thrusts,
like a falcon, when his falchion is down,
Catching his prey, the falcon flyth away.
What wert thou when thou hadst the strength to fly,
Or when thou hadst the strength to fly back,
Or when you hadst the strength but to falch at me,
Sith as you, for I had not power to fly,
Or to falch at you, not to falch at thee.
O that thou art willing to guess what thy foe,
Wilt bid, what wanteth thy wits to spend?
O that thou thy self art willing to give what thou wilt lend,
Or to give what thou self dost lend,
Or to sell what thouself dost sell,
And lend what thou’s dost steal, and lend what thou’s steal dost lend.
‘What gives?’ quoth she, ‘no cause, no cause of want?
No cause at all to complain?
What gives?’ quoth he,’me’—’me’—’me’—’me’—’me’—
‘Why, why, why not me?’ quoth she; and that’me’
Was that what she said; and’me’ ‘got’ the meaning ‘got’.
‘Where is love,’ quoth she, ‘if not in this mountain of yours?
If there be none, there is no love,
For love, I will not love you still,
If that be said, I will say ‘I love thee,’
And thou lov’st me, and I love thee still,
Since thou lov’st me not, why lov’st thou not still?
O what sort of mistress are you that dost deceive
My untimely wits and untimely hours,
Since oft you have set eyes on my beauty,
And look on thy beauty in endless night,
And on the stars and in my true, simple,
True nature doth live and die by your look,
That you (my self) behold, do imitate
As the sun doth make his appearance,
Or like a man in shining armour stand:
When in thee (my self) I in glory shine,
And on thee I in glory dote,
But in mine eye thy glory dwells,
Who through thy beauty doth live and die.
O most false of all deceit! How wilt thou then be brought to light
those precious jewel, that thou in all thy deeds must lose?
I know that thou (myself) art all mine;
For thou (my self) art all my, and mine is all thee.
My self hath but one aim, and that aim is death;
The other aim is love and all things in it.
Thus am I come to define
What it means to be human, to be alive,
To die, and so live again as thou be.
“Thou loathed not the very face of fame,
Nor didst not loathed the very body politic,
Nor all the world unapproved,
That all praise from all parts should preach.
For in that seat stood the princely cedar,
Which in the middle of a lofty high


======== CHECKPOINT 051 OUTPUT # 001 ========

adjustment by their deeds do honour lie;
Therefore I do commend thee to such a place,
As thy suffering sorrow bears forth:
But I commend thee to such a leisure,
That I your monument and remembrance will have,
Within which your dead sins may live.
‘Thus she takes him by the hand, and by her breast
She puts on a very hideous face,
Swelling her face with her nails, and gazing it
With murderous desire, till she hath satisfied
with every kiss a mortal eye,
His eye, which on it fixeth still,
Shows the fear, and the fury thereof.
‘Why should Collatinus live, if he too early
May have receiv’d from some rarer black?
Or was his blood his right hand raised high?
Or his eye his hand his whole upon his head
Showing fair nature’s fair nimble skill,
And blessed beauty’s quickness and skill?
How can that fair beauty have so fair a name,
Or be so fair in her being so cruel,
As he in her being rich?
Or was he that so fair in his fair state,
Whose eye hath his whole upon his head,
And makes him frown and neigh in wonder,
When in him beauty shines, and he in her sits.
‘This said, in a careless hand,
Like a grey-fringed ghost, with heavy eyne,
She shadows him with a dreadful fiend,
Which, like a deformed and dishevell’d devil,
Sets upon him a desperate gaol of pain.
‘”How much more dost thou hate a devil than I?” quoth she.
But she replies, “He hath my mind and my body,
Which is to torture him and make him stop,
And in the process I rage and yell,
Against my self, against my mind, my self,
Against the whole of creation, against every part.
O then, how wondrous a time it were
To see the glowing of his fiery eyes!
The earth being green and the sun shining white,
So all the world’s beauty seemed so soon set,
And to-day all their fresh forms doth appear.
When thou wilt, behold the proud bulwark
Stand in front of thy face, that thy might may
Have thy might to the slaughter!
Or at thy will kill thyself and thy loved one?
Or if in thee thy might be free, why not me?
Thy might is my might, and then the world to me,
And by my might and in thee I’ll live,
And live in thy might, and in thee I’ll grow:
Thy might is thy might, and then I’ll live and die.
This said, in her high seat sits Collatine,
Her voice trembling, and her brows swooning,
For Collatinus, as she sits, is mute,
And all the rest are dumb, or seem mute;
Till more she exclaims upon her being there:
Thy majesty doth entertain her, and her eyes
Make her come and take the prize.
The curtains being close, Collatinus
With his partner in crime descant,
Tells her what is said and done in his way.
‘It is thine, my love, that thou bear’st me
As far as I will go, and nothing else holds me.
The truth being open wide, it will open wide
Where every eye perceives the face lies;
To every eye it guides the mind:
To every eye it confounds the purpose:
To every eye it doth subtilty lend.
So when Collatinus speaks, I part,
So do I part, Collatinus part.
The picture which he now makes sad,
(And in it hangs his lily head, a sad star
Whose downward eye a youthful cloud doth catch,)
How sweet it would seem if thy beauty should live!
My dear love, how lovely it would seem!
When beauty dies, my love is dead.
“The boar!” quoth he, “his sharp point will not be sharp;
For if he use his sharp point to hunt,
He will soon catch his prey, and then he will hunt:
But if he use his sharp point to hunt,
His prey will be none, but his loving-kind;
So let his deadly instinct remain,
Till loving-kind would be tame and tame.
“The boar,” quoth he, “his sharp point shall not be sharp;
For if he use his sharp point to hunt,
His prey will be none, but his loving-kind:
Thy loving-kind, with him, shall breed a cunning tongue.”
And speaking


======== CHECKPOINT 051 OUTPUT # 002 ========

disarm, as the star-gazers with moon-sad eyes.
‘I hate,’ quoth she,’some one at a distance,
Throng my woes to those in me that hate thee.’
‘Then die I hate,’ quoth she, ‘though never kill’d by my pleasance:
But if there be a time when all men must die for me,
Thine honour by thy side should live in thine age.
By this she begins to surmise the truth;
Her fair eyes, like heavenly margents,
Hath pined the ripe juice of the ripe spring,
And so did their queen yield.
So did her husband, and she her,
As in an act of love the proud fella throws;
And as the blossoms he threw thence,
So did her husband, and she her storm fled.
But in his amaz’d rage did he surfeit,
Whose fiery lust, that to burn should burn his cheeks.
Such was the passion of her angry heart.
‘But methinks his eye hath blinded his true sight
Till now he sees the injury done by this rash fancy,
And now he sees the shame and disgraceful deed;
For why, in his pride he did covet upon my sight,
And in the hope that I might find another,
Thy beauty might take the spoil of so much delight,
For thou art my beauty, my love, my dearest love,
Which is to me a dearer shame than thou art,
Thy waste and ruin in me hath cost thee.
‘To get rid of that which in thy pride dwelleth,
What dost thou steal from thine own spring?
To get rid of that which doth steal from thy self,
what of my true state doth my life depend?
Is there no war against me, and no war so great,
That I have no end to live by beating back?
And yet being rich, where is my livelihood,
If my life then end in disgrace,
When by fortune of my death I am come again?
Then where is my true abundance supposed,
And where hath my true abundance come to end,
When wealth and all the rest lies hid?
And what of the poor ruinate hath he done,
That made him rich, or poor to him belong?
I have debated for many a minute what wrong my deed,
did I kill, or be poisoned?
What did I not promise, or dare I say,
Of some greater good?—Thy servant was my friend,
Or my dear friend to be poisoned,
Or my dear friend to be poisoned,
Or my dear friend to be poisoned,
Or both to be friends?
My dear friend, I vow I will never kill thee;
Nor never in thy force can I swear to prevent,
But all those vows and all my might,
That to thee I have confined,
That all my strength and all my might have been slain.
O never fear my knife, that strikes fear into thy heart,
If thou wilt break thy heart by my lawful will.
Even as I lie tied to a tree,
Thy gentle poisoner hast no right to cut me free,
Till she, angry at my trespass, bids my knife get hold
Where thou shalt not scratch my wounds, but shalt curse the day.
‘O peace, dear friend, if thou wilt give it again,
Hast thou not vowed to kill me before?
If thou wilt yield again, that means thine fate,
And all my surviving foes shall curse my name;
‘This treason will mine, and those in it
Who will bear the rest of their shame.”
For her, that fair jewel in his visage lay,
In him the fair flower doth life, and death doth make;
Her, the fair jewel doth life and death doth make.
‘His hand, now on the scale, is full of cares,
And in his wide expanse there is little space,
The mind doth labour to set an end,
And to make a stop to return again,
With a stop of discourse, to let the mind go
Of thoughts, and of feeling, and of things to say.
‘”For thy good report, if it prove true,
The warlike Roman general weeps, and his rider
Crawls to victory; and, lo! the wolf doth not fear him;
Yet do not let him ride in his uncontrolled pride,
Though guilty of many a froward deed.
The wolf will not have his prey gone,
Nor the proud lion nor the beauteous dog,
Nor the froward wretch nor the dog nor the horse,
Nor none but our lord


======== CHECKPOINT 051 OUTPUT # 003 ========

refusing to break the siege of her passion,
And to make her complain herself again,
To have her all herself contrived,
So to make her moan more, so her moan more.
“O night,” quoth he, “look how mine eyes when they wink,
Feeling their tears, they soon forget their light.
I vow to keep quiet and do thy Will,
And to the end I dare not defy,
Thou must, and I will.”
‘”And wherefore say not I that I am beloved
Of others’ lips, or lips of true love?
As mine own body hath annex’d to each,
As mine own mind to another’s creation,
Which alters not with my change,
But like a shifting shift hath my mind with his or her place,
so long as thou be rul’d, and will bear,
With gentle example and sweet observance.
Thence comes to our own ne’er-ending,
To show the way by which virtue may be cur’d,
To lead men on by example, not by reason.
‘The one with whom I govern’d hath my sweet touch,
And thou shalt find thy self in a trance,
To talk of my death or of my living:
That to your use, it is yours,
To live, to die, with a certain liking.
When the world acquiteth,
And all these doth your affairs controll’d
That he by your granting gives this world his part,
For in him you still manage your parts.
O yes, he who in your deeds presides
Will fight, and fight with him in self-defence.
“If thy sweet will, then for my sake,
Keep open the little black portal I have put
To close all my secret wards, that never close,
Till sometime I see my love, yet love to hear it
Will wink, and for a pure eye it shall appear.
“Ay me,” quoth she, “going on a walk,
My poor legs are bent: the worst they can do,
They grind their teeth, till they find a more sharp knife.
My flesh, being tied to a tree,
Sits upon the tip of the cleft; that’s where the pain lies;
And what a hideous creature stands in front,
Who looks on it with pale disdain,
As if it were dead, when in thy face it lies.
‘O, dear boy,’ quoth she, ‘how canst thou bear
So much disdain in one’s behaviour,
That one should say, ‘That mine eye hath done me wrong’?
That thou, who through thine eyes should indirectly betray
Such foul action, and act it with thine own eye?
What is thy heart’s policy, which thou shouldst then do?
And how is my heart’s policy affected by thy state?
What makes me sick to think that I am so shunned,
That thou with thine own eyes should, through thine eyes,
Have controll’d me in my affairs with thy sight?
And yet thou art the judge and executer,
Of what is not, what is left undone,
Thou art made to bear what thou dost in others’ desire,
And I will bear it in life, in spite of sorrow.
‘Why dost thou this sad-beholding Roman
Eat up his lawful seat in a false bed?
By heaven thy guilt in this hell shall not lie.
O pardon me, I have some acquaintance with fair
Swift women, and yet am my mistress’
Inferior: I do respect her as I would her;
I do disdain her as well as she hates;
And yet when she hath pleas’d me to pray,
Thine eye hath drawn unto mine ear the parling eye
Of this wise swine, and thou thy chaste tongue to taste.
That false nurse which in thy image
Whose parts are seen by the unseen eye,
Will be thy nursed love, and in it thy virtue:
Thy parts being true, thy parts false,
The love that thou hast left in my love’s breast,
Thy parts beauty, thy parts truth,
Thy parts virtue, thy parts infirmity:
Thy parts infirmity, thy parts dread,
Thy parts dread and mistrustful:
Thy parts dread, thy parts strength, thy parts pain.
If thine heart be mute and deaf,
I have no cure but death, till death giveth me thee.
For there is no cure except through hard mutiny,
By hard mutiny I can cure thee;
Even then I assure thee thou wilt find a cure;
I can cure thee, and thou shalt find a cure.
Now come I to this clock-point


======== CHECKPOINT 051 OUTPUT # 004 ========

ociation which the strong are weak:
But he that seeks conquest,
Will not rob him of his fair estate.
‘But the windy day that blows from her chamber,
She takes delight, and doth welcome it with bright eyes.
‘In heaven, fair sun, foul moon, and smoky mist
Hath cop’d with foul celestial evil,
The sufferer in the chest falls,
Who, feeling that she hath tar’d him, prays she may be brought
To the help of her lord, the groom,
To be the fairest groom to the sweetest of gifts.
She is as white as the day, as soft as the snow,
And as the morning dew of his fresh-fall,
Holds him sweating, yet his eyes still shine bright.
‘”Now, young master, this man’s gotk will kill,
if the hairs on my head suffice,
Make no secret of my untimely woe.
As I was with Fortune and the Muses gone,
So shall these deaths return my verse to tell.
‘O, let my love drown thy passion,
And let thy sweet beauty dry up that stain
Which like a polluted eye should stain so good a name.
Let all those that love me, that do me wrong,
For who would say ‘No’? for they were true,
That all men are kind, and all men false.
‘I hate’ she began, and yet she so vanisheth.
She says her husband was a spy,
And he was the better for that offence.
She whispers that she must have sex with him,
But yet no such thing as ’tis said,
Her mistress would have me if I could swear,
That my mistress was not married to me.
“Fie, fie,” quoth she, “if that thou mean’st to woo,
Or if not, then kiss my hand, on my breast,
Like old acquaintance being outworn,
The tender time of your youth spent
in action with nature’s creatures,
Is to your audit a question of pride,
If you look inward, you will find
Thy face doth rehearse this heavy theme:
Look here how the world’s affairs unfold,
And how your self in himself alters,
in their view this book may be better kept.
So is my heart to the good offices of thine,
And all to their audit for good.
The poor queen is beset by fear,
Who on the pillow lies a face full of shame,
Till with trembling white falls to her knees,
And kneels before the crimson rose that sits in her.
‘Then from her bosom with her head she holla’d,
And from her bosom with her head a loud neigh;
The birds and the waves would echo this word:
‘My lady,’ quoth she, ‘you attended this sad-beholding,
That thou in thy beauty mightst be saved.’
“But now she hears the batt’ry, and she drops it.
The maid that I trust will be thy maid will help,
And maids’ voices, deep in the siege,
As if by some dumb craft the batt’ry should go,
With trembling heels it will catch the young queen;
She throws the drops on the crystal walls,
And the batt’ry doth quake with her yell.
‘So thy honour will survive iniquity,
In trespass on his privileged fame,
That this bastard lord of thy fame,
Will by his unyielding lust be disgraced.’
Her sad voice echoes with trembling breath,
And her brows and cheeks are knit in crimson.
&#8216#8216;If there be none, thou shalt not hunt nor creep;
But if there be one, be the first, and bear it not
With every waking limb, till thou wilt find
one golden hour, and that hour is past,
To go back again, and look for another.
Thou art all the better for that which thou hast done,
If in thy merit thou mayst boast of,
More worthy of praise than thou art.
This said, the turtle, tired from his long lay,
With sluices of pitchy hunger, tired of his feeding,
Grew giddy at the view, wondering at his pain.
“Why dost thou pine for food, methinks it not hard?
When thou ridest these hollow spheres of lifeless earth,
Where life and death do lie buried,
Then are these spheres more spacious than thee,
For that dweller in thee doth live.
For now he desires his lips to taste more;
So sweetly he plots his doom;
And as he goes, the sad commotion grows,
Which with his frantic pace hasteth to


======== CHECKPOINT 051 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Ste’ him that doth lend him grace;
She that borroweth his moans, reneweth his pain.
The painter that makes men’s faces with his skill,
In painting, is he not the same,
That makes the poor ugly look tame and kind,
And makes the good painter the ugly disgraceful.
‘And when I have said that I love thee,
The thought is enough to make me hate thee more,
For once I have said, thou art my friend, and I love thee.
I will not steal thy life from thence,
Since thou art mine, and I thee wast not:
O who wills that thou shouldst kill me?
thou shouldst kill me, and I thee slay.
That thou mayst kill me thou art the lesser of both,
And thus ends his folly;—O what a fool wouldst thou art!
Such harmless talk, such harmless rhyme,
Such harmless look, such harmless look,
Such harmless look, and thou dost kill,
And be foiled by his foe in a desperate chase:
Such harmless look, such harmless look,
Such harmless look, and thou dost possess,
Such harmless look, and thou dost possess,
Such harmless look, and thou dost possess,
To shoot at the phoenix, and not at me.
To kill him outright, I will devise a lie,
so he is a stranger unto himself;
Who, so ignorant hath he got in his sight,
That in his mind there is but one thought
Which surfeits the truth, and makes him think strange,
Which is worse, than his worst state,
In which case he should think it all right;
But what is worst is, his true judgement calls
It, I think it best, to see thee sit;
To say thou wast unwell when thou art sick,
To blame thee for thy ill state,
And for my ill state blame thee for my ill.
“Thou hast no respect for modesty,
Or of true taste for manners;
Nor of high moral office, for that name must remain,
And of high treason, if it be so called.
But from the ashes of thy youth doth lie
Thy flower, thy sweet jewel, thy loyal life:
And that sweet jewel thou hast, with the rest stolen
And all this in thy neglect doth lie,
A kind of torture, an act of guiltless madness:
To think that thou mayst be such a devil,
As think not thou art, but I, as thou art,
Are his shadow, and his part of thee doth remain.
Thy shadow doth not steal from thy part, thy part doth stay,
And therefore thou dost stay a part of me,
As I the other doth stay both thy parts.
O one, with thine eye my verse is painted!
Another, o thine, what an instrument hath that
To play the lute in my living music!
What a lovely change it makes!
No, nothing, nothing! thou art my music,
And yet, being sung, is the ditty full of night.
Let us hope thy love, that thou wilt have one.
And if so, be thy good report,
A copy of thy dear best work to keep open.
Love was so newly made, and so new,
And such a rarity is it,
That it seems so rare now, even to see it with eyes.
Love in my verse is of almost the same spirit,
though it seem different, yet still true,
When in his speech we read the same words.
Even now on the red-brained hedge he lies,
Till in his soft hands she slides her chin before,
Her eyes are fix’d in his soft hand, like churls’ fingers;
He kisses her, and they kiss again, and again.
This time she says she loves him, and she says he will go,
She will not kiss him now; and he will not leave her,
And she says she will not forsake him:
This said, he bows, and straight she leaps;
So did Collatine and all the rest;
All mounted and standing still, gazing on the sky,
With sovereign mind, our lord and self,
Which through his subtle hand doves our pity hide,
When on the earth the world our shame befits
Our guilt with this heinous crime so constrain’d.
‘”The sun doth rise and set in a dim mist,
That all his beauty doth dim mist the fields:
The boar, the hawks, the foxes, the robins, the reed,
All giddy and proud on the sunshine array,
Showing us still where we once


======== CHECKPOINT 052 OUTPUT # 001 ========

tremb the weak hours, the cold darkness,
What can but make you wake? wake now, wake again tomorrow.
Look how thou o’er-snowed thou was when thou day’s day was set,
And in my verse such weeping sounds doth grace.
O me! When didst thou pine to-morrow,
Where life and death did dwell so? when was beauty’s thawing,
When in life’s fresh shade death did stain
What silver plaits on the roses die?
O what hast thou wrought for murther?
What is thy office now, my dear beloved,
To destroy thee now, before thou destroy’st me?
O no! if thou think on me, love is dead,
But if I should choose to live another’s death,
Then life and beauty were pair and brother and sister.
O then hate hath her due never ceaseless,
And is not accounted foul in her guilt;
Her faults are not reckoned guiltless,
Her faults are not her offences blamed:
She herself commits the offence;
She herself is blame’d; so too with me,
She commits blameless sin.
My love, my love, is stronger than mine eye,
And can with greater strength do more harm than good,
And yet is my love stronger than that strong eye
Which like a mighty phoenix leaps from the sky.
O false Nestor, what a spectacle of beauty
Thy pale, thy blot, thy pale change!
How like a sluttish state, with wrinkles and scars!
Thy flesh is full of faults, thy body full of joy!
But in thy youth thy beauty’s growth stood so
as an after-dinner diet,
Dost thou be depriv’d by night-wanderers hast?
Or be a god of night, as thou wast once made plain?
Or be a wolf, as thou art hunted by day,
Or be a common thief, having no fear;
Thy complexion hath all, but one part still,
So thou art despised in all parts of the land.
Yet were I not a king, or a spreading flower,
Such was my state, such my excellence,
That by the looks of love I could say,
‘Look what beauty in all her white dross did lend,
Her needle was sharp, and in it did shoot
A lovely and simple hare; whose moving parts delighted
Such beauty’s skill, and made it skillful;
And beauty so praised, is it still esteemed so,
That it is esteemed as one in love?’
‘That the eye may see what beauty is,
In other words, is it not enough to wink,
To wink when in the eye of another?
If so, then wink again at me, and laugh;
What is my humour, what is my name?
What proud boast is thine? what boast is my name?
If thou wilt desire to know, ask my maid,
The meaning of what ’tis; then I beg her pardon,
That she can answer her own pleading.
‘Ay,’ quoth she,’so you must be, to see the night:
And from the bushes where I lie lie lie,
Some one by the misty wind is afraid;
Some more than one, and I can see none.’
This she says presently, as if he were speaking;
And now she begins: ‘Thou mak’st false swearing a hind,
And all my vows are oaths, if they be broken.
Thou mak’st true swearing, to sue me for slander,
And then thou shalt break my heart.
‘Woe is me! too young to be old,
Yet for the world I’ll be praised for my wit,
And for that I’ll rail and groan,
And loathsome I’ll be, and yet no outward shame.’
‘O, excuse me,’ quoth she, ‘younger still than you,
The one gives thee his seal; the other his delight;
And when I have sung, thou dispensest well to kiss,
For both sweetly hast doth kiss, both loveth:
But being full of shame, being full of praise,
With both delight and shame doth grin,
For both enjoyth each other’s show.
“Thou wast once more with me than I am now,
And yet be my advocate, now be my friend.
If thou wilt leave me here alone,
Shall plead in my defence that thou bear’st true desire:
To my barrack I’ll lend thee my shield,
If thou wilt find thy force too great, come and slay me.”
Now that my name (the poet was) famous,
A gaol of silence for my grief forb


======== CHECKPOINT 052 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Pan-wise, and like a proud noble, seated
On the edge of a hill, who as it were inclin’d
To the hot desire of the moment?
Or did he incline his chin in this way,
Like a gentle lion, as he rushes with the wind?
And wherefore should men entertain such a view,
When their passions are so strongly bent?
For why should I desire such extremes?
The sun is fair, the moon moon blue;
For sun and moon, in this sun and moon,
Sith their origin, and to this honour remain.
thou that gave my life, thou that giv’st it back,
For life and thy whole worth’s sake gives it back again:
Touches, thou livest, and thou livest in vain.
‘O pardon me, my poor sight, but that I see thee,
O pardon me, my love, I do question
With my honest mind what I hear, what I say, what I see;
To see the self that is, and that which it serves,
Is neither true nor true in me, and cannot be.
My heart is a temple, my heart a temple,
Which to it serves and to it governs,
For where it serves, it must always stay.
But he, angry, leaps at my heart,
When in his thrusty motion her breast lies,
his sharp claws make her shriek, and his soft hand,
With gentle skill she doth tremble, as if they were slain.
‘”How could the strong-armed boar, with his long tongue,
Have his prey lost and be slain with him,
When his loud neigh can do no help but tear the weak from their horse?
So were I the first, and that by thy deed
All my love that I have is but a dream,
And nothing else but that which we hold to be.
“How could the strong-armed boar, with his long tongue,
Have his prey lost and be slain with him,
When his loud neigh can do no help but tear the weak from their horse?
So were I the first, and that by thy deeds
All my love that I have is but a dream,
And nothing else but that which we hold to be.
‘And then Lucrece’ husband, the publisher
To lend me that which he will not have,
From me he scuds, and that poor instrument still,
Hath borrowed a tongue, and an all-perfect tongue;
Lascivious scorn, and scornful disdain, and all three,
All but one, tongue borrowed from nature, and all but one;
The other three borrowed the use of their name,
And all three from nature alone remain:
“To me,” quoth she, “this is my origin,
My true love, my true love, doth teach it to you;
For if it should live in death, then tell it never;
Then from me that life may live, and from me that death may hide,
it must not be told that it doth lie,
Or at least not so near as this.
Let no false thief in me enter this door,
Whilst I in fear make my self forsworn steal,
That in my stealing shall remain hidden from view.
To hear the thief, it doth my heart groan;
I hear the voice, and thou shalt hear it again,
My thoughts shall it audit and rehearse,
And then with fresh audit, with new reheated,
It shall all praise itself, and truly seem,
The consummation of that second jewel
which nature hath not replenished,
Since by Nature’s releasing of thee from them,
Their extern hath decayed,
And now the bounteous jewel with thee,
Which by their releasing made more abundant,
Hearts to bear are many, and fishes many.
“The world’s worst pestilence is not so bad,
That it breeds not the same;
And in that same pestilence lies
An all-eating idol, with no manners bred,
Where like a dumb duteous wife she lies,
Like feeble-bon’d murd’rous pricks she doth torture,
Th’ inviting smell to her foul appetite.
Her face hath coal’ring and glowing eyes,
Which she hath concealed in painted curtains,
Which seem’d to make the tempter sigh;
And every little windy sound that shakes her,
Is breath to sighs and groans, and gives a kiss.
‘And every one that walks by hears me tell
Of you, one by one he or she tells,
Like children when their mother’s day is past,
He that looks upon you with grief,
With frowning on your beauty,
And looks


======== CHECKPOINT 052 OUTPUT # 003 ========

camp in their graves,
Till they see the lily’s white and the boar’s white
As bloodless white, and like bloodless water, their faces
Are ashy black, and the boar’s white evident.
When Adonis saw his love come,
Against the time that beauty sleeps so still,
Till youth’s weary eyes, their weary faces,
Would make the maid cry aloud: ‘O love, love, if I had my love,
How could I then be a stranger than thou art?
O couldst thou come back again and speak to me,
What sorrow canst thou bear for my sake?
And how canst thou then live remembered?
Thy voice, which woeful falseness so proudly sings,
Hath barr’d up the siege of thy life,
Shall bars of steel and all conduits lend me no defence,
My life in life is no defence, no defence,
To you, my life is but a defence:
For through you I have been depriv’d, and thou wast still.
The knife that taught her to use it,
And all her rest to do, had died with her;
She did as quickly as her care were busy,
As if from some remote place, where care had not closed,
Like cloudy Lucrece, whereon the sun doth shine,
Whence should my shadow come and take my shine?
O what shame then is my face!
The one that can stand the danger,
The other whose proud edge doth make him stop,
And stands at rest, that thou art in danger.
‘In such case,’ quoth Lucrece, ‘I swear to the love of my life,
That I am of the truth,
And not false religion’s false god,
Which by and by deceives so thriveth!
For he in truth doth contradict himself,
And by and by doth contradict himself is slain.
O father, thou false thief, thou false thief’s scythe,
If in my honest will, thou break the law,
And make my living by perjury forged,
By swearing against my self so swearth,
That thou my self art guilty of perjury,
And I am my self guilty of perjury,
And thou my self as guilty of perjury forged,
And I am my self as guilty of perjury forged,
And so on and on
And in and out of session of his hate,
Which haunted each and every word
How he was confounded, how he was subdued,
And where he spent the rest of his time;
In idle rage, poor sleeping Lucrece would not know,
Where she lives and her legacy never knew,
Where children, and friends, and true loves, live and die with thee,
And still this she hears, and more, and more she says:
“Now hear me; I did prophesy this storm,
And now I will make thee heedful, my servant;
And now hear me; thou hast treble errors,
Yet shalt not yet hear me wrongfully complain;
For thine eye hath no beauty that can say,
Nor allureur thy self to decease;
Yet thou shalt be free to kiss, to bear any child:
Thy self art all, thy self all alone,
That art all, mine is all in my self.
I say this in self-love, that I have seen,
And in thy self thou dost make my judgement;
Then I for the self thy self am reconciled.
Then shalt thou see a saint, a man of wit,
And of such good report shall I keep a secret,
And in the esteem of my love shall be made known,
Tis my duty to tell my self thy good
Even as an unkind-tempered sire may be.
Now he that loves me, but he for want of wit,
May well be mute, and I for want of wit,
Will tell him so, and so shall he live,
When men learn to hate, to despise one.”
I may as well say now, ‘I was the one,’
When thou didst leave me, there remains
Of those bright stars that shall never fade,
And all my beauty that was, still doth remain,
And to the skies above do I aspire
To shine in all their splendour.
So let thy spirit’s help it strive for light,
By stirring with thy lips the clouds to make them turn;
Then with a little thunder from his high place
The clouds do quench the fire, and thence stay
The wind that blows in this direction,
Save where thou art, when all men have slain,
My dead body with thee reign’st:
I vow ye that thou hast not the will,


======== CHECKPOINT 052 OUTPUT # 004 ========

lock and hush him up.
That he could not be seiz’d in his bedchamber,
The thought of Tarquin’s might, that should this misfortune ensue,
Would make him waken, and him not waken.
Thy eyes are fair and bright, and they never forsake thee;
If thy heart were so fair, he must be blind.
So she prepares to weep, and to swear foul words.
When, lust-in-bonded and unapt for grace,
The fleet-wing’d captain being gone,
The proud warrior, now deformed, panting;
Crawls at his bloody gouty foe, with her long white hair,
And for his breach the ragged-back wolf doth lend his grace.
‘”Lo, I have sworn,” quoth he, “that thou must not touch me,
Unless thou wilt swear that I am guilty;
This oath hath drawn all power in the hand of the king,
that poor me is thy slave, and thou hast no right,
But shalt suffer the injury of thine servile hand.
Thy eyes have done their duty, and thy heart’s purpose,
Which hath wrought this cursed doom; to blame this poor mishap,
Die, and all in revenge of that untimely doom.
What good is blame if it not fix a thief?
But thou thy fair, fair, and true self,
Is so fair as thy fair self, that thou art blamed.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘”If thou think that my daughter shall be slain,
And that her life shall in some way be stained,
As if it stain’d with thy trespass,
Which for thy life hath in some way offended,
Her life hath in some way hurtful doth offend,
And life hath in some way bequeathed a hell.
Now hath she some holy knife, and some rusty key,
To lode the villain’s sharp knife in his wound;
And in the fire where it dwelleth, fearing none,
it hath no power to kill, but to pardon the wrong;
‘Thou art the fairest man in love,’ quoth she, ‘and yet
The world’s bestowal is thy last wish,
For who would want a present better than his?
‘So long as thou livest, thou art remembered
as a fading youth, being past all respect,
So being young is thy worth assured still.
“Ay me!” quoth she; “do not fear me then,
My woes are but of settled present,
That I to my sorrow may seem resolved.
And then my suffering sorrows in successive parts,
Doth issue from thee a new meaning,
That to thy woes may appear from me.
Here he meets an old man, he starts, and there he doth
Lie, naked and motionless, on a grassy daisy;
Hanging her head in the air, like trophies of victory,
Like trophies crowned with crowns now lie,
In oblivion, though still in this glorious day.
“For what’s in thy breast?” quoth he, “eating of thy flesh?”
This idle request she hears, and the old woman
Begins a new prayer, and new shame:
Thy guilty soul commits the first offence;
Thy guilty soul the second is thy advocate:
y guilty soul the first, be thy witness,
As thy self thy barrister, to defend me,
Is absent, and in his absence forsakes me.
O, what a sight that poor thing is!
O, that my poor thing may be put to death,
When beauty may so valiant a tomb bear:
No more want of pity should I have
My picture painted of you still extant,
And that posterity may with more curious look,
Thou (chance) mayst once more behold this proud face,
Save it from decay in thy image.
Now, my sweet, in thy beauty’s field,
With thy fair shade shouldst thou pine more,
And in that shade I might well glorify thee:
Thou, O love, hast the strength of argument,
And will not wail me for not thinking on thee,
But shalt be mute and dumb for my part.
Thy beauty lies, and beauty’s truth dwells
In my dead lips, whose fresh wrinkles thou hast
Shall cipher my love. ‘”Thou art the sun that doth live and doth shine
In eternal day, which doth thy self grow,
And doth thy self live and doth no more
The time doth count, and I will count thee
When thou hast spent all, thou wast not the sun,
And in thy living dost dwell in woe


======== CHECKPOINT 052 OUTPUT # 005 ========

adapting by the Roman monarchy;
For the sovereignty of a common Roman land
As it were a monarchy of his worth.
The boy that did his duty to me,
Forgot to register the traitor’s crime;
And, lo, the Roman court was in a heavy rage,
That his guilty of such a deed did break
His oath; and straight with a straight
The guilty-rag’d Roman lord he broke,
So he with his lord’s help yielded.
“And where thou art, thou art my captive,
Thou art my friend, and I my friend’s slave.
Thou art my earth, earth, and breath, and breath a river,
Whose downward tide will batter the world away,
And drowns all men in his endless maw:
For me, thou lov’st nothing; and I thy treasure,
Thine own fair will make the world’s fair and acceptable ending.
For thou art my dear friend, and I am thy slave,
To spend thy time and labour in selling thee,
As soon as I have his will, kill’st thou my friend and me?
Then are you the days when I in your fair state will look,
While you are the days when I in mine own fair state doth look.
What needs my force do against yours will hold?
What needs your strong moral will to stop my flight,
If all resistance be made to my flight?”
“For what sake then do you want to know,
That your love makes no war upon your will?
My dear love, this will is all yours;
For in it you make one living thing.
‘This said, he stops, and there
A lily growing on a flethy green tree lies;
A dew of pure white lies on the ground,
That seems pale, though yet bright, and hath light;
Anon it twire, ’tis twain
To kiss, and on the lips would say: “Ay, ah! ah! ah! ah!
But woe is me! Too early I attended the ceremony,
Towards midnight I attended to my wits,
My heavy eyelids did detain the sight;
And on either side my gentle brown head lay
With gentle nature’s fair shade concealed;
In both my eyes she was shining bright,
Which, peeping through her pale eyelids, seemed to peep
The heavenly glory of this divine light.
“Woe is me!” she cries, “woe is me! Too late!”
And, ere she again begins her lament,
Her woes grow ever stronger, till they exceed
Her whole heart and her whole mind:
The lion leaps, the eagle neighs, the dove leaps,
And all these at once doth her part begin;
And to the hoof the dire beast neighs,
And nuzzling in the mud all join,
Whose neck her roe she doth utter thus:
This fearful and dreadful task she makes
To wake and wake again, and see whether
Her sorrow with her continual moans exceeds;
For he fears her, and she fears none;
She that doth fear him he answers so,
And leaves her like a weakling to wail his woe.
‘I did not,’ quoth he, ‘deserv’d my maid’—
‘That I could have procured, without thy help;
For who knows not love is hard and kind?
But now I see the hard-favour’d knife,
Which kills the pride of a life,
For that hard-kill’d knife is love’s best friend;
A thousand pensisons hard-pressed in my heart,
Works like a dial, which every minute glows.
‘This, my lord, is a satire of my tongue,
For there in a winding grove stands
A gilded frame, wherein lives a spirit,
Which by and by is fed
The weary weariness of his confined place.
When in grief she says, “O no,” replies he,
And bids her say “I will bear thee to rest,
When thou livest, let thy part be used to feed.”
“Ay me,” quoth she, “this night I’ll have thy breath,
And drink thy breath of life, in case of need;
For when thou shalt rest, my spirit will rehearse,
And let my body’s fuel do the fighting,
That will the worser parts of me burn.
‘For that sin I will bear, and curse the blessed,
Thy mortal sin, which thy heavenly father forbid,
Would stain thy face with this stain.
Thy sinful son, why wilt thou not excuse
The stain upon his mortal image?
The stain upon thy life thou hast committed,
And for thy sin


======== CHECKPOINT 053 OUTPUT # 001 ========

drinking, but of a more dangerous and more deadly lust
A league of lust that will be termed bestial in this
Age: for it breeds in barren lust,
And in barren lust in lust is bred.
‘”Now on this brook whereon Adonis lies,
One of his lean-bow’d beagles lean’st upon him;
He ducks; one neighs; another doth leap;
One more runs, and the other, panting wildly,
Foul blows, another strikes him in the groin;
one by, another runs with the same speed.
This sudden change in state of mind,
Like a storm that breaks every minute’s fume,
Or the burning of coal-black incandescence,
Or the breaking of crystal balls,
Or the freezing and bending of water-snow,
Or the burning of coal-black crystals,
Or the breaking of wind-beaten bells,
Or all these dangers together:
She cries; but she no more could answer her;
The wolf, which by nature often doth stay,
Will not hunt him down again, nor comfort him with his tale.
And if thou catch him, kill him first, or else slay him,
And slay him before the wolf hath fled.
‘Now set thyself at liberty, for I did request
That thou mightst thy self again behold,
And thus I’ll excuse thee from all wrong.
‘For thou art the fairest, and the sweetest,
And in this I list a thousand fair flaws,
Which nothing else doth resemble,
But for thee there are so many hidden flaws,
That nothing in thee is worth seeing,
That is worth knowing at all.
But when I have seen the true nature of all
beauty’s elements diff’rest from thee,
And when thou art the best, the rest is left me,
When that which thou dost excelst is left me alone.
“I have seen thee smiling and smiling,
And thou mak’st all those beauties golden and red,
Then shalt thou see my discontent,
I have no pity but envy of thee,
And yet shall not spiteful tears dote my brow,
As I was with Fortune’s miser and miser
In cheeks red as blood, nor alive with life.
This thou, my love, my love’s name be forgot.
‘Tis promised in marriage a son,
That shall live to that heir, to live another,
Unless there is some rarer reason why,
The child should not take the name of his father.
‘”And for my part, fearing lest my life should be called,
A thousand kisses might conceit me quite wrong,
But in vain I count them all my own:
Thou wrong’st them all, and they all are none.’
“When thou hast count’d, what largess dost thou owe me?”
“Nay, none at all; for lo, the rich are oft
That which thou hast spent on thy other self,
So do I beg of them; but they prove
All kinds of favours, including largess:
‘To-day,’ quoth she, ‘though cloudy it appears,
My face, though full of cares, is tame;
And yet it seems bright and pretty, even in the day:
As with the moon or stars, through the day we see them dim.
That’s all, ay, till I have got rid of my sorrow,
And put my self again in the league,
And look in other windows, where my self’s glory lies,
And in others’ ornaments lies hid,
I did but write to make my acquaintance known,
If others would use my name elsewhere.
And, if there be none, why not of mine,
Though my self to honour be forgotten,
For nothing shall my fame confound,
Nor nothing shall my fame confound,
If others use my name elsewhere.”
‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the false blood of a wedlock’s wife!’
The pale-fac’d shadow with wiry pale encamped
Shall wink and wink again with every bent eye.
‘So shalt thou be thy fair self; thou thine alone,
In thy fair parts with others thou art,
But in my fair parts be mischances ensnared;
Thy fair parts shalt be thy foes’ and friends’ lands.
‘So shalt thou be thy fair self again,
Like myself in myself thou make free,
And in my fair parts I too am forsaken,
And in thy fair parts thou be all but lost.
This said, he throws his weight about,
He kneels, and her on either side lies;
Both have seiz’d their heads, and


======== CHECKPOINT 053 OUTPUT # 002 ========

oni and that same lust, which in him bears perpetual ill:
And therefore have I made war on that lust,
Which in him I have engrafted a spite;
And that same lust, which in him bears perpetual ill,
Tames a league of loving love, which in him breaks;
Tames a league which in him most confounds:
And therefore have I found civil war, and civil strife,
Against that which in him my love distills,
Threw her captive, and now she hath’scapered.’
‘So long hath she lived, and seen the day’s triumph!
Now is the season’s end, and time’s entertainment
To bring a sad end to the day, or occasion
To put an end to a happy one.
Then why should lovers be lovers of one another?
For they were better than each other, and each a lover.
And thou, the sweet ornament of love,
Whose true form thy worth doth live in scorn,
In action, in feeling, and in fact.
“I have read that a kind of fair fortune favours
Lust, but hath not the due rarities,
To lend it to the deserving, or give it to me:
A pretty rose for my benefit, and of fair quality,
I will not curse thee in vain,
For thou art mine, and I thy mother’s desire.
“But when Lucrece hears that I have married thine eye,
She prays to seize him by the blood;
And this she tells him her true love: ‘Lo, I have heard the tale
Of a common groom, and found it true;
I never loved him, yet I have heard him say,
“Lo, I have,” quoth she, “a son, and a daughter
Of mine own, and of his that were free,
Of both mine that were not, to love and love thee,
I will live by thy example and my good will;
Love is no love, and hate no love.”
Now as she speaks, a hand, like an inedible stone,
Stone, like a turtle, is at a stand
With her downwardly-pointed head, till she removeth;
Then standing by the stream, Adonis takes
The knife, that sharp instrument in her hand;
Holds the wound she did inflict,
And doth so kill herself by this stroke.
“Lo, I have heard from many a nun that
Her voice, so kind, and so kind-hearted,
Whose words have invoked me, and I do thank thee,
I could not make this untrue, my dear friend.
Love to me be a sad rhyme:
So be it, with the poet’s fair pen,
Whose true voice and true style hath made thee new,
Fair themes, and new additions pleasing to eyes,
Sets thee anew, and not old as before.
‘Fair sun,’ quoth Lucrece, ‘this ill-wresting ill,
Thy shade doth stain the world’s fair parts,
Thy smoky breath doth make it foul,
And foul air it doth stain with death.’
‘So, supposing I may be so wise,
As thou livest, yet life’s ending shall last me long;
And for this purpose make my bed a tomb:
For by this done, I have ended my life:
But for thy sweet help, by thy loving help I may live,
And die my poor living respectably.’
‘”O then with this, sweet boy, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In thy sweet parts, that so base a mind
Could comprehend and read in little books!
Haply thy face might think some ill,
Like to a creeping snail, in whose moist place
The infected snail doth remain,
The snail doth not suspect, nor the infected worm,
And nothing but this helpless fear do detain:
Such creatures do not fear to break from their hiding place,
And stay their course still, till the morning sun
Have count’d their prey in their ranks,
And spread forth the bounteous treasure
Whose due being pre-determined,
That bounteous sum might be sapped at last.
As a weed growing on a field,
A thorn growing on a bough,
A dying rondure growing along the shore,
Shall wither, wither away, and the barren ground die.
If thy virtue should ever live,
Then music and dancing beauty should reign
Within earshot of death;
And every fair flower in vale should still stand
Pure and well, being thinly seeded.
When poets breathe sweet words,
Linguists learn to write strange characters,
And dialects to read ugly things,
In poor craft


======== CHECKPOINT 053 OUTPUT # 003 ========

plent it hath made all my woes to this end.
But if from thence thou wilt follow,
The sea will give it my aid, and I my spite,
I would swear he sought the boar but did find
A lily white and golden foot, whose fine white tear
Upon the white stole a curious whitish flash doth appear;
The white flash being blinded, the pearl on
Hath flash’d in the dim glow of the flash.
Thus far hath he slept, and yet his sight is not
Where he needs refreshment.
‘”And now I behold a beautiful young man,
Who wore a mantle and tie,
Who seemed to him to be wavering,
Whose stout, hasty, and wild aspect
Did him dismount upon his lance, for fear of him;
Whose spongy hind foot he untied, was shapeless.
thou dost seek to stain the well,
That is where the stain of age lies,
If I will thy slander so please,
For I do seek the grave, not the life.
‘If it be lawful for my bones to die,
But live as my surviving father, so help me God!
It may be, my bones have been bone’d with scorn,
And mine be wit made to rusty age,
Till my spirit with old age reworded my name.
“What, then, wilt thou then be my friend,
And live thou in peace, and in such strife
As thou survive to be disabled?
But if thou survive this long and bitter night,
And live in bitter disgrace for that I do write,
how ’tis the worst case that so many
Of ill-begotten wealth accumulate:
And then, sadly reading this,
My thoughts, poor souls, think my heart to groan.
‘Thou wronged lord of Lust,’ quoth he, ‘arise,
For thy misdeeds elsewhere, yet abroad thy deeds stand.
For as the stars do upon the sun,
So are the hours that to thee behold,
Each minute of the day is thy hour.
‘Well, then,’ quoth she, ‘this mortal war of will,
thou dost strive to stain the living with blood,
And yet with death to stain the dead with living.
And like a heavy-hanging bell,
His light breaks in a certain part of the cave;
Each lamp that shines forth illuminates
all the world, to the farthest east.
And in this furnace of filth and smoke,
Which drives nature’s vapours to a cinders rage,
The air is foul, the blood cold, and all things hot.
And if the heat of all these evils
Save thou alone alone alone alone, will not suffice?
“Then if thou alone alone stand in need,
Then let me excuse thee, and tell my story.
I have sworn a deep oath to keep this secret,
And swear it to prevent all foul abuses.
That the knife my kinsmen cuteth from my breast,
And all the power thereof to kill me with slaughter;
Then was I a god, a sovereign lord,
A sovereign father, and unthrifty slave to all men.
But the knife I swore to kill thee,
And to defend my life in such disgrace,
That for my self I would slay none, nor none at all.
‘How rude a creature couldst thou then be!
With her his fair foot she did assail,
And on the gentle bushes, bending their knees,
Whose rough paws were to bear the load, but her master were no;
She, his mistress, the mistress’ child, did him shame.
‘Then shalt thou wert as this: my mistress’ was
No more than a bud of his, but in his chin
His hair, like golden threads, hung in pomp;
For shame’s sake let him go now; and stay he will,
When the world’s worst plague shall be brought to light.”
‘I know that your love is as fair a sight
As apple-brushes are to the morning sun,
Which makes the sun in his dim mist do homage.
Ah, I know that in thy cheeks
My beauty thou hast been cast away,
That I in thy strength do shake to-morrow.
Look in these windows wherein thou behold a face full of woe,
And I will frown upon this blot,
Then blush in my shame, and then smile again.
O, for blotting me with such disgrace!
Look how thy face with wrinkles and wrinkles
Blindly bloteth out my face’s bright shade,
How thy beauty’s worth doth my life depend,
And therefore my life’s fair use doth depend,
If thou


======== CHECKPOINT 053 OUTPUT # 004 ========

candid with the world’s sorrow;
And in so doing doth her persuade
The world to her content, and so the suit
Was never consumm’d.
This told, she straightly in the brook set,
Praising herself for her beauty’s sake,
And for her beauty’s sake for that of men.
“Well, thou fool, this slanderous boar will
Leave the harmless cradle and lead a life
That will prove unprofitable to him;
Who, profane, in the jealousy foul
Of that unhappy peerless peerless foe,
may I tell the tale of this vile boar,
Who like a proud boar, in pursuit slew
A boar that he had not his strong will to chase.
When he had spotted her, gentle Grace took him by,
And took him by the hand, gentle maid, where kissing hies.
For when my sweet Lucrece had asked him where he was,
he replied, “In the brook where you will lie.”
And from her lips began she to sing:
, thy fair name, to whom I owe so much;
And that by thy fair name I may still be remembered,
That you must not withhold from me all my love,
That was, to me, a separation of many kinds.
That was, to me, all-perfect,
And all-perfect and free from stain,
A paradise which to myself I loved,
But I could not enjoy it nor enjoy it in me.
How can this then be, when thou thy self art so fair,
With all thy beauty’s might and trim?
Thy light still shines in thine eyes, and in my self’s doe,
That’s but to give light to the blind and in the sage?
If so, then I in thee live an eternal lie,
And nothing else is true but my beauty’s.
Then might I prophesy, that day thou mayst see
Thy unripe youth as it appears in thy day.
But then, in day’s best hours, thy blot may be seen
As day in night is blotter of blot.
“And whiles against the day thy lips are tired,
A thousand lamentable faults thy body doth fight,
Your poor soul’s treasure lost, thy soul’s disgrace;
Your soul that made your body’s livelihood liv’d,
lost the warlike smell of war,
And all the rest of your unripe years spent in complaining.
“O where is truth,” quoth he, “on a false footing?”
She replies, “on a false footing?”
“Ay, truth be told,” quoth she, “it is hard for me to lie,
As it is hard to lie in general,
When I alone am hard on others’ hard digs?
How can I be so hard on myself,
When my husband was alive and I was deaf and dumb?
when in the midst of all these,
A crow hath hoisted his proud crow about,
Which doth look on the fair queen whose name is near,
And to their great delight flies the proud-pined crow;
And now the sun hath sung, and now the ground is dry,
And all the world, wondering at this,
With sad cry “Hail, hail!” each tree sprawls again;
So, sweetly, did Adonis see
Thy beauty set in motion the motion of his hate,
Who doth homage to her beauty give,
And now she himself is dead and all his beauty still alive:
, that she hath writ to me thus:
“That thou mayst think on me, I must be gone,
Thy beauty shall live in thy image, and in thine,
Thy self in me doth live, and in thine doth live.
The hour is past when I can count thine eyes
And count thy self in thine own right,
And then thou (self) that defil’d with care
may the time arise to spend with me,
As a kind of pilgrimage through time
To look back on thy youth, and to the day
When in thy time thou art, as it was
Within thy power’s power to make, renew, and decrease
With time’s inconstant laws, is it lawful
To leave your self in such a way
That life’s end is in thy self esteem,
And die by chance alone, before thou die again?
If that be so, wherefore should I live?
If that be so, wherefore should I live now?
What should I do but live by chance alone?
If life are mine alone, and life by chance
Without hope ever lived,
Who should live but a living death to me?
And if life and beauty be one,


======== CHECKPOINT 053 OUTPUT # 005 ========

prosecuted by the sword did her cheeks betray;
Her lover’s picture lay bleeding in her eye;
The thought seemed to her blood stop and murmur:
A desperate sobbing Lucrece fell dead;
Her lips, like snow globes, had white beaded,
Whereon the eyes of men had gazed, wondering.
She had sworn, I may not have said,
That she had heard the mutiny, and that she
Witness’ed it herself.
“Thy eyes are sweet and small, thou art large,
And therefore shalt not see them wink, unless thy glass
Have some skill to use on them?
Thy eyes are as glass and I as wax,
When nature hath reposed in my invention,
Beauty hath reposed in thine own decay,
And now thou wilt take advantage, for in thine age
Thy eyes they taught me how to see better,
And now to use them in the shop I buy,
I’ll use them for good, or for evil.
How are you then I that I hate, but love?
The one for me, the other for you,
And for your posterity doth live.
‘Dear lord,’ quoth she, ‘your pity takes a while,
And then your pity is renewed,
And then it is forgot, and you are gone.
‘This night I’ll hunt the boar, that creeps by;
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my lechers;
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my dogs;
And then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue;
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue;
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue;
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue;
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue,
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue,
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue,
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue,
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue,
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
So tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue,
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue,
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
Then tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue,
And tomorrow I’ll hunt the boar with my tongue:
For now this evil deed I will bear;
And now this good will I lose.
In thee thou art all, all I can say,
What will thy thought, my thought, what will thy thought say
Thy beauty’s cost, my life, and all my peace?
If thou wilt give them thine eye, thou wilt make them mine.
My thoughts, my thoughts, my thoughts! (To kill them, kill me again;
Thy thoughts, thy thoughts, thy thoughts, what will thy thought say
Of mine own life, or that which lives in thee?
If thy thoughts, thy thoughts, my thoughts, in thee,
Thy thoughts still were, and in thy heart
Thy self was slain, and thine own self still live.
‘Thou cannot kill my wife, nor kill my children,
Thou cannot kill my beloved, nor kill me in my self,
Thou cannot kill the fountain that taught the mare,
Thou art in love, thou art in love, thou art in love,
And love is dead, and love is not.”
“Then shall the birds sing, and the waves be mute,
And every where mournful they sound’d,
Or some other discord of the night,
Doth make them swear by shadows of foul crimson:
Then shall the dull birds, and the wild beasts,
As mad at shadows so at thee,
Reserve their nightly night, and make nightly rest;
And night and day are night and day till sundown.”
‘But do not hold this to be a boast,
Since I am your equal and have been;
Be proud of it, do not boast of it,
And in it boast, but with pride assails;
So be contented I with that,
And in it thou shalt find thy parts.”
‘Then have I met many shamans, idolaters, and killers,
And down I laid to list the deeds I had


======== CHECKPOINT 054 OUTPUT # 001 ========

REPL,
My mistress, what is thy opinion
Of this poor, wretchless ghost that calls thee here?
What foul stain canst thou make of thy youth,
Of thy beauty, thy beauty’s stain, thy beauty’s waste?
In this thou cannot stain, in this thou canst not stain.
This said, he shakes his head, straightens his head,
And then with that motion he revives his head again;
The thought that he could not know better,
But that he might know better still, did him disgrace,
For that foul sneaped motion did him disgrace.
Now this unapproved shadow lies fair in mine eye;
I was once so bold as to defy thee;
Then in the face of greater shame I did my will,
And now I do homage to him,
With outward shame, but inward shame still did abide.
But all I could say was this,
That thou, my beloved, lov’st me deeply,
And would I say so in verse, and in the gaudy hounds.
‘And let it not surprise you that I never kill,
By words, but by oath, you have leaped from the tree.
‘And if you shall chide me, ’tis not lawful
To hunt down a boar in his fawn’s appetite;
For I trespass upon his prime,
And do extenuate his rights,
Making him, as his prime, the hunted,
And doth he in pursuit take place,
And this he in pursuit breeds, the boar in chase.
Now this helpless look she hath on her head,
How pale she is with grief, and yet still she grieves,
ose lips seem to melt with her tears,
For he, so bereft, yet is she grieved;
And yet she holds his tears, and tears turn their tide.
O how she mourns for him that he hath done,
So she may herself be revenged,
And yet she himself might be revenged,
In having done her a wrong.
“Ay me! Collatine,” quoth he, “you were never my friend,
And therefore, being fair, so am I now.
With the fire which burning from thee burns,
I’ll purge you of that stain; with that, thou blot’st me again.
“This said, his eyes began to close,
And from their fixed place, the red dot
Upon the crystal orb whereon it held
Life, beauty, and virtue bound.
‘But, ah! thou hast aught to gain by thine stealing,
by stealing, mine was the whole of thee.
This, as he did prepare his spear,
Hath been the prey of many a fearful boar;
And now, armed with a fearful hand,
His fierce eye hath put forth his might,
And with his stroke it self confounds the foe.
He chops off his prey, and with that he wounds;
But thou, my love, despite of all thy might,
Do my body, and thou my love contend
With every lawful stranglehold to prevent?
O if it ever be questioned, keep thy face enclosed.
O be so kind as thou art, to lend a hand
To that charitable hand which by thee works,
Which thou hast in this tragic knife repair,
Sets not arms but love to fight, and wounds not wounds.
And thus her arms were folded, her voice hushed up,
And Tarquin motion’d with his swift motion.
She was all alone in the room;
His hand was upon her breast, and her breast on her head;
This act made him stop; she his palm on her head,
He held the knife in her own mouth,
He drew her lips to the thread, to kiss;
And this forc’d action made him move, and he gagged;
Another time, still farther on, his lips on hers,
And again on his tongue did her lips begin:
Another time he gagged, again on her lips,
Like the same man, still farther on, still farther on.
O then the lines will stay the torture;
So the torture will not last long,
Even in the clear morning where you did behold
The blossoms, the aloes and the yell o’er;
Yet woe betide yourselves, as the night is being done,
You find yourselves at a journey’s end,
And that you cannot get your breath away;
Nor are you rich in leisure to see
The days turn sour and your living hours green.
Now I tell you it is thy last, and I say it shall last long.
This said, she throws on a heavy sky,
And with her heavy gaol her sorrow’s fair light shines.
“The night


======== CHECKPOINT 054 OUTPUT # 002 ========

ver, ere the first stain show’d,
And the rest black and white, as the moon doth glisteth,
Yet, ere she bleeds, the dead bird hath stain’d.
This thought is but to provoke jealousy,
Against the wise, against the learned;
To make them mad, by stirring up strange passions;
Who, mad that they should change their state,
Reserve no excuse for their mad deeds.
When thou wilt be the light of day,
And day the dark, strive to see it bright,
Wherein the night so bright doth deceive,
that he with his foul eye doth steal a tear.
Then would the cloud have fled, and the world away;
The eagle would have flown, and the dove would not have swam;
And now her eyes had blinded her sight,
And all men’s fair thoughts in darkness had seen;
And in the deepest despair she would not speak,
till men would wake her up again.
“O, be contented with that, and yet not content
With that, and yet not content
With that, let it not be called my love,
And that the name I assign thee,
Is to your Lordship all yours, and no other name,
You must in love be my dearest, and I shall hold thee here,
To make thee mine own slave, and then my slave again.
And then love’s golden rings shall wear,
All the splendour and profaneness
Of your sweet nature and of your worth set,
And all this to decay in age,
And you outlived all hope of living your beauty,
The earth would tremble and tremble with your decay.
‘Nor can the verse forbear to speak,
Though in the deep grove of your grove I sing:
The deep grove cannot know thy deep meaning,
My music so simple can not quite sing.
My songs with numbers are too long,
Since my songs can no longer write,
How long is love to you then I cannot say,
I’ll sing them again, or you better be happy.
This said, she throws on the light, and bids him still,
For heaven’s sake, to give such a respite.
This he replies with a little moan;
At first she unthrifts him, and he shakes with his fall.
So is she dumb when her mistress’ eyes are set,
She is too proud for my sport to show,
Nor I for your fair use is I afraid,
That you as kings of my heart seem troubled,
For kings’ revenues are my expense,
But none of my revenues is so rich
That my heart nor mine eyes are troubled.
And yet, when they see the pity-wanting boy,
Till, like a dying wretch, he neighs in disdain,
A woeful moan hisses as he sits,
Like a sad wife entombed in a net.
“Now wake, wake, wake up!” she says, and leaps;
The door opens, and the babe lies panting;
‘O! behold, the babe on that cheek
Was nymph as well as alive, and made her moan
Like one whose prime amorously doth dance
on the sun, and on his chin, and on his head,
Hateful sun to those backward hills that did grow;
on my unlettered lawn bare thy flowers stood,
So that I alone could not stain the ground,
But on thee was thy beauty crowned.
O yes, mine own shadow, that did stain the ground,
Whose beauty thy self to thee should show still stand,
As thy flower, thy self to me was not slain,
But was thy beauty left undistinguished.
‘”O Time, thou blind, and Time, thou dumb,
Who see’st thou thy beauty turn back again?
O Time, thou false, and Time, thou rich,
Why dost thou forsake thy self to fall,
To rob thy self of a livelihood?
If thou wilt, that loss of self is enough,
And thou lose my self again, the loss is thy loss,
And mine, and thee, and all thy mishaps.
‘O night, thou thief! thou worthless boar!
Thy proud heart’s course doth teach thy heart to rage,
And when thou wilt desire revenge, thou look’st to hunt
No vices but sweet men’s eyes, and sly dogs’ eyes;
But, mad that my soul’s treasure is near,
Mine eye is distracted, my heart doth stay,
And so my heart is kept afloat.
‘O night, thou fool! thou look’st into night’s life,
And every light nill illuminates it


======== CHECKPOINT 054 OUTPUT # 003 ========

uyomi of your sins’ origin?
Were your sins foretelling, when they came?
Then are they not signs of some negligence?
Who, sick with conceit, gives all account
Of what he, or she, doth say?
His eye hath seen all, yet not all.
The blackest night of his adulterate night,
Was the night when all those that knew
Each other’s foul act, would confound him there;
And therefore Adonis, like a hunted boar,
Took the knife from the lawful owner, and threw it
In the direction of his foes, to guard their oaths:
They, in fear, did him disgrace, and he his justice
The knife by striking the lawful owner.
‘Father, I beseech you, from the very midst of heav’d rest
That you (your Lordship) are mov’d to your aid,
To hear the proceedings of your Lordship,
And to request such speedy action from your Lordship,
As thou, by the aid of those who watch thee,
Have such rights in thought, to forbid your Lordship’s tyranny?
So shall my Lordship in thee be unspotted,
And kings in my unlettered blood
Will be tyrants if they have no rights at all.”
And she thus ends her speech, as if the poet would say
That the painter is too weak, and is too bright,
To read what beauty is to read, what beauty is to admire,
And yet beauty being blind, never sees what it is.
‘Now let him have his prey, and slay it with his tongue;
Then, like a bold-fac’d warrior, he leaps at the bait,
And, like a valiant rider, he doth gallop still
Upon the crest of his towering horse,
To show the way, but the rider being gone,
The coward rider, still did trot on with fear.
“This device was Adonis’ to begin;
If the painter be mute, the child will not see
The sad-fac’d tramping babe he came to fear;
Or if the painter be mute, the child will not sense
the deep impression of the wound he makes:
A thousand favours from his fair store lies hid;
Which in his fair blood is thine, and in mine is thine,
Wherein the painter lies, who pays the price.
And every little grief proceeds by some great cause,
That we call it right or wrong, depending upon our wits.
“To know what a child means by ’tis hearers,
When it is not ’tis wink’d, or sung, or done,
To know what a child means by ’tis naught:
That we must not so much as praise it,
To praise it, as praise the wit it tells.
O how much more praise could a true tongue make
, in honourable words, the authorizing grace,
He pens more than he speaks, and yet he can still write.
This praise is so great, so heavy it would be a grief,
To see him do it again with more care.
No, he will not read it, nor look it hence;
This heavy fore-telling shall never pass away:
For nothing but a shadow can shadow a shadow,
Save that shadow, to the truth tell it, is he created.
, my love, it is true, thy mother is dead;
Her son shall live, and thy father a son.
How true then I am! I do believe
That my love is still, and that it is new,
When every one hath but once laid eyes on me,
What shall I do, after my death,
That shall think of no resolution but mine own?
And, lo, as the sun doth burn the earth,
That earth cannot repair, nor sea any more,
Nor earth nor heaven is but his slave,
So shall I live again as thou livest,
And return to the fold of death with my spleen.
‘Thou wilt,’ quoth she,’re thy self betray me;
Till, lo, my self will confess thy crime;
And be put to death by force of lust’s force,
Who, being thine own debtor, may yet be free.
If thou break thy vow, thou fool,
Till then my love may be free again,
And still I have no hope of love,
But thou must break a vow to get rid of me;
But then, poor fool, thou break’st mine too,
And yet thou must break a vow to get rid of me.
If ever my poor soul desire to hear me,
Mine eyes open wide, I see thy sight lies.
‘Thou wronged father of this


======== CHECKPOINT 054 OUTPUT # 004 ========

parasitic by the dark-red eclipses she sees
Bright-shining stars (as they ne’er appear)
And, like some unruly bird, flies to the sky.
“And lo here she lie, gazing on the sun,
Which on his visage glows bright in her night.
“The sun doth cover his face, and his lips are pale;
Their salt water, the colour so well applied,
Show’d pale, as those on white blotches are.
Yet ’tis well to blush, poor fools:
When every fair fair fair hath blushing stain’d,
As the eye of the world is put to work on thee,
Till at least thou thy self, thy self being glorified,
Tou art the fairest of men’s fair eyes.
And thus, with the help of many fair beauties,
Held to himself the thoughts, and made to wittily:
O in thy beauty’s day thy self with thoughts
(Being naked) would not blush at thy wailing,
Or else look upon thy beauty,
Even so my mistress’ face should on thy cheek.
If men with fairer eyes should govern thee,
Their lips a shade clearer might admir’d,
In that sort of lusty lustful humour
That sometimes they wear forth their outward part,
Which shows the ranks of their ranks by night:
But for most of them none can set foot on foot,
For no one to see them, but by night,
Who looks on them as they list.
“Look,” she saith, “this thing that thou hast wrought,
To fright the boy in his frenzy,
Will fright him in a minute, and then he will run;
I vow I will bear true witness that thou didst witness
My fright in his frame, and then thou didst stand.
And now he hath his knife, and she in her gore,
Stands by him to knife his prey; so goes he;
No more of this, and in his fear,
More fear to creep on, and in his strength still.
“Oh then let my love in darkness be light,
Because thou in thy light mayst behold:
In that light I in darkness must fear.
ose ears are made flesh of steel,
And therefore their hearing is feeble,
Their souls doth fight each other in confusion;
And if they should perish, do not despair,
Unless thy treasure be with the deceased,
Thou mak’st ’tis a prize of thine age,
And never kill’st thee once in a thousand fights.
Now hear me, you helpless little creatures,
Are afraid lest aught from me shall go,
And with your help I my verse in verse will go.
Now be quiet, and then wake up, and then make haste;
For now our woes are far from being told.
Thy servant, when he see’st he should play,
By heart beats, his poor ears wail it;
So is he distracted now, with sad tales to tell.
Now all was lost, and all were forgot,
When a grey cloud, like a dove, with shining fire,
With crimson flames hiss from his visage,
Like misty vapours from the furnace burning,
Whose fire invok’d all compact air and water,
And so on, till he with flaming breath, with sweating face,
Receives up his weary head, and bids them turn their faces,
And call it heaven, heaven’s place;
And call it Tarquin’s; if thou call it thine, tell me,
Who it belongs to; or what good name it is.
‘”And from a certain hill whose proud crest
A young, green, and white dove, with lofty crest
They trod on, and did neigh; and when they saw
Those lofty figures neigh’d, with white outcast eyes,
With eyes that glowed fire, and eyes that charmed
Bright sparks, they did their thing; and when they saw,
Like glowing brass, the sparks went mad:
‘O heavens, my loathsome device did my son frame;
The father was slain, the son a waxen wretch.’
‘And yet,’ quoth she, ‘if I had my self been born again,
The accident should not have so fiendish a ending.’
Then quoth she: ‘Had I lived, thou vouchsafe me
Whilst I in thee was born the hazard lies.
Thy beauty, that thou vouchsafed thyself life,
Thy beauty’s visage I’ll dedicate to thee,
And keep thy posterity in posterity:
Thou vouchsafed thine, thy posterity in posterity,
Thy posterity gives thee another


======== CHECKPOINT 054 OUTPUT # 005 ========

officially as men are wont to do,
Their bareness gives a sacred seal.
‘”And for that, so much more I covet:
And yet, far from wronging me, do I think my case
Fair, just, and just punishment;
For now, as I was dead, so now is she alive.
‘Yet are they gods, not servants to crime,
To rob and steal souls in their sleep,
For now their bed is full of foul-governing lies:
But when he sees my love, his eyes are fix’d in mine,
And every thing he takes, turns his thoughts to mine.
‘Then would he have my lips on his cock,
Though lips on mine were mute, or lips on his prick;
To kiss them, I would be mute, and then speak:
I have done this man wrong; but I have done him good.’
To this she says: ‘I have no honour to be so nice,
That I will not be a dame of thine,
If ever by force I shall be called a wife.
“I’ll excuse myself, and then I’ll let go
Time’s sharp device for ornament,
Playing music on his smart ears.
The more the boy in his way doth chide,
To hear the lark, the crow, and the boar sing.
‘Thou art all the world’s chief groom,
For men make faults of their own making;
And sadly yet the world’s eyes do mock them:
O, what a pity they should have,
They too early have but once begun,
To rave with their forebears in the skies.
‘Now come and sit by a stream, and have an end;
To make the stream anew urgeth your praise:
That praise might your sweet name be called;
So might I be your sweet self again.’
O how sweet a name that was,
And now for the first time to have both her name,
She for my sake took from me so much,
That when thou shalt see it grow, forgive my love.
‘O, this,’ quoth she, ‘it shall not last long!
The clock is out, and all is but to make me stay,
Lending me time to think over what to do,
And to think what to do when I myself are gone,
I will play the watchman, and wait on you.
‘Why, this, she that makes this story,
Will in like manner follow those that follow thee,
To tell false stories with your own reason.
So I will not bewitch thee still,
For why, when thou shalt speak of love, tell my story
in my love, my love still shall stay,
Since thou shalt not make me forget thee:
For I love thee better than thou art,
Till then, with thy love’s help, I’ll use all my might,
And with thy help shall Tarquin win the night.
Then love’s love is dead, my love alive,
and the night thus begins
“He takes her by the hand, and takes her by the ear;
She beats the hell out of her, and all in amazement;
She takes him by the hand again, and again she beats;
She takes him by the lips, and again she beats;
She takes him by the lips, and again she beats;
She takes him by the lips, and again she beats;
She takes him by the lips again, and again she beats;
Her blood, that to my love hath spill’d,
Breathes forth the fatal breath of lust;
O breath, breathe again, O breathe again,
The fatal breath to my love, thou must breathe again.
Look where you can breathe a word: here is a map,
Of thy state, of thy rights, and of thy place.
‘To my mistress’ (Grecian) distress,
The suit-it-gotter began with a look;
Then, with sighs and hollers, begun her verse,
Bearing the heavy weight of all her heavy duty,
She hoarsely begins, “O night, thou poor poor creature,
Without tomorrow’s help, and forlorn, bear false witness
To night’s dreadful woes, let me say good night,
And let my love, who suffers forsworn, know
What woe is me; a crow doth steal my eye.
As to this my poor love, what can I say
But this thou wilt say, ‘I hate’?
Look what’s in thee that’s in vaded decay;
What’s in thee that’s in the liver full wet?
What’s in thee that thou hast in thy power
That gives thy love more force than thy might?


======== CHECKPOINT 055 OUTPUT # 001 ========

IOR.
O then fear not, for fear of damn’d night,
Thy face thou shalt find not;
For night will not be revenged on me with my stay,
For thou art all that remains, that in me remains.
O learn not beauty how to blush at art,
Till wit must learn how to blush at thee.
If that, my love’s flame no longer burns,
To blush, as soon as I perceive it,
A flaming-black-fac’d death-bed doth appear,
With a platted and platted grave and figures,
like the weary cedar grove that reeks,
�”O idle ghost! thou didst send me
My visage, that liv’d my image in scorn!
O lend me a light and some semblance,
A spirit of truth, and truth’s shadow,
A truth that my image did before betray,
And now to serve my decease forgot,
When the true and just terms shall bear the breach:
That is, this fair replication which thou hast wrought,
Of things past, things to come, and things to expect:
Here thou art, for my sake, that which thou hast done,
Of things to come, and things to expect,
From the very earth where thou art. Opportunity,
So that her slander, as bad as hell,
May seem, even to Opportunity seem. Too late, too late,
Love lost his sweet self, lost his true love.
“O then, for thy sake do I pine,
Against my self that thou shalt pine against,
Thy honour be thine, and for thy honour mine,
I do not fear but be blameless.
O pardon me then, as thou surly chide,
I do see thy heart, which thou art blind,
I see thy sorrow, though my heart be mute.
‘”Lo, I have the matter on my side
Applied to a physician,
With simple forms and simple qualities
My soul being fitted to the office,
The painter’s knife shall do my wound;
He that makes the wound, the poor creature will pay.
For to make me your court, would you like
To come in peace, with tears, and sing good night,
Let it then be as simple as it is:
A woman’s face, her thoughts short, her wit full,
Her gentle manners fair, kind, and pretty:
Then would her thoughts and words have been
Like this, as they should appear in the night,
Till each word told said, the other was mute,
And eyes to the music told,
As in silent repetition, wondering minds,
Each little thing told should move one part dumb,
And look dumb in amazement,
By what would be told there without seeming.
Then is she made mad, and madly dumb,
To hear Collatine speak, and to weep.
‘When shall I hear thee speak, O Lucrece?
When shall I be able to kiss thee, O never-nurturing tongue,
That says ‘I hate’, ‘Love’, ‘deserv’d’, ‘deserv’d’, ‘deserv’d’?
When shall I be able to sing, O beauteous mother,
And sing in the sweetest tongue ever devised,
Whilst thou alone art all-too-fair, too short,
To be so lov’d, would I ne’er hear thee?
, but for my sake, my love was with him hunted,
And with him hunted I found myself.
Thou meurer had thy life’s interest,
Thou meurer’s art, thou art my friend,
I am so wooed by thy looks,
That all my outwardly I dote,
Thy painted image, my pretty self, is woe unto thee.
‘His face hath needleage all over his head;
His lips, like coal-black sluices, are fix’d
Upon his bare temple, so it appeareth:
His nostrils their course distorts, his nostrils rise,
Wherein their subduing radiance resteth:
Whose presence is so great that no inward part
Is left unripe, for fear thereof it may be taken:
Yet here thou shalt find my face, where thou art.
No, look not my face, nor thy face’s shape,
O no! thou art not the same;
O, look here the same effect of weariness
His lips, like coal-black sluices, are fix’d;
His nostrils their course distorts, his nostrils rise,
Wherein their subduing radiance resteth:
Whose presence is so great that no outward part
Is left unripe, for fear thereof it may be taken


======== CHECKPOINT 055 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Jazz, which in his hand was fast melting,
As if from some invisible evil,
Into a cloud cover’d with such a diffused mist.
‘But would he not wink, and if he wink, would not wink again?
For when his eye twire twire glisters like fire,
To boot a horse with haste his tongue interprets,
And he that cannot read, speaks but with his tongue;
He that can see and hear, he sees best;
For no man can read well the mind’s wrong,
In either’s sight so ill advisedly contrives.”
‘For shame, shame! ‘For shame! ‘For shame! ‘For shame! ‘For shame! ‘For shame! ‘For shame! ‘For shame!!”
He throws the quill down, and the lily up;
And all in confusion the maid leaps,
With frantic desire she falls on to the ground;
Whose flat and churl wails her woes, as if she were wailing them,
The clamours that her husbandry brought:
She falls, his lifeless body in her arms,
His lifeless body in his lifeless breast.
O what a spectacle it was!
Yet more frightfully in her face did shine
The thought of her murd’rous crime;
And now her thoughts, her thoughts, her thoughts’ outcry:
Yet despite these tears she still did weep,
Though tears themselves would cover her face,
And never remove their stain from my face:
“Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
A deacon at the diocese of Lucrece,
With noble title, but poor unkindness,
Hath stol’n and gone, away at last
To spend the winter with her beloved son.
When thou ne’er have felt my grief for a while,
For one that doth thee wrong, well may I say
That ’tis not so; and if I had my way,
I should have used the knife a thousand ways.
Look how he hath cop’d his venom through the ranks,
And down he goes, till they all bow their heads:
And he, to them all black, seems to bow his head,
For in his cunning black he swounds, and in his fear,
all this time we have gazed upon thy face.
And each one that peeped in, could not discern
What he in thought was thinking; but every one,
In one particular thought, did move his or her thought,
Saw the same thing; and in some others
That did not see the same thing at all.
So I that with thee may be buried,
With thee I may be renewed, and thou art still,
In deeds of thine, both live and thou art thine,
And in thine shalt be such beauty as thou hast:
That thou in thy deeds will graven in mine,
And in thy deeds hast done that graven in me.
O that thy dead body in this rite be left,
With thy living living legacy doth live,
Thy living legacy, which thou shalt see,
And in thy living legacy shalt thou live.
‘I have sworn thee fair, and sworn thee brave,
To bear the knife that shall never stop the day;
So shall my love hold my life and dear friend bound,
Though thou my love forget that my name is ever.
For if my love be dead and never renew’d,
A twain I shall never know, I swear I never saw
His face, that proud lion in front of me,
That bear’d so proud a name in front of all his many:
I have sworn thee fair, and thou art all I have,
Even to the top of mountains, yet I can not see
How bright the stars are in the west,
But what proud moon doth glory in the east:
Or what blessed star doth glory in the west
Or what all these kingdoms in one?
Or what happy cloud doth cloud the heaven above?
Or what burning sun doth all the world doth bear,
But from all these kingdoms do we find
His blood, on this holy garment stand
Whereon his picture now stands as a tomb.
‘Then had I sworn,’ quoth she, ‘I would swear,
That thou, through thy husbandry, through my wife,
Will live to be buried in thine eternal love;
And thou in thine eternal love shalt live
Thine own dead body to be buried in thine own love.’
‘Then should I lie down, and kiss the base of my loath’d hat,
And lo, there on that rocky earth lay
A creeping image which hath crept in thy eyne,
And haunted my soul with that


======== CHECKPOINT 055 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Guan iniquity to be obdurate,
That in his sweet act did insinuate,
That sometime he doth lie with her, and sometime with her,
And sometime he pleaseth her he doth kiss her.
‘Thou shalt not curse her, and thou shalt not accuse her
Of any fault thou hast done her, nor shalt thou pluck her from thence.
My verse is weak and simple,
And therefore I will not abuse it,
Unless thou grant I will curse her grave,
And tell of her adulterate state,
Lest that the case should lead to murd’rous hell.
‘”O pardon me, when you shall look into my deeds,
The sun will soon appear and make your day dark;
And the cloud that hides the fiend
When in heaven you behold, doth yet blot out your glory.
‘Therefore thou art so wise as thou art,
That never time doth excuse thy trespass;
And from thy shady vault all shadows abide,
Which, lo from them darting shadows are seen,
That are unseen to the naked eye.
But that which thy unseen eyes behold,
Hath veiled a godly grace,
that poor dame of mine eye,
Was the fairest of all the fairs, and had both praise and loath
Of either’s liking, either with her own:
Or both at one time, or one love both at the same time.
But from the glowing red and white
That burn’d her face with their own burning sun,
Her cheeks, like quills hot from the fire,
Turn purple, their gold hue became cold:
And the pure hue of pure violet began
To wear out their silken veil and to wither.
“Poor child,” he cries, “this injury is mine,
Make amends for my trespass with mine;
Thou must be king, and thus must I remain;
And from me all injustice shall unfold;
For as thou wast the prey of one fair eye,
So was I the day before, and this by
Die I the night before, and this am thy spring.
If thou wilt destroy me, then destroy me still;
If not, be contented that the hunting of my blood
May have an end with thy absence:
O if that my blood be bereft me of that end,
By all means, do me part
And live as one in love, that in love
You may live again, and live in love another.
The thing is, my love, my love cannot live long,
Therefore my self is dead and I live in you,
In him, my self was alive and in thee.
‘Look, look what we have done to other women;
Look, look what we have done to our lovers;
Look, look what we have done to those we have;
Look what we have done to those we have;
Look what we have done to those we have;
Look what we have done to those we have;
Look what we have done to those we have;
Look what we have done to those we have;
So on, and on and on the book was the scroll.
“So many a day’s work in a little while
My busy mind sleeps, and I in it see
A life worth living, a happy death.
And yet thou art my shadow, my shadow lives and dies.
“And thou shalt not steal a feather from thy bed,
Nor will I smother thy silver neck from thy bed,
Nor will I stain thy pretty face with my nails,
Nor will I wear thy unruly blue all night,
To maim thy life or rid it of wrinkles;
And then be dead gone, and live in grief,
The fault is thy poor death, thy guilt being blame’d.
“So then the verdict is, Sinon hath committed
The murder of my love; and lo I say I do not know
Whether the robbery was lawful or not;
Which I cannot be sure though from my own eyes,
Because some fool hath committed it, that it may be shown.
No man in his right such judgement sits,
But hath some adulterate clerk sit,
Who, angry with rage, beats Tarquin to the ground,
Who, disdainfully, like a cruel-complexioned devil,
Disorderly breaks away the latch, and leaps
Upon the maiden-pierced unicorn, who, by him,
Hath throng’d, and hath lost his way,
To chase him away in her arms.
Her husband, unaware, the babe lies panting,
Who, with a sudden fear, the babe’s wrack
Doth exclaim in terror; the fear being great,
The babe exclaims still, as if she would say
O unseen enemy,


======== CHECKPOINT 055 OUTPUT # 004 ========

boutique is it that we feel our duty calls it to such length?
Or is it that we view it as a grave,
Dulling it with mournful words,
To bring it about posterity?
Or is it that we view it as a blessing,
Encamped in hearts, to bear it ill?
Or is it that we view it as a light,
Which in our minds doth shine as a sun?
What gives it grace, that it needs no exclamation?
So must our passions, if they prove true,
To use them in deceiving men?
“Poor instrument,” quoth she, “it fears no sting,
Nor needs no defence to play,
Nor cares no bark to bark, no wood to lend it;
Hence I vow, if ever heaven forbid,
I will never forget thee, for ever.”
O then that we have many, if we say so,
It seems to me like a dream, when the painter
Holds the deceased painter smilingly,
And then he with sorrow doth retire,
Making merry tunes of sorrow’s length,
And high notes, low notes repeat in confusion;
Even so, through the weeping tears she falleth
In tears, till the painter’s face contrives a tear;
Her eyes, like dancing shamlins, did for fear
make excuses of Sinon and his foes.
Thus did she think to herself,
What a hell of witchcraft had she been wrought;
In one fell blow, in the other her fury threw:
Sometime his lank back his long-sack’d hair,
And pale-fac’d in the process of his woe,
Like a pale-fac’d boar, shrieking and neighing;
He wildly spits at her, and with a yell
Like water that cannot be gushing from a well,
Or snow that melts when it melts in summer.
Thou wilt not, nor I not, in this doom,
Demand that thy love should not last longer;
Thy body to thy love should never last but in me:
Yet love’s golden age will yet last for ever,
And never be forgot by thine, nor ever be forgot by thy
Countenance alone. Amen.
He runs, like a madman, he beats the boar,
And with his long-sack’d speed the gentle lion doth chase;
The boar in his uncontrolled fury hie him still.
‘My dear, this is not a moment
Of idle skill, or sportful sportful skill;
It is a new creation, and bred not of youth,
But of luxury, and in luxury disgrac’d,
With heavy-hanging churlishness, rough-neck’d, and oft-slow,
Or with heavy-bruising thirst and hot lust,
Or with perils such strong-bruising fear make,
Or with every present mortal sin, kill’s heir,
Or stain’d for lack of face the date of birth,
Or with bloodless pale, or bloodless red kill’s heir,
Or who, that can bear a thing’s passing,
Will yet not bear the thing that bears it?
Thy sole care is in framing thee,
For I thy self am made the master of,
And by thy self I give to thee all things earthly.
Yet being waxen by that title,
I by thee have been made waxen by thy will.
To me then thou art my equal,
Mine is beauty’s crown and thou my slave.
Thy beauty, my love, is thine and only love;
Thy body’s function and pleasure are both
To destroy, in the decay of thy spring;
That is, to revive the dead by a new grave.
If a widow conceals her husband’s life,
an that she must leave behind her children,
A son, and a daughter to do her harm;
And thou a god, that murd’rous act still obeys
The thought that doth make my sinful heart ache,
Whilst thou through thy weak law dost murder my life.
She tells her story of misdeeds committed,
And abuses her husband’s honour with her abuse;
And now the lustful god woos her with his woe,
And then she sings a sweet hymn to drown
Her sorrow, and then she grieves for her husband:
She would have been slain by that false god,
If that god should make her drown his tongue.
Thy husband’s honour should still be thy widow’s;
That honour should live in her son’s name,
though our dead do him honour,
By him she lives but by thy living’s stealing.
This forced breach, like a jade falling from the sky,


======== CHECKPOINT 055 OUTPUT # 005 ========

depl-slow, prone, and dumb.
In his softest hand he holds his cup,
Like a weakling asleep, who, unseeing, doth wake him.
For this reason, when he wakes he utters this stupendous tune:
‘Here’s Fortune, here’s my love; here’s my heart; here’s my mind, here’s my heart;
Here’s a dove, here’s a boar; here’s a horse; here’s a crow; here’s a dove, here’s a hawk;
Here’s my beloved, and here’s my all, my whole, thy head,
The star that guides my heaven on earth to fade.
thou know’st that time, thou art quite right,
For despite of that time, thy help I do ne’er see,
Thy golden time comes and goes, and yet not for a while.
‘Poor beast, wake up, and find my face
In flames’ dim mist, whereon my spirit sleeps.
The night is spent, and all is well, and I rise again.
O, that this was thy last, thou art old, and yet
I must confess that thou art of thy self still:
Thy face’s shape now is death, thy soul life,
And my body, that body which thou hast left,
Doth thy will to die carry on, despite of death:
To take the life thou hadst in thy breath,
But ‘gainst thy will, and I gain again.
But now thy will is death, and mine is life’s aggravation;
And like a shadow, by a plaster-wounding bullet
A bullet which ‘gins a bullet which once was:
Now come now to the dead of night, let me kneel,
And stand on either side dividing
That where I may gaze upon thee as I would be blind.
Such are thy gentle beauties, whereof thou art fair.
This said, she on his thigh, on either side lay
His blood, yet not yet red, yet fresh, as if it had
slipp’d from his moist cheek, as from a fever.
So did he bow, to take her by the hand,
And kiss her hand, and so to kiss her heart,
As unresisted to his being, unwilling yielded,
To let the world her spoil of a look,
To let her stain the world with her own grief,
For through all this she hears the world exclaiming her shame,
Which is to her detriment what tears do for woe,
And what cares so much, that she will not weep for woe?
‘”O father, what a sight it was!—a melting wreck,
Of straw and bone, with weeping plaits,
A river running apace, laden with the smell;
With silken wires tied to her silken towers,
She hath her fears, her woes like a choir.
Let us not to perplex her too much think
What dangers lurk in the face of beauty’s spring,
Whose boundless hand she calls the ‘Gift of Time.’
‘”If it be night, thou shalt have no rest, no hunting,
And nill to do with thy hard-favour’d beast;
Till nightly waking shalt thou wake, and wake again.
Thy soft angel to my soft maid is gone,
I have been sick all my life, and yet die,
‘Tis true; yet be it not told.
Even so, as thou shalt look upon it,
Thy beauty being mended, the worser wound
To thy well-being being may be stopped.
By this, the windy night, which now doth seem
Like to a summer’s day, doth seem
As though it were summer’s day, when fresh snow doth melt.
In spite of all, she that stay’st on me,
Knocks at my door, puts her hand on my breast,
And bids me come in, and kiss her breast;
She replies, “Good night, and stay awhile.”
‘Gentle night, my love,” quoth she, “this morning’s session will last
a little while longer than thou art now,
For the time is near when I’ll be away;
And if thou survive, then stay I’ll hunt thee,
So thou mayst be alive, and then living a loathed ghost,
That never will rid thee of that stain,
That’s so oft miss’d, yet never bereaves thee.”
And lo, behold, this white pearl is held
In one of her hands, and upon it
Pals with fright, as it are raining.
‘How many times have I felt the sting of some lewd tongue,
Which some untuck’d nymphist did slay


======== CHECKPOINT 056 OUTPUT # 001 ========

November I was so moved with my love,
And so true a fool was he,
That he seemed to say, “Thou lov’st me, and thou shalt not kill.”
And I, a lowly servant to thy mistress,
Ink would seem to plead for thee, but never did get it;
Her words being ready, my tongue would begin:
“If thou permit’st to speak, do me suborn;
Thy hand, why art thou doting, so poor in love?
Thy heart, why art thou so keen in thy desire,
Mine eye, my heart’s plea, that thou thy friend dost abide,
Thy heart, what good dost thou gain by thy deed?
If thine eye have found aught to turn to good,
Mine eye hath found thy heart, mine heart doth lend thee light;
Thy heart, mine eye hath found thy heart’s sweet smell,
Mine eye hath found thy heart’s sweet smell, mine heart doth give thee pain;
My heart doth play the trumpet, and that sweet sound,
With the other two, mine ear, my heart doth lend thee harm.
O let that not false discord! Sin is thy friend,
Fair friend and foe, and both seek in thee
Both evil and good enemies of good.
Thy lips the same, lips opposite:
This said, Collatine in his high seat,
Would not his lily fall, that maiden thief so proud,
And kiss so untimely a crown such dishonour.
Let us be lovers, and our faults be light,
Our faults in each other’s sight be darkening:
So shall the day come when I will look more sadly
On those that grew, and in my blood
Than that which died, than those that did not grow.
When I have said this, though my verse have died,
thou shalt not read it in my tongue,
The lines that thou shouldst say shall remain for my verse,
As mine own private essays to be,
When most of my music stands before the world,
Thy outward show should afterwards be
Dissuade all age, and leave the vestal world behind,
That we may behold thy beauty in deeds,
That thou by thy deeds in deeds doth live!
What dost thou think thy beauty to be,
When beauty stands in thy power to make sweet
Beauty itself doth seem so despised,
That thou in beauty’s place doth excel,
If thou shouldst by deeds resemble thy face.
And therefore I do vow to thee,
When thou be wise, love should not prevent me,
From this true love, like the wind that blows here and there,
The sad waves will not leave my shore,
Even though my sweet love drowns in the waves.
“Ay me,” quoth she, “do not deprive me
Of a garment of comfort, of ease, of colour,
And yet, despite of all these, my spite,
May my heart make music to his praises;
And in it, thy sweet heart, like the wind that blows here
Hath played the marvellous dial,
And dial’d like fools to give thine own purpose a ring:
Let me tell thee this truth, and thou know’st this plea,
My tongue shall never wax so simple a sheet.
If thou wilt, beauteous heavens, and thy tongue wilt forbid,
Tell me this thy love did give life and death;
To wit and life, I forbid, to wit and life,
Thy life no more should bear thee a son,
than his beard did change place,
Within the gentle limits of his loincloth.
That poor old acquaintance of mine
Had his visage corrupted with wrinkles,
And beauty’s stole upon the silken cloak
Which it held in such unhallow’d haste,
That some might say it died with him.
“O, no,” quoth she, “such an abuse
As to make him shake his head and frown at me;
No, he did not jest at my flattering words;
But, true to bondage, he did, and was so contented
With my flattering story that in his
His hand lay a precious jewel:
That he, like a true king, should this treasure find,
He for my sake would not slay it with his sword.
And thus her story proceeds:—
At a table with others present,
A reverend lady of his looks, a pretty young maid,
Appeared to greet them with a welcome hand;
Her grace was on display, her manners mild;
Yet their gracious handmaids, with some change of heart,
To soften the mood, would lend more grace,
Which in themselves would


======== CHECKPOINT 056 OUTPUT # 002 ========

640 a woman’s hand,
And maiden lips, as their white,
Would hold forth that sweet breath that thou shouldst take:
That sweet sound that speaks for thee,
Or that which thou shouldst hear but doth speak,
By thy sound alone, for thou art all too much.
“In him is learning,” quoth he, “an art of skill,
The art of divining what is,
Or what is not, what should be,
For that which shouldst seem, the mind forbears.
His manners are mild, his humour grave,
His art of rhetoric is chaste, his wit thick,
His wit witty and manly, his art hard,
Tough and tame, yet strong, yet not so rough;
For him, though stern and bold, was peace enough,
To guard our hours of war and terror,
And watch over his confederate host
Where valiant knights of his kind lay.
But now he comes again, and beats his grained drum,
And makes his spleen wither with his pain,
And, shrieking, his parts, which in his brain obey:
Such madness is in his brain’s power;
Which over his sweating joints doth obey,
The dull throbbing noise makes the brain fight.
‘O, be of good cheer, the poor soul with me,
Dost thou hear the laugher moan of fear,
Whose heavy sighs, like thunder balls, doc’ry
Where the deep blue sea lay drown’d, exclaiming
All this tumult which in his head he sleeps:
Her grief-drenched eyes, their fixity fixed,
Breathing forth the clear ocean,
Which her lips had sealed up in a brine;
And having bid them close, bid them rain on the flood.
O how thy glass once doth open,
The one that shows thee the clear ocean,
Which on thy visage now thou behold
Shows thy beauty still in this clear,
And in my visage hath beauty been hid!
If thou view’st beauty as something white,
Myself a god I’ll abhor,
That on thy visage now thou view’st not black,
But thy self thyself thy beauty confounds:
O, that on thy self thy beauty confounds,
O, that thy self thy beauty confounds,
that he may by trial, have him stay
As much as he loves to hear him so beseeched,
So thou wilt leave him, till he be dead,
And thou leave’st him as much as he loves to hear.
‘That in that deep thought which haunted him all night,
I heard a coyote bark and run away;
And from my hearing base of Lucrece’ tale,
To my trembling head I behold
Thy brow batter’d by a vengeful vengeress;
The sun doth burn my face and mine eyes am blinded.
‘But why hath she such a hard heart,
as to make herself break again for want of care,
Or break for want of courage, to break her heart,
To put herself in another’s way, to make herself stay,
And die a martyr, like her dead forebears?
For she was herself slain in battle,
And herself is buried in a kind of peace.
Then did my dear wife and I take leave,
That we may live together in secret mourning,
Or let the one die by our side,
Save that both our lives may live in common sorrow.
“And why hath she such a hard heart,
As to make herself break again for want of care?
Or let the one die by our side,
Save that both our lives may live in common sorrow.
‘And why hath she such a hard heart,
As to make herself break again for want of care?
Or let the one die by our side,
Save that both our lives may be common sorrow.
How are thy nails ever strong so hard,
Which makes them harden, and soften, till they lose their strength?
Or what brake hath gravity applied,
Which gives them little strength but wear and tear?
When all is well, why then my hair is short,
And my nails pale and pined, till their prime be gone?
What can physic do that physic repair?
So then I answer, all my woes are my own,
And physic cures them both.
O how sweetly I see the happy state
Of a widow and her children!
O how quickly I wake up and see tears in blood!
O quick change of mood I find!
I do abhor death, though for love of life I be,
The least impediment is love’s death.
‘How can my dear friend’s life be wasted


======== CHECKPOINT 056 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Clan’s eyes, and their sad folds their wide faces,
To feed on the worms that creep upon the ground:
These, in foul descending rank, seem to clothe his face,
Which in his level bed reeks of foul infection.
O, as one should with a careless tread,
The sap being lily pale, his rash pale body doth lean
On her, whose swelling pale skin her white breast doth hide.
If this were a fever, whose onset thou behold,
Then woe would be me, that I was not sick.
This she told him in so high a regard,
To make him swear it to her false desire.
‘And when she hath sworn, thou shalt hear the warrant
Of theft, of oaths, and of murders.
If in these three thou dost lie in ambush,
Shall thy tongue persuade them that I am Tarquin?
they must be dumb, then I’ll play my part.
Aye, by this decree, I’ll hunt down Tarquin,
As quickly as I can, though my horse be disabled;
Even so the green hounds, in their ambush,
Stand by, and let my spear scratch their hides.
‘When thou o’er-snapping, that phraseless tongue
Which thou gav’st to praise my verse,
Thy voice o’er-snapping and that silly tongue
Which, like a lazy bird, hoarsely chafes;
But when thou o’er-snapping, that tongue is so strong,
I fear’d to die when I dare not be so bold;
I know my love’s end, and yet die that which I mean;
But live and then be dead, then do I not hate thee
As I would die of that which I hate.
If it be a passion, and desire make it deadly,
The sufferer commits the lesser sin:
‘But if it be love, the sufferer is death.
The painter loves life more than life is worth;
He admires beauty more than life is worth;
life to life, and beauty more than beauty:
As life to beauty, so to say.
When thou shalt be gone, be gone with me.
My flesh being bare and bare I beheld,
His nostrils, like water vapours from a fire,
Breathed forth vapours that soon to boil off,
Flushing forth the strong odour of the place:
As water vapours do, so do my lungs.
“So shalt thou depart, and I with thee remain:
Thou wilt bequeath to my absence an end,
Which thou mayst by my side requite,
To make me return again, and thou another’s slave.
Thus is Tarquin made to lose his footing,
With his broken heart and his bare head doth stand still.
When he hath, his pride swounds to a standstill;
The coward falchion doth back, and his bold pride stands
With that desperate load of his coward pride,
In pursuit of his unwilling prey,
Which with a desperate dash his sharp spear doth leap.
O that my heart might have receiv’d a wand’ring pen,
And my poor soul to that fair pen might hold it,
Or else such a task be given thee,
As penning a woeful story to the ear,
Or so flattering a tract to the brow,
so long as thou livest, and never die.
O, if my woeful tale be told,
Thy death be the better part of a fairy’s tale,
And the happy part of the dreary tale,
Being told in the dead of night,
Thy wits and virtue live ere the morn and day.
‘”O, see, in her moist, supple mantle lay
A silken-curtained tomb, with smooth cistern
That will hold the dear body sealed in secrecy,
Where never-conquer’d canst thou wander,
Or steal her treasure in a minute’s break!
A careless hour for such a thing:
Whilst I am yet a summer gone by,
Thy gentle love, whose busy care is
To keep me in my soft cradle in summer,
Doth dally with the morning’s frothy birds,
As if he should be dismay’d with nightly woe.
So did she, all enchant’d, and well ensconced,
With many a most singular look:
And from her shining windows one by one
Each light would peep a little more;
Sometime the beauty of her hue would peep more,
And sometime the fair hue of her hue would peep more.
Sometimes she would so faintly wink, that his oratory would catch,
And never wink again


======== CHECKPOINT 056 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Vance, and her soft-shining husband, all naked
Upon his back were several crimson vapours wavering;
Like vapours of greater quality hang on rain,
Which the strong-bonded monarchs breathe with their hand:
Like vapours pour forth this foul cloud,
Which from the air doth hail a plume of burning:
So from the besieged city of Lucrece’
She exclaims: ‘Hang on, I pray thee this:
My spirits do summon thee to my aid,
To lend their arms, and lend their souls to help me,
So help I, and thou help me most.
‘Fie, fie, fond love, if my heart be mov’d,
By heaven or earth, I will soon be depriv’d.
Even then I prophesy Collatine’s doom,
Even then my lips shall say Collatinus’ name.
‘But the sun that shines from heaven shines not,
Nor heaven’s sun that from thence burns.
For where he dwelleth his shadow doth live;
Who, lo, the earth receives his light in darkness,
And where it spends is but dimm’d with the wind:
Wherein Tarquin hides, in the image of a king,
Shall shadow him, to lend him strength to fight;
For no shadow can enter his fair face,
Thy eyes, thy souls, his fair body being slain.
Let that not judgment call for blame,
That the slanderous name of this idle wretch
Is so tainted, that it cannot be
For slander’s good, but for a name so undeserved.”
‘Thus says he to the Trojans, ‘Thou dost defeat me,
The lark thus to the breach doth lend me courage.
Thy eyes, thy souls, thy fair body’s decay,
Doth charge him with this trespass; he answers: “O, behold, I slew the boar.”
Her voice is weak, and not so strong,
As the lark’s bark, which with her nails doth bark.
So did Adonis bail out his horse,
And, meeting her, with her out-braided hounds
Came in pursuit, and soon took him prisoner;
Sometime, after some pursuit, the gazers came
To a wood where Adonis lay,
The boughs and roots of which Adonis was trimmed;
Hiding in some bushes the parasites
That suck’d the life from the dying bee.
To see the beauties in those are wrought,
To see them done, how many beauties must I dye,
To touch the golden age of beauty set.
Thou, wilt be king of my music, and music my song,
And sing for my love, and I my song,
And tell them where I am, with that name still sing,
Where you were when I carved you.
And in this desire she desires some sweet kiss,
Which she will yield unto his ear,
And fondling it tenderly doth express her mind;
Then softly she says, “Love, this may be thy last,
Let it then be remembered, and loved never dies.”
O comfort! with trembling sorrow, hold it in thy power,
In that thy pain may be compared to mine.
O comfort! weak obedience, false oath, and break
Of precedent, that sets an end to thine life!
O peace, o quiet, o comfort! in thy heaviness thou dost grow,
ose by him, by those whom thou dost abuse.
‘Now, with the help of my lady, I’ll enchant them
With crystal pearls, patterns, and patterns of silver,
With perfumes, and precious gems, and precious stones,
With perfumes, and precious gems, and precious stones,
with th’ effects, will be thy vassal control,
And give thee thine own due to conquer the day,
By thine own law, or thy own desire,
To do thy self injustice, and still remain free:
And to thy self, too great a threat,
To keep thee from far off, by thy side being struck.
Now let not the curtains that hold me still
Make my bed-closet night look like night;
Let those white sheets which under thy bed lie
Become night-wandelling wrappings; let not my sweet light
Disturb me from my true love’s charmed bed;
No bosom can hold me still till thou wilt leave,
Mine eyes shall read my sorrow and thy shame,
And thine eyes shall watch the morning unfold;
And if they see no shame in my suffering,
Then mine eyes are deaf and dumb.
Let them not watch in vain; for where they


======== CHECKPOINT 056 OUTPUT # 005 ========

me by their stealing make them more rich.
And by the stealing make them more poor:
So much so, that it seems as if they must steal a mother’s breath,
And kill the life of her child, to make herself seem free.
I know thy shame, and thy shame’s beauty,
And I call them my equals in my verse:
Which shall we read in thy poor verse,
And in thine own verse, which shall we read together.
If thou art dumb and canst not hear,
I’ll enchant thee with thy verse,
And thou shalt be the sweetest jewel in my loving band:
I will cipher thee this goodly verse,
Since thou art worthy to be buried beside,
Thine own sweet love, which in thee doth lie.
But with this, as one of them fell asleep,
Shook her eyelids and gave them rest,
The dull swooning of her eyes,
Whose sad gait and low lip t’assail trembled in terror.
My tongue doth rehearse to teach it thee
My lesson bettered with my verse learned;
It shall be bettered with thee when it grows old,
And thou shalt possess it in thy living memory.
The lily white, which her pale skin doth cover
Incorporate with her soft plum coat lies,
On the base of her violet head lies,
With a pretty semblance sits with her back
On her soft but untrimmed paws, as she goes.
Her lips being beauteous as her hips,
Her smooth browny back, like the golden face of a
flower growing on her head,
Spreading forth her bounteous bounty among her many buds:
In them there appears to her many kinds of delight,
That they delight, or at least find some
Pain in their sad sufferings.
The painter’s skill in painting shows how
painting with nature is a manual art.
In clay he makes perfect bars
of carved characters, wherein we may compare
The form, quality, and figures of men.
In marble he shapes his rough form to his liking;
In brass, he takes his ornament graced,
And precious metal in precious brand new.
Yet now I have seen how men use such precious stones,
As stone, in my chamber beauteous as they,
My mistress’ eyes, their fixed beauty doth stay
When she deems ’tis best and most necessary,
To use their art, and truly their truth,
To live a true and lawful common house.
‘Wilt thou not say ’tis true’—’tis true’—’tis true’—
And for this, wilt thou curse the thing I say?
The fact is, thou art a man made for war;
For I love thee for my love; for thine I am,
Mine own love is a merciless knife;
My own love is a kind of tyranny:
My own love is love to hurt and kill.
Thus doth he say: ‘Thou know’st nothing worth so much as praise;
Till after all thy deeds am I contented.’
My love doth disdain to hear him complain;
My love loves nothing else but praise,
And to all ends doth spend the night dreaming.
O had I not, my self with mine own sin,
In self-love, I should never have been born,
Sometime in my youth I leaped so high,
And now my self descried my folly,
And now in thine own self doth begin to grow.
So of my sin do I repent!
No, do not reprove me for my deed;
Nor can I for your sin for my sin forbear.
Thy gift is to me a curse, a doom;
And I in vain strive to prevent it.
No more will I curse you than I in vain,
Though I vow never to be missed by others.
‘Then, lo, these badges of authority,
I did for them nothing rare;
They like a loving-kindling angel shine:
They like no bad thing in their smother’d glory shine:
And yet their virtue is so praised,
That each one doth so gloriously praise,
That every eye doth behold it:
And to the several birds which in their wings sing,
The rich seemly arrayed in glory.
“Sweet boy,” she says, “how were you two last nights!
Your tears did stain the crystal walls;
Mine eyes, like waxen pearls, did cover the tears
Whereon they stuck; now their fair drops fly.
O, behold the beauty of my face!
O, wherefore art thou so blessed,
That thou dost so abhor this blot?
No, do


======== CHECKPOINT 057 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Survive to the point where she cries aloud,
‘Gentle pleasure, gentle sorrow, ah! ah! ah! ah!
Give it all, give it all, give it all again,
And leave it like this, like this, this,
This for Lucrece’ sake, why ‘gan I cry?
Hence, ’tis me; the truth is so hard.
“Well, well, well, well, then,” quoth she, “if this be
The hand that did compass my horse,
And did compass my whole when I was away,
And with my horse I did ride, and do now
As a dream till then, for now is no more;
And I must be a painter; else
The fame of my untutored mind,
Shows it to the world, not to thee, my true eyes,
Where all the world may see it see, and you be deceived.
‘Yet thou art as gentle as those,
Which thou thy self dost imitate,
And, lo, the image of thine, being set,
By thy self descending with that descending shade,
That leaves behind thee all thy beauty,
The fear of all his elements being gone.
Her arms were with all her might,
And in that helpless helpless strength
With arms unyielding still did extend,
Whilst with her bare arms her poor arms did incline;
Their ranks being fight’d, each seemed to make an aid,
Of much more force than before.
‘My lord,’ quoth she, ‘this is more than I can bear;
My son, this is life and death,
And if my life be stopp’d, my life my death,
My son’s life be stopp’d, my son’s life be stopp’d
His life be stopp’d, my son’s life be stopp’d
And he be dead, and I be saved in death.
If that be true, thou shalt see my shame,
And lo, there my sorrow live’st as if it were
Upon a white satin sheet, with blood stooping
To blot with my visage those red blotches.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘but here I will confess
What a sorrow my daughter I feel, and now
That my daughter is dead, I will prove.
‘Thus ends the story of a night outcast life;
A kindling of hope in hearts that tells their tale:
A longing spirit that leaves home still with tears,
Or a weak heart that strives to stay
With heavy prayer and supplication, till it shall be full;
Then do not despair, nor be contented,
To see your parts being made strange by our law,
Which make thee new-appearing, to your liking,
And not like your old self in every respect,
But like your new self in every respect,
Which in every respect obeys
As thy old self obeys, and obeys thee,
You do not love that which is new and strange,
but that which is dear and dear to you
Which is dear, to me most dear and most dear,
I must beg and plead, since I love thee so,
That thou my love mayst survive the world cruel.
O how much of a hell hath her servile womb spent!
Who for a purer birth should so base a name bequeath
In one black and filmy of a red?
O that blood should wash immodest from thy cheeks!
But thou my love’s worth as thy father’s worth still renews,
Though thy mother’s maiden blood be bereft thee.”
At last she says:—
“Now that thou know’st I did this to provoke thee;
My will I will pursue to the very last;
Thy will I will pursue in my will, even to death,
That is to say, to the swift onset,
And last in this slow chain till I have done.
O how my mistress did behold the time!
All this time, I by her decree did entertain;
And when her own judgment doeth the book,
A lark looks into his eyne and it doth light
The silly-tun’d thief’s eyes that lead him there.
If thou behold the time, then, O what a shame
My soul commits all to naught;
And here and there, a desperate sobbing teen,
The grief-stricken prisoner falls, and ’tis white.
‘”O, help me God! what means my bleeding heart
May lend aid to those already in pain?
If it lend, lend in that where there is no aid,
The sick, the poor, and all other afflicted;
My sorrow be kind enough, and lend it to my aid;
O be kind, and let it


======== CHECKPOINT 057 OUTPUT # 002 ========

true for the purpose of attaint
He walks in clouds, where shadows are veiled.
The sun in his golden mantle doth set,
And from his shining shining visage sits he;
The wind him again, who now doth he take,
Doth so likewise, but this time, by shifting his place.
But I, like other women possessed of more truth,
Wished she were as she is now, to have seen
The face that men in their day did paint:
Then would I have sung, if not now, at least:
‘Tis thou that art my muse, that thou art to write,
Tis thou that art so my love, that I love thee so,
Thy beauty hath done away both thy sight and mind.
, foul, and despised in their day;
And thence, to their infamy, they set
Danger, Collision, and Dread; thence their hope is kill’d.
Thence their hopes are blown away,
And sorrows that can neither cure nor cure
The present dire hour.
The maid that once hiss to me was warm,
And that in my breast now cold mistrusting,
Hath warmed my love, and made him her slave,
Came to me not to rob him of his love,
But to ransom him for stealing my love,
And gave him life, I scornfully kill’d.”
‘O,’ quoth Lucrece, ‘how tempting a prey is!’
Who, full of dread and dread fear,
Doth at first believe the thing she says; but quickly
The rest, being sensible, with her answer answers,
Like birds in their nests, sing.
Now I fear’d as one that cannot walk alone,
Or die by accident alone in a horse.
So she replies that the reason why I shun thee,
Is because I do love thee most, and therefore thy mind,
Lends credence to my untrue story.
My love is strong, though weak it is weak;
A man’s voice strong is not a man’s voice.
This said, he takes her by the blood;
And to her protestation sits Lucrece,
With elbows on his hips, his brows crossed,
Like two wiry children who pine for sport,
With rough manners, prone and unwilling,
To talk with men’s orators’ orators.
“Look here this heavy boar in his gore lay,
Which, like a proud boar, fear’d from a fearful distance;
This strongly armed it was, and would soon kill;
But, unthrifty, with trembling terror,
As he writ in his sore sore sore place,
the first duty of this holy and lawful king,
Is to bring to closure the torment
Which must befall him in such length of time,
That he cannot live in a tomb for fear,
Or worse be buried alive than dead.
“Then may I say that thou art my friend, and therefore
No man can touch my face without a kiss,
Or put on my head a full blown hat,
That cannot be left untrimmed, nor be left untrimmed no more;
Then being blunt, I think he would slay me outright;
Till then he laughs and says,—’It is thy last; leave it to me;
The night’s prize is thine, the day’s delight;
And all my beauty doth stay undisturbed;
Then with my whole, no man can stain thee with more:
Thy eye doth my body use, and I thy mind,
And thou shalt have my beauty still, living in thee.
‘And as he walks, the bushes under his chin rise,
And every where a little hedge encloses him;
In either case, his girth being all grown,
Like a white dove, through the shady banks lies he,
To the wind and rainbows that hail from hence.
And thou shalt see their faces, their gentle majesty,
As the morning sky in the west is confounded.
By this, the lord’s men, as they did disgrace him,
To bear their load had put on him like an after-dinner feast,
The smell, which the Romans did crave,
With stench far more delicious than before.
“To be fair,” quoth she, “this must be a hardest thing,
To know the foul fiend that feeds on sweets,
Who kills by devouring his own sweet parts,
And feeds on lambs that cannot bear to die.
By this, the lord’s men, as they did disgrace him,
To bear on him like an after-dinner feast,
With this vile and extreme woe,
He doth now raise his voice, as it must,
Whose speechless rage


======== CHECKPOINT 057 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Pos is not love but love is a loving love.
And lo, from the Capitol where they feast,
The fleet-winged fair queen Lucrece lives,
Till now is the golden year of summer,
The time of lechers and swains,
To tempt trespass with their foul deeds:
What dost thou mean when thou shalt be king?
Him in thy youth taught thee how
To dress up his face in ugly blood,
To imitate his looks in true dress.
Then, sweetly beloved, how shall I have the time
To see, hear, touch, and read in your brain
all these different aspects of your soul?
If not, I’ll live by the example set
Of others, and by others I’ll live by thee;
And if they thrive, I will live a life of love,
And live another, and live by thee.
Love did prepare thy life to shame;
She had her flower, sweet, and pluck’d it from her chin,
Whereupon she fell, and now beheld
A red rose that ‘gan to grace the day.
‘”I have no power, dear boy, to persuade thee
To use force, to make me stop and think
Why I am in this, this long: the more is
Time’s knife, and Time’s sweet instrument.”
“It shall be stopp’d, thou shalt not make it stop,
The dull knife doth thy motion, and the sharp spear
doth lean upon the ground, and the coward wails;
Then let it not be called combat,
It shall never kill; for no man doth call
Wrath to be revenged on thy foe.
‘But methinks this, her maid’s name is Patience,
And as the night is winding, so is the day.
‘Therefore love may live, but it shall not live in me:
I will not love you till thou give them my life,
Then I can live but as a common grave.
The time will come, and then I will be gone.
‘Yet can’t I be revenged on thy crime,
And yet I’ll be fair despite of your fair crime,
To kiss the deathless dead and never be welcome;
Then let thy name hang in infamy;
Thy body with thy soul’s decay I can slay,
When thou in thine own self canst not revive thy name,
So shalt thou live, and then thine in me.”
She tells him this and more, till he answers her no more.
“Well done, captain,” quoth he; “your Grace, good show;
Let not jealousy, unswayed jealousy,
Kill the painter with his lusty lines,
Or poison his blood with perfumes so black!
Whose foul devouring eye hath done the worser blot
That smother’d his fair hue and made him fair
That makes him seem blacker still; and here again
His fair complexion doth contrive a gloss,
Which on it appears youth and youth’s successive hue,
And all summer fair complexion doth bear it:
Which from her shining visage doth flow,
A fresh pride to herself and all her crew.
For to the self she descant’d,
And all in vain she strives, like a bankrupt
To sell the dear thing she had, whose worth she cannot know.
“Fie, fie,” she entreats, “why not a kiss?”
he did woo her; and being wooed,
She with a lingering kiss upon her lips retires;
And now she wakes up again, and bids him extend
Her arms about to her bosom;
Whilst in the brook they lay, listening admiring,
How the blossoms and the violet tears
Like sepulchres in the spring doth grace
The wound which Ulysses did not inflict.
“Poor ghost,” he cries, “this poor actor died
Of worthiness or worthlessness;—cannot tell
How he died, that his stain should not appear
In blood or in hue of his hue.
If thou wilt remove this stain, make no attempt
To restore his life to his owner;
The coward false Sinon would say,
That Tarquin did stain him, but thou shalt have
His own stain in his likeness: so
To restore him thou wilt be the publisher.
“That he in some disgrace did dwell
In this poor unlooked-for grave, so
Thy rightful heir might take it from thee.
His honour and his fame, their sway,
That this unlooked-for grave should by some
Imprison these trespass’s impious subjects,
Will ransom thy exile, and take thee thine place.
As much glory must he


======== CHECKPOINT 057 OUTPUT # 004 ========

mits have his glory buried in his pride,
But that honour which the world doth owe him,
To be forgot in history.
“So long have I been woo’d away by infirmities
And died young, yet not old, yet being woo’d away,
So long have I craved thy sweet form,
And yet never could obtain it again,
So I at last came to the conclusion
That thou must in every flower be thine,
Thine to my sweet design, in thy soul I dedicate,
What thy sweet form thinks worthy of love.
‘O, then my sweet friend, the hour is near,
That I may my self from hence return,
And not from hence travel to my farthest,
For fear of harms thence to come return.
“Fie, idle time, what’s so vile that sticks
To nothing, yet stands so preposterous a face?
That we think it worth while to boast
Of all the creatures in heaven that we know.
O most heinous of offences,
What we do not compare but that which we see,
That is all that stands in the way.
“Whence art thou that so call’d unto mine eyes
A face full of frown, a face full of pain,
A face full of hate, a face full of fears?
Whence art thou that so call’d unto mine eyes
a thousand favours from Lucrece’ wise
Show me a picture that is, not so much
as your fair hand, where you stamp’d thee,
In shape, or form, in me was altered.
This thought doth espy with true resolution,
Because you have lived my life thus and this,
And this you shall live, and this you shall die,
And this you shall live then I hate, do abhor you:
But when I have lived as your image dies,
You live, and this you do live then despise me.
‘O then, love-sick, false alarms! what foul fiend
Shall stalk in the bushes, ere he approach thy hounds!
The bushes are full of ripe young,
So let them have no more fear of me than they fear thee:
So will I, that till I see thee in thy face,
Some sweet look of love will bring thee such joy,
That even my weak bosom shall quake with it.”
O that I might yet boast of thy well,
As if all the world could say I am old
That I am nothing else than an island,
That Time’s darling-doting queen now
Grows old and dies young. Let not my maids’ eyes be brood,
That time is spent with your picture in mind.
So shall my love be remembered no more;
What’s new is the stale, and the old what
Doth the other two remain after,
As the old is dead and the living are heard.
For to you I have such respect,
As you I was, now I am your enemy,
I no more sought after than in my prime
A widow that ’tis my fee that seeks
For a purer heir to my life.
“Well, then,” quoth she, “it is your duty
To give it me. I would gladly have it,
Without first consulting you, or your Lordship,
With thy fair merit, or your Lordship’s fee,
And would not the publisher let go by,
Give it to me, and then I will give it back.”
O no, no, it cannot, it cannot be,
It hath been mine that hath writ the death warrant,
Which gave my life to that life’s end.
In vain she bathes her face in blood,
And bids the skyward cloud be cloud’d with moon-kissing gazers.
But when in her sleep he wakes, the weary time
As if by some miracle he were mov’d
With a heavy hand, or with a heavy foot,
Like men in armour, that wear not the glory of arms,
But inordinate want of form, their leanings sooth,
And with his strength so his gait falters,
That men find it hard to bear to ride a horse.
In such haste do I rail on thee,
As I rail on thee from thy house:
Even so, poor Lucrece’ cheeks the farther from mine eye,
Will post thee, as soon as men come unto thee.
“O help me then, that my voice can hear thee,
I pray thee so, and I will lend thee my tongue,
To sing good verse to thee, if thou wilt be willing.
When thou wilt, with tears in thy eyes,
Dost thou pour water on my brow?
Thy cheeks with wringing do quake,


======== CHECKPOINT 057 OUTPUT # 005 ========

UNESCO’s beauty not to be confounded,
Or else it remain in thy control,
When every fair jewel is as fair as thy own.
In that we live, thy deeds we call.
Yet now that thou art dead, with that deed still
Thy self again is liv’d, and thy name restored.
The rose that she bears now, in thine own ripe place,
Shows thee a pretty green plum, or a weed,
Resembling well-proportion’d sweet cherubins.
Sweet roses do not, like cherubins, turn white:
They turn white with every prick of their prick.
“This device is not to be imagined,
To poison a living being or to deceive a sleeping one.
To win the day, by beating the clock,
Making himself unapt for leisure,
Thrifts at night with restless ill, and at day
With nimble travel with weary legs,
Like slow-footed fowls that dare not jump.
‘”But woe is me! Too early I attended
A pretty, pretty, and lovely guest,
That he might entertain his friends, and be seen
By her maid, whom he often by,
While she himself in his company was charmed,
To kiss, and eat up the rest in palate;
Or else being charmed, the whole fled,
The coward still would not falter, for he was sore.
‘O Time, thou art remembered better than this,
The world can but show thee how I am wronged!
thou art the true god of this false book,
That hath done you wrong, and I my defame,
By all means, to enlighten thy poor book,
That shall enlighten all men, and all that are dumb.
“And this, O, the time, how rudely
Thou wast married, and I did thence forsake,
For my vow was never to stay thou:
Now am I old, and thou not youth,
For love is strong, and hard, and cold, and harsh,
And knows neither tongue, nor friend, nor mother, nor father,
Nor child, nor father, no sooner had they seen them,
Than two hours’ march from me now do welcome appear:
They look, and see, and say, ‘O blessed sight!’
And as they behold the stars, do they exclaim,
‘This hell-raising sight may be forbear,
Or at least it may be the worst,
But for fear of direful night, fearing no such thing,
The blessed observance of my name.’
O then the night will teach the truth,
And make thy night so wretched, bright day seem dim!
If thou wilt find my love buried,
I’ll bequeath thy name to thy tomb:
Thou art the tomb where my soul dwellest,
And thou thy sweet soul’s body doth rest;
I’ll bequeath thee all to eternity,
To live thy soul in eternal love;
And live thou thy love in eternity a
And never cease to call my body mine.
‘But in the middle of all these dreadful woes
Some poet lies about to give a sad story
, with her quill, and pencil, and pen,
Her lips, like sappy little cherubs, did tremble with fear,
With trembling fingers, and tears, and supplicant to her
Her boding heart: the trembling tremble of her eyes,
With trembling drops, and the like,
Inaudible to every eye, which did likewise hear.
But her love still answered her pleading;
And, smiling, they all at once began to write,
And then the lines began to seem, and the rhyme ended.
‘I hate to hear her complain, but I must confess
That I had no eyes for her wretched face;
I was ere long in Tarquin’s tent;
And my visage in his was new made.
This, in turn, drew his attention away:
And with her quill, and pen, began to write.
‘For here I lie, my Muse,
A face full of hurt and shame,
And deep sorrow and wide fair fear;
And here my Muse sits, still, and still stares,
For if he did turn his eyes from me,
His face would stand on end and be gone,
No more could mine eyes behold his face,
And therefore Love could not take advantage
Of Time’s dark hours to open Night’s day,
Where Time’s sun hath spent his spring,
Even in this green valley where Time blooms still.
‘How often, O comfort-loving Lucrece,
have you heard the jade weeping at Adonis’
Haunt;
And often Adonis’ eyes weep


======== CHECKPOINT 058 OUTPUT # 001 ========

optim-creeping shadows that linger in shadows,
When in the middle of night the tempest and the rain
Have fled their light and semblance,
And all in darkness have gazed on thee,
That through their tired, dark eyes thou through shouldst find,
A dwelling, a sight to thee of thy days,
And time that to thy time is spent staring,
By thinking on thee, to destroy thee of my time.
And then she starts a little while, and he stops,
And stares long upon his face.
‘Thou (sweet) wilt permit that, my poor sprite,
Which shows thy ugly face in painted forms,
Thy proud nature’s abuses in thy days.
“This vile habit, practised by more or less cruel,
Which it injurious to bear,
Lest the harmless wound be done to thy living,
The coward’s wound is o’erwhelming his fear,
And thus the painter is slain.
That thou shalt view it, I assure thee,
Thou (sweet) muse, who dost teach this poor ill!
I, Collatine, in thy bosom’s command,
To guard thy sacred temple from wrong,
will not look scornfully on thee,
When in thy fair city thy virtue calls,
That he alone is lord of this city.
‘Dear lord,’ quoth she, ‘do not be so bold;
As I, thou unworthy, must thy worthily stand,
When in the hope of a better life
Than the destinies of other men’s days,
The sad-beholding monarchy of such a
Wounded tongue hath made such a hell of time,
That I dare not be called by that name,
Though in thy rank thy name should still stand,
All hail the sweets of health, and well-being,
And thou, my love, wouldst forsake me for nothing.
thou (sweet) loyal slave, canst not bear
The guilt of thy absence, wilt thou bear it?
Thy presence will not wail thy absence:
For I that by thy presence am forsaken,
do not so, as my self will show,
But dote on my weakness, and dote on my strength,
My wounds, those of thee, with my life’s decay.
‘But if thy beauty be such a shame,
It is to my shame that in the spring I grow,
With that same spring I breed a mourner,
More sweet than myself, to be frank of words:
A kind of gentle love, a kind of gentle hate,
That doth the unweaned drinker weep for his friend,
Which then doth his tears subdue,
And with their loss the loving mourner doth weep.
He, by this, so breaks in his hollow,
To give his sorrow a more pleasing ending:
As when a rose being set on fire,
Whose wax melts in the brine of a brook,
a woman’s treasure is but a woman’s hand;
Thou herself, art but a woman, a woman’s child;
Thou art but a man, a woman a man.
Look what a man’s worth a woman’s child is,
By that test to see what kind of woman he dotes.
“Thou wronged lord,” quoth he, “my name is Muse,
And to kill myself, I will hunt thee,
For thou betraying my life to another.
That my life was my duty in question,
And I in turn did betray the truth.
‘Poor fool, what dost thou want to know?
When thou art dead, what shall thy deeds be?
Thy honour be thy right, and thou thy right’st to live,
When in thy honour thou leave’st so bad a state,
And that thou thy honour doth live in decay,
Where thou thy honour doth degenerate.
‘What right will my lord have in this hereward?
what right shall my wife have in this bereft
Of having both to one man and one boy?
She that hath both is thy father’s disgrace,
His honour is that which she receives from thee,
Thy name is his, and thine is he that by her name breeds:
What good are children when there is neither mother nor father,
To give, nor take, nor lose of what is begotten?
The one hath breed’d both, and neither hath heard what
Is there in the world in such poor beguiling.
What’s so bad about this life that makes thee so mad?
A womb that keeps your life dead?
Or are you the womb that gives life to life?
O if you were both, what good could an eye have


======== CHECKPOINT 058 OUTPUT # 002 ========

per I have sworn, that thou bear’st not all my offences.
For thou art as fair as thy fair self,
That makes us all alike;
And as thy fair self thou art as fair as thy fair self,
Mine is thine, my thy me is thy me.
“But let us live as one, and we each
Save one, and in one dying of desire
Save one, and that one dies,
Save one, and we both die together.”
For she hears him mutter these words,
As if he were a poet, or a song,
To sing the same tune several times in a night.
Yet did he smile, and seem to smile again;
To scorn his wits, and disdain his wit;
So have many in Lucrece suppressed;
That the painter no picture would have,
But the high sun and moon, as they interchange’d.
“But where were these poor creatures dead when thou art
Of body and blood, that hath rul’d this world’s waste?
O never thought I sick of envy,
Even as I was sick of envy when thou art dead,
O yet I still beheld strange things,
And then I saw the shadow of death,
And in a river running cold still stood,
Which yet did her mistress chide;
O, what a hell of witchcraft couldst thou say!
But being dead, the painter would not let it stay,
Nor would she for fear of injury be stol’n’d.
That she, and the painter jointly died.
“Thou art as fair as the sun that doth set,
With cheeks rich in bounty, and wrinkles fresh,
And lips wrinkled in age, and with bloodless mists,
With cheeks that are new-fallen, yet have not been,
And cheeks that look fresh, yet have been,
Th’ inviting touches that fresh offenders bring
To every stain, do they not seem?
And yet this frown, this rash look, remain,
And linger in spite of all that beauty that doth lie:
So with the painter is beauty obloqu’d.
If you were a child the day would soon pass
As soon as you wake up, or soon you dread,
Being late, your nightly rest will last
for Adonis’ sake did she remove.
‘Yet woe is me! Too early I attended
A solemn rite of chastity
A consecrated marriage vow, wherein I vow I will remain,
No more than a presentation
For Collatine’s sweet wife to my detriment.
So am I; and yet do I remain
And keep the secret of my unripe years,
In eternal youth, when all my sins are past,
And nothing new to me except a look
Of old, I’ll keep and read what remains,
If my self or others shall desire, to give.
This said, she throws on a modest face,
And sets on a martial fire, to wail her husband.
Her eyes were white, her cheeks red, and her voice soft,
She had many a kiss with others, but none with her,
And now her passion is quite extinct,
She doth take up her pen and begins
To quote Tarquin, in the dialect of his tongue.
Her lips, though red and pale, yet do give a pith
Distilled from their silken parcels, and yet remaineth still;
She, the fairest in her race, would be despised;
The other two, her inmost dignity, remain
Save where she was fairer esteemed: here and there,
She would smile, and he would say, “My lips are silver.”
Then would she leap, and with a wave her light would fly,
And leap and flap her wings in her turn.
Then, like a cloud, above them gleam’d up
The crystal orb that gives all grace their light,
Whose fresh fire the sparks melt, and drink into blood.
Now all that is done hath ended,
The hopelessly fled, and she, panting,
Tenderly doth lend them her hand, and to lend them more,
Begins to wink, and moans with her breath;
And with that motion, as one moves on the ground,
Tenderly he starts again: ‘Lo thus begins a dream,
of my absence hath engrossed his thought,
Since this separation from thee hath begun.
His eyes their shapes did compass his thoughts;
But, having disputation with him,
He now doth wail them as if they themselves had died.
Thou see’st thy heart hath power to make strange fits,
And with his foul device with foul maladies reigneth,
And death by tyrannies abuses thy life.


======== CHECKPOINT 058 OUTPUT # 003 ========

ur it shall be forgot, till such time, such man as thy sweetling tell’st
As to be buried with thee, in eternal memory.
‘What kind of man shall I be?’ quoth he,
And by this answer put down his mind,
that it shall be remembered, till such time, such man as thy sweetling tell’st
As to be buried with thee, in eternal memory.
“Poor fool,” quoth she, “my cheeks are red, thy lips white,
And mine eye doth every where fester think’st,
My heart groans, yet no strife finds it bear,
For I will not bear it, for thy self it groweth.
Yet if thou wilt, thy beauty shalt in thee find,
And every little wrinkle thou make’st fair,
Where thy life thy soul can live, enrich thy grave.
‘O, that thy fair nature might do thy wrong,
Thy fair nature should do thy fair part
To corrupt the beauty of thy fair face,
Or make thy pretty form a hideous mutiny,
To disgrace thy sweet beauty with this dishonour:
A sweet and lovely morning doth cost thee thy life,
And thou art but an infant, being nursed by thee.
Ink would have been a better nurse, or a more tame nurse,
Or none for that matter at all,
To bear thee by the hand, to bear thee by thine own side,
Whilst I in thee treads the march of Time.
For woe hath me, dear lady, if thou survive,
Even then for thy life my love shall live.
And if thou survive, my beloved woe shall live,
If woe be alive, I pray thy good name remain,
And be of assistance to thee, if not my name,
That tongue may be better compounded to say ‘good name’.
‘Had he been dead, thy beauty might have seemed
like a black-fac’d creature now,
With short, feathered, and scarlet hair: what else is
Of worth, than those short, feathered, and jet-black hair
Which she in effect now disdained,
As well as in looks or wrinkles ever durst affright,
Who in spite of her beauty was blushing,
Lest eyes might have seen the change in her hue.
‘Now that thou wast married to a man,
I grant thou wouldst still be free; but be not so free
As in some contracted servile servile to my tongue,
But be free in all things whatsoever, whatsoever thy mind,
Writeth my verse, ’tis thy fault I have been away,
And thou, that gave thy life to live, thou shouldst steal another’s life.’
Thou art as guilty of treason as I am,
I was with my wife and daughter at this,
And left them, that my heart so base hath writ.
Thy virtue doth live, and thy youth in crime.
In him did Collatinus meet the mare,
And kissing exchanged a blessed view.
And like a herald his mighty horse came,
And with his golden name bore down his rider,
Which every one honour’d in their line
Knew their true hue, which they in forth their fight doth wear.
When he had sung, her eyes, like fiery-pointed stars,
Swiftly arrayed in her heavenly image,
With youthful majesty did frame her face;
She took his eyes, their contents were in her ear,
Like sappy buds growing on a shady mead,
When flowers with sap would pollute the plain,
She on that term did hold sway, and in it
Incapable of ill, either party would cure,
That his cure might be death’s grave; or else his cure might be
Death’s cure, to make him live again.”
‘Now in the midst of all his fighting,
Siege-like rioting, and all-toughgoing,
With shrill cries and groans and shakes, each several foot,
Against walls of steel and bloodless fire,
His desperate will to stay the thing he sought so,
Whose strength, which being stalled, would not last long,
With little motion he rushes, his strength weakens,
And in the face of such a roaring tide,
He ducks, and in the midst of such a fight,
As he cannot hold up his head for vantage,
He chokes up his breath, and falls upon his knees;
So, fighting in that strong assault, she quakes him still.
‘O peace! O comfort! Vow of thine, allow not oath!
That thou, my love, upon thy trust should bear,
That thou on thine trust should ever


======== CHECKPOINT 058 OUTPUT # 004 ========

nsics and men of wit may be,
They were not bred to write good, nor to read ill.
In spite of her fair and tame birth,
She did not know her true colour when it wink’d;
Her cheeks were beige, and her nostrils green,
But all frailties grew plainer with age.
‘His habitation did put an end to his power,
And he that had power to dispense gave way
To a private care of his own making,
That his leisure did minister to his want
To spend the rest of his time in school.
‘That’s to say I love him as a brother,
If not as a god, then as a private devil.
Thou wrong’st me so; but if thou dost deny,
I’ll revenge thy sin by force,
As far from home as I can persuade.”
The old woman had once stood thus:
The pale-fac’d maid, pale and pale,
Like old Patience sitting by a brook,
She hath seiz’d his soft and plump head,
And hath put his pale cheek beside hers;
‘Why, my poor Collatinus, why,’ quoth she, ‘his chin was chin’d
With some sort of torture, that it should appear black;
If it should stand out, why then I call it fair,
And proud of it, of all the rest.
‘Fair queen,’ quoth Lucrece, ‘these grounds of mine
I must conquer with my might, and live as free
As the fowl that roosts in the west.
The fowl that we love do adore,
That they in turn adore far more,
than in our own likeness do adore,
As in the mouths of many birds,
But in him their true sense appears,
To swallow all the sweetness of any herb,
Which is theirs, theirs alone, and they neither.
But thou that gave thy life to my name,
Worthy of this life’s praise still,
Thy art my friend, my sworn enemy,
And all things earthly that man put beside thee
May live but in thy self, and thou thy self’s inall,
Save in that thou art made from the dead,
And I by that thou art made this my friend again,
In that thou art this still living friend still alive.
“Alas the thing that made thy will, thy life,
To live, the thing that did thy will fulfill,
To die, the thing that still alive doth doth live:
If the dead live, the living doth live,
And every living thing else dies, so is thy friend.”
So he answers her, ‘Thy self did make thee immortal,
And life was my invention, and death my duty,
So thy surviving soul, my living thing,
(Through his eyne I hear that he did speak)
Incapable of that duty still did I borrow
of those dear companions I had,
And thou in them shall I live and thou in me shall depend,
That is, of this purpose, to make them extinct,
In that thy living thing thou hast this to give,
Thou must my surviving soul keep alive?
‘Father,’ she says, ‘though with all my strength I fly,
‘But wherefore hast thou cast these powers in me,
By spying what thou wilt say of my decease?
‘Then will my good name in heaven be stained,
as a token of thy fair good will,
I will show thee in deeds far greater.
‘My cause I’ll bequeath unto thine age,
And in it shall dwell my deceased youth.
Then shall my love encompass thee in many,
I’ll be ere thou meet that shadow, and lo if thou survive,
Die with me alone, and I by no means approve.
For with my love I’ll remain unseen,
For nothing penetrates the deep crimson trench
Which his deep scar will cover, and he will hide
And be invisible to posterity.
So, love, fearing of injury, will not let
His deep scar, which through a hole in his forehead lies
May seem to show him where he died.
The eye will read his sad account and will wink
And in his visage his sad words will appear.
‘Thy shadow was thine; thy fair form was in want;
That is, to me, the most ghastly:
Yet here the shadow blest, and then his shadow grew;
So did Tarquin, to my shame, let go
My shadow and made him stay, to speak.
‘Why, my dear,’ quoth Lucrece, ‘if thou wouldst slay me,
That thou couldst not slay me, then slay


======== CHECKPOINT 058 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Generally have thou put on the robe of true piety,
And left unswept, unlook’d for tidings in the age?
Look what the golden age is, what golden age
May have but to turn back time’s course,
To time’s end a new beginning, a new beginning with thee.
Whence shouldst thou come to the right place,
And join in the feast of waning age?
Give full account to your lordship to tell
What your subjects have done in the field of interest;
What is their true name, what of their worth
The state of their affairs, and what they of them
Wished was hereafter.
This said, he straightly on her craning metal,
The mounted eagle, as proud of a pride,
Knew to the chase, would not be so proud,
But in the air of victory, to be pitied.
And having seen the beauty of that beauty,
Even so she seizeth upon the unicorn,
And from her gentle wings prays, “Oise, this well-doing ear,
That all my hard-working nerves may bear witness
The goodly deed of this poor ear;
When, like a bad dream, thy spirit intrude,
To torment the harmless deer which is standing;
But with her gentle will she will lead the way,
By force, which she by force hath confounded.
She throws her fair beauty at his wound,
And, angry, beats the old man to death;
The poor fool, in rage, utters this hateful
“If thou dost murder my daughter with my wife’s knife.”
“Ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! Ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah!
The thought of murder so enrag’d
Shows the purest heart’s woe, which can blush on such sorrow;
Her cheeks red as blood, as blood so cold,
Like snow-white in the summer’s blustering weather,
But like pure water which now turns to brine,
The cheeks pale, the brow drops and wrinkles,
Yet her youthful face doth seem youthful still,
Nor youthful wrinkles, nor youthful welts,
Whose white then seem’d dull and dead-painted,
In other words, ’tis as though some whitish substance
Had wrung blood from forth another, or mingled it
With bloodless white, or dyed it more black.
“For his part,” quoth Lucretius, “he durst not say,
“This man’s idol lives, that did deceive thee.”
And that, this false god of witchcraft,
And lord of death, and lord of all death,
With this heinous crime did he basely contend,
That in his pride his image should shine,
And with him like a tainted image he should reign,
And in the bloodless glow he would be dignified.
“And now on this wide-brained chain doth lie
Between a brook and a brook,
Which like a coal-blackening channel doth lie,
With channeling his ebony wings, so doth he ride;
As with a rider cold, or with a rider warm,
To win his rider by means of sportiveness.”
But this did not win her heart;
She, having won, with renewed cheer did chide,
And with renewed desire would have chided;
For now he is but a little boy, and her eyes are full of fear,
And now she knows he is a man, and she a man.
“Now,” quoth she, “if thou wouldst allow it,
One of my many jewels, one crystal, I will mend;
one by thine for the good of this world I prove,
To prevent another from gaining this name.
The turtle, the wolf, the dire wolf,
But this is all but lost, for I have lost thee,
For to thee I complain, to thee I complain.
No, this is all well, I’ll do for thee;
For I love thee dearly, and thou my friend,
Till then thou hast my all, and I thy foe,
A kiss on the lips that says’shall be thy last’.
How long have I been unwilling to part,
When your sweet sprite’s beauty doth dwell,
And doth tell your shadow all about you,
And all about you in circles doth grow.
So is it with me, as with many, if I be


======== CHECKPOINT 059 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Healthy, for thy parts are mine own,
And all my fame and all my fame’s profit.
I will, like my self, keep my mistress’ distance,
And be my self to Venus, for that sake:
O how sweet a friend thou art, O yet untutored,
My mistress’ eyes to my sight must change:
I swear that in thine eyes thou art my best.
‘Tis thy right, and I’ll do it;
I’ll be thy guide, and make thee my guide,
As thou guides thy horse, and in thy fawn’s fawn’s fawn
Crawls all his fair parts, and makes him his rider;
And with his rider doth he ride; and I in him ride,
While he fawneth on my heart, and on his wrack,
And on with his force ravisheth my life.
‘And now, as they were in ambush,
Bury their heads with their long nails, and hang them in mounds;
So do I, in that chorus, dear Lucrece,
Make my love to them all the more dear,
As if by some miracle they could hear me.
In that chorus, dear Lucrece, she told the story
Of a green plum, that in her field lay slain,
And there it crept, as quickly from a pine as it came
from the deadly knife which she had stowed.
“How oft more than one should swear,
That one of the brav’ry horse of his did fly;
Which sometime in his pride reigned,
Bearing forth the loud clamor of the bay,
Which, crest-waving, it seemed to say, “This man is a king.”
A thousand voices, shrieking in rage,
Hearkening to their cries, each hand his falchion,
Doth part, as one chorus cries, “Kill him.”
But her joy, which her cheer so much rejoices,
Doth rehearse, to make sure her joy is well:
She looks pale, but still she is bright,
And in her veins they line bright circles.
‘”O child, thou art the first to kiss this dear child,
Even as when thou take thy leave,
Sits down, holds his head, and whispers: ’tis sour, and thou dost sour,
And yet it is so: yet thou dost wish it were sour,
When sour doth enter sour compounds in sour mouths:
In that case thou wilt inflict it on my sweet son,
To make me sour, and thou wilt sour to know.
‘Tis thee that made the storm, and now she’s out.
“O, how proud a fool she was! the sky was red,
And from her shining eyne sat a young hound,
that hath the strength to bear all she seeks;
For now she looks upon him mistrustfully,
And would say, ‘O boy,’ if she thought he were dead,
What an honour he had in his prime.
‘Tis not enough to scorn a fool,
To chide him that his life is in question;
For that, it is enough to let him go.
What a fool would not be so proud a freind
That life must his livelihood destroy;
A life so short then doth life live?
Or life so short then live and still be free?
What wealth but his beauteous possession have,
To let the boar possess his soft fawn?
How did he enjoy himself so well,
Even by the hand that toiled far and wide
In the burning hot lust of his passion,
His lust did not leave the fire, nor the stalk
No whit of it left his soft hide,
And wherever it remained, all tender disdain
It descended upon the gaudy groom,
Who in a trembling brag did hoarsely
Him appear on her in the brook,
And their chat soon became verbal abuse.
“To get thee, do not despair, O be not modest!
For whiles I trodden, thou didst make mine;
What was thy soul that thy finger touched,
And like a proud-fac’d warrior did contend?
How didst thou then, despite of all the strife
Stand by my side, my loyal partner,
And lend me your purest hand, wherefore lend me good?
No, for my love, thy good will lend good will.
For if thou prove such a thing false,
My soul shall not love thee more, than thou thy self is,
For that thou in my body am bereft me.
“To-day,” she saith, “this morning I’ll have napkin’d,
To-morrow will blot my blot with more


======== CHECKPOINT 059 OUTPUT # 002 ========

absorbed (such force did instigate)
That through her bare breasts he felt her embracing;
He laughed, and he swore she would not catch;
His eye, in her fair cheek, had peeped in,
Which on her smooth cheek he had spotted,
Whose pupil almost fainted, and his vision fled;
‘If I had any tears, mine might be mine.’
He laughed, and he swore she would not catch;
Her eyes would have fainted, and his had fainted.
The sun, that heavenly goddess of peace,
May set the time for my untimely death,
That she herself may yet have her life made plain,
For as our sun is death’s dearer shade,
so is my love; though it last far longer,
still on his trembling foot she stands,
And throws on the robe of grace;
She doth give it a holy alchemy,
that when his spirit should speak,
It would speak the truth; and when he should speak so,
It would speak cold simplicity: then would he seem cold,
And yet would not wink, for fear of his shadow.
‘Had I not, my life might have ended before,
And all my love and all my life might have ended now,
As I now am, and never am.
If not, what reason gives,
And nothing effect, except of scorn,
How might I then live, and still live?
ose eyes had never touched heaven’s red fire,
But now their gold-digging fires are set,
Whose bright fires with burning radiance stand hid,
In the dim air which their lamps make,
Making the hot breath paler and the cool hot look,
So life in this fiery hell might remain:
For in the fire of eternal fire,
He would not burn, for fear of death.
‘”O comfort! that sweet smell of love
Like amber and crystal mingled with crystal dust
Whose base hue is red, and whose gloss white
As crystal methinks doth burn when it is scorched;
Whose active moisture doth cover the face,
And makes it harder for him to breath;
His lips, like crystal globes, do likewise
To moisten his lips’ melting visage.
O how the channel to the ocean contains,
water, by virtue of which she breathes,
Is mov’d and subdued still.
“Now thus begins the perils of this dark and dark time;
Thy complexion, thy pale complexion, thy green waste,
The coal that burns in this great uproar:
thy proud head, proud arms, and proud legs,
Thy proud heart’s proud aspect to pluck;
thy proud chest, thy chest full of fear,
The wide world, thy large, dark world outstripped.
No wonder then I do not find
Aught to say, other than that I love thee well,
Or else so thou well knew, that thou shouldst kill me.
And this she says again, till she answer another line,
‘If thou dost excuse me, what excuse is there
To spite me? I have been quite so much vexed with your tale,
That I have cried out in some sort of groan,
For your poor poor tongue hath done me injury,
Which is why I have so much disdain to say,
that all the rest should be forgot
Is all that you have, and all your worth is in me,
Sometime your worth in all of me is lacking,
And that worth in you is in part,
And you in me is nothing but your sum of all.
Let it then be as it is,
That all parts together do contain,
The sum of your all, to be all your part.
‘That is to say, the heart’s pleasure doth lie,
Bearing both the liver and the phoenix’ wings,
with my love of you I do vow,
That all in good faith and true faith do strive
To rid you of that wretched sin,
And to make you happy still by loving you,
To be a tomb to your memory,
I’ll recite to you from memory your sweet days,
And from your memory sweet hours to tell
of all things, including death, there is none.
To this she replies, “So shalt thou go; now go and take me,
My love is old, and yet young, and yet young
If it ever liv’d.”
‘Therefore, O comfort, do as thou wilt,
My suffering youth begin with a pause,
And then I stop and wait:
This stoppage should not last long,
For it should seem as if some heavy thing were
To go on so long, even when we are dead.
And that it


======== CHECKPOINT 059 OUTPUT # 003 ========

party, the proud jewel of the Roman state,
Who, being defeated, did the spoil yield
To decay in the course of time?
Let those who love, and have lost their lords,
Save that which in the abundance
Have made their store the owner’s, and in this
To be tasted the owner’s fickle fee,
The loss of which is not so great a fee.
The Greeks have had but fair cheeks, but not so sweet,
as Achilles, the phoenix, or the dove,
Both to their glory were but beauties to their faces:
But now she appears like them, with more grace and grace:
Her black, her white, her blend none.
Her wit in subjection is perfection’s chief flower,
Her show of truth the better part of a state,
For she is true in subjection but is not so well expressed.
This said, Collatine still bore his case
At Pyrrhus’ door, where they lay, thinking him dead;
A view bright and clear then they view’d
As if from some cloudy-shining jewel; what they see,
They esteem not the shine of their stars,
Nor all their errors, but their own seemly lights.
The best I can then say is, ‘This man’s heaven is nigh,
The sun to warm the body is nigh.’
For in it were no heat, no cold chill,
No worm, no fright, no light but cold terror;
Who, being blest, would not dare to be so light?
O, if those dreadful creatures, having slain him,
With fearful terror fled their hideous deaths,
They would still slay him, and live to kill him again.
‘Well, if the boar can take it away,
I’ll kill him with my poisoned-up spear; but, lo, he lies,
With my poisoned-up knife his prey will not catch.
He will not catch his breath, and by ‘t’ill he calls,
He sets sail again for shore; when, holla, he goes,
He drowns, and that he will not catch again:
His poor prey with a sigh pays the bills.
‘That she so brib’d me, I did her no disservice;
Since thy deeds I do question not,
In whatsoever thou dost question, do question not question make.
‘So then I commend thee, and do my will
Enforce it in such a gracious spirit,
that in my bosom’s eyes thou dost live!
She that by my deeds doth her life depend,
My body is rid’d of all stain and dead,
And my soul, the living dead,
For my body is buried where thou art, and me is
an eternal pilgrimage straight to thee.
Let thy holy love preach the truth,
For thou wilt preach of thine own self,
And preach of thine own self, as well in heaven as in mine,
That I in heaven live eternal life.
Thus may I be true to my self, and love
in the picture of my worth with thee remains.
A pretty Lucrece that poor, sick, and destitute
With destitute eyes and wretchedly deformed
In flesh and blood, being new-born,
But in thee, this thy beauty, in thine age,
For thy love, to love me thou must remain,
And keep thy self a single dwelling.
The old adage was, ‘If there be no love, there’s nothing I mean.’
Even then the old adage was never shaken;
Then ’tis true, there are still love’s elements,
And that love which in thy heart doth live,
is no love to you now.
‘So much as praise can be said of you,
Against what you stand up, I’ll tell your mind,
And live on, or you are out.
No, I do not wish to be hated,
Nor do I intend to make any excuse
For my bad behaviour, though not expressly so.
‘So let that not to excess suggest
Unmask the true aspect of bad taste,
And make your verdict fair and kind.
Those you most assuredly of your love,
Which with me, and I by all yours is attainted,
Be of the best use to my love’s gain,
And all your best shall be forgotten,
For nothing shall ever hold my love’s use so dear.”
This said, she throws her bright eyes about him,
And as he throws them about, another comes,
From his charmed cabinet, where he lies,
Till presently she starts again:—
“No, no! it is none of my good:
And from my chamber, through a latch,
A door which opens wide


======== CHECKPOINT 059 OUTPUT # 004 ========

]; in his hand she laid his hat,
He kissed her softly and gently,
And on her forehead he held a palm-lettered pen,
Who, in Lucrece’ face, would stamp the day
With his brow-sick dexterity, as he did our duty.
The painter in the guise of a man,
Doth owe his skill to his wit,
And in his skill more to the advantage of mind,
That of his skill more he glory doth owe
When in skill more doth his skill exceed.
O! who with his skill so grossly abuses
The very image of his self,
That some regard will not look on it,
Not his own eyes, but the whole cloud which hides him.
‘My mistress, what lovely time of the year
You will behold, do not fear me;—
Since you will behold, my mistress was burned.
‘”But ah! that is all too rare, and I have no more,
Yet, mine eye beauty, which in my hand is fix’d
Pierced the fire, did it yet thrive?
‘I have but one eye to see, and that is Love;
Mine eye all beautify’d and all my self outmod’d,
Like a fine-tuned fawn, so doth it peep in
The bud of every prick, whether prick, stick, prick, prick, prick.
To see the beauty of this gross abomination,
For it is so aptly termed ‘love’.
And each pineappled with white hath
Pleaded in the bud a reverend’s shade,
With green tops, of pureen hue, stand’d high in the sky:
A sun espied doth now stand and look,
A shining star doth ne’er shine but in the sky.
Now look on me as thou look’st, and then I be,
With this I cry: “O false heart! Vow me not,
To bear false witness to a true-telling tale.”
This poor boar replies, “If thou mean to hunt, hunt with me.”
“Fie, fie, fie,” quoth he; “why should I hunt?”
“That’s life, honey, and yet life could not keep it;
To kill myself I would not choose,
For that would forfeit all my vigour, and do me good,
Being dead, I will abhor, though not hate.
‘”And where did my maid learn that art
Which speaks so sweetly to the ear?—Where is she now,
Since all these years she keeps silent till thine eyes.
Ah yet she sees no shame in that;
And yet she is so moved by it,
That she makes excuses for his smiling:
Let her tears drop like rain upon the grass,
And in her tears falls she falls, as though from some ill.
So from her black-fac’d bed she sleeps,
And wakeeth again and again, till sleep departs.
‘How much less shall my sweet love be waste?’ quoth she,
For from the womb his foul nature feeds;
So she must give it up for her foul self’s grave.
In like manner his noble name is borne,
That he in the proud crest of fame may be called:
And from his proud crest so he may live.
For not a tongue can speak well enough his shame:
That to hear him use it with such disdain,
Even to Rome where he grew.
‘Why, poor me, my verse can no more express
Than that poor rhyme worthy of praise.’
‘”Lo, this device was brought forth from my father’s ward,
That in him his infant might be kept,
To prevent infection by means unknown.”
“O false thief! thou didst steal my father’s life;
Thy eye hath blinded my brow, and all my kindred
Hath sworn against thee: ’tis thy father’s crime;
Thy eye hath blinded mine own eye,
Thy eye hath blinded mine own eye’s treasure;
Thy eye hath blinded mine own eye’s treasure;
Thy eye hath blinded mine own eye’s treasure,
Thy eye hath blinded mine own eye’s treasure;
Thy eye hath blinded mine own eye’s treasure,
Thy eye hath blinded mine own eye’s treasure.”
‘O! the wood which she herself carved,
In precious masonry, must of last so long!’
‘Thus far from home, where I abide,’ quoth she,
‘From this fearful time, mine eyes behold:
That my heart’s beating heart, my right,
My left, and mine eye’s tuning both.
All eyes are open, eyes closed, my heart to hear.
I lay on the ground, whereon in a hollow cradle


======== CHECKPOINT 059 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ERGH!
No more; let his bones be reworded,
For this blessed monument their praise.
And where they shall dwell, one monument stands,
And of their sweet painting they name:
What can a lover do for a wife,
Thou mayst desire, if thou mayst wish?
The fairest is, and thou mayst wish for none.
“O what a sight it was to behold,
That face of an earthly goddess!
Such beauty could not take but her mind,
Who by heaven’s law did not give away
What she herself was beguiling:
That to herself so might be buried.
But now her thoughts, to herself so might be:
O would she have died, and lived to tell!
So I leave her alone, as her husband must.”
To this she adds a curse, adding a breath:
For her, his love he did cherish, and they both died.
‘Why dost thou pine and despair,
That thou must make a second attempt
Of such a true character, that can in no way disgrace me?
And why dost thou pine for the faults of me,
Thine own inmost commission did bring forth,
That now thou, me, the father of thy youth,
Would like to speak sometime of that youth,
And of that youth advisedly I would speak.
Thus do I pine, and yet do conclude
That he is as he appears, and thus I am,
As true a father to my boy as thou wast,
To show the beauty of thy youth,
When thou art thy all and all things else are white.
So then are your defects as thy praise
Show’d by the cold fire that burns so coldly.
“My self, my self, art thou this,” quoth he, “my only true,
And in thee this false fire is born
A false and foul stain to dwell in all my flesh:
And that it may survive, shall it be a part,
Of thine own soul, and in thee alone,
By heaven’s eternal law to govern thee.
But this thou hast done, if thou wilt permit,
A portal to this destinied city.
To this end he chides the clock, who, lo,
Would not tell the time, and now the clock would say
That he did ride on horseback.
‘Poor boy,’ quoth he, ‘this hour I must depart,
From home, I will attend to-day,
And yet not to-night to-morrow make excuse,
And if you please, leave me here alone;
For I have many that you must see to-night,
And would like to speak, but they are too scarce here.
“Look here, this man, this man’s child,
What proud thing a boar can do; what fast he doth fly;
What pluck’d hawk, what tiger, what leopard stand
Will not fear the wolf; the grass is not rough,
Nor can it fear no creature but the creeping bee.
But with this, gentle Lucrece began to cry,
And with her voice did her heart break,
That her heart so beats should break like thunder,
That like a heavy heart it will not rest.
When he hath sung, she hisses at him with disdain;
She chides him for that; and thus ’tis plain,
To blame him for his words, her for his heart.
‘But be advis’d, this boy’s voice is too strong;
And in that he is much troubled,
He hurls his mallet at the boar, and her still cries:
“Look what he did to my face; here he is, here he is;
O, let him leave her; the world will not love him so,
But be cruel, and let him have leave, and be gone.”
“Myself in thyself thyself dost art slain,
For that thy name is near burnt out.”
‘O, if he love, the world will not want his help,
And if his love be found wanting, thy name lost,
To give himself over to the world’s sport?
O if he love, what shame canst thou find?
The world will not pity him for this,
But for his death’s sake doth he want his fame,
And this doting husband will keep a low regard,
Lending him to posterity
all these trophies he gave her,
And they, with her blood still renewed, are their pages.
“How oft hath nature said unto thee,
‘Thou art not as thou seem’st; let me tell thee thus;
I know thy heart shall sing, but thee must sing it;
‘Tis thou that art


======== CHECKPOINT 060 OUTPUT # 001 ========

indoctring her husband in his lust for her.
He hath no love for her, but loves her so,
She craves his lust, and in it she commits such hell,
He feels no pity, though he hath felt it;
He esteems her in other respects,
And she esteems him in himself.
His affection is strong, though weak, yet strong and true,
And he with his strength is strong; and so is his love,
In both his strength both together stand so strong.
So now the night before my dear love’s decease,
Her husband in his bed doth tear her to spite;
His head doth hang by his side, and her lips do tremble;
He puts his trust in her, and gives her all his,
And she is wrapp’d in a black night,
And every joint injurious to her seems.
Her arms do him good pleasure, her eyes evil:
Like fools, they excel most in looks.
Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Shows nothing but soft white and violet,
Which on each side she hath appertain’d,
Swell’d like an evergreen, with her chin in the air;
The leaves being blow’d, the violet doth appear,
And like the fell apple, appears again,
Wherein she in her rose coloured prison lay.
That this rose she did assay,
Asked her mother what it was, and found none,
Her answer was, it was ‘anon fond and lovely,
Which she esteemed to delight her young,
That in her breast some fond fancy bred
Of youth, to pelt the wrong of wrong,
And in her bosom some pure affection bred,
That they might seem blameless in their murders.’
‘And more,’ quoth she, ‘this man’s not my husband,
And yet I think on him, and on him I’ll kill,
And be a spy for him!’
In him I behold the sad-fac’d night,
And yet no such love acquit me for him
As from a dream I perceive the shadow is,
As when Tarquin in the dark cave where he lies lies,
A shadow hangs upon the dimly shining lamp,
And like a cherubin sitting by,
The blossoms shoot forth their light, and the roses die.
This she told him in a dream, and in his ear
He answers her no, but answers her in more:
“To die, why not of thyself?”
His answer is, “Because thou livest in thine own image,
And live in thine own image (though thy image be dead)
And be thy self again in this life.”
‘O then,’ quoth she, ‘your mother’s verse,
I fear’d in thy sweet youth was my life slain;
Even as thy sweetling still stands,
So doth I in that verse survive:
Thy beauty hath done me honour,
And thou in my life hast honour’s right.
Then, if in the verdict of fair justice,
No good can come of it, let it not stay
A soul for which the wrong seeks a remedy.
Aught but my will, my self, to cure it,
From thence, in thought’s black, the self I drew
From the dead, reigned supreme in my thought.
He took my sword, and doth kill me in a rage;
No bloody knife doth his use slay, for fear thereof.
‘O yes,’ quoth she, ‘this deed proves
The break of silence between the two worlds:
Love made the breach, and death made the cure;
When hate the cure was death’s poison,
Thy love the cure was love’s grace.’
‘So shall my vows,’ quoth she, ‘be broken,
I swear them ever-living;
I will vow them never to be broken again,
By Collatine, mine heir, nor his bastard.
‘My vow is death: my vow is life;
That life, which thou hast left behind,
Or lives in thy body’s place, being buried there.
For if thou survive, and be buried there,
Then my love shall live, and be buried in thee,
And never be remorseless with thee;
For I will live, and die in thee,
And be buried in thy body’s place,
Being buried where thou wast once.”
“So die you,” quoth he, “and you in me be:
As you in the eyes of men decease,
So in me are deceits so stark,
As in your gross and gross form the night before.
When, O unseen evil, by the fire
Her eyes did for light appear,
And by the fire their bright light did


======== CHECKPOINT 060 OUTPUT # 002 ========

prest the deep feeling of helpless helplessness,
So her eyes, as bright from their shining eyes,
Upon the dim earth did their light fall.
This said, the turtle, with her long-slithering tail,
Steals not the spoil which she would have,
But being strumpet, with her long-slithering tail,
Incapable of much pain, still liv’d and merry.
O that her proud shape did once live!
That honour in him now lies confounded!
If I were dead I should live, and in thee
Were not dead, then I might live again,
So might his bastard child still live in thine age.
“When thou gav’st up thy spring to harvest,
do not tell the rich to spend the harvest;
Instead put the poor in luxury where they cannot grow,
Take all that you have, and give to those
That will live and make you again.
And therefore have I thought on thee,
Hearing your sweet argument and your harsh boast,
For how poor you are, how abundant still are your livings,
And how much better you live now were before.
‘Now,’ quoth he, ‘you can see the sorrow in her eyes,
heavy-hanging time, that heavy work of thine eye.
Now with all her might she behold,
The heavy shadow of her beauty’s dead head,
With red and white would have put that beauty dead;
O yes, and so true a fool is she,
That she would say she saw it, and she did slay it:
‘Tis she who kills, and I live to kill her.’
“Then are you my captive, and thou my slave,
So kill me first, and then, ’tis thy turn;
So kill me second, and then, ’tis thy turn;
kill me friend and foe, then be foes,
To be friends or foes of one another,
I’ll part, but that which thou hast, my friend shall remain.
‘But what follows thus from a man-made devil?
Thy teeth and lungs are brass,
But thine eyes are glass, and my heart art steel.
When thou art all strengthened, my strength doth match,
And with thy help doth mine own will,
Revenge upon my heart that hath done me wrong,
And for thy heart’s sake give me ten kisses.”
O peace! love’s seal of closure is broken!
O father, me! how is my tomorrow spent!
O comfort! the world’s worst fear!
O quiet, the day doth soon open to greet,
The weary hours of your day to night!
But now my love is gone, and night my day still seeks:
So do I by night with these mischances take,
Making short my vow to you, in your aid.
“Now let me start, and hear the heavy dirge:
So I by diest I may be rid,
From your controlling hands to your loving hands,
That you for your part have controlled mine;
Your part I your tyranny have subdued:
now we do call it winter’s time,
When rocks harden against cold and moisture,
And all the world doth look on it with grief,
While coal-black clouds blot out the day and night.
By this we may say, Time’s bastard is gone,
And beauty dead, and man dead.
In him a painting lies the picture
Of a silly lamb, proud and contented,
Where on the gurney he lies, whose proud crest
Like a proud eagle lies with his prey.
His face, like a cherubin, with proud crest stand
On either side of his head a wat’ry pale;
At this stroke she doth homage move,
To show his pretty face, to show his wounds,
To show the world that this mighty boar
Hath trodden by many a cruel and worthless boar.
So, like a dream, with a desperate groan
The helpless helpless babe cries aloud,
And says, “Father, what have I done wrong!”
But with a desperate yelping she hiss,
A woeful look on her eyes, and with her head
The scene of helpless helplessness ensues.
For what she owed me, I have never lent her,
Nor she my will, nor her force can make free,
When you must live a beggar’s debt for thee:
For thou art my dear, and I thy will,
Whom obeys no form of bondage.”
Her eyes, like crystal globes, with dazzling lights
Bright as crystal globes, they gleam when they light,
And all their beauty is in their shine;
And every light illuminates the whole,


======== CHECKPOINT 060 OUTPUT # 003 ========

ENG.
In the course of this bloody combat,
The Roman emperour had procured the victory,
He had won the spoil, he had slain the boar;
In the rage of his bloody revenge, he would backslide
And swear fealty to that vile fiend.
His wit and craft, their blunt force, their boldness,
Like polished brass, their sharp point, were doth bear this title.
“Upon the crest of his hare,
Thronging his brawny scythe in his hoof,
With a cunning pelt his spined knife hurls,
Which in his hanging stringer hurls the blunt object.
This did him homage, and it did him shame;
To wit, that wit which the world’s eyes so well know,
May so well be black as the ground, though it never be dyed.
So my verse is plain to thee, as it is to yours,
Thy beauty’s course is thaw’d with thy grace,
And mine is thaw’d with thee as thine in scorn.
Thy beauty be not afraid to show thyself beauty’s fold,
That is to my praise and pity thy praise,
To show thy virtue in thy shame, thy pity still.
By this, his deep-tongued sense of duty
Possessed no excuse for his rash action,
And in his rashness, as in the restful haste
He ran from the ambush of his wits,
That with his bare hands and by a sudden leap,
From the breast of this besieged Roman,
Courageous Roman, march thou on to the Isth
To see his unyielding skill, and for him oath,
That he shall not be tempted to fight again;
So thou wilt be his defeater, and I thine.
I have seen thy strength, and my will abide:
If I die, thy strength will live, and thou my will abide.
This said, she still stood and straight eyed,
Looking down upon his trembling head,
Who, like a silly mouse, did tremble with fear,
And turn their faces to his in terror;
The rest, still dumb, did utter a few words;
They had their bay doors drawn, and would not lock them;
For fear of harms which might ensue,
The lock’d doors did not seem, the thought being tried,
Which it did in a trial which was so near,
As it should the judge should unfold.
The one in his prime had power, the other in need,
To put the former in a monarchy,
And all power to the one to make him master.
For princes make kings, and kings rule,
And kings rule, and kings be kings of their dukes.
‘Yet shall the day coming by night with heavy rain
Bring tidings of his woes unto the hounds;
Then would his proud ears obey,
In her soft majesty tell his stories of woes.
‘”And that they should have time to think their shame,
To mark their guilt by succession
To the dead, and to posterity
With posterity their present disgrace,
Let them then be cast away, for they themselves are living,
And never to dwell in infamy die,
They were but fools to speak these untutored scorns.
‘O night, thou fool! in thy dreams hast I pluck’d,
And done with so much force, at last I break out again.
And now he hath a view to mine eye,
That when in my desire some hard thing hath come,
I with my knife scratch the earth and the sky,
And then do I question and question for fear,
And ask for particulars, and prove things by looking,
By looking strange or odd.
The thing that most perplexes my mind,
The thing that most dreads my heart’s seeing,
the time, the moment, the place.
But, like a tyrant that cannot cope well
With Time’s laws, he reigneth still;
And with his continual motion doth he mock,
Till he comes again, and this time doth he mingle,
As if a battle should ensue,
Making his case even before his eyes.
O if love hold thy heart so tied up,
Then thy life will bear thee straight light;
If it not, thou wilt die, and then I will wail thee light.
‘My poor soul, what sorrow hath I wrought
For my beloved life that thou dost mourn for,
O let that bereft bereft be thy excuse,
When thou hast lived by my behest assailed.
O what a hell of witchcraft lies in thy head!
My sweet soul, what a hell hath my sweet life been
Bound


======== CHECKPOINT 060 OUTPUT # 004 ========

──── or he bequeath unto you,
(Though death deprive thee of his bliss)
The immortality which thou bestow’st,
But now thou wilt have it all, and more will afford
Than thou wilt have nothing, but shall lose it all.
“For lo, my maid, I have reason to complain,
But she is a nun and hath no right to know
How her beloved boy, being unjust,
May by thy cruel and untimely harms be removed.
Yet is it not enough for her that she cries,
For it is thy fault that thou dost inflict,
To force her to do what thou hast begot.
O, that thy absence may not prove,
I think it better to leave the burden of thy part,
That where thy worth lies it must not be taken,
For the audit of thy report can never be called,
Since thou wast such a help, yet why dost thou complain?
And what canst thou say but that I praise thee,
And more, more praise is there of thy fair name,
For not to my praise can thy fair name appear,
Thou were my friend and patron and my dearest,
To all that know my worth and love of thee.
And as thy dearest Adonis stands in thy way,
Till now, with his hand upon his breast lies
A votary’s hat, a costly suit of linen,
With noble trim, but not of such quality
As a true-fountain-brick’d sist’ring rose, or the silken crest
Which Adonis wore when he fought him.
“The truth is, if I could, I did love thee,
The lark will not fear me, nor I the day,
For if the lark were my friend, I did his sting;
I would speak and tell the tale, and you see
I love thee merely, and I no man
Dissuade from love what else is dear.
‘Yet from their midst some young man of noble complexion,
With silken short-shorts, a kind of a down,
With silken beards and a plaitsouth,
With strait-jointed formal wear, a strict nun,
Whereat she walks, and to her eyes she obeys
Each look of admiration upon her fair face:
Yet her beauty’s form is like a rough-shod cabinet,
To rehearse herself at random,
As one in a trance, who is not attuned
To her own dreadful abusiveness.
‘”Thus saith he, ‘If my mistress’ she were dead,
My life and my fortunes would not be troubled,
By that slander and my decease.’
Thus begins the Tarquin to set forth
The matter that hath perplexed him so long:
‘”As for me, thou hast done me wrong;
For why? because of me thou art blamed;
Thy fault in my absence remains thy fault,
The reason why is thy absence cited
as excuses why my absence did offend.
He that rents me, I ransom him with my life.
If thou wilt, thy help I fear not,
For lo if my life be interrupted thou wilt have
more than thy fair beauty can reprove.
Even so the verdict is unto me this,
Thou canst not kill a fly with his sting;
The venom being discharged, the sting dies, the fly is dead.
“Thou wilt, indeed, murder this fiend,
The life that life can give;
But, lo, the fiend is dead and he in thee.
thou being a flatterer, a flatterer still,
The greater part of what thou hast writ,
Says thy heart to thy heart, that it may say
That thou wilt convert thy verse to good:
If that will, this verse in thy heart
Is to me the beginning of thy doom,
And thou this, this, this, this, this, this thy worth,
Is to live a thousand dead lives, twenty thousand surviving.”
“O therefore thou art so fond
As to use excuses to prevent,
To do strange harms to me;
For in my grief is my heart so strongly
Crowned in him, that I cannot know
What it is, or where it lies,
That makes my heart to plead for me.
‘”I, the bawd, when I was tame,
Did with my strong arms stop a thousand rushes,
Appear to my teeth like young fowl,
Lurk’d and tame, yet with their tail
Were tame and hawks like themselves;
Yet are they tame now, and with their tail
May chase them all the way to Troy.
When the Greeks, like old


======== CHECKPOINT 060 OUTPUT # 005 ========

mA for this purpose my mind would bear a part;
And this purpose I have still debated,
And yet do conclude to kill myself,
When all the other parts of me are dead.
So therefore have I lost myself in thoughts of woe,
And I now live to kill my self again.
“This poor wretch, with all that she hath held
Of his hard-pressed vigils and oppressed womb,
Shall basely she utters this, in the same breath:
In other words, she said, she hath’scaped’ the wound,
And by this she means this wound will never be:
But, with a lingering look, by bending his head,
The wound will be well-killed; for with his head,
Sharp-tongued shepherds kill with cunning.
If I be lame I am lame, and if a boar kill’st,
The hunted boar, for fear of injury,
Would stoop to the bait, and with his tail would run;
If I was alive, I should live a thousand ways.
And yet this she is quite unaware
Of the thing she is complaining, and yet she doth speak
All in self-contradictory tongue.
“Thou wrong’st my life,” saith he, “I owed thee;
For thou shouldst murder me outright;
Thou art my wife, and thou thyself art my wife.
And for this, my life was forfeit;
Therefore I am my own fault, and thou my wife.’
“Look here what I have lost, O see what I have found;
O no, look no more; the loss is not mine;
Thou art the fault; thou that art blamed;
Thou that art blamed is not my fault;
Thou art the blame; but this thy guilt contains,
For I am not thy slave, thou that art thy friend;
Thou hast done this to me; but lo, behold,
I am a woman, a sovereign freewoman:
What else can I say, but that I have say it?
As many as love hold in love,
And yet are they not truly free,
They are not altogether free, but yet are not so,
When all else is slave to a single owner.”
“That thou mayst behold what happies happies
To my poor body with thy deed?
Or what it to me serves, by thy deed?
Or what it to me serves, by the owner’s death?
Or what it to me serves, by the owner’s grace?
Or what it to me serves, by the owner’s death?
How many have I in this meed beguiled,
As in the fair gardens of thy sweet mind;
Mine eyes, like flaming incense, did burn,
And in their fiery inferno set the sun
On the clouds which now cover them,
And all men were but clouds to him.
He smother’d her with a kiss and she on him grew pale,
And down she began, till his nostrils had emptied,
Where he could breathe again, but her voice lacked air.
So after some discourse with Philomela,
She makes a desperate U-turn, and stops his swift flight;
With either’s help she can achieve nothing;
‘That she may, if thou dost desire, take her tongue;
To be rid’d of his foul touch, the coward will stay;
That is to say, her tongue may be used to kill him;
The coward too, tongueless he will be,
Thy beauty’s effect will be both cruel and kind,
For both we can strive till all is done,
Like a virtuous league thus ended,
No dog can bark, nor fowl too proud:
My love is such a sport, and thou such a king,
That thou with thine own likeness shouldst breed an other.
As a prize for thy beauty’s use,
So is my love made more dear, and so is thy love.
Here the picture begins,
How Adonis had died, and now Lucrece had sworn;
So she did speak, and now her sorrow faltered:
As one would say, Collatine no more is dear:
For one by nature he is fond,
And that by nature bred not of filial love,
Thou mayst but behold Adonis weep.
Her sad voice thus sounds, still with trembling strain,
With weary restful eye he stares:
She hisses, and sighs, as if her heart would groan.
“Ay me,” quoth she, “this is Tarquin’s day,
And that thou, like him, are his equals:
They that do, they themselves betray,
Being spies for thy foul foe


======== CHECKPOINT 061 OUTPUT # 001 ========

recount to his love,
And all in vain that love might survive,
So that we might live and breed another,
But that life might survive, and that life dying,
To live another’s death with thee in thy art,
(Though not yet his by thy side)
Who by death is ere he last alive to call,
the golden dial
(That time-beguiled crystal which seals up his thought)
By the power of this dial hath kept
Time’s fair queen Awakened and Tarquin Awakened,
In this dial Tarquin in his thought
For to Time, Time’s heir and true,
The fool should live and Time’s false king die.
‘But have I but jest at thy name,
And never name that name but that of thine,
Or at the least not that name which thou hast heret,
But lov’st to thine, and lov’st to thy name.
‘What could life be if not name given? what could life expect
That one could name but thee?
O that which lives, or dies, being dead,
A name, a form, or a name to be called:
name, nor body but name gives the shape.
O, that which breathes, will it not leave
The bottom of the lungs where it lies,
And die? what sorrow then canst thou make,
That death, that hath so many a face to stain,
So thou shouldst make me double-join
My guilty sighs, my sighs howling.
For there I hold this cross, thou art mine,
The cross of love, to love be made false,
And then thou wilt be my love,
A false heart that loves not truth,
Doth dote on the truth and loves what he doth say.
‘O shame to me, that thou didst betray me,
With that I did vow never to kill thee,
Thy love, my love’s due, shall in thee be spent;
And thou shalt be buried in this sour grave,
A life lost in that thou hast done thy duty,
That thou shouldst live a second death,
Thine own in my soul’s image was taken.
thou dost and me, in spite of this,
Grow like weeds, like lawns, grow like lawns,
And in these weaned you, as in our time,
The world to you (so to speak) would grow new flowers.
That time was not all that we have now,
But you, we some newer growth make.
And to this end Adonis set
A flaming torch, that burns out with flame,
Showing what kind of man his pride is;
And like a herald to the west comes
A proud swan, so fast his name appears.
But, that honouring lion, being gone,
Her grief-bruising eyes with bashful looks,
Tender’d her lips, and her sad brows.
‘Thou art as full of travail as I am,
My sorrow-bruising heart beats for me,
And yet thou hast more grief in my presence,
Than in my absence, when thou art, mine.
For now, from the deep hollow of the brook
Which thy sweetest cloud descanteth,
His visage lies in the sea, and his sight
With his torch illuminates all the beauty of his field.
But now, like a sober-shaking boar,
And through the open wound of his neck
Some stain some fear hath engross’d,
Which makes the fearful shadow jump and then kneel,
On either side to hold the fearful boar,
Or to scratch him with a painful foot.
And now the shrieking boar shakes, and, lo, the leek
With a fierce eye, shakes with rage, till the lion be gone.
Here a young and pale-fac’d man, pale and lean,
With golden hair, round glasses, and ungainly eyes,
With loose brim and feat and unruly tail,
With short thick brownish-rimmed glasses, and wild eye,
Like deer and wolves, but much less fierce and bolder:
His face is lean, his chin heavy, his short nose small,
His lips crooked with slack bends, his nostrils cold,
And bottom of his crooked tail a thick knot of whiteness.
‘That I may say thus with absolute truth,
That all these offences which I have committed,
That hath made me this far removed,
That I am your kinsman and you by this life still
Are two sides of the same thing.
‘Woe, woe, woe, ’tis Tarquin that cries this;
And woe,


======== CHECKPOINT 061 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Rosleaving him to be toyed with, as silly children are,
By vulgar fancy’s abuse.
“What’s wrong?” quoth she, “this lascivious fault?
O pardon me, my faults are rare!
My faults are singular; and more are here proposed,
Than in this quiet cabinet of yours.
This I will do unto your well-doing good,
And you as your Lordship in this will,
In this I will spend thy worth’s office,
And your Lordship to be your doting palfrey.”
“Good night,” quoth he, “sweet prince, wake up,
And to the door my mistress will come,
Which she uncheered would not fear:
As in Fortune’s golden storehouse so rich is thy might,
Thy bareness now is all, thy worth all the world:
That said, I love thee as a brother loves,
If thine be thine own, then be my love;
Even then my dear sister and I should both die.”
This said, he takes her by the hand,
And kisseth her on the lips, whereupon she fainteth,
She is alive, and yet her eyes still lighteth;
Her tears do rain forth forth again;
And when the rain stops, his tears are fled.
‘So shall my love live a better life;
Thou lov’st me, and I my love.
Love is not to be sullied by precedent,
Wherein all men are sullied by precedent;
That is, she admir’d, for admir’d beauty
Is not sullied by precedent,
That is, she admir’d, for admir’d beauty
Is all in his head. “Come,” quoth she, “look in my glass;
My glass is full of glasses, and all my view
Is illusory, like night-wanderers’ sticks;
My glass is full of lies, and lies true,
When I dare frown on true deeds.
Look, all these windows which you see are dim,
And yet they seem shining gold, and yet they seem night-blind;
And yet their worth in my view is determined,
I must not bewitch you for fear
Of shadows that in my view do disgrace me.
If thou wilt permit, then be kind;
As soon as I have got rid of my shadow,
Till then shadows in thy glass will not be taken;
So be it, if thou permit’st to live a lie.
‘But whiles against the day, when the sun hath set,
His shining hair doth wreath his light,
And when he himself doth shine,
His shining chin doth catch the ebon glow,
Whose motion is such that no shadow doth lend it light.
‘O night, poor prey of night, what dost thou desire
to see thy beauty wither in darkness?
If thou wilt, bezance is death-worthy;
That’s why I never kill myself to see thee grow.
This said, she throws on a brook,
The fire that burning in the brook doth burn,
And that burning heat by hot desire doth stay.
‘O, my love! thou didst convert me!
thou didst convert me! what of thee?
O, if my love had not converted me,
My love would not have turned white, though with many a tear,
As in the night, which we call ‘gins anew.
‘But now he speaks; ’tis summer and I return;
But here in the shade sleeps a youthful man,
So do I now against my Will be found,
For fear of harms done to me by others.
This he will not entertain, and now she darts,
And now, all at once, her angry eye
Sings, ‘Will you excuse me, or will ye excuse me?’
She quakes, and now she plunges her head
Into the gaping wound of her wounding tongue;
She says her sorrow is too great,
And she will not let it go, nor allow it to stay.
‘Will you excuse me?’ quoth she; ‘if it will, shall it not stay?
If not, it shall stay, and then ’tis my fault,
‘”Lo, I have been prophesied that in thee
A thousand swains the world may dismount,
For I have said, ‘I will kill thee quickly;
If thou do, then I will kill thee quickly.’
If that said, he will say, ‘No,’ and ‘Then mayst thou pause,’
And then ‘Pauses’ the thought,’shall kill me quickly.’
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘I


======== CHECKPOINT 061 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Chal’ to the white swan;
Or at her cheek a kind of reverend grace,
Which she, as she would be see’d, would not cleave;
Which for that reason she hath kept her tongue,
That foul infection may not yet stain her cheek.
For now she is mute, and her poor face appears pale,
Her cheeks, like sluices in water, boil.
‘Why didst thou not inform me of his going,
When such a dire hour yet lies between him and me?
Thy lips are silver and their white is full:
Now why didst thou not inform me when he was gone?
No, my lord, my love, I do not care
For thine eyes’ ill-fired device to disgrace him.
Yet in his absence he reigneth,
To make idle the rich and wasteful widow;
But when, poor Brutus, with all his might,
Under Pyrrhus’ direc’d tyranny reigneth,
The rich and the poor march to Troy,
Who with abundance still are but subject
To Roman arms, and to Roman shame.
His honour lives but in the victory,
And all others perish from the shame of his
attacking hours.
This verse in Lucrece proves
an excuse to me of my untimely absence:
Not that I may in good conscience say,
That I should for my self, be absent,
But that my absence, my true self, being near,
Will preach a false story to my foes,
That they will all too well believe,
And then this poor wretches story to my foes will say,
‘For she hath made him her slave, and he his wife:
I will not love her for that, nor he for that.’
And so he sighs, and then he answers,
‘To give Lucrece revenge.’
Aye, she will; she will not,
To make him stop his car and go to bed.
‘Now leaden sleep, the heavy bosoms do throng thee;
I have sworn to secrecy thou shalt see
The accident that will bring me to this grave,
When I, like a pale infant, being bred again,
Will thenceforth be mute, and then helpless,
With this silence I swear a vow, a bond,
Or at the least, a bond of friendship.
‘His hand, as it were a platter,
Hath fasten’d in a nimble knot;’
His right hand, as it were a cannon,
Shone with the hand that to mine was swift.
If that be stopp’d, how shall my horse be run?
No doubt he will go, and not the other way,
And never once bids Adonis stay his edge;
Then can I, my horse, but to win the day.
A thousand excuses I can devise,
Against your self, your parts’ design,
To make me hate thee as I hate you hate thee;
Let my love’s sweet form in some sort,
Make thee like him in love, and in that like,
form I will keep constant, to make thee different.
O fairest thing in nature’s image,
That can make thee shine newer, fairest in form,
Or turn thee new-appearing when new-appearing,
Or any such thing as that in thee.
“The diamond she took from the cedar where she lay,
Her jewels took from the alabaster trees,
Her blood, like milk in some distillation,
Shows it to have pith in her beguiling:
But she still with that which is kept in store,
The diamond still doth bear that due,
And that which is kept in store in my fee,
With that pith still doth grow,
And nimble growth keep me company oft.
As fast as speed can persuade, so slow be
The tiger to the lascivious nest.
So shall his name be forgot,
And his beauty made a monument to night,
Where beauty’s golden age once stood
May be gone, beauty in the old,
For beauty dead, beauty living in beauty.
O how your fair gift may I bequeath to thee,
To thee, I’ll most joyfully die!
But thou, my sweet, was not thy fair,
The kindling of the flame that burning brinish flame,
Which hotter by hot desire burned,
Than by nothing being hot at all.
I see the time hath passed, and I not the time,
When my muse shall dwell upon thy memory,
Till I blot thy record with dust and wear it out,
Since my self and thee are both nothing.
So may my love survive to-morrow stain,
And then it


======== CHECKPOINT 061 OUTPUT # 004 ========

pass to be a partaker.
‘But now for the sake of thy sweet-proud virtue
With all my might I come in need of some medicine.
If that fortune, too great, be bereft me,
My suffering still with that which thou hast left me.
“How is it that in spite of all my might
Toil for nothing, or seem nothing at all?
The world’s best hope depends upon thee,
With thy constant example so constant,
Mine eyes, true poets, have skill in subtle craft,
To change thy state, thy state’s happy ending,
To leave no dull dame behind, and do
The sad task of mending the broken.
Yet do I not think it a blot that thy might
Disorderly thy breath leaves behind, and be not kill’d
By rudeness or bluntness of heart.
“Thou mak’st the very thing we prophesy,
to tell the wise, would prove tedious,
As reading a mourner’s note in a shop’s shop.
His words being lost, his wit deeply wound;
His errors o’erwhelming and contradicting:
His wit being stout, his boldness growing,
Being proud, his bluntness becoming.
But this my love to Collatine
Was but a sweet child, and childish ill:
His worth so strict, so low, so deep was his pride,
that it did not above register
Than compare the rarities of nature’s and men’s eyes.
“Whence hast thou then come to this knife,
To make a man’s wound, or a woman’s disgrace?
Whose outward part remains the same,
When every joint gives perfection a blemish?
Or when the heart corrupts, the eye dims,
And wretchedness marr’d in that place?
O how she prepares to leave him,
The eye, which she covets still seeks,
Doth miss him, and leaves her alone.
‘Yet have I seen the dreadful spectacle
Of a helpless babe shrieking in fright;
Who, holding her in a cross, brandishing a stick,
With white and direful eye she doth mock;
Her voice is hoarse, her eyes are wild,
She cries, “Kill him!” and, “Kill me!”
yet thou shalt have my torment,
Thine eye, that hath never wrought thee this torment,
Will wink again, and mine eyes shall never wink again,
Nor thy heart that hath not sung thee praises.
O, that eyes which never did see thy beauty smiling,
Shall blot thy sorrow with thy grief’s shade,
Which will seem more black and damned when thou wilt look.
O what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the face of such a great shame!
Then why dost thou pine and yet not pine
The thought of true evil, which doth so much praise?
thou, my love, wert but the father of youth,
And thou shalt spend the rest of your youth in youth,
Or in youth with my love, in youth with thee.
‘Yet ah! thy faults may yet appear
Fair that we behold, and their errors blest;
Though we abhor them as infamies,
We hold them to be so, and so good
as fair as heaven’s sun, or moon.
But to our fair sun, or to thy counterfeit moon,
We honour them with our sun or moon’s shade;
Then let us strive to be the better,
To live by thy likeness alone;
And if this be not our crime, then let it not be
For stealing thy looks, stealing beauty’s delight.
Yet in him there seemed a frown, and there
A kind of fear, which her eyes did confound.
‘I have seen some ugly women in their slumbers,
I have seen some sweet-smelling creatures,
But never one so reproachful in his will
As those two stood on either side.
O, look what wretchedness lies in thy heart;
As thou canst not bear it, at least keep thy will open.
When thou shalt behold some worthless thing,
That thou shalt have to wonder at, do thy utmost
To make it seem good, and there it will stay.
‘In vain,’ quoth he, ‘I bid this shadow dwell,
In all my soul’s power it will mine eye behold;
For that poor soul in whom it depends feeds,
Hath serv’d this shadow, that false eye that did steal.
‘What helpless thing dost thou iniquity hold,
That this shadow doth so much harm to thee?
If thou wilt answer ’tis none of thy shame,
If not, then my soul’s fault lies with thee:
ou


======== CHECKPOINT 061 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Carmen for her sake shall find another way.”
Then with her assail’d hand she unclipp’d her hair,
And with her lips parted, began to kiss,
Like fair maidens kissing mortal fingers, so she begineth
To talk; and the one fair, the other gay,
Calls it both, the man and woman’s likeness.
“Say this to Adonis,” quoth he, “this night I’ll be with thee:
A woman for thee doth wear this gaudy,
For I am a goddess; but as a woman I am wretched.”
And so she answers him, “Well, ah well, then, say so,
As a poet would say: ‘In praise of beauty write,
Beauty’s gloss, and beauty’s blemish;
Which beauty’s gloss should cover, and beauty’s blemish;
When in it should the blemish be applied;
Where’s the stain? where’s the defect? When’s the blemish?
What is it that makes you want to touch it?
O let it not shame you, when beauty hath stain’d,
The eye hath drawn it’s foul edge,
And like a merciless butcher it doth dwell.
‘The boar,’ quoth she, ’tis quite tame, and will hunt;
He will not touch it, but will hie it with his beard:
, despite of this, she in her white fleece did
Reserve the lion’s crest, by whom he was wont to bow.
‘”The thing that doth surprise us most is
The uncertain moment that ensues it;
When, following the same motion,
Like a band of sheep pursuing the boar,
One falls, another leaps, and so forth again.
This time her fear was tame and kind:
But when her sweet muse interrupted her music,
Like birds that shrieking in the night,
Whose shrieking shrieks did him welcome;
All round her with a loud noise, hisses, and neighs,
That the world perceives his smiling face.
‘”How can this man, of such a foul heart,
With such a boar’s cry, and such a tongue,
Give him leave to do, or leave him my tongue,
Or else his hold upon this sway would break;
And so he would stop, like a hard-favour’d lark,
In whispering some sad tale to his rider,
And leaden souls on to this vengeful doom.
Now hear the trumpet proclaim, “This man’s heir.”
This blessed anthem now her heart
Sings, as brass and note take thee;
And in thy bosom that sings thou rest’st
In me, that is thy mortal home,
As thou thy self in my body liv’st here,
And my body in thee my body hath stain’d.
“Oh no!” quoth Lucrece, “no, no, I will not kiss thee.”
‘O thou who with thy fault, despite thy fault
No impediment can stop thee,
Thy fault is youth and beauty’s vengefulness;
oth thy honour be forgot, and thy fame
To rob thee of so much gold and to rob thee
That’s worth something in thy deeds worth.
This said, he beats his horn, and neighs and neighs,
Making war upon the weak, and the dumb,
Forc’d his horse to the right or left.
“So now I have some doubt,” quoth she, “that he will not win.”
O no! he cannot lose! Too late he began to say;
‘He could,’ quoth she; ‘but the wind did strike him;
His lips had contorted into little puffs,
like little toy seals that keep clean water;
He is such a foul creature that he will not touch,
That on the day he should see his fair self die,
he may be spied upon, if he so desire,
But never, no matter what, shall wink his eye.
‘”But that my mistress’ eyes may see what I am,
Comes in such a quill that she hath writ,
That I think her wronged husband may be freed.
“O, dear friend,” quoth Lucrece, “if that be your mistress’ ink,
Then it shall suffice to use this poor blot:
No more shall stain the goodly bed,
The blot shall cover the blot, and you my slave.”
The red rose, from whose fresh plum hangs
A striking crest, with her fair colour writ,
Sets the curious spectacle:—
The fair rose being betoken to the hounds,
The sound enters her ear, and from thence proceeds
To fright the bees, which in chase fight


======== CHECKPOINT 062 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Kron for sin of blood?
Or that the fault be my absence,
Though I in thee still are gone.
My sins have emptied my city, my city’s coffers,
And with their tears hast thou made me thrall,
And thou hast made the breach, my city hath sworn.
‘What of thee,’ quoth she,’my body, or my soul,
Who lives, dies, and I am gone?
what of thee, my body, or my soul,
Either lives, or I am dead?
O none else, none other than me, that lives, dies,
And nothing else but me, for I am gone.
In that case the worst of it is right,
To leave his shadow, and join his beauty still.
When I come to question of his truth,
The wise Collatine answers with gentle care,
‘My mistress,’ quoth she, ‘in thy power
With blunt rhetoric can dispense.
In her speech so brief hath she been painted,
that his speech did tend her words,
And she in his made words much affected.
The lesson of this lesson she cannot well learn,
For what the author doth teach, and what the beholder doth say.
And yet, as some workman is wont to abuse,
The vulgar skill of the poor can make him rich,
the dead cease, the living again join.
Then would the wind which blows from her torch
Intend an earthquake, and then exclaim;
‘O Opportunity, thou art so bad,
That no one can see thee, do not despair
To see me die, that I no man can see thee.’
She laughs, and then she more wildly
Puffs on her torch, as though it burneth hot,
A thousand times, as being driven mad:
At last she throws her face into the fire;
Then turns and runs away, to make a pause,
Being vexed with the wantonness of his words.
“And whiles against a thorn thy foot it shall grow,
And in it thou shalt find a sweet shrub,
Th’ expense of a lawful home.
Thus do I groan for him, and for my poor wife;
“No,” quoth she, “no, no,” quoth he;
Her eyes are fixed on mine, and she cannot see
Their lusty enchanting hue; so she lets them get;
Then they with gentle ceremony place,
With gentle ceremony remove:
Then with gentle ceremony they proceed:
Then is it lawful for me to curse thee,
And swear that thou didst murder me;
My life was thy purpose and thy fair end,
And my fair end as thy dead body was.
‘Thence comes Collatinus’ horse, tired and hasty,
With armed captain to keep him company;
When in greater pride he hath been,
And with greater pride been slain,
A youthful youth, a wilful youth, a rascal youth,
Whose hatefully he carries to extremes.
“I will not bewitch thee with my loud groans;
The one will smile, the other will be mute;
Both shall chant Tarquin’s name, and Tarquin’s sorrow.
‘Well, O truth, what sorrow dost thou make!
deep sighs do tend, that the flood keepeth
The deep grave, which is the tomb wherein the son
May live and spend his days.
O help them, I fear none, though they rob me oft,
The very hope that they will rob me when I live,
is to win her heart, if she want but lose it,
She will fight with all her might, and yet lose it all.
“But now,” quoth she, “once more I see the day
Where beauty lies, where men fear and scorn,
The world cannot bear to see it amended.
I hate not beauty that in thine age
I did not disdain but love:
Yet when these tables have been set,
My love shall thrive in these tables,
And love shall in my tables thrive in you.
‘”Thus far they have ranged me from their tent,
From their foul tent where they shall dwell,
Thy sun will not fright them there, but they there will eat
The flesh of cattle, that feeds on this growing beast.
O then are they gods to tempt men,
Thy lips to kiss, and thy heart to hate,
But in love thou wilt not trust, despite my words,
They that would not love me unless they could be free,
I can give, but they that cannot be give thee will keep.
Thou wilt give all, and more than enough I crave,
To spend the night with my sweet-hearted wife.
The sun that d


======== CHECKPOINT 062 OUTPUT # 002 ========

[A man cannot kiss a woman, unless she have some kind of oath.”
‘O then, thy shame, thy great folly,
From thy lips a sigh of relief is blown.
This said, she straightly drops her head,
Which, with trembling hands she descanteth,
Finding no other remedy, she begins to weep.
‘Then couldst thou not break forth thy hand’s lily colour?
Whilst I in thy arms were sleeping,
Sweet Patience, with thy kind gracious hand,
Couldst thou open thy heart and feel thy friend,
Even in thy arms and in my body’s touch?
Why dost thou bequeath to wrongs that thou dost steal,
Since thou art the better for my sake to steal from thee?
For I in thee art all wrong, my fault is my own,
That thou my self art mine, my fault is thy own.”
But this, in answer to the wail-beating maid,
Tears o’er her cheeks, and forth she throws.
Her soft hand doth gently press her soft lips,
And with a heavy groan doth she begin
To groan, till her soft nails make a groan.
“Lo thus I cry, O let me not say that I love,
Nor mine eyes nor mine own heart to plead;
Nor mine own eyes nor mine own heart to cheer,
Nor mine own heart nor mine own body to weep;
For all my might is against all, against all parts,
And yet, for love, all is well in mine power.
‘His lips are bold, their brow short,
His nose short, his lips blunt, his chin twisted,
His voice weak, his back rough, his back full full of rage.
“This man, this devil, this mourner,
This gypsy, and this hound of the field,
This jade, and this weed,
And this hideous serpent, and all these other fiends
I have woven from thee,
That through your memory I may know
When your memory is ready to recall what you mean.”
“My body was made for war,” quoth he, “and now I’ll kill it.”
She starts, and there hisses a heavy groan;
The wolf’s fur upon his pelt is quickly blown away;
The hawks and owls, the trees being gone,
Do tear the sap from the meadows’ green,
And down the meadows’ green do mulch
The bounty of the meadows, so large,
That it hath cost the world an evergreen grove.
‘”O, give me thy hand, and I will stroke it;
What of thee says, ’tis not enough to kiss?
The heart hath the power to make me like thee;
That power which thy passion hath hath cannot forbid;
The thought then is both mad and sad,
That soul that was but child and was but child’s friend.
Now that body hath power to love,
What power can it not abuse?
My mistress’ hand, my dear;
And all my life to live my love in spite
My mistress’ heart. ‘Father, what have you done
That should have brought me into this rage?
Thy eye hath done all that to open this eye
To all the world that look’d on thee:
From what side did Tarquin sail that blow
His sail, that swift sail that speed’d from this place?
But now the sun hath set, and all is lost.
‘”How many a handmaid’s handmaid’s she in hue,
With silken quill, feat and form’d, feat and form’d
With all the best arts of her craft,
With pearls, sapphires and opals her fine churl hat,
Or to the brass or the urchin the spear wield;
And to her well-pined glass the true-bearded hound,
Is listening, and makes comments on the things he sees.
‘Now turn thy head from this side, and look thou east,
And here is an unused valley,
Which shall be the seat of the gentle birds;
And in that seat sit Collatinus,
To entertain the birds with his song.
By this, Collatinus drew up his nose,
And in it a sacred jewel,
With dials and precious stones, a wondrous workmanship,
Great Art in the Time of Time, made of Time.
For the time being thou wilt keep this promise,
That I may be the father of this child,
In thee this eternal boy, in thee this child,
So shall my love live as thou livest,
By virtue in love of love, so shall my child.
This promise I make


======== CHECKPOINT 062 OUTPUT # 003 ========

anew in my speech I did prove untrue:
Thou art a man full of conceit, a man contented
With flattering descriptions, but yet not so kind as thou,
As ‘twixt a man and a boar,
When it is aptly understood thy skill,
That it is a pretty sight, and I am quite blind,
Yet in my sweet praise of thee stand I,
As if I were your equal, your fair name.
I shall live, I will die, and yet thou art still:
Hast thou not assured me I am old and not old?
If so, how shall I live then, that thou art alive?
If not, what part of thee is old,
And what part of thee is new,
That I may speak for thee?
But, as I have said before, I cannot speak unless thou speak.
Thy lips their shapes did lend thee some light,
To lead them on in their quest,
That through the night they would behold
The hopeless look of helpless helpless death.
‘So shall the night arise to curse the day,
Which makes thy absence so great a joy:
Her husband must resign his majesty,
And be a king unto himself,
Which, like a tyrann, desires him still.
‘How shall my tongue be master of that tongue
Which my true affection hath not taught,
To praise, to curse, and to forbid me?
Or will it be tongue-tied, and then merely praise,
Lest the slander be so heinous a mark,
that it should his affections despise,
And put him upon the throne of thine,
Whilst he upon thy fair throne reign doth live,
That the thought of him should in any respect offend thee.
“This said, Collatine, on that steep bank,
The strong-bonded merchant Cytherea lies,
With her mistress’ new-fall’d carriage out-ranks:
Her browny locks did hang in crooked curls,
Like brittle pylons that seem to break when they are held fast,
Which Pyrrhus would not break but kiss with such dexterity,
That they would both wail Collatine dead.
‘”O Time, thou blotisher! Time’s scythe, thy blushing tongue,
That on my forehead thou dost bear such disgrace,
O Time, thou fool! Time’s scythe, thy smother’d blush,
That all thy silver blood doth spill forth such foul dishonour,
That it doth burn the world’s best jewel,
And set all mortal eyes to dust and despair,
And make the earth sick with perpetual plague,
By the burning shade doth she proceed,
And so she languisheth in her chamber,
till, poor fool, my verse shall catch,
And I’ll tell your dear life to be forgotten,
For I must bequeath thee all to decay,
And nothing shall hold you by your side,
But I’ll make thee swear I saw your face,
And hear it told in your illiterate age.
But thou whose eyes my soul doth behold,
Hath taught me all my skill to enchant,
That I to better my looks and to show thee still,
Thy beauty doth teach thy self beauty’s lesson.
By this she hears the latch clapping of latch,
And the latch opens wide to let in the way;
One might have wished he were here, but he is not here.
No, I love my self more still, though my self be gone,
To live in the knowledge of many a false god,
And to this false god keep my self ignorant.
O, in thy breast thy glory dwells,
And in thine own breast doth live all that is seen.
If that be a conceited doom,
I tell the time thou dost deceive, and yet not write
To those that may be told what thou mean’st,
To those that are yet unaware thy deeds tell.
‘O if that be true, how shall my verse be remembered,
That no such poet can write such good words,
Thy living memory will be thine, and my verse thine?
For in thine I’ll sing this praise, and in thee shall live,
The wit of my surviving age,
What shall I say but to praise thee,
When thou shalt be forgot, and I thine?
Or to make my memory my guide,
If thou shalt use all my might
To make more living, with greater increase?
That is my hope, and for that faith,
To breed in me more living words,
That which thou shalt breed in me more dying:
Then shall I be thy poet, and live my verse,
in the matter which you for


======== CHECKPOINT 062 OUTPUT # 004 ========

elson in his breast he lies:
For now I grant that you are young, and full of fear,
Love is your father, and you your mother’s child.
‘To make things worse,’ quoth she, ‘it is I which say:
That you in this wicked deed
Are to blame my death and my life being troubled,
You (your self) shall never find out.
I have sworn you fair kinsmen and all my blood
And they that by your deeds in me have stain’d,
I swear that I have owed them nothing,
They are as dead as ashes in my house.
To make things worse, what follows
Will never be cured unless you take all my love,
And you, my love, shall cure my death.
Thou art as good a lover as I am,
as he were slain, with a blasting bell.
But this said, she with more fear than pity,
Threw the body in a river which her hand did lend,
That blood thus flowed that to stain her face.
Thus did he ravish her maiden mind,
And with renewed rage she did make another writ,
‘Why lov’st thou me not, dear boy, when I am full old?
The sooner I am struck with desire, the sooner I give,
And the sooner I give the more, and give more.
So is love still in force; but now it is broken;
To return to force the sooner will do;
Which in the meantime, being full grown, desires be,
By augmenting his might, so shall his might be.
O me! my tears are thread’d, and my soft hands full glad!
And in my trembling arms doth Lucrece writ
And this poor picture, in her mind so dyed,
That some thought might utter it good,
And call it true, if love be true,
To-morrow hath more than enough time;
The hour is expired, and then thou wilt have,
In all haste, haste thou bid my will abide.
As the crow flies, so doth her face fly;
To make them balk, quoth she, she flies away.
O none, I am strong, and therefore this will be,
To take advantage of weaklings weak;
And not strong women, to be strong they should breed;
And therefore she, as some a stronger being,
Wields the lance, the shortbow, and the dire-beguiling spear,
As fast as she can march with thee.
‘What dost thou bewain’st that I have not learned?
I could not tell thy beauty from my sight,
But thou art my friend, and thy friend shall live
Like fair Lucrece in thy self-declared youth.
‘”Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
That taught the art of needlework well,
And given me a hand that to nurse,
I made some gentle sport; whereof I have never felt,
Nor can my true feeling, despite of such strife,
Be absolution for grief and damn’d impiety.
But as for thee, that sweet instrument of my love,
That hath taught me so much of what I love,
And made me a better actor than thou wast,
For that, and for that, do I vow never to kill.
And yet, for that, and for that, do I say
To do no more, that I cannot say more:
Then I swear I can’t be dead till my husband finds
That will to live, and never to die.
For how can I then justify myself to die,
And yet being dead, why then am I still alive?
The very thought of death brings sorrow unto thee,
And thou hast my will, to have it done;
That’s to it, answered I, that thou shalt bequeath.
‘Thou mayst be gone,’ quoth he; ‘but I promise to hunt
Thorny boar, and bear it to my lechers;
And lo the boar, the wolf, and the other three
Who, by some unhallow’d law, do dare to tread thee,
Can neither bark nor touch the ground without a bark;
And no, no more than a husky dog, bark shall sit
Upon thy neck, no more being afraid.
“Lo thus hath she been bidden: ‘Lo thus hath she been woo’d;
Her locks are histed in lattice, each lock yielding one;
Her jewels in sheath bequest’d bequeath’d,
That hath the power to take away the sting,
And kill the boar with swift motion.”
To the turtle she calls attention,
To the direful hawk, the direful boar,
To the


======== CHECKPOINT 062 OUTPUT # 005 ========

WORI love thy soul,
And lo, it is with thy good turn to weep,
To hear thy dear sick brother weep.
‘My laments were brief; now are short:
My sorrow is greater: so are my sorrow’s length;
My sorrow is two; and three, and three,
One with grief, the other mild,
As if a dream begetting came in.”
The laments were brief; now are short:
My sorrow is greater: so am I.
‘Had the sun not smelt of thy face,
Heard thy complexion chang’d from fair to foul,
Shone like a wild boar, and by him swam;
Had the wind blown it from him, and hefted it straight.
He had no fear of the levell’d tiger,
nor fear of the hairy boar,
But he did wink at them with curious eyes;
He wink’d with such care that his lip
Beep’d up a hideous shrieking ear;
He then with his lips upon her lips,
Like pitch-black clouds confound the view.
‘My sweet Adonis,’ quoth she, ‘this night I must depart,
Though thou dost come again in the morning:
Aye, I’ll be gone; but now I will stay,
And then the night will come and end,
And lo, the weary night I’ll remain.
‘”When thou wilt be my lord, make my bed.”
This she says, as one untuck’d doth holla,
Her lips are white, like marigolds, her cheeks red,
Her forehead is full of posied cares,
Her eyes are wild, her mouth is turn’d rude,
Her joints are shaking with little terror;
A thousand woes, all controll’d with little care.
Thy mind being idle, thoughts too keen to wits,
And too much folly in credulous speeches,
To debate in senseless words what is right.
His eyes, like falchion, with fiery radiance,
Show’d like shining stars, whose radiance shines like fire.
‘So is it with thee, and thou hast thy part,
To lose the war, and never redeem it:
The loss of my love is nothing,
But my loss of thee is the gain of many.”
His lips were red as crystal, his nose white,
Her cheeks red as snow, his nose white as snow,
His lips were merry-go-ry white, his nose full of lust,
Her cheeks red as snow, his nose white as snow.
When I in him beholding this strife,
I conclude he will win the day, and lose my life,
Though I lose all of thee, and thou hast all my glory,
By this I shall be accounted a fool, a thief, a fool, a beggar,
And I a miser, and thou a miser I be.”
Thus she concludes his story by accusing him of ill,
And bids him repeat it again: “Thou art all but a piece of art,
A piece of dressing-starved fame to a king,
And nothing worth living that no man could admire.”
“And yet is beauty so fair a name,
That no man hath the right to change his mind.”
“Now let me tell the story of the Trojan fair,
Till Trojan fair began her fair name;
When Trojan fair began, no name but her name,
Now Trojan name is her fair name and none of her race.
Thy fair name is I, and thou none else;
Thy name is none, and none else then.
‘So thou shalt not steal my horse from the way,
The thief doth troth, and my sweet boy will be gone,
Thy car will not stop him, his horse cannot stop him.
Thy rider is gone, and I no more can ride,
I will hunt thee down, and thou shalt find me.”
Then woe beisend! Too late she says she intends
To hunt him down with a thousand sticks;
Then shalt thou wane, her grief to bear so long,
She must not kill herself to bear it longer,
She must not hate herself for this,
And know thou art mad, she did not hate herself
To die for such a vow.
“Thou counterfeit of true faith,” quoth she, “I was taught that thou shouldst kill;
And, ah, this oath was made unto me,
And in it hath power to make murder seem
As simple as perjury, whereof I mean,
As perjury is compounded of several words.
O thou false god of vain falsehood!
What dost thou base of wit that thinks thou wilt write
Such worthless blanks as thy false tongue so spake


======== CHECKPOINT 063 OUTPUT # 001 ========

screamed, with her long-slack’d eyelids he doth glance, as he must, at those who cross his way.
For shame, she had no right to speak,
But she must not slander the life of a love,
For it was the lease of her life that she doth call,
And that life that so aptly doth live.
“Thou wronged groom of thine, ah, here I come back,
The day hath drawn nigh, and nigh it shall be gone,
And in my absence shalt thou live, if that be not death’s mark,
In the blood of thy dead wife and children.
Look what life can do but stir up sorrow,
And do so, by death, with the life of thy dead wife.
He then, panting, takes in his eyne,
Like a black-fac’d vulture he robs the sky;
What silly cares it, yet still he liv’d,
And now it doth homage pay.
And to the rich for his show did pay the dowry;
He, graceless and contented, still did desire,
That the sight might show his face.
O no! thou art not, I assure thee,
That so thy name may be called,
And the fame of thine, to be admired still.
This said, he straightly on, being pale,
Sith in her arms did presently rise,
And that his red blood should shine so bright,
That he should not lose his shine again.
‘So I do beg of thee; let it not detain me
For thou art all that I have; for this purpose,
I have receiv’d thee so fair a thing;
I hold thee in trust, and I promise to give thee
More than thou shalt find in that which thou dost deceive.
Then come, poor sprite, and see me shake hands,
I’ll force them to kneel beside me,
And kiss their lips, to mark the red blush
Which their lips purl’d with purple hue.
‘This thy poor ill-working hour calls;
This wretched hour calls to mind his part,
And lo, that this unprofitable hour calls,
The guilty party must pay the full price;
The guiltless party doth bear the lesser part;
The guiltless party doth bear
The greater part of the rest doth bear;
The guilty party doth bear
The lesser part doth bear
Than the lesser part bear in paying the full cost:
Then, mad, by this unfair law goes he by,
She kneels, and there he doth begin
To chide, and to beg her pardon;
To show his foul mistress’ face she doth contrive,
And thus he with his other two neighs,
Lurk’d their discontents with her discontent,
With his boisterous cry did discord with his groans:
To make her complain more, he would not let go;
But as they ne’er saw his discontent,
Anon she hears his grievance grow stronger.
‘But let me state for the record,
That my injuries were but physic, not physic’
aid by her husband’s side; for his sake she beauteous
To leave her beloved maiden-tongued husband.
‘Well may she say good night, my good-morrow;
But I hope it may be said I hate thee more;
That it may be said I hate thee more for thee;
That it may be said thou lov’st me more for thee.
thou (doctor-like) mayst assay the truth,
Even in my absence, and yet thou art
The one who hath to do my sick leave.
‘Why then is my absence so great,
When so many worthy friends of mine have died?
I have heard the news that your father-in-law is dead;
So now the sad news is yours.
“Lo, the sickly queen of this dark night,
I did not intend to leave her;
Nor were I tempted;—But I did swear—
That I would not go on living,
Unless, like her, you would betray her.”
“Were I alive to betray her,
With lips red as blood and lips black as mud,
Had I been married to her before,
I should have died for her; but I never did.”
“Had I been married to her before,
Or had I been married to her now,
She might have my picture with her, still I live,
And still she, I should never be married again.”
‘In vain,’ quoth he, ‘I say, I did not intend
To live by my own fall;
I did not intend to live by your fall;


======== CHECKPOINT 063 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Murd as his golden habitude once stood,
That by his glowing sun in the west
Shows the beauties of nature’s fresh crown.
The sun, which is in the air about to rise,
Smoking from his shining breast, presently sits;
For now the sun and moon are set,
And thou shalt see them at their beauties stand.
When thou beholdest the world to be made,
Thy heart’s aim is to take advantage of time,
And do deeds of office with leisure:
My office is to serve thee, and thy office to shun,
That is, to steal souls away, and then kill them all.
She sees him frown, and his cheeks bulge,
And every joint trembles with terror.
She shakes her head, and then, with a heavy groan,
She throws herself on the ground, and cries, “Lo, behold, what a torment
My flesh and blood have done to you, and I must
Profit these murders, and they more; and here I abide;
For when a stranger doth question such shameful deeds,
I will not question him still; for why, I know
Thy own untutored youth shalt not know.”
‘I swear,’ quoth he,’myself was once a tributary,
And sometime diverted to other welfare;
My kinsmen have lent me a livelihood to live,
But my body’s work is the body’s decay,
And I life’s ruin is the death of my love:
My love’s legacy doth live in death,
And I in life, through my death begets thee,
And you in posterity give all our place,
Since thou art all that’s left us.
And being full of boast, yet still unwilling
To boast upon the ground of truth,
I dare not say I loved thy complexion
Whose bare face, like unbleached marble,
Shook all the clouds that day should peep in night.
But love’s golden locks to his silver crown,
Which like crystal gems now stand ready,
Where on that base the skies are seen,
The weakling earth with her continual wind,
Sits in the dark, till morning wither’st and morning dry,
And thou hast thy majesty here set,
When in me the world is crowned,
And in thy visage thou dost reign!
And when in me thou art crowned,
What dost thou do to deserve such esteem?
But now she takes all she can, and yet she cannot cure,
Though she herself be cast away, or live reproach,
But in me thou dost lie, and in me thou wilt stay.
O that my life may in some measure be kept
Bright and simple in form,
Since in it thou dost falseness lurk,
The lily doth the flower stand tall?
Or wouldst thou be the lily that doth stand?
O, if thou wilt, I swear that thou art
The cedar, the lofty pine and the spotted bough
With unrivalled beauty’s tenderness,
My spirit shall be free and strong in thee,
And in thy strength shall I prove,
Whilst in thee I make such weak resistance,
That in thy strength I seem to lack thee.
Thence comes the time of winter, where thy beauty lies,
And thou dost now live in fear of all winter’s cruel days.
So must I have this dire-hour dreading,
Who, like a pale-fac’d child, doth wander about alone,
For fear of whom he cannot take delight.
A shadow, in his dim view, hides a face:
All shadows are mortal in that which they view.
‘In thy sleep thou art but an infant,
When nature in thy sweet infant lies,
Shall pervert the growth of thy being,
That thou through thy body in being grown,
Will, through thy joints, lose thy place.
To get rid of this shadow would be thy foe:
thou through my soft body dost be kept,
The defect of my softness being made stronger.
O, that I might as yet have been
A son, and live again, and still be a son,
So be it, if thou be such a desire,
I for thy sake give this life my all.
‘”Then why hast’t the old maid come
To tell me where she got her son?”
“No, no,” quoth Collatine, “not from Lucrece’ side,
But from her own accord.”
“Then are you fond of foul Sinon, for stealing thy son?”
“That’s no, son,” quoth Lucrece, “I dare not say so.”
But Collatine sc


======== CHECKPOINT 063 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Launch from thence he flies,
He takes advantage of every moment’s mischance.
And this idle woe is not reckoned dead:
Nor is it remembered: in fact,
It is our malcontent to comment on it.
‘It was not his, it did not enchant his mind;
And he had not the power to give it to him,
But ’tis himself in that influence that doth owe
His affection.
‘Thus begins the abuse:—’Lo in the morning,
I view the naked ravisher panting in the way,
And lo, the green widow, wither’d, being slain,
With this her murder’s swift and bleeding shore,
The dying sea-god gives a sad groan.
‘So be it, though thou live, my love shall not touch thee,
For thou art in love with the thing thou lovest.
To be true to thy self, so be it:
For nothing in thee is ever said,
Hath left my love, and then thy love is dead:
Thy beauty is dead, and all my love is living.
‘Thus ends the story of a happy-hour’s fight,
That ‘twixt the rider and his friend
After which the coward fell he doth troth,
In valiant hands, though their rider be gone,
The coward doth fight, and in a rage
Doth exclaim, ‘Fie, fie, fie, fie! the fight was won!
Her life and her body did contend;
And in the ashes did meet the breath,
Which, mingled with vapours, would thence remain
Cool, and sweet, in spite of all ill:
So her death was not death but cold.
So am I now; and thou shalt find
Thy face still burn, thy life no more shall dwell:
Thy face shall live, and thou art dead.”
She cries out again, but she still cannot utter
A single word; and each word doth answer another.
‘O, no, no,’ quoth Lucrece, ‘no, no, no, no!
For no,’ quoth he; ‘no, no, no;
Thy beauty lies buried in so unfair
A tomb so simple and simple bred:
For to thy beauty that beauty lies,
My life must be a mansion to thee:
For why should death intrude here,
When thou art the father of my life?
‘Ay me,’ quoth she, ‘I must confess,
Thy art thy mother’s child, and to thee it
Crooked to death, till thou return again:
For thou shalt see my face all scarlet and wrinkle-red,
Hiding in my blood that all the world well knows
Shall curse that which thou cursed lov’st:
Then, gentle love, thou art the better of all evils:
Thou wilt prove me wrong, and then thou wilt prove
Thy own self-delusion in all my evil deeds.
So help I, if thou ever couldst lend my aid,
I will lend him my body and soul, and live thou on loan.
And thou, my dear friend, when he is come,
To lend my body and soul his or her,
So that thou mayst be my surviving friend,
The cause of thy being left behind.
‘All mine eyes are but as straw and bone,
And no eye hath the power to touch mine eye;
To make my mind at rest, I chant:
“My heart’s flame shall conquer all darkness;
My liver’s water will kill the plague of the day;
My left breast’s infection will breed the mire;
My right breast’s infection will breed the morn;
My whole amorously barr’d will hold fast
And thou (being king) shall never have my freedom.”
So she sings, with folded arms,
like unheated coal smoke from the furnace,
Like vapours from the furnace burning are mingled.
This said, she still cannot utter her purpose;
So she, with burning eyes, quoth he,’some foul offence took
From my bosom, that hath cast this vile eye
Into her breast an unkind and unkind thing.
He takes her by the neck and chafes her,
And by the waist he hits her as she struggles;
He takes her by the hand, whereupon she straightens;
He takes her by the waist, whereupon he bounds;
He takes her by the waist, whereupon he falls;
He takes her by the thigh, whereupon he bends;
He takes her by the thigh, whereupon he goes;
He takes her by the waist, whereupon he bounds;
He takes her by the neck, whereupon he


======== CHECKPOINT 063 OUTPUT # 004 ========

News in general, and all other arts of beauty debased
With a semblance of truth, though much diff’rence there:
They esteem it that beauty doth thrive
Where other arts are buried, yet it thrives,
The eye is dumb, and eyes dumb;
Wherefore dost thou look for a cure in art,
To make love to him so great a sight,
That thou dost desire it not? ‘Tis true, it doth live,
Like a pluck’d horn, being pounced by the boar.
“If he say, ‘Gainst his breath,’ thou art the first to say,
I’ll smother him with good humour, and send him away;
His lips, like sappy-pupils, will kiss his lips,
And with their tears shall win his soul the day.
‘But ah! the precedent which keeps this case
Is death, which kills, and life, that gives life.
Her passion doth debate, the more so
She still delays the judgment of her wits.
She that hears her love exclaims ‘I loved her,’
Yet she can neither know nor love her true state,
For ’tis a spite of love to talk, ’tis true;
The better knows that I had sex with other men,
And in my debriefed state did dispense,
With words of love that are better known,
To you, my love is as full grown as you are.
‘Tis true, ’tis true; I did not woo you;
Nor were I; nor was I his solicited touch.
‘O, let it then as they read,
When you in high heaven rehearse these things,
Then you, my heavenly guests, will rehearse,
In your heavenly accents, more perfect.
“All unrest some, but none too great some,
To wring the marrow from the blessed serpent,
Where they were wont to feed their eyes,
The naked serpent did devour them whole;
For heaven’s image is such an image slain
By the living serpent, that no living creature doth resemble.
She kneels before him, and he hums;
She hears him utter some words, and stops her pace,
To let him know that she intends to speak,
Though she hath no occasion to speak;
Her lips, as lips on velvet, did frame her words;
Like golden rings doth Adonis’ finger,
That through his visage appears a kind of rigour,
Which like a falchion once pent in water
Disappears, and falchion falchion ensconcy,
Whose white out-bleeding falchion falchion doth stand
To guard her jewel from the flies she throws:
The bird doth but sing, for fear of harms enchained.
‘Then be advised, my dear friend, this deadly task,
To shoot my deer in the back, before it is hit.
This said, he thrusts his hand through his eyne,
And with that, her passion doth quake,
Like as if an earthquake had struck it.
O therefore my love I have been waiting,
For when those stones which record your deeds come,
You may even imagine what I endured.
The night had ended, my maid was gone,
My son was gone, and Philomela
Was gone, and mine was the night.
‘Tis but a dream, that wakes the sleeping eye;
The false cloud that hides our stars and all things else
Is dimm’d by night’s ill effects;
And the morning sun doth no form shine till
he come, and take him by the hand;
Which she, proud and credulous in so high a mood,
Knew was all maladies but his will,
As the fiend that eats up all good is slain.
So then her wailing ‘Will’, all blushing,
Grieves his tears, and makes them wet again;
And so ends the morrow, till he gives a show.
As soon as thought had settled on the horse,
Alden’s son, to take him where he grew,
Appeared before him as he came,
To greet his comely guest with looks,
Appear as he to greet Adonis’ brow;
Appear like him, in Adonis’ pride,
That he is such a pleasant face to see,
That he is thought to disdain Adon by name,
To take advantage of that sweet boy’s show.
‘O, how happy a time it was then,
To see Collatinus alive and well!
A youthful hostess with two lovely children
As bright in the summer’s day as in the night,
Fairing the youthful wit


======== CHECKPOINT 063 OUTPUT # 005 ========

managed by th’ office,
Where like the dearest son, he hath cont’d,
To see, hear, touch, feel, and feel all this distress.
But thou wilt take these powers from my hand,
And take them from thine own heart,
And for thy self I vow that thou bear them ill,
To keep them from the knife-edge thou shalt find,
As thou wouldst bear them not in thy power,
Nor be they thy foes, thy foes thy friends:
So would I be thy enemy if I were your friend.
“Now come, young man, to thy chamber door,
Open it, and see my face; I’ll open it again;
My face to shame was nigh when I slew thee,
To shame’s face was bright when I slew thee.
What shame could a shame bring forth when sight was fled
From the thing it was borne?
When death came, what sorrow was left
Which, in grief for Lucrece’ life?
A thousand woes have my frailties fed;
And they, like the dying sea, ask pardon
For my absence, and then for my sake do write,
And swear to me, that I have been so bold,
As to break the oaths I did make to thee,
That thou shalt see my face in deeds of woe.
This said, he takes his bending knife,
Sharpens it to his liking; and then it hiss,
Panting and panting, and then it breaketh
Out again; and, more shrieking, more hotly fight.
‘In vain I pray to thee, Adonis;
I pray thou that I may have some possession,
Of thy sweet angelic blood, as thou dost bequeath
To this cross-tied life and thy husbandry.
So with this blessed league I prophesy,
To show our fair world how love works,
And make all-too-fair our time fairer.
By this token it may be supposed,
That there hath in his bud a bud with milk,
Which on the growing stalk appears a pretty damask,
Which like a plum once placed in
Holds her young, growing to be nought.
‘”Look,” quoth he, “this is the wound I have done to you,
Of that infected devil, which doth live in thee:
Thy wound needs no cure; but thou wilt have it when thou come.”
But the wound is not enough to stop him,
For he will soon be cured, and soon death shall have.
O how her eyes, like sapphire, glowed with her light,
And saucily did he take the knife,
Which she fastens to his piercing eye,
And smiles so cheerfully, that all amaz’d look,
That on her cheek there appears a piteous look;
So he fastens her up, and as his eye pricked her,
With tears doth she lend him still, and then he takes.
The first to conclude her sad tale,
With the second a little humour proceeds:
One fair queen in the hope that beauty may live,
With fair fairer flowers but shall not live,
Yet doth Tarquin make some addition
Of his own accord, or else his own purpose,
To spend the night in the company of men.
Her tears, which on her tender cheeks had dried,
Shook them forth again, and forth again,
Like sickle-tongued chafing pines, or as the boar cries,
Her white blood, red being fairer than snow.
“This night he sleeps, and tomorrow he sleeps till he finds
A way in hell to get himself out.”
‘Why, poor fool, what wrong hath he wrought!
All the world besides is foul that doth lie
In thy path and in thy soul’s view.
For lo this thy fair fair face harms thy life,
And all my fair self in self-will kill thee.
‘His eyes, like sappy flowers, did devour his sight;
That foul creature that deceives the heart
With his continual motion wastes not his foul venom.’
“O, kill me, do not kill my wife,” quoth she, “if that shall do.”
“That’s not enough for revenge, then excuse me;
My wife’s injury is not enough,
For revenge against my wife’s death.
She is still alive and yet her life is
To die with me alone; and yet her life being
With thee is no excuse no excuse;
For to die with thee I must leave.
For thou shalt live in vain, in my wife’s eyes,
Which are the eyes of truth, and reason the mind:
For to see thee in that dismal


======== CHECKPOINT 064 OUTPUT # 001 ========

rever at the fire which they stain.
This night she will not rest till she have seen thee,
And from thence will bewitch my unsavoury mood,
In dreaming of that night’s wrong,
I’ll enchant her with deeds of pure will,
Which I in vain intend will persuade her
To think some ill, or to undertake some deed,
As if I were ill-eater for trial,
Though my poor self, when I did devise
Thy beauty’s fire, thy sin’s poison’d pride,
I’ll kiss and fondling bequeath to thee
Thy self, thy self so pitiful forsake,
That thy love may in truth be praised so:
This said, he takes up the fire, exclaims on her pain,
Which burns up the woe of her suffering pain,
For why, quoth she, thou didst break their oaths,
To wear their shame, and to stain our shame.
Then she forth again, and again she cryeth,
‘O Time, thou do’st betray me,’ quoth she,
‘By betraying me to eternity.’
She then quips, ‘Thy eyes did forego their shine,
The sun never sets nor the world no summer doth shine;
Nor do they till their prey set.
What cares I then whether I have th’orbed circumstance
From far-off habit, or my neighbour’s defect,
Or travelled from my true seat to thine own,
And gone on foot in time of peace and war,
To let my sorrow be the theme of my times,
Which are short and long, lasting nothing.
‘Thy eye, sweet boy,’ quoth she, ‘this device,
Appalls my heart, that is but a dim-mouthed shadow,
Can never fairly play the part, and can never know
Whereon it lies; but through my soul it knows
Where it belongs, and where it may be placed assured.
“Alas, O what a dream a minute it hath!
All these minutes tell me that my heart
(Or rather my breast) hath writ all these words to you,
Till now, as if from some unseen evil,
Within the quiet cabinet of my breast,
A heavy-hanging bell sounds, to make my worser rounds;
Whose parts are too hard on me to bear,
Or tell how to please my dear mistress so,
For thou thy self too hard on me to bear;
To me too soft-hearted love seems like a hard mind,
Being too soft on me, to know how to love thee so.
“O never be so bold! Too bold I am!
I’ll fight, and die a warrior’s fight;
I’ll bow down, and win, and die a lowly knave;
I’ll entertain the thought of lust, and slay all foes;
And sometime I’ll wink, and often vow,
To make myself seem tame, to creep on the way;
If all men like that, beauty would do thee shame;
Even then thou art as guilty of my misdeeds,
As those who steal thy beauty’s breath.
“No, no!” quoth she; “not if thou mean to say so;
I do not mean to be harsh, nor to demean thee;
For I have said this to the wise, and they to thee;
Thou art just and kind, and they to me yield,
Being lords of my thoughts, do not abuse my tongue,
To make rude infamy of my self,
Which, being levelled at, with greater hate,
With greater glory doth it disgrace my name,
For being so true a name doth lie.
I’ll be king in the heart of this,
And for that, I’ll do all in my power;
And if it be not, then I’ll do it alone;
Then being king, I’ll confound the world with my lies,
When in his pride doth he confound my hope,
He stamps on my face with his hard hand,
And frowns on my cheek, till she with much weeping,
Suff’ring his tears, stops her breath, and wails,
As the world’s breath being blown from her lungs.
This said, he holds aloft a heavy stick,
Which like a mighty cannon balls fair
Through the airy channel to fire his cannon;
Upon whose proud breast a rude and trembling dove lies,
With trembling wings they view the thing they seek,
For if there be no such thing as a dove,
Then such beauty lies not within;
O, how sweet a sight this sight is!
That in the earth we call thou born
That in this name thou dost reign,
Which like thy name


======== CHECKPOINT 064 OUTPUT # 002 ========

PKK I’ll sing,
O heartless fools! I will not let your beauty go!
For you are as dead as the sky is,
Thy sun can’t harm thy beauty,
For men are creatures and cannot kill their queen.
For this reason thou taught’st me not to hate,
Thy beauty’s age, not thy beauty’s age.
But in these old errors came forth
Thy true sense, thy true colour,
To live by example and praise the age.
Thy living beauty would live, thy living youth would die,
Thy living beauty would die, thy living youth would decay.
O, let those who say these things to me,
That they themselves see the truth, are sadly misled.
That they must abstaining be blind
For thy posterity doth so disgrace them,
That they think their shame and their guilt still,
And then the judgment can no more be made,
By thy name being remembered, or my memory being harmed,
The guiltless soul will not know, nor the guilt stay.
‘But if they have seen, they say they have not seen;
And if they have seen, they swear they have not seen;
They swear they see, they breathe, and they give no light.
If they see, they swear they have no light.
And yet they breathe, and yet they are not blind,
They wink, and yet they are not blind;
For heaven forbid they should wink wink,
Since in their eyes we see nothing,
But in our own souls we see nothing,
And nothing in our souls sees,
But as in a cloud being blown,
Till with a gentle gust it raineth away,
And every where, the strong wind reeketh,
Like to the bier with fouled weather.
‘O father, what an event this hell-and-hoof!
For she hath brought forth a malediction,
Of foul deeds, and foul abuses committed,
Whose foul aspect I shall never forget,
Though I swear by the fore-betrayed,
The murd’rous murder committed against me,
By her recklessness with herself,
Or by the murderous knife that wieldeth it.
No wonder, then, my heart doth contrive
To cipher thee the fiend he commits;
But the cipher shall be thy friend and I’ll cipher him,
That I may give his life for his sake;
In other words, my friend he will be buried
In that which he must abhor, and be anathema.
She answers him, “Ay me,” and they both laugh,
And take physic, and then to their bed,
Clap the poor creature down, to weep for him;
And make him weep for her, by thy side.
‘All things are dreams, and therefore my brain’s fantasy
Wakes every hour to check the hour;
Even so the wind is beating down his proud head,
Whereon I dreamt of his golden face,
And then the world was confounded and dumb,
And every eye saw it glutton and full of fear;
Then on the sad gurney lay she stand,
And, lo, the wolf feeds; and thou shalt see it grow.
‘That’s enough,’ quoth he; ‘if I were free, would take it
As readily from a wretch as it can from a man,
from a wretch being writ in clay,
So shall my love be free, and mine eyes be dumb:
So are you now with me, and you no longer.
For me that legacy my mistress left behind,
That she herself for some purpose left,
Shall live that legacy to posterity.
, but for thee he hath lost, I’ll take back
Where thou wilt be, and where thou thy true love should take thee.
Thou canst not then take my love away,
When I have all the treasure of thy love,
But then thou hast lost me both, and now thou wilt take me
And keep me where thou wilt not.
‘Then hear me out, lady; ’tis all my fault
To keep the night in darkness and in the day.
So I answer her, if she will excuse me,
I’ll go and check that thief out.
My mistress’ eyes, poor fool, were never as bright
As they are now, nor as white as they were in complexion,
And for her black eye no whiteness stood
Save in that fairer hue which doth grace her complexion:
Whose eye beauty, that fairer shade,
Shows us better than any other of her fair,
Beauty’s eyes are like fair jewels in hue,
Which on thy brow are makeeth twain;
Whilst on my lips


======== CHECKPOINT 064 OUTPUT # 003 ========

[I hate to see you live)
But with all her power I can’t help but blush,
My brows, my heart’s furrow’d, have writ down in my mind:
The thought may seem extreme, but then it will stay
In the dark, and seldom exceeds ten o’clock.
Ah, this my love, which so pure a mind so rich,
With gentle love, with all her might I speak,
But yet my speech can’t quite convey thy woe:
To wit, words are made of numbers,
In thee is no letter; wherein it may appear,
To make your letter more than you wish,
By adding to your desire a new name,
Till all your infamy begets a new shame.
The best I can do is to show thee what happies,
Of happy-dated looks, to show thee happy days.
In the meantime you can see how much more I mean to love thee,
Than from afar, that thou alone art seen:
Thy looks are those of love, and they are not so,
That oft when in our company they sing,
Their praises so aptly match those of you.
His handmaids, to greet him, did contrive
To wipe the painting from his face;
So his face glowed red in the reproof;
And, blushing, began to blush at this;
‘Why wilt thou accuse me of slander? ‘Tis my fault that thou didst write:
And if thou prove not my friend, my friend,
You owe me an oath that will keep mine eye awake.
‘Thus begins the story of my untimely misadventure
Till, desperate and without rest, she hears a man neigh,
And she, fearful lest he do, would not dare pursue him;
She sees the horse neigh, and the woman is gone,
Her speed with the thing slow being awry:
That she, her pursuer, did not stay long,
Or break the speed of light which she should so fear.
O how she breaks the bank of time, and yet, behold
The world is ending! How shall Time bring about her end?
Or will he retire? she replies, ‘Then live and thou art dead.’
‘So says she, and yet again the echo
Begins, “Oh kill me! I have kill’d many a boar before;
Then dare I not speak, fearfully: ’tis my duty to speak.”
To stop her argumentation was she prompt;
And from her lips did pen come, and look
What paper would you use? where would you begin?
Let the author give the picture,
So the child could see what is in the picture.
‘O, that poor creature that doth sit and write,
Till he untuck’d his hat, that was still on his head,
Stuff’d in a rough fashion the dear Collatine’s hair;
Till with a league a careless cuckoo bark’d his horn,
And on, panting and panting, goes he forth;
Then is he followed by several merry Collatine,
With Collatinus and many a host of hounds;
Then Collatinus runs on, and the Collatine neighs.
‘Lo, the hunting of the boar hath ended,
No more coyotes or violets seen,
Nor lion or deer nor sheep fearfully seen.
But, lo, the hours of darkness have expired,
And all winter’s ravishment hath ended,
And summer’s fresh waste no longer bears fruit:
So, from this dark place, thou shalt not view it;
Nor shalt thou the better for loss of sight,
For the loss of thy lost sight shalt thou find.
For by this I swear thou hast sworn,
That there hath been a wolf here, there a lamb;
And thou shalt find it thy reveng’d death.
‘Gainst Time,’ quoth he, ‘this ill-doing fiend
Thy self thy fair image doth slay;
The carcass th’imagination doth take:
And from the green grave where thou wilt lie,
Anon the gentle wind doth blow,
And whiter still doth stay, in that dregs of death.
‘The world shall bear thee how I ne’er like this
When, wert thou in my power, by thine aid,
The world will bow thy head in Adonis’ face.
, by that word, Collatine would have wink’d;
Who, mad, would not blush at such a wink?
But Tarquin, who by that word so chary
Adonis’ eyes so bright doth flatter
His beauty’s decease, to


======== CHECKPOINT 064 OUTPUT # 004 ========

irl in her mind,
Like one that in his pride doth dwell,
For kings and lords are thieves, but women are free;
Their guilt in their absence is not great;
But as their guilt in their absence is great,
the sun, like a cloud, doth set,
Which all the world invisibly doth obscure,
And where he shines in the east, in the west doth stay,
As in the day, and in the night,
Each part in him doth live concealed.
So thou wilt, on my judgement’s verdict, keep
The night to do the deed; but in the morning
From him the care of nature’s work hath taken;
Wherefore thou wilt leave me, and wilt leave me alone,
When thou shalt find an upright heart, a true ear,
Of my gentle disposition, gentle taste, and true mind,
To give gentle love a lively name,
Till all enemies die, and death be forgot.
So then thou wilt keep thy tongue to this end,
Like as to a sad caball asleep,
The caball wakes in his sad car and drives away;
And as the poor creature sleeps, the caball cries aloud,
When all his strength doth him fear rest,
And all his strength doth rest doth rest rest:
Yet when Lucrece’ lord, Tarquin, being dead,
Hath sung, her voice hath still borne,
And so doth my lord still speak;
‘Poor sprite, how rudely wretch!’ quoth she.
His hand her hair, his chin her down;
His lips her back, his mouth wide:
So hath he writ in my mind’s cool brain;
That what he writes in my mind knows no meaning.
“How many a mermaid hath he caught,
Till now he’s gone, and now she’s gone away,
And now she’s gone for water, and now it’s a storm
Clouds, and hell hath no end to hell’s rage.
The coward hunts, and the tame coward free;
The orphan takes the coward by the horns;
The sickler and the physician,
And every one by their sickle alone goes,
Where all the rest of us die.
‘To hear her complain, I will thrust my tongue,
To drown her in her thoughts, and in her tears.’
Her eyes, though white and jet, now glazed with blood
Are pale, pale, faint, and unadorned.
She cries, and on the pale pale earth,
As if some alien power were hovering,
�Thus beseeched I Lucrece, that I should write:
How much more benefit I from thee,
From thy poor absence hast travelled,
And hither my sweet love’s misfortunes, that now are past
My strength, that strong strength hath lost,
My whole was thine, and mine was thine.
But that I was with my self thou art so,
That I thy self, thy beauty’s child,
For thou shalt be my dear and most glorious sight,
And never dost with my shadow my shadow doth live:
But as my shadow doth live, so should my beauty.
My shadow is dead, my beauty alive,
But thine is living and I in thee grow:
Thou art as sweet, but as a child is dead,
And as an adult thou art dead, and I in thee grow.
And from hence this shadow I can speak,
To men’s ears, and in their minds to men,
But seldom in public do I hear thee speak.
“O love! thy image hath beguiled,
A thousand kisses, anon they began to gush;
They full grown, had pity but for imperfection,
To call it beauty would show a thousand warts,
But for thee thou art as fair as all the flowers
Of yore, even to the eye of thine eye.
For why, thou art the best, but yet be not so good
As I am, yet for thy image still art made:
My name is Fear, and that’s all that stands between me,
And you, and all things that are not.
No tongue, no heart to weep for you,
For that is all I can tell thee;
Till every part hath thy fair name painted.
Now that I have heard thee speak, I truly dally,
And that all my praise is due to thee,
Thou (Thou lov’st) my name, mine is thy beauty’s.
‘”Lo, this device is to my mistress a ring,
And to the best am I able to dispense;
And to her full expense hath assigned,
A thousand precious


======== CHECKPOINT 064 OUTPUT # 005 ========

cod the heart, and every part of it.
The turtle hath four sides, each several foot,
Three in either’s right or left:
The turtle sleeps in both’s parts, the right proud,
The turtle sleeps in both’s parts,
And both wake in the morning, all swooning.
This ill appertainment did teach the wise,
That his tongue did amplify the poor rhyme,
Which in that tongue did bear the story,
Through all his length I to you will learn,
Thou art but a man, but a turtle, and a man.
To that I appeal, now and then, as soon
As are sentinel from their post,
Whilst I serve them in their care.
Let my love be free, and free a tyrant,
And then as an empty shell it is,
Doth labour to destroy it with batter,
And bids a thousand fair favours remain
Save to the pure breeding of fair flowers,
Where pure flowers breed most sadly, where fair plants breed most sadly.
‘Thou mak’st us guilty of thy trespass;
We must not be foes, to spite thee,
To chide thee that thou dost strive for thine;
To win our discontent, we must shun thee.
‘”The turtle sleeps in two; the heart in each;
The turtle sleeps both in one;
the turtle sleeps neither;
The turtle sleeps both in one;
The heart is silent; the turtle sleeps both;
The turtle sleeps both;
The heart is full of praises, both laugh at each other.’
‘”The turtle sleeps both in one; the turtle sleeps both;
The heart is full of praises, both laugh at each other.’
‘The turtle sleeps both in one; the heart of thine,
Th’ turtle sleeps both in one;
The turtle sleeps both;
Both laugh at the turtle. ‘Poor bird, I see thee weariness,
The birds have fled, the dogs hunt;
Thine eyes (yellow as misty heaven’s mist)
Do unto the fowl as thyself willeth,
As through the grype-black mist they fly;
For there are but four creatures in thy sight,
Which each niggard thing in thee doth disdain;
Each vile thing in thee doth love;
Thine eyes, therefore, are all thy self a park.
In him there appears no fear, but ’tis his fault,
Which he interprets to our ears.
‘But be this clear I have no cause of fear,
My reason why should men’s eyes trust me,
The reason why of my ill state is
To hide my true colour, which in thy breast
Shows thy shame and thy power!‘O if I should lose my sight,
My poor face, the shame of it!
No shame in this, for the defect was
subtle motion, and swift motion, as swift as lightning.
“Then, this said, as from some hedge she fly’d,
The fair queen, in pale mist, begins to jest;
“Look here how lovely life is made;
She in her mantle and on her head lie
Coats of crystal light; whereon she liv’d, she did stain;
A tomb, which she did exude,
With painted figures of fresh and simple life;
And whereon her beauty did dwell,
Her life, in that fresh and simple flower,
Which doth dwell still in that fresh and simple hive.
‘Why, thou hast no other object to complain
Of my absence than life, which thou hast here created,
And life itself dead, in whose fresh form thou dost dwell,
And beauty living in thy pure form die,
Then my absence is nothing but a dream,
That thou being dead, and all in thee,
You in me are nothing but trophies of time.
“The birds sing, the flowers change colour,
But eagles, the violet, the fennel,
all these under one powerful influence did fly.
O how many a sun that touches the ground receives
With a pure semblance, and yet remains so.
He looks upon her with doubtful eyes,
And sighs, but his voice is too shallow.
To weep for her, he beats a horn.
“To hear her complain, I’ll let her know;
The horn is not strong enough for me,
To cross the threshold where she lies;
Let no man drive her mad thence:
So, she hears no more, and she stays;
Her tears begin again and again and again,
till, like a heavy-hanging bell,
They cease, and her sorrow is broken.
‘So shall I die, and thou survive me.’
She replies thus: ‘Thou last deceiving


======== CHECKPOINT 065 OUTPUT # 001 ========

flashback to this end he delivers this sad tale to mine eye,
“You see,” quoth he, “a marigold who wears a garment ill,
As if by some foul act she did betray,
And in the act of death some pure stain did appear;
Her blood flowed cold, and in it did stay
Into the pale-fac’d chamber where her visage lies.
“Then have I no doubt but that your mother was fair,
And you, of your fair beauty’s freshness spent,
May blame me if I have occasion to do so,
To disgrace you in my absence when you live.
That your beauty is in the way of sight
Threatens not his will to change course; yet
His wilful blindness to do his will
Perchance puts the coward in his place;
‘O,’ quoth he, ‘you may mistake this:
You may look again at that blushing youth
Who for a moment did your beauty seem
As guilty of all wrong, and all sin.
Now I must confess, despite of all, your love lives
in thy beauty is made a curse.
How hard a curse that can be!—all these prove
False starts, scandalous turns, scandalizeth:
His eyes, silver and fair, through alabaster tears
Made them red and white, or both, or neither.
Then thou wilt have thy beauty compare
With beauty’s antique trim and trim;
That is, of a kind, and effect, that woos
No form, but truth imparteth to things well.
‘Thou art the fairest thief in this book,’ quoth she,
As if this were a question of fact;
‘But steal away thy fortune, thy dear love, thy love’s sake;
Thou art not, in the least, the thief that weeps.
‘And, lo! behold these beauties on their heads,
With twisted metal amorously shaded,
Saw’d by unseen spirits to play the horn,
Encamp’d in the tender spring where they grew,
They did trim their figures to their trim,
And painted them in glorious life.
‘Gentle queen, I did inflict you pain
To show my sorrow that you did make me live.
The reason why I did endure it is so,
And your help is enough for my poor state.”
A pretty face with bright eyes, painted in golden thread,
With pearly pale, and bristly bristly tail,
Her kind was the better for my needs;
And if she had more wit, she should much prefer
To hear your sweet appeal.
�But, lo! behold these beauties on their heads,
With twisted metal amorously shaded,
Saw’d by unseen spirits to play the horn,
Encamp’d in the tender spring where they grew,
They did trim their figures to their trim,
And painted them in glorious life.
‘”O, that thou mayst behold the day, wherein thou art wont to appear,
A barren grave for buried Love, barren barren oaks,
barren oaks, barren oaks, barren forests!
‘For lo, that barren earth, barren of seeds,
With no husband nor father to guide thee,
I’ll hunt the boar, the leopard, and lion;
And thou shalt see the hunted things in my sight,
But none of these creatures will touch thee, none of them will touch thee,
Nor none of them shall hurt thee at all.
Therefore no matter where thy trespass lies,
You shall not cross his path, no matter where thy trespass lies,
Till I tell thee mine eyes did see to mine own,
And not mine own, but those divine eyes that taught them,
Have brightened the summer’s hue and made it winter.
The maid whose sorrow-pleading hand she was holding
Shook off the cold chill that followed by her hasty breath;
And after a deep groan, the heavenly Lucrece
Doth cry Amen to her countenance.
‘But now as the golden lily in the brook
Crawls to maturity, but never flower’d
With sap nor moisture, hath seiz’d the queen,
And set her upon a purple couch,
With round pangs of her being newly dyed,
Shaking her neck with that which she hath long held:
Her beauty hath fled, and now she mourners cry:
‘His beauty shall never last, nor never be.’
‘Then let us not deceive one that thinks so;
All mine offences are errors, and mine offences are fair;
My offences are not my faults, mine offences are thy fair:
Mine offences are thy offences, mine offences thy fair.’
So softly she cries, and with more than strength she shakes:


======== CHECKPOINT 065 OUTPUT # 002 ========

unintentional.
“Foul mutiny against thyself, O my dear, will not kill thy will,
But swear in thy infamy: for I swore fealty,
And thou in traitor’s blood will bear thine own trespass.
O that thy life could teach the world so fair a lesson,
To love or to hate it, should I not live?
‘Tis not so: if I love you, I must live,
Thou being dead, I’ll live another’s death;
So long lives love, and thou never die.
The painter was a god of painting,
But since he was put to death by fraud,
No human being can inveigb him to right,
But you, as the dead, are your living image.
No, thou shalt not kill, nor steal from me
Those fair eyes of thine that shine in my face,
that his sad task I undertake with mine eye.
If I die, thy living likeness shall live
In my stain and misery.
‘And, lo! behold, as the crow flies by,
its prey dead, now to make amends:
But the sweetly smiling eagle
Knew no foul, but did feed on the young,
Grew bolder, faster and farther in her flight,
And, lo! behold, the crow that flew him still
Had fled far from home, to give chase.
‘But be not so! the shadow of my face
Shall blot my face with blame, and mine own disgrace;
For that blame I’ll stain with blame my fair face.
“And now he runs, and then he stops,
Like a proud, proud jade he crosses the hedge,
And up he leaps, and down he bounds,
like a proud-jade, upon his bare back.
But what a coward wert thou that didst not want
To be so brave would that thou shouldst still stand,
If, as silly men, thou couldst manage it.
‘Thou art a pretty boy, and yet fear not thy might;
If that be untrue, then hate me when I am dead,
And yet die for love, even in love’s death:
I will live, and then, that death which thou hast,
Thy beauty doth give thee life, thy beauty still dies.
‘”Then be it lawful for a man to kiss a woman,
With a lawful denial kill me without cause;
Thy beauty being queen of thine, kill me not with rage,
But be civil to love, and be civil to kill me.
‘”I grant, your sweet face had some blemish,
That it might have been seen by some untimely night,
When beauty might still shine forth that pure shine!
My brow should seem blotchy, my lip pale,
My cheeks crooked, my blood some sort of quill;
My cheeks rough, my heart fast asleep;
Thy sight strange, and strange grief hast thou cited:
For thou art thy husband’s issue, thy issue no more.
‘So then thou shalt not be vexed with vows,
To break thine own will, to break thine own heart.
But if thou wilt break, I besiege thee,
For breaking thine will will will will make thee free,
And in that I say ‘we will’.
What will your Will be, my Will be, thou wilt say?
Why should I say your Will is great, my Will great?
And should I say your Will is lesser, my Will is great?
‘When I was a child, by nature kind,
Love did not want men to touch my breast;
But when I was a boy, by nature kind
Love did want men to touch my breast;
And when I was a man, by nature kind
Love did want men to touch my breast;
And when I was a woman, by nature kind
Love did want men to touch my breast;
And when I was a man, by nature kind
Love did want men to touch my breast;
And when I was a woman, by nature kind
L’orchestrated mutiny to disgrace this shame.
But if thou wilt, I thy worth will not doubt,
For thou art thy self, my self, and I thee.
Love was but a name, then a perpetual flower,
A flower that evermore with age grew;
As if from thence it should ever die,
Love being green, it should not die,
For on the morrow, as from thence it grew white,
Like milk in a teacup.
For now the stalk of a weed growing on a hill
Hath lie in wait, the stalk will not bud,
The stalk shall in no time


======== CHECKPOINT 065 OUTPUT # 003 ========

unbearable to see thy sweet face
Under the shadow of death, like to a naked death,
So gently I rise, and look upon thee,
When I may be revenged on my self,
For thy trespass on the life of thy state.
‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the rotten earth’s rottenness! How vile a sight
Such vile forms it receives when it receives the light!
O, what a hideous sight it is!
O, what a sight would it make if it could fly?
The sun, whose heat the air holds in regard
Feeling it set, doth approach with his might;
O, that wicked weather with sleet and freezing rain,
Such unseasonable chill, hot and dreadful sight!
Thy eyes are famished, thy brain is makeest,
And your soul is dumb and dead.
“Let him in whose loving arms he lies to lie,
To whom the lawful truce of his bed
Will batten down his silly head; let him die there,
As Pyrrhus for a lawful death:
Let him live, and be rul’d by fate:
Or else perish in his slumber so:
Such petty infamy breeds still-living infamy,
that it cannot surprise thee with pomp,
Nor show remorse for my infamy.
‘”Lo here she sleeps, dreaming of the day,
Or one of her many wild abominations,
Or worse torment her in her sad bed:
For even now she hath the strength of many a mind,
Of which she speaks a careless stol’n,
Which strangely echoes and makes new acquaintance
To every part of her sad state.
‘Thou mayst be my sweet, but that is but my name,
My mistress’ ornaments, but that name is
Crowned so thine, and I in thee.
I do wish that thou hadst borne me here,
Till now thou wast gone, and now I am dead.
‘So that thy name may be made immortal,
I must say that mine eyes have never taught them
To see things, nor hear them tell.
So shall I live as if they had never seen them,
In wax and in spirit, and in spite of change.
And though not yet attainted in hue,
By this age they have removed all their filches,
Towards thee, I grant, thy face still doth shine.
“Here she sleeps, dreaming of the day,
Or one of her many wild abominations,
Or worse torment her in her sad bed:
Then thou thy love, whose wits do stain,
Thy wits will, in thy deeds, stain with stain.’
So I grant she did not feel his touch,
For she knew him better than she did him:
The more she felt his touch, the more she did suspect,
To touch, she would suspect it, if it come near:
To her constancy did she bow,
And kiss the base of his neck, to show what it stood.
Thou dost make us invent new words,
And new beauties make us invent old words:
Here is to thee the present moment,
The present, the present, and to thee are depending.
This is my verse, this is my thought;
This is your fortune, this is your freedom;
This is how you all shall live, and this is how you die.
Then live, and die you wish;
And live thou wilt live another thousand times,
And yet the same suff’ring moan you make
In this hollow tract holds the flood;
Then, lo, the flood doth exceed
All repair, and the world with little relief.
‘And why have we not been here before,
To hear of more love, or love that is old,
Shall bid a thousand times more welcome bequeath:
For as the ocean calls the season now,
So doth the west add to his fair delight.
O hear her cry: she said, “O Time,
My time, my time, my time, is nigh;
Give it up, and do not despair;
For it is the heart that doth rehearse
Against the clock; to hear it in his ear
Till, tune’d, and blunting his wits,
Hath stopp’d the day, and labour’d in night to close
The clock to give the war-beholding day.
How like a devil is she in her act,
How like a suppliant in her bearing:
Yet do not so, for fear of harms!
Her love is strong, and yet her strength is faint.
‘How like a devil is she in her act,
How like a suppliant in her bearing


======== CHECKPOINT 065 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Field
(A woman who takes no notice of thy pain)
Hath let down his fair store, and now I am bereft him so.
The day hath begun, the hour is near.
Sweet Grace, when thou wilt permit my pain to stand,
What foul action shall thy foul lips undertake?
I am so deeply struck, so suddenly,
Thy affections have turned my verse to song,
The sun hath set, and I have no further need.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘but ah, ah, ah,
How can it then that I am so near so low,
And so far from home, and yet so near?
“Well, it may be,” quoth he, “it may be,
That I am thy old acquaintance, and thou art
The raiment of my surviving son.
To make this alteration, which I have not done,
By my desire brought about by thy will,
In pursuing thee my true desire brought,
By th’ adulterate heart that bastardy slain,
Shall crusading princes in me shall find,
That in my pure breast thou art the sole subject.
I, for thy sake, do forbid thy will to kill.
So am I for thy love; but be it lawful,
To kiss him in the name of love, and bear him no harm.
‘So shalt thou excuse me:‘”For what reason do you mean,
When I say this man’s a doting dame?
I mean the very same; for the matter of my mind,
Thy likeness hath so far outstripped thy dignity,
That I find myself beside him, in disdain.
‘Alas why should I be dumb when he hath power
To do me honour? why should I be strong-wing’d?
How shall I be free when he hath my love?
And if my love be such a freedom,
That he cannot take away my freedom,
That is to say, mine freedom is slavery?
Why should I be free when he hath no love?
If this then was my love, how should my tongue be free?
If this then were my love, I could say,
No love at all, nothing at all;
But love, by thy love, is oft tempted to say,
“How can love’s false providence be?”
“Ay me, truly true,” quoth she; “and yet, behold,
Thy beauty still hath the power to rob thee;
Even so, my body, being in extremity shaken,
With trembling fear doth shake thy body, and thou die.
She quakes, and the earth shakes again, and yet
more than one fell blow did quench her eye;
This time her grief is swift and loud,
And in her tears she drowns the night, who with sorrow
Deserves this dissolution, and thus doth she bleed.
“My grief,” quoth she, “it is but a grief to me;
Then can I not be blamed, but thou hast
Thy beauty in thy wonted fashion,
Thy wonted force, against my will, is torn
From my will and made my will obsolete,
And thy strength, against my will being broken,
By shifting my will and ruining thee so.
If thou survive me, I’ll let thee go,
And never again shall I be able to give thee back.”
And now she stops, look’d on the ground,
And sees some old woman sitting by a
row that leads to a hillock;
Some sporty youngling that she thinks ill
As the place where she grazed the boar,
Touches are set for sport and sport’s revelry.
She unties the youngling that sits by the stream,
And, smiling, unthrifts her toward
The grassy hill that overlooks the stream.
“What did you say?” quoth she, “you will not accuse
The lark that crept by, and kill’d him first.”
“Ay me,” quoth she, “my trespass is untainted;
My trespass is untainted thy fault,
And to blame is to blame every thing;
But foul-defil’d, unruly, unprovident,
That commits every little injury.
‘”How dare you slanderous men, that did not even look
For faults of this kind?” quoth she;
What did you expect, naught at all observed?
How could you then not be blinded,
Since you did their scythe steal a moment’s care?
Then I will excuse you, and you excuse me,
To stop the slanderous boar that lives by:
O pardon me, I am old, and do not know
Where thou art, thou d


======== CHECKPOINT 065 OUTPUT # 005 ========

swallowed, with a sudden and dreadful fear,
As if his heart, or some external force, could make him break.
‘”My body, O thou the son of Time, if that word express,
My soul, why dost thou pine and forsake me,
Because thou hast no tongue to say it shall?
And why shouldst thou call it mine?
And why shouldst thou call it mine own name,
For I am the author of thy disgrace?
For what good is it that thou call’st me?
O then my tongue, my mind, my heart’s repair!
Cannot but praise thee with my good name,
When in thee thy self art so esteemed,
Thy self thou so corrupt shouldst see.
‘O Time, in honour of thy fair youth,
By Fortune’s law shalt thou be immured in youth,
And in thy beauty shalt thou be bred.
But, being sealed in this immutability,
Such shall I do till thou be dead.”
‘Then shall thy soul wander in darkness,
To hide thy face from the light, to be hid
In a mountain of confusion?
O pardon me, although some faint thought may prove
That I am quite certain I am not,
I love thee in spite of all;
And therefore thou hast not proved me wrong,
That I have still my love and still my hate.
So have I felt thee before, now I feel thee.
Now let us part; there are niggard signs,
And niggard signs of truth some might allege;
Then be it not slander to say that I hate thee so,
For that I love thee so, and still hate thee.
‘This said, she quickly drew a knife,
And began to curse him; but no words were heard.
‘”Now for the record of thy deed,
The blushing pale, the burning eye,
All hail thy impious adulterate heart!
But now for the record of thy virtue,
I will swear thee fair, and give thee so much trouble.
To show thy love, to prove my love,
To make him swear the whole truth, and show my love even,
To get him rid of his love by force,
Or else, by many fair locks, with many thieves.
She had sworn to secrecy, and secrecy swearing,
That her love might never be seen
In public view, though it should for fear of undeserved shame.
‘All hail thy impious adulterate heart!
All hail thy impious adulterate heart!
How often have I heard false alarms,
That men are slay’d or pluck’d with a kiss;
How often have I felt the earth quake with fear;
But now this false alarm doth leave out
The trembling earthquake of her bare bosom;
And here her bleeding eyes are dumb;
And her pale, trembling eye her father doth overlook;
And when this poor soul hears the story,
Her blood in her unclean hands being spill’d,
Her cheeks red as blood, and her cheeks white.
What can an iron knife scratch, without a scratch?
And what sort of an instrument will it use,
To blow the senseless life from a sleeping head,
That cannot die while it is in labour stol’n?
But in vain her eye the painter saith,
In his true skill she shows her wit doth deceive;
And with her sad and dire eye doth play
The sad image of such helpless life,
That sometimes her pale face, dim sight, and faint eye seem
To tempt the poor wretch farther by weeping:
That his foul eye with sad brow may peep
From his soft violet cheek, that on our cheeks we pine,
But in his soft violet cheek, what on us despair looks
We pine for the dead, who are not yet dead,
The living, who in our blood we pine for,
But as their blood we die for our sin.
So she with sad look doth her bow dismount,
And crosses her arms about his neck,
Stands still with folded breast, and with downward eye;
She calls it winter, and he faints there.
‘Thou shalt not kiss me till I am rid.’
Then, quoth she,’sweet Lucrece, it is thy last,
And death shall be thy last night’s pleasure.’
‘It shall be death’s last show and feast,
If I be so bold as thou art, to die by thy side.
‘Yet do not look so as to betray me,
For if I betray thee, I will betray thee.
By this my love, as from a dying breast
My lourdes I count down to decay,
As they that to death are


======== CHECKPOINT 066 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Nurse of her self she must not know,
She art both fair and true, and never is blind;
And yet thou know’st her fair name, is not so rich,
Not as yet as yet as yet as yet she were black;
Till now she is white, and now she is black:
What could thy beauty but say, “This man’s wife is black”?
She replies: “Ay me, but she is none of her kind.”
A woman’s hand, a man’s hand, a woman’s hand,
Lovely touches do not in general become strange,
To dwell upon that which is most expressly told.
She looks upon that which she herself admires,
And yet the beauty of that, remains unseen.
“So far from this world ruining thy dear time,
Till I have told thee all about thy suit,
And begun to show thy beauty still, yet
Thy beauty is in some respects pretty,
And therefore I daresay thou shouldst not be so mild.
In him the windy hours are spent;
in him there is peace and quiet,
And gentle beauty smiling sadly.
Love, in his best suit, bids fair women give;
And I their lords for their self do show.
He hath her all, and in her she many;
But most of all she her parts loves, and none loveth,
For in his all she herself doth quake,
His is as sweet and simple as every man’s heart,
And therefore is he as barren of truth,
As if his eyes were chang’d with his motion.
Thus far their talk hath not done him shame;
And he in all earnest would speak of her well,
Even to the door of his chamber, so broke she did open
He opens it, and there she finds a man lying,
clad in an all-hiding silk,
With a woeful face and a heavy brow,
Who, having no excuse whatsoever for his woe,
Cried aloud, “O false blood, thou betrayer of my sake,
I will not kiss thee again till I have kill’d thee.”
Her eyes now turn their white, and now she frowns,
As if the wound were physic’d, or else the poison’d.
‘So much of this was woe, so little truth;
That I no more could comprehend what it was,
I did not see, nor hear, nor see, nor feel,
For I had the strength to bear the thing I did,
Though with my own weak protestation I speak.
As you may, that you may not, be not afraid;
The worst is past, the best is yet at least:
But, if you should dare to look into it,
Be afraid, then I fear the day will be wasted.
‘The sun shall never set nor never set not wax,
Nor never burn not with his golden splendour:
For the sun that doth shine so,
Gives but the shadow, and thou shalt find
The golden dolour in every jar.
‘”But as the wind is gone, so shall the day pass
As thou unweave’st, the night with his wave.
O, take no notice that I do call
Life’s shadow, and beauty’s brightness,
The one hath no name, and life lives in shadows.
I do not call them mine own, nor theirs,
They are but life in numbers, like usury.
‘And that in thee I may but indirectly
Guess what I do with my wealth,
And with my fortune do most welcome find,
With my true love’s fair costings doth spend,
Like to a vassal butcher, or butcher’s knife,
Where every good thing is buy’d with willing labour,
Hence, I’ll bid them all adieu, happy day.”
Then she shakes her head sadly, and throws her head
Towards the door, where the Lucrece do mock her;
Who, like a pale-fac’d mare, with pale complexion lies,
Whose pale cheek, like a cherubin, now appears,
Her cheeks’ contents pale and wet with white.
But he, unaware, stops his speed,
And straight on to the point where she will begin;
‘Now, gentle boy,’ she says, ‘Father,’ ‘(Gilding on me) ‘(Sobs) ‘(Excitedly) ‘(My goodly words) ‘(All pitying) ‘(Trouble arising) ‘(I am at a loss) ‘(O yes) ‘(And yet) ‘(No comfort) ‘(Trouble arising) ‘(Panting) ‘(P


======== CHECKPOINT 066 OUTPUT # 002 ========

senate and the wolf were both with her,
Who, fighting with him, would thrust his head near
That wound which his fierce lust bore:
When all was done, he run to his horse,
And kiss’d his beauteous mate, to whom he replied:
“Gentle maid, I’ll be your guide;
As I am the fairest of the three,
By my kind will win this prize.”
And to the troop of gentle birds,
Who, marching in that direction, did him subdue,
Like two unruly birds, panting where they rest;
When he thought to question them he shakes their heads,
So that they may speak, and ask him again.
She with him like a gentle boar would bark;
She by him like a hard bat would scratch,
Or rub her tender cheek.
O, dear friend, where have you had a bath
Not to excess of hot desire?
I told them this morning I love them better than they,
As much as they love me, yet I hate them less.
Now that I have said, what follows
What follows then is thine own will,
When, to serve your want, you’ll take my part.
‘So may my maid bequeath unto her,
And take all that she cannot possess,
That to her maid may be enlarged,
And made so much less by your want.
Let not my maid be toyed too hard
with her beauty’s fading,
And beauteous youth with the decay
Of your prime, whose semblance doth still stand,
Or be the decay of your own youth,
Or be the spoil of your own sweet,
Then should I not bequeath to thee what I leave,
I shall your fair nature, your fair essence,
Save where thou art most deified, thy self shalt keep:
Be rul’d by this, I by him be rul’d.
Love was, as it were a god and a king,
Whose sacred majesty was stol’n in decay,
And therefore no monarchy, nor no monarchy stand,
But merely this, a slave to bondage:
Who, though he lose his lordship by death,
Sets down his wealth, doth lend his fleet,
And lives by the sword.
Love is a spirit, a king, a king’s suit:
Harm be to him, to me he is such,
That I a king of words doth compare,
I think I am virtuous, and yet do wrong,
Like men who do this to gain their measure.
Whence should I accuse thee of my loving?
Or do I not accuse thee of my love being gay,
O wherefore do not you suppose
My love to have rank rank with men’s eyes,
Though not so in rank with you as with your eyes?
How should this love compare to yours,
When others have seen my love rank before?
O then my loving is better qualified,
Than others’ true eyes’ false art.
Now these spies of fortune, whose priceless treasures
I hoard in unknown ages,
I beheld the treasure of my youth,
And found it in a chest full of hope:
Here I found Adonis, son of Ulysses and
Farewell, and merry to-morrow!
O learn to read! to weep! O woe! cry! cry out for me!
For to the world my self is slain,
As to this world reproach in my life.
Thus did I surfeit, and miss more,
I hate less, and still do love you less.
‘O pardon me! I was kind, as thou art,
And my good angel, when in doubt, will lend me
A light and kind-hearted rein.
‘For shame and distress of this kind,
Shall I befriends, or mourn for thee,
By speaking ill of thee, or thou depart’st,
Thy honour is but to rob thine eye of it,
And rob thy poor soul of that which thou hoard’st.
But if thou rob’st me, then shalt thou rob my life,
And life in thee is wasted.
O how canst thou rob’st me of my life,
When my life in thee is thine own,
When my life in thee I thy defil’d face,
And thou shalt be thy landlord, my landlord’s debt is thine,
And thine own in thy defil’d lease is thy lease?
O false thief, in whom defil’d thy beauty lies,
Who surfeit, by forging what thou steal’st,
Making false thieves of their defil’d treasure.
She did not say that this deed was lawful,
Because the knife did


======== CHECKPOINT 066 OUTPUT # 003 ========

ectomy, and to make her bleed,
Hearts bulge, stones break; but, as he falls,
His bulging veins do nothing but bulge again.
‘My laments,’ quoth he,’shall my words express?
‘Yet more than once I have said this,
I will swear that he is not his, and I swear
I saw the same thing, and it was not him;
And when I saw it, I thought it strange;
In all honesty, it seemed so white as blood,
And blood white as crystal, that no wonder did clot
In it, though in it clot some small tear.
‘Then be of good cheer, and let no man pervert,
The lion be tame, and the boar tame;
No man was so kind, nor boy so kind,
as I, that by thy side gave thee this:
What is thy excuse, for my sake to stand so fast?
I leave you alone, and leave all to your own wonder,
Since I must bequeath thee this curse,
To bear thee that which thou hast done to harm.
By this, and this, with fearful cries she begineth
To drown her sorrow; and in their cries
She forthwith exclaims, in Ajax’ name,
And Tarquin’s fair name; ’tis foul of thee,
To leave a citizen doting
Without right, and live for murder!
O pardon me, when I prophesy the day,
A man like you is to be dethroned
Of his worthier doting queen.
Thus ends his tirade; ‘Since thou dost murder me,
I will revenge this night by blunt strangulation;
By this I promise a happy death:
Thus ends his case, ‘gainst my suffering sorrow.’
What is your name? and wherein hast thou come from?
I ask you thus: ‘Father, how are you, so kind
As I to die by accident being sought?
To die, I will tell thee so, and thou shalt have it;
Thou lov’st not to blame, I love thee when thou kill’st
Thy self, which is in blame; in blame thou art.
Away, I tune thy sorrow to thy heart:
At last he replies, ‘O ill-nurtur’d crow, why art thou so kind
And drives away his prey by false suspect?
As one that flies, like the feather doth fly,
Thy living hue will stay the same; so thy voice stayth
When those two beauty’s arms are confounded.
‘Well, well, well, what an age this place is,
Till I beg leave to be left unadvised.
I’ll live a modest life and not one rich,
Hath much skill to change, nor any feeling skill,
But is at least most modestly kind,
To die, to live a simple death, and be extinct.’
The old oak’s sap doth cover his brown leaves,
And the young’s rarities burn like incense in his beard,
Which, like a drunken revel, doth take on new vigour,
Though drunk with grief and bloody war,
Not with his heavy tongue nor his keen senses,
But with a soft, supple hand, that seemeth all gentle,
So suppos’d he would bow in respect, and say:
I love thee in that I love thee in thine,
But I love thee more in thine eyes, for thou art better.
The night, that thou hast drawn to nought,
When tomorrow is as full of cares as here,
In this tired dulness I’ll bequeath,
To Tarquin and the rest of the party.
He doth leave them, and I faint with fear.
O that my pretty Lucrece might have been
With all her might, and all her might with me,
I must a thousand times kill myself to find out,
Before I have found my self again;
All this I have but to say, the thought doth it curious,
And all this in vain I find true:
Now is my sorrow growing more large;
To cope with swelling sorrow,
Or with swelling grief to cope with growing;
Then are we two that like one,
When both do contend for acceptance,
I must vouchsafe my self to Tarquin’s right.
O how do you please I may your affection
When I must forsworn to spend a moment boast?
In vain, O how you like, mine I witness
Till you see the tears in my eye,
And in my veins their red, bloody drooping.
If you will excuse me I must leave
My mistress’ eyes, my dear, in peace,


======== CHECKPOINT 066 OUTPUT # 004 ========

PETBud (without name) doth make him moan.
“How late forlorn I was!—sweet love, my sweet,
Yet on thy sweet back did I hear thee moan!
‘Lo, from this hour forth thy thunder doth burn
To distract the dull night, who in their
dream will not behold thy beauty,
As night doth wink and day doth wink,
For oft the weary muse will play the fool
And distract night and day with his continual roaring.
But when thou shalt behold night, bright and mighty,
Who scorn not mortal sin, even when thou shalt see
The self-same stain that once upon thy face thou bear.
‘Thy love is dead, thy self thy foe:
Let no gentle slave survive thee,
Nor any gentle acquaintance survive thee,
For none hold thy pity so dear,
Nor will thy sweet self be alive to kill.
But if the thief steal thy dear life,
he that liv’d still would be forgot,
And never would be so mended again.
‘”O then advance of yours that phraseless hand
Whose unseen eye hath almost pined in,
Or was it not the forego’d brow
That made his sight so bright? O that brow which yet doth bear
Shall that youth that’s overgrown,
When beauty shall surpass all beauty’s form,
And live in all beauty’s dead flower?
O then that youth’s brow should blush with youth’s light,
That blush’s flame should burn bright-besieged,
And beauty be cast out of youth’s sight,
And beauty dead, with beauty still alive.
O that his tears might shed new life,
He had her eye but to the end, still did tear.
Her tears are red, hers white and both doth bleed.
She had him kiss her lips, and he did her join;
His hand, she thought, was swift and level;
His tongue, she thought soft, but not so fast:
her love, in him she found a gulf,
That would prove his abuse, if it did manage to find a friend.
The day she hears of the lilies dead,
Her heart-slow heart to her knees doth fret;
But when they hear of the violet growing,
they laugh and seem troubled;
And, lo, those violets that are to their eyes
Fold with the pale violet, as fast as men will go.
‘And now,’ quoth she, ‘once more behold
The dead goddess at her picture,
And then on the edge of a hard-favour’d bed
Her visage hath all but vanished;
She hath no breath, no smell, no touch of shame,
But as the world hath emptied itself of air,
She breathes, but never quite; the vapours do expel.
For now, like a dying coal, she starts again,
For breath again finds no breath, but like a dying woe.
In this sigh Tarquin answers her,
The deep sense of grief and sorrow
To this deep plea for aid from him she throws;
She throws her burden quite upon his neck,
And all amaz’d at the moment he throws;
His breathing drops, and his teeth do obey;
His right hand, his left, his face are painted black;
Their accents are almost black, but their mouths are white:
All this, in the thought of his right,
He ducks in, and falls asleep.
O how she woos when she awaketh,
O how she utters the dreadful cry aloud:
‘She forsworn unto me that she may be slain;
O comfort be with her that hath not done her harm;
But if she be found dead, why hast thou no more wail her?
‘Look what happies hath happiered to me;
And to my self a thousand happies hath lent
Than one swerving swan to his allotted spot.
, for thy part hath Sinon begun a race,
To breed an offspring that will survive thee.
If thine be endowed with aught that hath not been,
I will not force it upon thy part,
That thou my self shalt have it bred.
But if thy body in thy power will raise it
high treason, lo, in the name of true religion,
These terms are to be kept secret,
The more to please the heart that doth hate me.
The one doth speak good of me, the other foul
That ever in my judgment I know.
The one doth say that my life in thy state is sour,
The other that thou art my self’s debtor;
The rich man doth say that I am poor and never liv’d.
O hear me, poor soul, my soul


======== CHECKPOINT 066 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Cele and the young queen weep;
She dares not look, but sings, “Kill, kill, kill.”
Aye, he tells her she is not his,
And for his love she tells him so:
Her voice being mute, she replies:
“O, that was too hot, let it not burn.”
Her eyes now turn cold, and her cheeks start anew;
Her lips and eyelids are slack, her joints knit,
Her nostrils send shiverings; her eyes dart forth their beams.
This poor child is possessed with much dread,
As the winter-gale blows her mad away,
She sees the dreadful day set in her mind,
And on that day her fearful eye
Lies aloft like an armed tyrant.
Yet her jealousy makes no defence;
She is revenged on him for his crime;
No word comes to her from him in pain,
so concludes I, and I am bereft thee;
My worth is thine, thy worth all those.
This thought brings her sorrow to a stand,
Like to a sist’ring puddle, where sighs and tears meet.
His laments drown out his sorrow’s cries;
And in his own grief comes a sort of delight:
He speaks, and all in a loud voice.
‘I hate’ he says, ’tis the most heinous of crimes,
That I have done to none my self, yet have done him good.’
‘Then excuse me,’ quoth she, ‘why dost thou ask of me?
So that I might be revenged upon my self,
To be remembered for such a deed.
As those hours that thou hast spent,
So should I be forgotten in my sleep.
This said, he throws his lance, which doth grace his wound,
Like as one of thine youth should he leap,
Whereon his youthful vigour doth excel a late morn,
The young man doth tremble, and the young woman shriek,
As one would cry: ‘Kill him, kill him again!’
When Collatine, for her sake, desires death,
Her own daughter is buried beside,
and all in vain, with this he begins,
To fester, and all in vain he liv’d.
‘So then she was not dead with him; she was alive with him;
He was alive with her; she was dead with him.
‘So then she was not dead with him; she was alive with him;
She was alive with him; he was alive with her;
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘this did not leave me,
As a lingering shadow bids a lingering dream go,
When the sun never set; for all the world she sleeps,
And in this dim light doth rest,
Where all the world is hid and still to rest.
Then with a sigh she falleth in the grave,
And wakes Adonis with more delight,
When he by chance hath committed the murder,
And murders himself, and leaves himself no more.
Her voice, quoth she, is that dear moiety;
For that sweet moisture that clings to her lips,
Shall bark her barren bark with more vigour;
And let it have a fresh bearing, for the bark will bear
All foul harms done to her by others.”
“So then she was not dead with him; she was alive with him;
He was alive with her; she was dead with him;
O! how dare she?” quoth she, “my life was forfeit,
If life were to be wasted in a vain chase?
Even now her face in the brook’s light
Shone white as ever’d before, and wore all black;
Even now her lips were full of wanton looks,
And crooked as ever’st lips; yet every eye
Where the sage painted beauty did grace;
Which beauty did gloss over, yet still was gloss’d white,
And was in truth painted black. ‘Thus is she revenged on me.’
“Ay me,” quoth she, “I swear by the Lord,
And thou art the author of this dire crime,
Who gives the flood a brine, and clears the dale;
And with that he takes all in vain,
So deep in debt do I owe him,
That I am in such dire straits.”
Her face with rage and piteous looks she doth
Pry open her pale cheek, look where it self lies:
‘What did I say? ‘I will tell the truth:
Then, if thou wilt have aught more I would tell,
Proving me false, by thy fair deed so.’
So she quakes and doth smile, as the wind
Pushes her pale cheek;


======== CHECKPOINT 067 OUTPUT # 001 ========

crassemble the brain and the heart in one,
Making them part; and from their parts disperse,
To fight, as in battle, or from the desire,
To cross the threshold; each by chance took
One by his friend, another by foe.
This night I’ll be modest, and look after thee,
Making thy body my temple, my altar:
And thou my temple where all my good pleasure lies,
Which after thy death through defiling reigns,
By thy death shalt I see buried treasure,
Not in thy grave’s marble, but in thy blood,
As is thy wont, that thy soul when it reeleth thee,
Will pour cold pity on thy poor soul.
As she sleeps, she in dreams, like children possessed,
Will swear that Lucrece is old and not of worth,
And she, much wooer than she, will say,
That her mistress is old and not of worth:
And that her mistress may yet be alive be
For all her fame doth lie in her maid’s pride.
‘O, if thy heart were a knife, that’s sharp and deadly,
To slay with it the living, or else die in it;
‘But be not too fond a woman, and be unfriendly
To kill in self-defence, as I have done here,
To give life to the dead, and revive the living;
For as the living breatheth life, so the dead die.
For why should our blood spill in his name,
Since no more needeth he stain’d with blood?
‘O, if thy heart were as sharp and deadly,
Why should my life be wasted if I live?
‘Tis thou, the executor of my crime,
That by thy murder hath committed me.
By that, my dear friend, all my guilt may rest,
My life being wasted in his name,
Thy life is my friend, and he his debtor.
‘O! thy pity never made me less frightful,
Though not my death still to fright thee.
Thy lips, on lips that taught us this,
Were mov’d to correct our misgivings;
The gouty groom would not like it, for it wert here
To seduce and seduce her;
Who, mad as she is with wanton care,
Would, like a miser, take the trouble
To leave her mistress, and come back again;
For why, poor fool, do I not tremble,
As much at thy trespass as at thy tongue,
For it hath offended so many, both sweet and vile.
‘Well may I say to thee, ’tis not my will,
To kiss the earth with kisses, that thou dost begin;
To kiss the sea with blows, that thou dost commence;
To kiss men with tongues, that thou dost begin;
To kiss women with wombs, that thou dost begin;
To kiss men with lips, that thou dost begin;
And for this I say my will shall be seen,
And my reason my cause the better to die.
I will not till I have read and heard the cause
Of my death, my love, and their procur’d love;
They were spies, spies that perforce
Within the fold of men’s thoughts, to deceive, make them hate.
‘And being gone, unhappily she tied her arms,
Like a sad-fac’d wretch, dreading her foes;
She kiss’d them, but did not force them:
She lead them to a steep-up hill, where they would kneel,
To weep for their dead father;
They would not answer her, for fear of eternal damn:
Her face, like a devil-haunted devil,
With guilty look devours her whole:
So, poor dewy queen, woe betide thee,
Who by night devours her in such a haste,
She wastes still with wantonness, and still with woe,
When time’s out, and sorrow’s in excess;
Her cheeks, that piteous channel through which she breathes,
Hath nurse them, but parasites, to feed their hungry mouths.
‘So in his bed, like a proud swan,
Some unbent and twisted heavey, lay he did dismount;
In his thigh lay a twisted-up toy,
Which late his cockatrice stole with a lazy roll;
And, lo, this toy held in high prurient fear,
With false alarms and bloody cryings it doth hie,
And wakes the lad to fight another day.
“Poor bastard! what a world of suffering
its effects should one wail for thy sake!
Thou dead, and


======== CHECKPOINT 067 OUTPUT # 002 ========

editing from thee,
And from thee, which forth thy sins do extend,
The one doth plead for justice and for pardon,
The other for blame.
And for my sake do I accuse thee of my absence,
Though I was not present when thou hast done this deed.
Yet thou hast not done this to me,
In spite of what the world doth say,
I hold that thou (O repentant soul)
As guilty of perjury and treason,
For stealing thy self’s sweet beauty, and for thy deeds,
Thy living sorrow still lends thee a hell.
“Why hast thou such trouble, O cruel lord of mine eyes!
I can see thee sorrow’s full effect,
And yet thou art not so kind, my dear,
To touch what I touch with my seeing eye,
And to my poor seeing eye my spite resist:
But I am but a beggar’s child, and my heart is thine,
And thou wast my debtor when thou owed me.
‘If the sun go down, the world will blame him
For ruining his spring with showers.
‘If the moon go up, his glutton will eat
Of stale and dead days and give life to every thing,
Whilst he upon the earth reigns still,
And in his prime doth devour the world’s crops,
And dies, as one dying by the hand of nature.
But now this self-same god gives rise
To a son and daughter, that in their pride reign,
For each is descended his son’s excellence.
Thus her beauty grew, her pride died with her:
As if those two flowers, whose ranks should discharge
the guilt which it contains.
So did I again this time with more pride,
A new-kill’d friend, a new-kill’d foe:
The butcher’s knife thus she prepares:
He utters this to the black maid who lies,
Till, lo, she hears him say, “I’ll kill thee without remorse.”
So, for his part, he answers, “No, no.”
“No,” quoth she, “I thought you coy, and therefore did kill;
Then, lo, I blame the lily’s bright skin
To my shame and thy guilt, and to thy guilt’s decay.
O yes, as the lion, but with his sharp claws am I,
Even when he surfeits, despite of death I bear him still;
No longer doth he swear that I am still alive,
but with sharp teeth, can distinguish no cause;
He, that by seeing my shame so doth he grow,
Thy looks, that by thy deeds so commendeth,
To me thy pity hath added sweet perspective.
‘O one by nature’s outwards so commended
That beauty is thought almost black,
She, like a cherubin, in the hot pursuit
Hath scythes and in her eye hath done justice
To the roses, and in her eye hath done justice.
‘O night, in the dim distance where thou hideest,
With cloudy dispersal doth flow,
With wet, and cold, and neither shall endure,
The deep-dreaming Lucrece calls it nigh.
In the dark she wakes up, and as she looks,
The world doth wonder at her dim state;
To make her want to move her hand, she throws it
Into the fire, whereupon it raineth.
“Hadst thou not, thy father had stol’n me,
Even as an April feasting pluck’d the breast
Of a sist’ring mare, thou hadst not been tam’d with a sting;
Thy unyielding welfare had but belied thee,
And when that proud, black-fac’d lamb shake’d,
Thy pride on youth and pride on looks
That I might look on him anew with all my heart,
As if those trophies from Troy should hold them,
Even by the looks of happy eyes.
If thy hope and virtue ever can boast,
And never falter in that hope,
The strength of that hope never in me declines.
No doubt Adonis did not see
His face; he saw nothing of the lusty
Devouring boar; but if his visage had been free,
Life might in a moment have drawn
Into the bottom of death’s level.
But thou the sun, in whom the tempest doth lie,
Will yet shine through the tempest-galls,
And yet, lo! the sun doth play the tempest,
And yet this darksome Tarquin doth shine;
With his bare hands the world shall burn this unkind,
And thou hast no sun for sun to shine;
But my


======== CHECKPOINT 067 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Disabled.
For my part I’ll give the world my all,
I’ll sing praise of virtue,
And give a living grave to the dead,
Which I’ll keep unspotted for my monument.
And so I do, till the Roman god Pyrrhus appear,
And with him reenforce this dark theme:
From thence, following a gloomy chain,
Each light star from the east illumin’d
Will set the world alight, and Tarquin grave.’
This line, like so many borrowed lines from Troilus and Lucrece,
From Lucrece’ own book of hymns, I read,
To the bawd his fair queen did devour.
For as it was summer’s day, whose fair sun
Doth feast the green plum, whose tender buds stand
On every cheek, and in every spot.
Thy fair form these round pearls in thy cheek stand,
I never saw but with my fair eye
Some tender jewel or precious thing thy fair eye doth dwell.
As for thy fair eye, why art thou dumb and blind,
When thou art so much mermaid’s workman:
I dare not say so, unless thou swear to me.
To make them swear I am truth, and verisimilitude,
And do not tell them the truth I say,
O I say such oaths when they break my oath,
The breach is deep, the rest soft.
And then Adonis bids them look pale and dim,
And then Collatine, mute and dumb,
To the Roman captain kneels and suppos’d them,
Laying surplice upon his brawny crest,
And by and by proceeds they hie pale,
Like the spotted tresses of the firs in the country.
“Look where I stole thy flower; whereupon I threw it,
Like a jade-white stole from the bank,
Upon that it self fell to the ground,
Breathed forth this vile wind: ah! that it might not destroy thee!
What cares then then, then my hand, my heart,
Make stopp’d with this wretched task, or depart?
Or, being stopp’d, return to your side?
The Romans once more owed this debt,
And to this obloquy they owe the rich,
Who with this bounty are they to blame.
Yet do not blame her that she hath let go,
For never hath he shunn’d her maid to tutor her;
His foul nature will in her know
The true nature of his foul act,
When he himself must be depriv’d of all good.
O! the world’s fair gift is stopp’d from thee,
When by thy gentle hands thy true nature doth abide!
Thy art the fairest ornament in every bier,
And when thou shalt set fair precedent,
The world will laugh at thee, and scorn thy art.
“Lo, my mistress, how dost thou mean to make me stay
My ill-favour’d ill-favour’d ill?
The thing is, I love her better still than thou.
If she can cure thee of my ill,
Thy self thou art not, I am thy match,
And thou thine not being, I am thy friend,
And I, that thou art to blame, am thy dearest friend.
If that should be thy wish, how will it please thee
To ravish my ill, and to steal thy life?
I will not defy thee, though thou wilt use me;
For if thou wilt, I will persuade thee to stay.
The fault is with my mistress, and I her;
But if she can cure thee of my ill,
Thy self, which she hath infected,
And me to blame for her self-doing harm,
I’ll be her slave, and then she thy slave;
I’ll be free of her foul stain, and of her foul stain’s repeal,
I’ll be free from her foul stain, and be happy too:
But if that’s not enough, then she foul infection,
is he happy, she sad, he faint, she frowns.
‘To me’ and ‘twixt them he runs:
He comes, and runs quickly away;
‘O! she hath no cheek, and yet is so kind;
She may be, but she is so blunt and blunt a tongue:
‘Tis thy will that sticks her tongue;
That her lips shall never praise him still;
She may well be, but he is so blunt and blunt a tongue;
Her tongue hath her own power, and she hath it so well.
‘The gouty olde maid that hath wearied me
With tedious work in my household,
Shall complain me of


======== CHECKPOINT 067 OUTPUT # 004 ========

skeptics.
‘If he were alive, life should have ended in disgrace;
That death by virtue should this unhappy event,
Or life, in this unhappy ending,
Be a perpetual woe? ‘Tis better to die by living than dying,
Then dying by living a living disgrace.
Thou wilt have many a happier and more lovely day,
But with her death I must list thee,
Thou my sweetess, and thou my sweetess,
I will kiss thy sweet flesh, and leave thee my dear;
I will bear thee not thy beauty’s burden,
But merely to be buried in thy name,
Who dares not scorn me when I am dead,
That in thy name thou livest, and in thy name still liv’d,
Since that thou livest, I for thy sake shall stay,
And in thy name shalt survive.”
‘But ah, I do suspect he hath some grudge,
That she may be so grossly misled,
that he may make some slight look;
The thing that is dear most in him declines,
And from his wit, his courage, and his reason,
To be tempted by deceits, turns cold patience.
So shall she wake, and sleep no more,
For what reason would she wake now to make an end?
To catch his breath, breathe it in her breast.
So shall she wake, and sleep no more,
For what reason would she wake now to make an end?
How can she then wake, and breath it in her breast?
But when thou shalt wake in darkness thou shalt find
A black-fac’d figure in the dim mist,
That hath blackened the stol’n, blotting the bright green;
Who, blushing, looks pale, and shames herself;
So shall she wake, and sleep no more,
For what reason would she now wake now to make an end?
O pardon me, I know not the right pen,
To write simple verses in dull check,
And for the sake of brevity mine pen did borrow,
Till better writers be acquainted,
That what they say is true, and what they write is true.
‘Poor fool, what dost thou look for?
But if thou wilt look into his heart,
his love is old, though young it hath power
To set fairs, but not to enrich them.
If I were true, it were but a shadow
To the earth, whose creation I forbear to look;
But now being made fair, I abhor it still:
When beauty in youth hath stain’d,
Love of any kind, shall stain well all fair days;
And not of fair colours shall my love survive,
For in thee I can neither stain nor never light.
‘And therefore I tell the night-owl, ’tis night, and thou shalt find
Thy beloved, thy love, in that thou find’st a foe;
Even then thou gav’st thy worth away, for it is thine,
And from hence thou shalt find elsewhere,
Thine own worth must be tasted, and elsewhere thy name find.
“Alas,” quoth he, “my wife is dead,
And thou shalt have no more to do with her.”
So he replies, “Thyself, and thou thy lady’s son,
May die in this, thou wast self-defil’d.”
“Kill myself,” quoth he, “and then live to be gone.
The one, the other, must survive.”
This said, he strikes his spear into the wound,
The other, with a swift action, dismounts;
Like a pack-horse, as it robs the rider,
The cheetah fearing it might maim the rider,
For fear of injury which it provok’d:
But in the pursuit of the boar the rider,
The mounted coward, being mounted, prays pardon;
He is the first, and he the coward,
Both honour, shame, and fear in him make none.
But in the face of death, as in Troy’s face,
The living dead, the living dead, shall debate;
And all three shall debate, and then die:
In that death shall there come living dead,
Which shall not die by chance, by virtue,
By virtue being disgraced, by virtue being disgraced.
Thou (living) living image shall live in the grave,
And by that living dead (living) image shall live,
The living dead shall live in the living dead:
And being dead, in that living dead’s image shall live,
The living dead shall live again and again.
She sees two young men with young children,
Playing sports in the snow-white van,
Gazing on the birds that they do


======== CHECKPOINT 067 OUTPUT # 005 ========

fits the most powerful powers that ever pow’r in creation,
With purest eloquence, with true reason, and most perfect truth.
So having seen, as he hath, the worst of deceivings,
And seen in his true state his wits and fortitude
As he did compare to other men’s deceivings,
Till he prove right and wrong in their attaint,
He shows what a tyrant in power
May live, and yet is not dead:
He in life, ’tis a sovereign thing,
To have no name, to live unapproved,
To have no name, to live so authorized,
Or so strong a name that any praise should have.
Yet, despite himself, his name shall live unseen,
And nowhere in thy power shall it dwell:
Thy eyes for me have gazed on thy face,
And in them have peeped every blot
That ever shadow may be seen, that can no true perceiver hide.
O, this wretched slave of fate,
Lest his image should ever live,
His body in thought might yet be glorified:
Yet thou wilt take advantage of my ill:
thou shalt not kill my life by that which I do amend,
But rather die by the life that thou hast begot.
By this, ‘Grim’ and ‘Harmless’ were she blinded,
And never saw the true hue of his o’erworn face.
For fear of this coming doom, she sits,
And looks on the hopelessly lost,
Where lives, ere death, can make aught of him.
Her eyes are fix’d on Lucrece,
She hears the rustling of horses,
Whereat she thinks she sees the beldame of her hare;
Then in a low hush falls she descanteth
The green of the roses, and she doth
Till with a gentle motion remove her cap.
The painter’s fair Sinon in mourning guise
Saw the same shame in her young.
But as she look’d on him now with sorrow,
Her fair face bore the full and certain part,
Which he in his fair park did in little charmed.
Her pale cheek, as it hied, did with his likeness remain;
Her lips, like pearl lips of brinish hue,
Shook off his fierce will, and forth again.
For shame’s effect was never to soften,
Nor gentle love to blush so much as she did offend;
Nor gentle kindness to smile, for fear thereof so:
Nor fair imperfection to blush so much as we offend,
But for our offence, so be it amended.
But though her merit be such, yet be it not assailed
that I am no less a slave of witchcraft,
Than that I myself am the slave of some false thief.
‘The blushing young master at Adonis’ rein,
Sits up his troubled visage to mock his wits,
And throws his head back, still contriving to look;
A woeful scene he utters, and then proceeds
To add more shame to his gross matter,
Or even the plausibly leading charge,
With untimely words, breaking the fast-sad rest.
To win his rage, her master stirs his rage,
And now Adonis turns his head to her right;
And Adonis frowns, and now her master holds
The deadly knife, which is bent on striking;
And now the thought seems to her that she would kill
My life and make no other threat;
Then my life would in one fell hand defend
A life of pure abhorred crime,
Which I in none of thy wonted might defend.
‘For this purpose have I devised some band,
To make my suffering acquaintance some friend;
Then from thence my sick companions to where I am
Will straight be drawn from my presence, being sick, to come
To Tarquin where they would give life and bless
Their sick shadows with more pure lights.
So with this he shakes up his chin, and forth again;
He wets his eyes with his light-sad hand,
And now his lusty blood, which in his bright hand
Cool’d with his quick eye, is flash’d in his head,
Who by that instant is afraid lest his sight
Should become blind when he thinks to turn back.
“That I might,” quoth he, “go to bed with others,
And yet tomorrow I must be gone.”
This said, she throws up her eyes, and begins
To put on black, that light which doth in her sight hide.
As the morning sun hath set in her face,
All fair moon the very same, hath put on her face,
With a little moon she dot


======== CHECKPOINT 068 OUTPUT # 001 ========

udos.
“Oh then love hath power to kill, and so is love affected;
So then love’s venom works, and death’s venom is left.”
So she speaks, and yet she cannot curb her words;
Her poor tongue quakes, as one sitting by a tree prays;
To make it more clamorous she shakes her head,
Which makes the woe more, and the woe more full.
“How many lives, then, do I not imagine
Upon the life which I did make?”
“Three,” quoth she; “one, two, one; one, two, three.”
“Hast thou thought on my death?” quoth he.
“Ay, ay, ay, ay,” quoth she, “all these lives thou cursed betray,
That my life did thy picture borrow;
And that all thy life that thou so praise’st,
In me thou hast put all the rest into thine.
Thus did I betray my life to thine own eyes,
And mine eyes to his beauteous art did give thee
life, that is but to disgrace, and disgrace
By living a second life, ere death assured.
The one sweet, the other vile,
The former is death, and the latter life only.
This I shall denote, for brevity I leave
The former in this pattern, the latter in
Effects of former, and the former the former.
From hence I proceed,
Till sometime from this downward descending stream
My spirit guides my downward course,
From this place I will venture to repeat,
Wherein I shall still unfold this long work.
Thus I must proceed, thy part is still open.
O learn to love; but learn not to love well,
If that teach you well to hate,
Thine eyes are black, thy heart white.
‘So then, as she walks in her haste,
Her lips are caged in some kind of fear,
Like golden doors which lock her out in night.
“What is wrong?” quoth she, “if there be aught but ill
Against himself? Or, if he be diseased,
What good is love if he is such a devil?
Love, my love, is my worst sin:
I shall live and be an earthly man,
For loving thee so, thy pity still renews.
So shall I live, and thou shalt live being despised.”
She throws herself at him with a kiss,
And having her arms about her waist,
With a kiss her hair dishevell’d, so falls she back;
And from the wood whose sap the sap is wringing,
a heart that spies his face deceives
Till every part hath a heart of thine.
His eye, which bears forward with keen eye
Holds the whole; and all amaz’d at his sight
Save where he takes the eye’s delight.
The more I look at him, the more I find
His eye, which hath sight in all directions,
Hath double sight in all parts of sight,
(This makes my head several fountains,)
Thy eye like a flower hath sight, and thine in all parts.
“Why, my love, thou hast no cause to hide thy mind,
Thy hairs are short, thy nails sharp, thy joints weak,
That no gentle thing ever will curb thy will.
“Why, my love, thou art all the stronger for that,
Thy strength is love, and I will defend it;
The other two, why wilt thou abuse it,
When it is the foundation of a new good?
be thou gilded with more than thy might,
The best is so much that needs no ornament;
Or when every part needs no framing,
The gilded idol with his or her parts,
Shall shine with all his might, and all his glory.
‘”Ay me! that infected moisture which stains thee
From my body in this vile stain cannot die;
Though death do stain it not with my visage,
And all the gross stain which I in thy face remain.
O pardon me, I sympathize;
But thou art a pretty creature, and my pity
Is not enough to get me rid of thee:
Let us return again and see if thou find
What happies happies means, and what it means
For me, in suffering a kind of sorrow.
So long as I alone dwell with thee,
The day’s leisure for you to do me good
Doth seem short, and night long.”
Now she says to him, ‘O gentle and kind friend,
My dear love, my dear friend,
I did sometime woo you and there died.
The thing is too late; the deed is death,
And I will excuse myself and


======== CHECKPOINT 068 OUTPUT # 002 ========

cout, on the other hand, can scarcely be so gracious;
His gracious nature, that it self confounds,
Lies in the tender embrace of ill.
But this loving-kindling tyrant, having no pity,
Still will bear the blame; for now he lies
With her, and her shame is the gain
Of a thousand blemishings.
Poor girl, to whom her eyes so daily rest,
And every thing but an ornament,
Whose daily motion doth live in wrinkles,
That all things but an ornament in her,
Do question her purity still, and therein remain:
So are you then blind and dumb when so much
Appear in thy glass. ‘Tis thou that set’st this evil,
Which thy careless eyes themselves so bright doth dote;
And yet love hath two eyes, one truth, the other two satire;
They both (truth and beauty) are in the same,
Thou lov’st both and nothing else is true,
And beauty neither, neither stands nor stands but
When beauty and truth must stand.
So she marcheth through the night, and still cometh day.
‘For shame’s sake, all these knights that did fight,
Stand with me for justice hath no end;
The statute of this fair crime lies
In the guilty’s life, wherein it shall be proved;
Which in this present case is my guilt;
This present guilt shall in no way decrease;
If it increase, it shall be forgot,
And never bear witness to that fair day.
O lest with her life’s waste thy memory,
The very thing it was meant, shall in it grow
A new-bleeding flower, made from dead plants.
And lo, the morning sun doth look on the world,
And yet the stars as they shine now,
Hath no beauty in their radiance,
They bettered with beauty’s freshness shine.
“Look here at this huge brain of mine eye,
Which I in brain and in body are debating;
Who for what purpose should I live,
As if from death I should immigrate?
How can a body but a brain die
That hath no limbs to walk on?”
This thought at once acquit her ill;
For now the thought runs, and all in her head lie.
‘Thus shall her jealousy be foiled,
In the matter of that unhappy death:
And from this troubled shadow the eyes of men
Which do the heavy work of framing,
Have come, and are standing by,
As the fleet-foot flies before them;
And where the eagle sits he stares,
Like a wolf, which like a proud bird doth trot
Under the bark of a fowl’s feather.
‘Now come, all these hearts that here on this earth,
Have given unto you life, and grace, and good government,
That you may yourself make your desire, your doting,
To live, that which you have begot, may your will abide.
If any of you, being so minded,
Hath lived, you should live as one being,
Without all your living likeness: but, for that life which you lack
Have none to live by adding to your name.
‘This said, his hand his purple hat,
Called to her aid by her nurse,
Came with a greater load of wanton looks,
Than at the feast of many a goddess’ reign.
‘Small wonder then, young Adonis,
With a flourish of purple, did lend his visage
To the princess’ face, and gave them both his lips,
When in chorus the rest had sung,
all these for thee I list my woes,
For thee I do count thy suffering,
Thy suffering should be thy comfort;
Thy woes should be thy excuse: thy excuse thy suffering.
O, this thought may it entice thee,
To undertake some desperate enterprise?
Or, as Lucrece calls it, “wanting to leave behind”?
The thought is too dreadful to dream,
And all too much of our time with you.
‘Tis but the time when you last least expect,
And most of all, you most doth spend.
‘That time, in spite of hours spent,
Presents you to his chamber door,
And to his gracious face affords a light,
And to his gracious hand encircles
A pretty new addition to your set;
But he for his grace needs a glass,
And if it is to make his heart like yours,
You must have a glass.”
For sometime he stops, and there smiles;
Then his lips a little moist, like plaits in the brine;
In his wild uncontrolled rage do they trem


======== CHECKPOINT 068 OUTPUT # 003 ========

dat of his blood doth lie:
And that doth live, in the sum of his deeds,
The sum of all his happy shows.
“If he did, thou wilt have pity, my love,” quoth she,
And all in a flash he runs on,
The sun, moon, and stars dote;
And all in a moment his sad spectacle doth appear,
And all in a minute his happy face doth grow;
And in that minute’s joy enters in his face
Thy true eye shall never wink,
Nor all my offences shall anyhow be missed.
To make thy spite against me I’ll strike,
When that is most certain thy will is defeated;
And from thine eye so shalt all offences be seen.
O, what a hell of witchcraft lies in me!
That my love can do for one thing so singular,
Not for one thing so singular, evermore so applied,
So thy name’s beauty be taken away,
And thou the only surviving child to me,
beauteous thou hast no other right to complain,
For I am thy child, and thou art thy wife.
What did thy mistress say, did she not tell
What was in my head at the time she spoke?
O have some feeling sympathy for me,
Which means I must leave the matter alone,
That I may think of thee in good faith,
Thy true beauty doth complain, and in my shame plead:
My true self was an old man and woman,
Age and youth, kindred and birth,
And thou art both of them both present and past.
But ah, that my husband was not so,
And to have his dear love forsaken was my wish.
No, my husband is my true and absolute,
And for that I do strive.
The fault is that my self was not so kind
As to boast of my self’s being gone.
He who did boast is not my self again,
And by that false precedent agrees
In what he told and did believe,
In what he confessed, and did forbid.
So she in that false precedent doth stand,
The shame which my self doth bear is nothing short,
Not having to suffer, nor being loved,
I guess to be ridged of my shame,
To be rid’d of my shame, and replete with delight.
O Time, how wondrous a spectacle
My body, with shrunken mind, with yellow brain,
Tells the story of a babe dead before;
My limbs being reedy, with trembling pain,
With trembling pain doth call it birth.
‘O Time, thou dost make time’s last task
to rob a beggar’s chest of a thing he did lend.
This said, he shakes his head and neighs aloud;
‘Reward not the widow for sparing me!
This said, he holds a twain to be tied;
Then tie not thine own will:—
Thus far have I checked my love, and not my will:
But I have checked thee and my love’s will,
And thy will thy love check to every fair test,
Since I am thy friend and my friend’s dame.
O what a relief it must feel when I see thee still alive!
thou on thyself betray thy parts,
That I am thy dearest, and only slave to thee,
And in return must ransom me for thy love.
And, lo, by this, his hand trembles, and he cries;
“Sweet boy, here lies Collatinus;
Let him die, or else he will come and kill thee.”
In his rage she will quench his flame,
To prevent his windy rage with more thunder.
‘”O! what a sight it was!—an oft-witnessed jade
Gazing upon the fair sun with one fair eye
Which late the court in mourning wore,
Even as they were mourning for their loved one,
Borne by the quick motion of their eyes,
Her plaintive voice quakes the wood, and the wind
Will blow her away again, and she still will not stay.
‘Thus stands he, and now she still holds him by the hand,
As if to kiss him again, or to swear an oath.
But she is too young, and too old to swear,
For that oath to be enforced, and she will not obey;
For now she hath sworn that he is a mourner,
And he is a mourner not of truth swearing;
She sees him as he is, and thus ’tis said:
‘For every false slander that ever stood
In his face, a mourner would lie;
The mourner would slander the mourner;
To the mour


======== CHECKPOINT 068 OUTPUT # 004 ========

ITIES from their own sense did incline them;
And thus their sinewy cheeks did peel,
As snow melts in summer, whilst their brinish cheeks have shine.
For, lo, their sinful cheeks have sinewy bristles,
Which make them harder and bluer when wet,
Souring their cheeks with applying oil.
So from their sinful faces did Tarquin leap,
And all that she saw doth homage stand
And in her face she gaz’d, exclaiming on thee:
‘Her body is dead; the sinewy blood
In thy cheek stands still; she, holding this woe,
Pierces her body, and now her mind is set;
The knife, to kill her still, will strike her senseless.’
What hast thou done that I call revenge?
Thou mak’st me not guilty of thy trespass,
For by thy loving hand I was strumpetted,
When, fair queen, that hand that gave thee thee this wound,
Shook me not with the semblance of blame,
But as a token of thy loving woe,
I was thy compeers, thy chief judge.
O father, wilt thou not blot the stain of my stain?
My sinewy skin hath wrinkles that must be ironed,
Thy light’s golden foil breaks when it strikes,
The dullest knife’s melt when it strikes cold.
That all these annoyings hast thou made me prove,
With thy fair aspect the scope and quality of my mind,
And this in striving to be nice
To my self I am forced to be blunt,
To shun all harms that come from far;
To my fair parts I am subdued to gentle disdain,
And from afar I never hear the bell,
But when from my wide world my thoughts send,
from thee, for love, thy honour be twain.
Thus did she remove her eyes from her mind,
And in them slept a more rarer quality:
Than when she had nap’d, and nap’d all at once,
Her sad voice that through the night so doth lie,
The dull dull of sleep seems blushing with thee,
And in thy sleeping thoughts like that makes thee shudder.
Her sad song thus did I forget
Of thy suffering example, of thy suffering sorrow,
Till now she was listening, and now she was weeping.
“So shalt thou be servile to mine eyes,
As mine own eyes are deaf when thou thyself see’st,
To watch in vain as I in vain watch,
So thou, my sweet and true, my eyes are dumb when thou thyself see,
Each part of thee that perceives is dumb:
When I in thy thought, thou on thy part comprehend,
Thy part is dumb, mine part is high.
‘But now the sun hath seiz’d his treasure,
So Collatine and Lucrece leave their king,
And their spoil is ere this Collatine be gone,
With that which thou dost hoard in thy power,
And hoard it not with thy will, with thine own will,
And thou, the dearer than thou art,
Will hoard the treasure of all that hoard is,
So that in thy will shalt thou shalt live.”
‘So shall she weep when she finds me,’ quoth she,
‘Poor creature, thou bear’st no excuse for my weep:
For now I know thy sorrow is greater;
And my will is greater than thy rage,
When I saw thy will increase in greater strength.
Her cheeks, in wonder at his distress,
Are as one full of fear and dread of injury;
Her eyes, on him as on fire, blaze with murderous fire:
For there is but one thing foul in this,
Which all men covet upon, though they find it lawful:
These flames they then maintain with flame,
Which burn with their own foul fire in his pride.
‘”O, ah! what a sight it was! Who, so suddenly forsook her,
That her beauty did the threat give?
Or why her cheeks, which had long since dyed red,
Shone in succession with those on her head?
Or why her fair cheek was smeared with black,
Which now seem’d like burnt-out blood?
What kind of disgrace then was she in?
O then she was thy face, in truth it was sweet:
But now her eyes, like fire, have fled,
Like smokeless vapours from a burning fire.
‘”Yet be it lawful for mine eye to wink,
To take from thee those lips that close so bright
The very sight of shame that so true a sight!
If that wish, wherein thou art blamed,
Thy eye may thenceforth wink, and thence


======== CHECKPOINT 068 OUTPUT # 005 ========

�a very great loss
Of time, if time not time’s help.
O, be contented, and do not take away
The lesson, that I have taught you,
From this poor and barren earth:
For there shall no excuse my untimely deeds,
Nor excuse my neglect of your praise,
Nor excuse my love of your fondness:
But, woe be me! too early I attended
A young, pretty, and pretty man that I never saw;
Not for aught but his presence did stop my thoughts;
O most wondrous, this unknown thing,
Which time hath not yet told, though time so well knew!
Thy time is past the best of present,
And time is past all praise of past,
Time in itself is past all praise.
For Time, in Time’s presence, is still no praise,
But Time’s sweet beauty, which Time himself hath made so happy.
In like manner were she that did entertain me,
For in my presence did she entertain another:
She sat, and then she began to speak,
And began to sing, and then began to answer her;
Some of her words were answerable to her eyes,
She some in her might speak; some in her might keep:
Others in her might speak but poorly.
‘This lady’s injury,’ quoth she, ‘this vile murd’ron
To set revenge upon my poor love,
Which by thy infamy insults thy health,
And keep thy self out of this by stealing:
That is to me a merciless task,
For who would speak for justice, when no such thing
May plead for my life and my wife?
Or my dear friend being dead,
Her grievance shall be her excuse?
Then let her say ‘No’ to my protestations,
And be advis’d by her attorney to stay.’
His shadow doth stay the curtain drawn,
And hears no words but mournful moans.
“For me,” quoth he, “this night I must go unto bed;
The sheets are old, and my pillow takes
A heavy handkerchief, hot, and full of desire;
That I may lay down in a kind of groan,
And weep at thy sluggard self that hath done me wrong.
The shame which it engirts, that it cannot kill;
The grief of losing, and that of gaining,
Strikes me as if it were an ocean that doth breathe;
And every one weeps, each several and willing,
Like usury applying gloss to silver,
Or blood-red applying beauty to life.
‘”So then thou shalt have thine heir, and that thy heir,
shalt thou fill the earth with thy harvest;
Thy lands, and thy sea all with thy dolour’s waste,
Thy womb, thy sea all with thy grief’s waste,
Thy breath all polluted with foul odour from thence,
And all this and more on the ground thou gav’st,
As if from thence the polluted earth came:
Thy proud soil, all unperfect, being mix’d,
Doth seem the same to thee now, and thou shalt find:
Thy father’s name, thy late-beating age,
live I love thee, but thou art dead,
And life is no more than a dream, thou hast no breath,
Till breath takes thee by surprise, and beauty bids thee stay.
‘Thou lov’st my poor wife and not in the name of mine,
Thou lov’st false Muse and in my false spite
As in the bottomless pit of their highmost desire,
I will thy sweet heart to set, and that is false,
will do for me what my other loves have done for me,
I will bequeath thy self to thine, and thou thy self to mine.
“That he did stain, in the stain of his foul act,
His stain did not last; it will be remembered.
Then are the stains of time and of shame
Burying their odour in every blot.
When the sun hath set, it shines new-bleeding fire,
That burns the world with his fire, who doth more abhor it
Than the hot heaven that burns like the midday sun.
He that doth live, lives to enjoy it,
Being poor in wealth, in want of living things,
For that which we owe him we owe him.
‘So shall he run from thence, and not fear the wind;
That if he keep on such a course,
He will think a thousand ways he may hide;
He must be fastened to a steep-up chain,
And never touch the thing he sought again;
Then from a mountain base creeps he fell,
Who


======== CHECKPOINT 069 OUTPUT # 001 ========

discs or balls of steel, as from a furnace
Showing her purity and her skill.
‘If the light of day shine upon my brow,
What can it do but to show my brow blemish?
To show it black, when in my whole face lies white?
So must I blacken my youthful complexion with my hair.
The sun hath his glory in his glory dim;
To hide his true face, he doth homage shine,
To hide his true complexion, he doth homage blot.
His tongue, or dialect, was his own;
The former made more plain by their change;
The latter as evident by their change concealed.
‘Then is the fault that he is so fond on me,
For I, withal, with his foul acts reprove;
The truth would well his cause if it were known.
A man doth pine for love, who pine for lust,
And for his own gain win whom lust doth covet.
When I win, I win in love’s rank,
I win again for my love doth win.
But when she win again, she win’s lost her loss.
“Now be thou one that liv’d, and died with him,
In thy youth did thy lips open unto light;
Now die, and live thou in my deed:
Thyself art so recreant that death is near,
No living thing can stain his beauty with stain.’
This said, he fastens his mantle, and with him leaneth
A heavy iron gaol that the enemy hath:
When his wits shall countenance countenance,
he that controls his destiny hath power;
So with herself he subdues her by force,
He that controls her by her own free will.
No, my love is quite free from bondage;
The law is strict, but not unfirm;
For why should my love be enforced in others’
attractions? Let every eye behold the strife
That drives Love from this true-love house,
Where false Dian toil in other’s care.
And all these to myself have been
Adonis, and Tarquin brand new, with painted blood;
And now to you, and to my self, as your lords,
I make no new discovery, but old acquaintance remain:
Who before was your self when you were new?
Then is my self the better for my self becoming,
then be it lawful that thou bear it,
When thou shalt find it in thy power to use it,
Thou must bear it in thy power, and lov’st not strife.
‘”Now all these spies of fortune are gone,
From their bedsick cavil to their light,
And down the fair gardens have dropp’d their light,
And down the meadows have begun their budding:
And, true to Fortune’s watchful eye, these fowl
Have wink’d their bright lights in the morning sky.
‘I’ll be thy nurse, and thy physician,’ quoth she,
And give them physic, and cure them of pain.
The painter was right, and I the other;
He had the grace to show me where my true self lies,
And to show where I did strive to impress;
Then I must my self be painted as well,
Although I be blind, and yet my eyes can see well,
Where thou art my mirror, where thou art my mirror.
‘But why weep, O weeper than a child,
That thou didst forswore her; thou didst forsake her,
Her body’s foundation hath wearied, and thou hast lost
The maiden that made thee her slave.
‘Thus I say unto thee, thy fault shall not be sore;
But if thou wilt give it time, it shall be fairer;
For why?’ quoth she, ‘it shall be faster?’
“It shall be fairer,” quoth she; ‘why should I not ‘gan say
It shall be faster than thou hast wasted?
The day is done, the night is in session.
In the middle of that, quoth she, ‘let me kiss thy lips;
Let them not touch, or I will not kiss them:
And if they touch, let them not say, ‘kiss me again.’
He kisses her, and she takes no notice;
He whispers, and she hears no such thing.
In that, quoth he, she did begin to sweat,
As if he did swear he saw her wrack.
‘And lo, behold that man that lives and breathes,
Crawls and neighs, till he spurts on his foot;
Then, like a mighty wretch, he shakes with his foot,
Like a weakling, quoth he, ’tis he durst not touch her


======== CHECKPOINT 069 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Manning I love thee, and will cherish thee not
That I may hate thee with my deeds.
Thou (my love) art as fair in thy face
As when thou art dead, which was not thy wont,
Thou didst kill the deer, thou shalt bear the blame:
Thou didst kill the lion, thou shalt bear the blame;
So I will bear the guilt till the verdict be ready,
And I will kill thy slander in a few minutes.
‘”Now on this flinty black dial, which on the brook lay
Praising herself above water, as it doth owe
Her life, and that of all living creatures,
So her life’s repine is death, and life’s repine
is but to nurse the grave, and to bury it.
“But since thou livest, thou must not take away
My sorrow’s force, and my joy’s gain;
The one for thy sake doth bide, and I will bear it
In ranks of many, and with great victory.
O what a sight this world hath! how it doth mock and belied
Thy self, thy soul, thy body, thy poor body.
For they, that by thy sins so commended,
May weep for thee, that thou made this world.
‘”The field’s green with violet, with purple blood,
Doth lend an excellent show to the gaudy show
Of noble looks, of learned manner, and of learned
Courageous looks, noble looks, and of learned beauteous eyes.
This fair flower, which thine to thy taste bestoweth,
Whose tempting beauty doth dignifies with majesty,
That it in thy sweet form, being standeth
On the cheek with thy right, and on the left proud.
“Then mayst thou beheld the time, when this cruel knife
Sharpens an arch, and tears the maw;
What wonder then dost thou art that thou mayst bear it
When it doth so much harm? When it doth kill thee?
Thy eyes doth open, thy lips o’er fold,
And when they behold the spectacle unfold,
With burning passion they cry out in despair;
‘O Time, thou hast not yet blown the fire of love
By raining fire that doth burn so sweet a city.’
What of that fire, though fire prove so foul,
thou shalt not yet burn it up again.
Thy hair, nor loose nor tied in formal wear,
Thou art ashy, silly, rough, and lean,
But ashy in shape, rough in form, and leaner still.
‘Then shall I be blunt, and yet I will be blunt
In bluntness, bluntness in form, and leanness
In form and leanness, and in both, bluntness proud,
Fair complexion, fair complexion bold, boldness short,
Fair complexion short, boldness long.
‘Then with these, thy pity-pleading handmaids,
Let his majesty call them not,
And be not your fair Muse’s guest.
‘But now, this traitor, the traitor of my time,
From the blessed league of his youth,
Doth here make acquaintance of a scarlet,
A pair of dark-fac’d glasses, set in crystal prison;
With sunken brows, with pursed eyes, and with twisted brows
Hath carved a grim and hideous shape,
Which the eye hath not seen yet, but by the ear
Saw to sight the shameful deed that he did inflict.
How helplessly he hath stood in his way,
Till with a desperate cry he neighs aloud,
Whose hollows and hollows are drown’d in the waves:
Yet for my sake, let him weep, for his sake:
For Adonis’ sake let him weep, for mine own sake.
For him, if he willeth, her fair eyes are gone,
And she in his spirit reworded his verse:
But now, as in a dream, with dreadful sleep she stayeth,
The eye beholdeth the dreadful face of his foe;
But still the prophetic word, which her lips keep,
Whose sad face the eye beholds the murderous eye;
Her eyes, like deadly globes, with fearful lights
Upon his face now are confounded;
And his visage change place with hers.
And with that motion moves her lips together;
With either, the other cannot move;
For the lips each do his or her part,
Are confounded in a desperate ecstasy.
Thus did Adonis come to grief,
He broke from his horse and down ran,
To meet the black-fac’d shepherd by the stream;
Who, fearing for his


======== CHECKPOINT 069 OUTPUT # 003 ========

ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ of his pride.
So is his respect, as well as his wit;
For in Tarquin’s pride the eye hath no power to see,
And Tarquin is so proud, that in his pride
He dotes on his self, and elsewhere;
As the heavens, eclipses, and their splendours,
Touches his pride with his looks, and he esteems
with his looks, and he esteems not
His boast, or his boast’s falseness.
‘It shall suffice thy part to say that I did abhor thee,
That thou didst kill me when I was no more;
My name’s treason shall not survive thee,
And all my shame shall be thy recompense:
And if that be not, then not my name,
For I am not thy lord, and thou shalt not kill me.
As for thee, be contented thy will,
As the sun that makes us rain on the world,
When in the fire our rain exceeds,
That burning in the air is so foul a part,
That even to-day we set about
Making the earth as we like it more hot;
Therefore, burning in our faces, we do extenuate
The foul odour, and making it worse,
By making it smell more pleasant, and so be.
His visage in his visage was made more clear,
And all in his visage were painted more well.
What dost thou mean, ‘It shall suffice thy part to say
That I did abhor thee,
That thou didst kill me when I was no more?
It shall suffice thy part to say,
That I did abhor thee, and thou hast slain me,
in his pride and triumph
That he holds in his own thought a holy vow.
When she thus speaks, he turns to look;
She, he says, was the fairest of all;
And, in him a reverend rage, was bred
A youth that was taught rudeness, and folly,
And youth that never could blab, never could boast,
For he despised not beauty’s wax, but rather wax
Than all the fairest objects in beauty’s store.
‘It shall suffice thee, thou shalt not boast
That I have harmed you; yet lo if thou win,
I will not curse thee for my hurt:
Thy death is life, and thou wast not born of thee.
That he did swear by the bloodless oath,
Thy soul in this oath still lives in thy face.
For thou shalt not steal thy sweet youth from me;
for thee, ah! Time, thou shouldst charge me with delay,
Time, for thee, was never with me untutored.
I have heard thy sweet beauty talk,
Of sweets sweet and tame, of flowers and plants,
To whom thou lov’st, as if from thence it were told
How sweetly thy fair name is kept alive,
in them too much suspicion
Shall woe oppress the harmless lamb,
To live by thy self-slaughter’d tongue being used?
Or what kind of a devil should he lurk in thy face,
And pine the fire of his eyes in burning heat?
That is my argument, and my duty,
As an attorney to the sick and oppressed,
To do justice to this unjust unjust crime?
If my argument be right, do not I prove
That he is a devil, and a god.
So then she replies, ‘Ay me, ah! what excuse will
Thou canst from thence, save this? I canst from thence remove:
Then shall I swear by thine own example
The truth of that sworn oath to keep thee here.’
‘O pardon me! thou wilt make me excuse myself,
And in return shalt I be revenged on my name.
‘”Thou hast kill’d the horse that nurseth him here;
Who, in thy fair guise, with a fearful cry
Hath sport’d the deadly boar, and hath seiz’d him by
A pelt that in his blood will stain still:
Hearing him moan, her cheeks shall hiss out:
Her eyes their silken turrets frown:
All this rage now she doth raise, and runs on;
As if her lungs could catch the wind;
Or else her spirit should fly from her breast,
And drown her in the sea of her cries.
‘And that the night that thou shalt see so frighteth me,
I’ll be ere then I have any desire to go,
To sleep or to dream or to sleep.
I will not sleep with Collatine, nor with my friends,
Nor with my husband, nor with my children,
Even with the wolf, nor with the hare,
Will in my verse so


======== CHECKPOINT 069 OUTPUT # 004 ========

drunken’ to get thee where thou mayst find,
I’ll force thee there where thou mayst find;
Who, by that, will be glad of thy doom.
Thou wilt, after this, manage to make my stay,
The sooner the better to give it thee:
When thou wilt, then, I’ll do my best to get thee,
And by some mean deed win thy help,
By encouraging thy spirit to fight, by flattering him so,
To kiss him that so lov’d.
‘Why dost thou make such delays in my stay,
To make my love infirm, and death prone?
O why not let my love be infirm before,
With no love at all then I love thy state,
For thou art all I desire now, and ever,
Since I was once free, and all was subject,
My will forbade my beloved from serving.
‘”And when thou reviewest the wrong that I in thee prove,
thou wilt read this blot, and it shall’scold me:
When it will, my self in thee is disgrac’d.
O what excuse shall I make of this deed,
Where love had such force and such force’s force’s will?
When in the strength of Will’s oaths and oaths
Thy life was made for honour, thy honour was cause,
And honour as such ‘gainst the world was slain.
And now the shadow of fortune had ended,
The splendour of wealth had vanished,
The world was dead and the east vanished,
And in the far west ‘twixt ‘twain
Came and went away again, having all but vanished,
The night had ended and I returned to my bed.
When she heard that my love was dead,
A sudden sense of terror descended her face,
And she, pale and sweating with terror,
Turns to her still-slaughter’d husband and cries,
‘No more, dear boy, wake up, and leave me here.
‘”If that my love were slain, how can it then be hid?
The moment is past when all fears are turned aside,
And what were but the thing left undone,
By a second chance, or an after-loss.
But if my love were slain, what hope of happiness
Upon the earth can hold him now,
Or if he be saved, what hope for his living.
No, love is not slain, nor may it survive,
In the act of murder but in the act of love.
For if my love were slain, his life was so wasted,
And death, like a pest, in his decay took.
“Hadst thou not prophesy, or prophesy’d that day,
You might have noted my complexion, and imagined it bright,
As in a dream, like a pale-fac’d creature;
Thy complexion, in my judgement, would seem more black and damned,
By thy seeming self-declared victor than in his;
Or worse still, by thy outward change seem’d to fade.
O fairest name, if it could afford such a hiding,
You should the rarities of days spent,
And be not away for long without seeing a man.
But that thy picture should stand in such suspicion,
By that reputation so praised should every bough,
Which thou shouldst bring with thy certain care.
No, O no, I did not mean this;
I meant not to provoke thee, but to persuade thee;
To win thee over, I advised thee this foolish cause,
For thou shouldst lead a life of luxury to scorn;
Thou art as fair a faire in the eyes of men,
When all the world is fair, as thy fair parts are.
No, no, no, I could not be so,
Because beauty was so heavily brib’d with hate,
And so my mistress’ face was mute,
For in her breast her beauty had done grow.
But she saw my mistress smiling, and so
Holds true to love, and true to hate,
I did not love her, nor she love me,
But as they jointly stand before thee,
And weeps with her, till at last she bows.
‘Thou canst not see in me a tear, a tear in my brow;
Thou canst not in me a grief-finding groan;
Thou wilt not in me a wrinkle, a stain, a blot
on the smooth skin of my body?
So is it not in your Will, thy Will, that I cry:
‘Gainst mine own self thy own self shalt thou achieve;
And, lo! behold this self thou behold’st,
Thy self hath no self-same self,
Till


======== CHECKPOINT 069 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Professor the painter, for he may have drawn the fair,
From the gaudy chamber walls of his behoof.
Who, mad with desire, cannot enjoy so great a night?
Poor helpless Brutus sits and frowns,
Like to a drunken wretch, with one of his horns,
Whose crooked tail with another tormenteth the ground:
Th’ horns in their crooked tails torment the mind;
Th’ dull spleen that distracteth his spleen:
But when he hears the sweet sound of her complaining,
Till she exclaims, “How vile a sight it is!
‘Tis as if she had herself been castaway.”
“O false Sinon!” quoth Adon, “if it be true,
The guilty party is the one to blame;
guilty that party is, who commits the deed;
And so is blameless Lucrece’ assailed;
The guilty party is the other, who is blamed;
“O pardon me, I am old,” quoth she, “and I must excuse
My misdeeds, if ever I was found old.
“Then love must be king, and yet love is not king;
It is not I that desire to see him.”
‘”Alas! this is not my will;
I will not curb it upon any impediment;
But if it be stalled, say nothing at all;
For nothing can curb it; but in my will,
Into a straight line the words will be enacted.
‘What shall I say to her that cannot speak,
For what may she say depends upon her own will,
Which depends upon all forces, both civil and religious?
O hear me, she that is wise, not to say,
But that is the first of all false doth deceive,
For she cannot bear to hear that my name is false.
When in thy Lucrece’ arms thy mistress says
“Ay me,” quoth she, “do not say so,
Unless thou mean to swear, I will wink,
And then thou wilt wink again, and in another.
She then proceeds to curse him, so says she;
‘Look what thy love did forlorn looks gave.
Her eye the flood-gates had closed,
And the crystal fountain in the clear blue
Had discharged forth all that water which it self adhered.
O quick judgement, quick thinking, quick reason!
For when thy judgement is blind, quick thinking doth speak!
O fair fair creature! that fair eye which doth view
Shall judge my bad behaviour, and judge my good!
The world shall not tell the same tale
When beauty’s fair master waxeth young,
And beauty’s fair master beauty dies of fright.
“For shame that I did behold him,
He lim’d to the wardrobe of the night;
And, lo, on the threshold he sat, panting,
Bearing down his mantle, to guard his pride.
His visage his beauty did not hide;
And now his pride is in full view.
“His visage,” quoth he, “his visage doth cover
His face; he doth frown on it;
But thou wilt not see it, nor he can say it is not
His, nor he who doth scorn it, but the other,
So hath he struck fear into the heart of many;
So shall this blotting be with mine eye,
Him be cast out, and thou one of my foes.
To me thy thoughts were so much ado;
That I found a peaceful home to lay,
And made acquaintance with men of outward suit.
O therefore seek I with all my might find,
That I may my self, my whole being bent,
Which leaves no doubt no excuse but disdain,
In spite of all my love and all my hate’s injuries,
Or at the least my whole being broken,
Th’ offender shall not hold blame of mine breach,
Unless it be from me, by thy self-doing crime.
‘The scythe that my poor thief stole
Within the thigh of his phoenix was struck;
That crow which my loving god so prize’d,
Upon the tusk in his mantle did fly.
“Ay me! what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the image of thine eyes!
That thy true beauty so glorifies!
For beauty’s true face is neither pure nor golden,
The light it illuminates ill,
Which hides all truth in shadow and dust.
Look how beauty is smeared in all her smother’d;
That smeared substance methinks never hath shine;
That’s for beauty what my pretty face is bereft:
That’s for truth what my pretty face is lacked.
Let not beauty’s sm


======== CHECKPOINT 070 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Middle from the place whence he came.
But, lo, in his haste from the way,
A suppliant horse doth forsake him,
For he hath so much to boast of, and so
With that he cannot show himself to be.
Her maid, perceiving him,
Lifts up a cold fear in her eyes;
And with a cold severe look bids her maid
Under some sort of false tar,
To fright him thence into thinking on her ill:
‘His eyes are wrapp’d in darkness, and his lips bright,
To fright his prey with his tempting words;
Yet they are foes, and in their wantonness fight;
And in their rage of rage do we hear them hie;
In other parts their mild wit is bold,
For their deep meaning holds together, and we see
Their deep fear to some amaz’d surprise.
‘”O comfort!” quoth she, “this morning I’ll bring
With pale spectacle a curious story,
To show the curious and strange place
In a strange and remote mansion where
A brook, with merry guests, eat’d up the night:
Such caves and shady cabins hideeth so
That the thought of most souls in fancy doth stay,
So frighteth the ear, and so delightth
all alone he takes, yet some in him keep.
O Time, how oft hath Time felt sorry for thee,
For so he took of thee that dear life.
Thou art not dead now, my love is alive,
And life in me is dead, and death in me.
But now her husband’s face hath gone;
She looks pale, and in her pale he stares,
Like misty mist she fell when she had kissed him.
‘Then was she thy mother; now her father was dead.
‘So shall I die,’ quoth she;’myself being gone,
Thyself a god, thyself a god to do me shame.
Thou art as fair as thyself, and yet
I have sworn I am not so;
Thou art ugly, and yet thou art not so;
Thou art as fair as thou art in this,
And yet I swear I am not so.”
‘Then kill me,’ quoth she, ‘if thou wilt desire;
Thy voice shall be thine, and thy voice my grief;
Mine own guilt shall be greater than thy guilt;
Thy own shame, mine own guilt shall bear greater;
Thy own guilt being both, thy guilt shall be greater.
O how my sweet and lovely self have died!
O how mine body doth mine own body decay,
And mine own soul my self, and thee this soul do take,
I will live, and live I will live by thy love,
And thou shalt not steal my life, nor my love’s,
And I will not be thy slave, nor my slave shall be,
Thy eyes and beauty lived in me, and thou art not in me.
‘But for this purpose did I devise a brook,
A quiet cabin where never sick to hear,
Whose owner would let it stay in peace,
To hear the weary passenger his or her way,
Where weary souls often return for rest.
When in these idle minutes we see
How to live long live no longer doth life,
Our present aim is to live as fast as possible,
As quickly from our sense, to obtain immortality.
That aim we have desires of many;
But now the wantonness of our wills
Shall force them all to th’ detriment.
This forced treason doth so far prepare
Forgeries of his foul design,
That he not only liv’d, but died by his side.
“When he sees his true self, lo, his pride reigneth,
Even there he doth grin and bear, and his fair face
Will show thee that beauty hath done him shame;
When he sees his true self again, lo, his pride reigneth
And beauty dead, beauty alive.
‘It shall be thy fortune, and thou shalt live,
In that thou art so blessed, that by it thou shouldst thrive.”
“Ay me,” quoth she, “I did promise thee,
A thousand happy rings of steel, to please thy maid.
And I, for my life, would thy good name render,
And thou shalt possess my love’s true mark,
As thou the tributary dost give, to feed thy son.”
Then he starts, and he hisses:—
‘So shall I live, and thou shall live,
Thy great love’s surviving form dies, thy great love’s surviving breath,
The one in love with thee dies, the other in love.
If thou permit, thou shalt


======== CHECKPOINT 070 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Consumers (in their pride) did the stronger thrive.
When I told him my love,
What a sight it was, he told me it must have some merit,
When I told him mine, what a sight it was,
When I told him mine, what a sight it was,
When I told him mine, what a sight it was,
When I told him mine, what a sight it was,
when the trumpet broke, my love doth cry:
“O false tyrant, what a sight it was!
When I told him mine, what a sight it was
When I told him mine, what a sight it was,
When I told him mine, what a sight it was
When I told him mine, what a sight it was
When I told him mine, what a sight it was
when the turtle cried aloud, “Gentle Time,”
“O, my love, when I feel the sting of this sting,
I will waken him, to make him weep again;
He will wail me, and weep in my name:
‘O love, if my love had his tongue, thou shouldst sing,
And sing to him in his song, still he will not hear;
Yet thou (sweet prince) that in praise make thy praise.
The woman I hate, despite thee,
To me no proof may be lent that she is
No love at all, but spite of my art.
‘O father, what ill will it do?
The day will let him go, and he to the field,
With unruly beast he will venture,
In pursuit of his lustful foe;
The poor creature will he tame, and he to be gone.
‘But I tell the truth,’ quoth she, ‘he told me this night,
The night of direst terror, when my love’s golden face
Had trodden cold and sober in the west.
For shame did I not advance to the chase,
Nor did I advance in rank, despite of the shame.
So shall it be remembered
As sweet revenge to thy loyal slave,
What a bloody revenge to her husband had I done,
To have him groomed and to nurse a loathed son.
Yet my love is my flame and fire shall burn
When that fire is not as bright as it should burn,
Incorporate to the heat of his hate.
“The time hath come for us all to depart;
For now the world presides, and the spheres set,
That all things in themselves are lost.
My soul, my body, my mind, my mind’s content,
Will rehearse, tomorrow for our meeting needs,
To bring closure on all sins past.
My soul will rehearse for our meeting needs,
And conscience for my framing of sin.’
“No longer is Time’s hammer from heaven upon earth,
Nor is Time’s golden-tongued knife lodged in my breast,
Nor Time’s antique knife nor his fine brass scale
Will ever play the crueler of unwaged woes.
His golden knife he will not scratch, nor none his praise:
He stamps his golden habitude with his bright eye:
His silver tongue, as well as his high crest,
And white piteous piteous pangs he bears to recall,
Whose sickening repetition his dull groans yields.
This torture she finds novel, as dreadful in her sight,
When all alike tremble at each other,
Which like an earthquake shakes the world with shaking waves.
As from a mountain-spring she pricked her eyes,
To see her beauty in the fresh shade,
As from the fire she pricked the leaves,
To see the red radiance in the blood
Which still the hotter still smelt’d.
Her beauty did not wither nor die,
Her fresh flowers do twire well:
O, that thy beauty might wither still more,
If in thy beauty thy beauty liv’d with age.
‘O! that my name should lose such a beauty!
And yet, through my slander thou speak’st,
My poor name should still stand unnoted,
For in it thou shouldst live every memory,
Which no less is worthy of praise.
If any, but the dead, should still breathe,
For a living name in life should still stand alive,
And life’s dead, living life in living name.
‘And so, lo, behold the creeping shadow
That creeps by thy pillow at thy breast;
The woodpecker that creepeth by thy pillow at thy bed;
The bear that eats by thy bed’s feeding:
To name a thousand sounds is to me meant,
But none the less worthy of praise.
But being silent, fearing no sound,
My thoughts, as mad men’s, make


======== CHECKPOINT 070 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Apostles in general I mean to dwell on, and not on the contents;
Thou art more wise, than I, to read and to tell;
What needs is thy brain telling? or what labouring must I do?
What labouring must I do in my busy absence?
Thou art no good to me unless thou make me a man,
And then I am no good at all to thee.
She takes his eye away, tears in her eye,
She doth take it from his lips, and then she proceeds,
With a heavy gait her bare breasts,
To pelt his poor face with her bare hand’s labour:
She falleth on with gentle ecstasy,
When she knows thou art so strongly enforc’d,
Thy love cannot restrain her will; but when it hath, let it stay,
Like a rein-twin wag descending from a steep-up hill,
Resembling youthful beauty, but much too young.
This said, he shakes his head, and now looks pale;
And, with an arch, to his breast lies she;
Her bare breast being softly pluck’d, his cheek bevel’d,
Her cheeks red and white, each afin’d and feat;
The rest dispers’d asunder, and his chin outwixed:
That chin in this wide-jointed posied band
Hath prison’d his palfrey, and beauteous troth;
Who would not be so proud if he were king!
Then being proud of him, did he scornfully thrust
His spear, that through her breast lay free.
She did, but he did not hie her wound;
She did give him life, and death to kiss.
His lips, like saucy margents, had lain still
Whereon his lips had pouted and trembled,
Like dying coal when the sun would burn it out.
“And he in his fair-pink coat did commence,
From his hard chest, to press upon his breast,
To show his pride, as one in him lies.
‘I must,’ quoth she, ‘do thy body but slay me;
I’ll kill thee with this stroke and this kiss;
And all my life, in thee I forbear,
Hath no form doth give but thine.
But thou, my love, have an office to give;
Avenge thy sins on the guilty;
For shame that thy name should in it suffer;
But thou, my love, whose guilt is thine,
Shall, in guilt, be my executor;
Whose act of guilt remains to be seen
In the verdict of my love.
And to this end he proceeds: ‘O, that thy guilt may be clearer,
Then shalt thou excuse me, and then I shalt be gone.
The day will now give thee that sad look
And he will exclaim, ‘It is not so; it is spiteful night.
‘I will not lie that I am fond of woe;
But if ever a dream worthy of note
Can convey, let it tell my love a lie:
This night I will not be bed-wandstayed,
My passion shall bear false witness against my love;
My love shall not be forgot, nor mine own eyes forgot;
Yet thou lov’st my poor conscience, my poor conscience doth tell,
To bear false witness against my love, to show thy love’s wound,
to wake the morning, it is to slay my muse.
My love is mad when awake, and yet sleep I do,
While thou livest, waking my muse will do thee good.
‘This said, he runs on, and on he goes
To take a further look; and there he meets
A maund-serm whose grim aspect she seems troubled;
Who, when in his haste doth challenge him,
Will not break a sweat of her red tears;
And when her nails are chiselled, red she exclaims,
How much harder it is for a maund to wet,
To smear herself in such a salve,
That her wet tears turn to mud and mud again.
How many maids’ tears that do cover mine
Make mine own, and all those that mine are, save mine,
In thee dost die, and that is thy good report,
Whereof for my sake thou hast receiv’st,
Three hundred hundred kisses, and doth tell my story,
By high-pitch’d Philomel, to whom I send greetings.
And how many maids’ tears do I count,
In thy fair face did I behold
Of many a fair flower, one so lovely,
With thy fair hue still blazoned in many a bough,


======== CHECKPOINT 070 OUTPUT # 004 ========

supervision have no right to stop his advance.
But wherefore should not he make his pilgrimage,
When his rider with rider’s skill can make it thither,
With his hard-favour’d passion’s sharp claws his pace will find.
His horse’s well, that proud title of his pride,
He doth boast of, and I boast of,
That he did mount and took me with him when he would go.
O if he had not, in whose bosom he held all blame,
His life might have seemed a sad death without his breath,
But life was a joy to hear, to see, and often to sigh,
But now he drowns himself in sorrow’s stream,
And breathes another sea of life in his sea of sorrow.
‘Poor soul,’ quoth she, ‘it was mine that did kill me,
That I have reprehended and done unto thee,
Who by this I have reprehended, and done unto thee,
Then in thy fair field thou wast my dearest;
Thy father’s eyes were heavenly, thy mother’s eyes cold,
And thou in them thy beauty doth live:
Thy eyes, thy beauty’s eyes, doth liv’d with thine.
‘Then mayst thou excuse my woeful deed,
The trespass of this vile eye,
That hath done this vile eye murder three of my friends,
And all in Troy charge of this foul deed:
For what sin did he do that thou shouldst defend,
Which, lo, thou hast done against the life and welfare
Of three unapt daughters of thy friend,
Which thou so commend’st against the life and welfare
Of two remorseless knights, and twenty sons.
‘”Yet am I, and yet I am old, and yet
I am married to the thing I sought,
Hang on, that churl-dropping pion of thine,
And churl-dropping urge, that on my breast
May well be termed a pion of love,
Of pure desire, of true love, true desire:
Then why is my love so strong that still
By thy controlling influence hath it affected
That the heart with trembling tendons is mute?
No, the pion of my love is strong,
That in my heart hath his pion raised,
That by this means the world might say is right
All sickness and all doom to that piteous doom.
So my dear love’s piteous assault on me
Begins the war of words, and my sorrows grow;
Both sufferance and rest give relief:
All aids help in this evil aim:
My sorrow lends aid and comfort to my joy;
For sorrow serves the aim, not the other way.
O, give me grace, and I do find it
Deepening, as I have from thee forsaken;
Since thou art so deeply in love, grant me grace still,
And supplicant in my heart to all men’s desire,
That I may my self subsist in love’s ranks,
So my sins not with the world’s increase remain,
But in thy sins thy sins are all greater.
‘But ah! thy sweet beauty thou know’st as well as I,
To mock at my modest expense, to praise my deeds,
To make me boast in the rear of white,
To wear thy worth in pride and praise my deeds.
‘O thou fair and kind, when I call upon thee,
To give me that which thou hast bestowed,
Thine due, why dost thou then seek another?
So may I live, though I die old, still to live among you,
And then live, and still thou art not old enough,
to-day I fret, till I come up again,
My weary spirit to rest, and to take physic.
But what is my mind but to entertain,
That we may think our worst misdeeds
When our worst misdeeds have passed away?
Why dost thou go where we often must?
Poor me, I have so much, yet do not possess,
Which is so ill-contented must entertain,
That sometimes we labour to show him where he lies;
O, let us say good night, and dally well,
By singing hymns and silly tunes, and doting ladies,
To the wooded trim where Nature hath stood,
Weeping well that heavy eye of his,
And supplicant our sighs, which he takes,
For breath sweet enough to nurse men’s desire.
So then with me as if in love I meant,
To drown him in a dream, and then wake him up again,
Let me excuse thee though my words be mute,
So shall he sleep, if thou wilt have it.


======== CHECKPOINT 070 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Nian thou mayst see them,
So thy strength’s truth mightst in the matter stand.
In him there was no fault, but seeming one,
That sometime in Lucrece’ head he hath kill’d;
He hath kill’d his lord, and done him honour,
That made him heir to the throne.
O let not the semblance of death,
That on the margent hide’d in youth,
might conceit bequeath to posterity?
‘For thine own sake let him pass,
Thy self in that honour to blame should have;
For thou that done, this treason doth stand.
‘For in him the roses that blooms daily
Each one his glory grow’d, one by themselves
Shone, one by themselves fell.
“It shall be a feast unto the naked,
Where every one will partake of his part,
And be fed, or starved, or both.
All these things we call famil’d and never fed,
Thy life, thy youth, thy youth, thy beauty,
Thy beauty’s substance hath done thee exile,
And every thing but this, thy life to death.
Look in the face of a king that doth rule,
For kings make their kings virtuous;
Then my image in eternal shame sits,
That thine own image in thine own self doth mock.
But he that made my face his minister,
He too, being minister, would speak for me.
‘But be it lawful to trespass against one
Who hath no lawful right to stop a mover;
And being stalled in this motion, be kind;
He that calls on thee, doth protest, and bids them stay;
And if they refuse to yield, be kind to give,
And give not lawful chase; for that chase,
Thy name is cursed, thy name is cursed still.
“Look, lo, all these trophies of affections I have held,
Mine eye hath seen their faces, and my heart hath sung,
And thou art their attorney, my friend, their attorney,
That they may not by their verdict take away.
For I have seen but one true, and that is
Love, the only true love, of two fickle minds,
To wittily steal the thunder of love’s maiden grooms.
But that sweet semblance which thou hast here wasted,
Whose power no form of government can give thee,
To strike at random from a nest, or leap
from their fair gardens like falcon to the hounds,
Who never seem’d to budge, but seldom budge at all;
Thus I for gain, lose, and lose more quickly.
For the victor is the one that ever strives,
not to spiteful tongues do call them,
But sweet sounds, to whom no praise can convey,
That we are better made of words, than words themselves.
What praise can say of me now so bad as now?
And why should I be blamed for my state?
But that too much ill, and I for my state seem,
To do untold harm to others.’
And there she sits, gazing sadly at her,
In the very wit that she so well decries,
But her thoughts still are but tongues of words,
To tell others’ misdeeds, even as she speaks,
She speaks, and their replies so be.
‘Tis better to be hated by the heart than be loved,
Than by the world’s eye that loveth me.’
‘And to show the world my false heart, that hath defil’d me,
I’ll prove thee false-believing;
Even as by a drunken steed I prove thee false,
And thou shalt see the very same.’
Now that she speaks, a selden Collatine
Appals his visage, and his heart his eye.
“Fie, fie, fie!” quoth he, “this man did dissemble
And kill his own son; now kill me first!
My son was the groom, and now he is free!
Why else is he the executor of my sin?
My friend, the groom’s wife, the widow’s wife,
all the world may see but the one she did see
Which had been blind and mute for that dear purpose.
For all these deceits I in secret thought
Have sought to make myself some sort of god,
That in his image might in others appear.
‘Now hear this, from the green bushes where I grew
Herald to my eye the growing of the morning,
From hence I may suppose that you are
In some secret fiend’s plot of some good,
And that you in some secret fiend lay slain
With some untimely doom, let your sorrow


======== CHECKPOINT 071 OUTPUT # 001 ========

mod (His lips, ornaments) doth hide;
He sighs, yet his breath is stale.
In this sorrow the painter, as if by some curse,
Doth forsake a true interest;
Then in another place doth he extend
That foul infection which, in his pride, he commits.
‘Then what art thou, sick of pity,
When thou thyself shalt see thy sickly face!
Thy sickly eye, when thou shalt see thy face,
is but the rein-arm’d toy of lust,
And thence it is made to commend good,
And then the disciplinarian obeys
To every fair groom that lends a fair hand.
But like a drunken man who doth forsake a friend,
With this he takes to himself the blame,
And so the painter doth remove
The painter’s guilt by displacest act.
‘And where is my guilt in this, that thou make no remedy?
By that I am guilty I am not all my fault;
But I am guilty of many, some of which have
Found their place in my crime.
Now do I not, as a painter would,
Hath painted a more perfect image than thou seem’st,
With thine own inmost form, still to correct,
In my true-painted image thou art, and I am.
To thee I express mine deepest regard:
And this expressiveness in my image
Is in thy face my love and my sorrow,
That I in that I am all things to be.
‘”Thus far from Tarquin, father of his son,
The proud hope of his reedy youth,
Hath subdued the fierceness of his sway,
Now his proud heart’s proud cheer proclaims triumph;
To the proud hope doth follow
The coward bold look of his proud face.
‘O, I have seen the travail of a boar kill;
Hateful tigers that prey on harmless prey do
Appear in fearful dim caves, where no hearing can hear them;
Savage dogs bark and chase their prey dead;
Her face with red blood costs no gain;
Her lips and cheeks are as crimson as snow;
Her nostrils fill up the place allotted;
And all these white vapours from her out-heaveth
Whereon his visage now resteth, and whereon he doth behoof,
To show us his visage in this blot.
I besiege thee, to swear against my lord so,
That thou didst make the breach, and now shalt be slain.
Thence comes a heavy heavy heavy-hanging bell,
As heavy and heavy it is, and yet it cannot be,
Nor should it surprise us, if it should ever last.
“O, this ill-fired device, as it cries,
Hath infected a cow with the plague;
The bier is mov’d in the furnace, where it will rest;
The heat from the fire is applied,
Who, mad that the heat is scorning his flesh,
Makes the moan of terror, till the wind sounds,
The weary and faint-hearted hounds obey.
And every one that hears hears cries ‘O yes! ‘Some of my Collatine
Hath oppressed them; ‘But more than this, more than this,
Within their ranks hath thine own foul eye oppressed,
And in mine own foul eye some stain be seen,
That in thy self, in others’ eyes is thine.
And this foul stain thou dost show where thou art,
Thy eyes, thy eyes, thou dost see here some shameful stain.
For what sake then is beauty fled
from this foul stain which thou shalt find?
This foul stain thou dost make a remedy?
Look here, here her weeping eye, which still prays
For help she cannot bear; but the unseen evil laugh:
Her eyes are black and dark in this and that.
And he takes her by the hand, and by the blood,
His hand in her pants being fasten’d;
The thought that in her bosom it were so slack
Shook her heart, and made her shudder at it.
But, O comfort! she cries, ‘O comfort, see how my lips are sore;
As in Lucrece I must remove,
To lend them more light, and make them more brave.
‘”All these trophies of affections hot,
Of silver plated, embleached in polished gold,
With noble lines emblazoned all over,
With silver trim and trim fine,
With precious gems and precious gems fine,
With precious gems and precious gems shapeless,
With precious gems and precious gems shapeless,


======== CHECKPOINT 071 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Fres’er deep than thee,
‘Tis thou that make the breach, and that break,
And bid me bequeath my trespass to thee.
For thou lov’st my life, not to steal from my sight,
My life is thy treasure, my treasure’s delight;
Thou hast stolen from my heart my fortune,
And I in this mine am steal’d.
“But if I had not, my father’s suit might have been,
A gentle pioner, with gentle manners;
Traditionally bred of chaste blood,
Nor had his fair love taken his gentle form,
Nor his happie been tam’d with harmful fire,
Nor his rude adulterate blood
Could stain his pride with more abhorrent deeds.”
This said, Adonis smiles, and with that,
He chops off his prey’s lips, that his prey’s blood
may yet stain the lustful thief’s treasure.
‘For this purpose I have come to complain to thee,
Of the fault which thou shalt not mend;
Therefore, through prayers, I’ll sing, if thou wilt,
That I might redeem thee, and restore thee to me,
My love’s origin and remedy is still sought;
O if the cure, then thy friend will find thee
With the cureless thief and my friend gone.
‘For why?’ quoth she:’since thou art sought
In that thou procur’d’st me for my sake,
With my death, and my life’s sake,
With either’s disgrace, my love’s fortune being set,
I’ll live, and die by him, and no more.’
She says this in hopes of gaining a kiss;
That in return, her promise might be broken.
‘So many say thou wast unkind, and yet not so,
Thine eye thus unadvised doth view thee,
In Tarquin’s oratory being loud,
As many in Lucrece will be dismayed
To hear Tarquin speak; when in truth he speaketh,
In tongue-tied Tarquin’s oratory,
And in that court of hell-wounded kings
As they prepare for battle, with eyes to gaze,
How shall my love excuse thee from hence,
When all these vows and consecrations hold,
With all these holy injunctions hath my soul been,
Which by this forced exile I have shunned,
The means of my rest-vow, still I shun,
The means of exalting thee, the means of reproving me.
‘O Time, what is it that thou dost so much as praise,
That thou turns not back, as thou shalt not turn back,
When thou wast forlorn that I was free?
O that thou mightst, I in thee dost strive,
Thou wilt, as thou in thy mightst strive,
Have an office for me, and then the light
Of all forces, shall govern all my worser cares.
And this I will do till thou return,
And I in thee have an office to correct.
For thou must not reprehend what I mean,
Or seem reproach to me when I speak.
‘Well, then, that my soul is so dumb,
That no words can express it well,
Then let no words express it ill,
For nothing shall express it so ill,
Unless thou shalt call it true.”
“Then be kind, gentle boy,” quoth he, “your praise will be,
And nothing else will hold it for long:
At least it will be remembered fondly,
And never die: beauteous heavens, to thee bequeath:
That workmanship here borrowed from Rome,
Shows it shall live in posterity,
When most beloved of all the Greeks.”
‘O how that you might have me forget to list,
Your oblations might rehearse,
And be refills to your decrees,
When with your prescriptions your decrees are kept,
Not in your love of what you preach,
But for my love, whom your love tells you how.
If that be true, how then should love-wanting days,
Be forbode, not your praise’?
Then, for love, how can my love be so harsh,
That when his praise calls it true, he doth break?
“Say so, Sweetie,” quoth she, “I have many, and their worth
Is in their looks, but seldom touches their taste;
Then could I not desire to know the worth of them,
But only as they look upon you, tell my tale.”
“O truth, tell my tale!” quoth she;
And, blushing, with much weeping, with that same tear,
She throws the bookcase to her bos


======== CHECKPOINT 071 OUTPUT # 003 ========

enge to those I adore,
Whilst I in love make thee my advocate,
And call thee my friend, that thou shalt see
The thing which thou dost hinder me from thy bed.
‘But do not then for fear of such an hour
Disorder in my absence destroy my virtue,
And from thence it may be said that I am no friend
To sweets nor drinks to smells but greet:
As often as they see me, smiling,
To-day I smile and wave, till their eyes come to mine,
And never look back, nor never mind what they say.
The painter, not the beholder, would have me here
That did the task, but did me shun;
And by the grace of nature I did grace thee;
And with this grace grace thou gav’st me all this waste.
“O shame!” quoth he, “your name your mistress’
Of all your graces and blessings, and you your life.
Since that time your gracious name,
You have taught me to read your memory,
Which in that book contains your life’s story,
Of all the earth and all her creatures,
That you have taught me your art of war,
And in that book you mead is the slaughter.
“But where have I found such reproach?
I have met with no reproach but of disdain;
That was not my intent, nor my love’s aim.
Then for shame’s sake, in the hope that I might find some
Of some pity that might pardon my offence,
From my poor false heart I’ll straight fold,
When the tender hours of the winter will open,
A youthful date with that dear groom’s name,
Which must be my life and which I in him dote;
Then if you wish to know it, please tell me so.
‘For shame,’ quoth he, ‘you (my love), lack that due.
‘O false friend,’ quoth she, ‘you are of greater help
Than all my peers, even unto the Greeks,
Who have but as your equals before you
Made such false epithets as yours own,
That some in their pride call you gods of thine.
O love’s fair name is thine, but thou art thine own.
‘Why dost thou pine at the sight of a deformed face,
While beauty still doth pine for thy shadow,
And beauty still pine for thy beauty’s dead face?
do thy worst with shadows of all kinds,
For there thy face is so glorified,
And beauty so poor, being so high above
all, in spite of all, thou thy parts,
And I a child, still must endure these:
My parts are mine and in thy mind,
The shape and quality are the same.
thou that didst forswore the wayward boy,
And thou wert forsworn the lecher,
And thou thy father’s slave, to blame all untimely deaths
Of your gentle slave, our master’s wife,
Whose infirmities left behind a widow’s child,
Which with time shalt thou barren of all thy posterity,
Thy eyes, like stormy-besieged clouds, now see thee sadly.
O, that could not have been thy face;
that my face, as you see it,
Is but a blemish on my face;
And though it seem a scar, yet it shall never be sore.
O false blood, false manners, slanderous falsehood!
Look here what I have suffered, what follows
From this false shame shall my surviving memory find.’
Thou wretched spite of me,
By nature hath wronged me so, and I will repent,
That none my fair self nor his that art so,
May survive my sins unto posterity.
But then, lo, one by one, all my parts shall die,
And then thou alone wert thou mine,
And yet neither mine nor his was in my sight.
She with a heavy groan shakes her head,
And to his side lies she sobbing,
As if she had it under her chin;
Then she drops her still-dropping foot,
And with a loud groan she hoarsely steps
Through a door to let in more light;
dark, dark!
Now the crow hath blown, and the morning sun
Crawls his cloud-black canopy round,
And where the lily hath crept in dim darkness,
His shining visage lies plain still.
Thus did Adonis set his horse in pursuit,
And by with a sudden desire he ran away,
As soon as the coward horse could stand him up.
But if the horse were not with him, Collatine was gone.
‘Thus often she wakes up


======== CHECKPOINT 071 OUTPUT # 004 ========

stones by their unperfect behaviour abused;
But when they did break, beauty fled,
And beauty left the field of view,
Which Tarquin, in the hope of gaining,
Hath fled.
That Tarquin with his feat of thievish will did tear
The cloister from her maiden bed,
Which Priam had brought with her when they were espied,
To kiss and pray at Troy’s holy altar.
This heraldry of his did she see,
Like shining jewels in the crystal flood
Which from their crystal-inflaming bays flowed
All ocean and all the heaven that is in it.
Yet her sight unseen, was in her mind enchanted,
The wat’ry-seeing eye doth hear, and nothing else doth see.
‘His passion, by and by, till then he lived,
A thousand tears a minute, but they do pay
His life, and death’s eternal sting.
By this he speaks and he falleth in quiet:
He robs the poor, and makes them swear it never,
For fear of whom, in Tarquin’s arms it is well.
‘Why, when thou wilt see what happies dost lie,
Thy self thou art most troubled with thine eye,
For thou art so well appay’d that never doth look.
If thy self being dead thy self thy self behold,
Then thou art not Tarquin, thy self is still alive,
Till death rid’t thy face that face of thine
Which thou art painted of with all his might.
‘And to the black she throws the blunt arrow,
Which she finds a burning bush,
With white amorously empleached wound;
Incapable of more wounding than blunt matter,
This bullet lodged in his thigh,
Which in her bare breast it self could not discharge.
This rash, insubstantial force,
Shall from thence proceed all this deadly fault?
Thy strength in me, thy strength in thy foes:
For thou art my equal, and thy strength in me,
Thy strength in me is but weakly assailed.
‘And why didst thou leave me still, and stay so long,
Looking on the world that is but passing,
Playing for gain in the affairs of men,
As profit of lives lost in harms done?
Why didst thou stay, and stay for nothing
long as I desire you still,
That life’s lease for life in me is end?
And when life concludes, death comes and goes,
And misery, and wretchedness with him proceeds,
like that, for he doth attend
A widow’s bashful eye, that burns bright,
When beauty’s fair sun doth burn dim misty night.
To me fair eyes as in a furnace shine,
And beauty in my fair self doth live,
Which beauty to myself doth above compare.
‘Then be of good cheer, and I in your sight,
And in thy fair parts do show thy virtue,
A god for fair love, who by thy deeds doth live.
By this Tarquin speaks in court of thieves,
And much like a sober-sad-fac’d fool,
Sith this sage, ’tis so with thee:
And the others that are sober come in ranks
With wit and virtue, while our friend stands dumb.
‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the marrow of a child’s eye!
She looks upon it with pity,
As if she had the mind or will to look it dead,
And such beauty as she must here possess,
Her beauty still alive as in her dying.
For he that looketh upon her with disdain,
Cheers for his love, and all that is good
Is praised of his love, and in his pride pluck’d.
“How much more is love than in a dream?”
“To hear a fairy speak, it is thy duty.
But for thy love, my lady, let me be done,
I will write here a little story, as good,
As I can, of my love, as fair and tame.
Thy beauty, thy worth, thy power, thy will,
Thy shape, thy power, thy beauty will show thee:
Thy beauty is but a rough-grown husk,
A weed that needs time to get the sap,
Till the sap is stol’n by the time thy will grows:
What is sweet, what is sour, what is sour, what is sour,
Then to be sweet is to be sour, to be sweet.
Then be wise as those that watch thee,
They that watch thee not watch me that watch thee not
Are not watchful watchmen, but watchmen that watch not thy will


======== CHECKPOINT 071 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Deus-like as the sun in summer doth ill,
And yet thou dost, loathsome, stay by Tarquin’s side.
“The sun hath no fair, nor heaven no heaven,
But neither ’tis nor the gaudy fair, nor the hap,
The sun nor moon are gods to thee,
But doth thy self contrive to make them.
For behold, thou unlook’d-for fool,
Cannot seem, touch, smell, taste, touch nor touch with his hand,
And when thou take thine eyes away, they shall never find
Their true god and true creature,
Nor be they both as thou lov’st the dead:
Thou lov’st both, and they both are dead.
And, lo, the true beauty hath done away,
And doth homage take place
in the very centre where thou dwellest.
“When thou reviewest the matter, look thou sometime,
I might put an end to that night’s jest.
But if thou wilt, my verse is to die,
And live but in the eye of the law,
To die for my verse, to die for thee.
As he ne’er saw the fear of his lust,
So his lust in her evident fear drew
The knife that grazed his flesh and bone.
‘The world can but see so great a shame,
that it cannot see what is so bad.
Such is my state, where I live, and now
Then from that perspective my state can be made,
From hence I come to doubt whether it is right,
When thou dost forsake me and return again.
‘This said, the maid with her quill,
Whose maiden-tongued form did presently stand,
The youngling did likewise greet,
And down she began to stroke, as if with a kiss;
Another time, as if she could not speak,
Another time she says “Why wilt thou speak?”
When Collatine and his entourage did speak,
some old wound, that could not be pierced,
Shook a nun up in a high-pitch:
Her grief-stricken suit came in her suit,
And with a sudden oath she began to say:
“O love, what terror hath my life brought
To pass without my having a cause to mourn,
That I cannot love thee with my life so?”
“Ay no,” quoth Lucretius; “no, no, no.”
She answers him like a weak-fondled woman,
And like a beggar she utters this,
This, ‘Alas the world is bereft me of my wife,
Because of thee: that was my wife,
And thou thy compeers and deacons,
To take my life, with thy life’s proof,
Thy life’s victory shall never last:
Let me excuse thee then: I was once
Bewitching unto you, and hoping thee well,
And thou the vassal that feeds on thy joy,
Hath physic and all the comfort of life.
If that be false, then my verse is
To be a satire of beauty’s false humour.
For to my love it self doth lie,
And to all my friends it self confounds.
As in love it self doth hide, so in scorn
The basest lies are attainted in
Beauty’s self-substantial defect,
To put on beauty’s mask beauty’s true shine,
To make the shadow dull and ruin his shine.
“Let those who with learned minds should excel
In this, and in succeeding ages,
To divide their books among their ranks,
Whilst some in greater books should excel
In such, and in succeeding ages divide,
Whilst some in greater books should be called store,
But that is not so well to be told,
To teach men foolish things, not so well learned,
To make fools of true men, and teach true women.
O if the wits of witchcraft be brought forth,
With fair aspect, false nature, cruel eye,
Incapable of much persuasion, and would wither,
She hath the gouty affections of every tongue,
And like a plenitude hath over-heated,
The flood-god takes upon him all his rest.
So, having bid adieu, she throws her head
Full upon her pale, wet face, whose downward part
Like a sad wreck lies, the flood-god takes
All present comfort, and all sorrow doth stay.
‘His fair name, Collatine, is still ne’er known;
His bastard son, Tarquin, despite his name,
Shall yet be called Collatinus;
A bastard son, to


======== CHECKPOINT 072 OUTPUT # 001 ========

dr” (She did call it “Dry’s apple”)
Who as berries, yet fresh and sweet,
Are scarcely peeling or budging;
But when wet, look’d they turn pale and pale green;
Like die-waxen cherubs, whose waxen hairs stand up when they sweat,
Like living cherubs, whose dead flesh stains so well.
‘My daughter,’ she says,’my love you will not abuse,
My daughter you have no more than that,
And I in you is not quite as bad as that.
For that which is, is my beauty dead and living,
And nothing more is left me, except that you hold it,
For that which is, you have beauty living,
And in me nothing more is left me.
But if you were as yet alive, what might you wish
To do me another death, if that be the end?
I hope your oblations may be of help,
For if they be dead, my life should be strange,
And strange some place mourns for thee.
He walks, and she on him lies.
“And being gone, she to the door
Would speak, and quickly with more force:
“Good night,” he says, “and from thence I will excuse,
To go to my lady and tell her how I am,
Till then take me to your place, and I’ll lend
Some gentle note, and tell my stories there:
I’ll then read them aloud in your presence,
And then tell my stories to your Lordship, or Lordship’s Lordship,
To make them better told in your Lordship’s tongue.
She tells them stories of pleasure and sorrow,
And to themselves they list their sins,
And then to themselves they list their sins,
And in their lists recur, following their words.
But no matter how vile a thing it be,
If we be true writers we make some blemish,
And then it all but be forgot, and then it be forgotten,
As if we were false writers, and could not write what we write.
The more I look on this blot, the less I love,
The worse it is to see one’s self being dyed.
She then begins to promise more tidings,
If that come to pass we should all live sweet.
So being done, she throws a sigh,
Like water that once filled a man’s eye,
To clear his troubled eyne he droppeth again,
He still doth fret, but she knows it is no use:
When in sorrow he did think on his woe,
He did smile, and in his grief did tremble.
‘Why, what a spectacle it was!
The glowing orb shot forth sparks in her light,
And bright stars in the dim light did fly.
‘So it shall be, that no stain of blood may shed
Upon the face of this earth, whose face hath ever stood
Nor ever to any man stain’d his name.
The scars which it bears shall never be forgot,
Their substance only shall remain untold;
If any, all alike it will live in thine age.
What did Tarquin do that thou shouldst destroy?
If thou couldst leave the chronicle,
Tis not for mine own sake to boast so.
“Look, I have said this to Narcissus;
My son was with that same youth slain,
I will bear him life and beauty’s wounds,
And life in itself, in no part affected,
To die for the cause of his loved one.
That I have said, thy reason should bear
Thy own innocence even to that of mine own foe;
Thy self, that to thee was attainted
Shall swerve in thy course to wrong my self.
If I was thy father and thou wouldst leave me,
Thy gift should by thy self, under circumstances bring,
One barren heart to bear on all sorrow’s winding,
A thousand fears, every howling at him that run.
And being down, on either side was he thrust;
With one powerful hand he holds a torch,
A knife, a ploughman’s hoe, a nurse’s hat:
Thy self was the first to die, and by thy good report
All in haste sought the next in haste.
‘Therefore be it not withal I bless thee,
That thou hast stol’n this exile;
And from thy chamber-maid that poor Lucrece
Hath writ to me this dire news,
To be thy nurse I’ll inflict upon thee,
In time of luxury this ill.
So thou wilt, my lord, will make thy vow;
For to thy self thou art free to live,
That is thy true aim, not


======== CHECKPOINT 072 OUTPUT # 002 ========

sophistication was she like unto many,
Till they both took part in one fell battle;
The boar, with all his might, did bail her out.
And when the boar had ne’er been tried,
Anon his thick, fierce head he seemed to pry,
To scratch her still, and then he would not move;
His bare neck and proud tail, which seemed to him bow
Would comment upon this charge; and from their thick
bow, they fire their weapons, and when the cannon fires,
Their fiery pikes on the helpless foe.
O how the sun glorifies her beauty,
That she doth homage her face so,
And that her visage doth the sky display,
In wondrous patterns and strange forms.
She that doth homage him, he doth her homage,
And in her own glory doth stand by her side,
When she herself in him glory doth dwell.
She that doth his homage stand by her side,
And in her own pride sits he by her side,
And in her own pride sits she by her side,
And in her own pride stands she by his side:
So do I in these parts, that I see your majesty still,
That you still in me do glory still.
‘Gainst my life, and my youth your next delight,
For all my surviving love you lack,
And life I did give, you still must have.
‘”My sweet boy, thy worth, thy beauty’s spoil,
Thy likeness to fortune bequeath to mine,
But to-day my fair imperfect flesh must be kept,
Though in it I must hide thy grave,
For in thee I shall still count thine age,
And to-morrow shalt thou mourn for my life,
And yet thou wilt count me not long hereafter.
‘Why is it that Tarquin so rash,
As Tarquin thou prove, and I as I myself am,
As his blood is my own and thy name’s heir,
So oft doth he mock and disdain me,
As when he once made my acquaintance
The date of his decease, to-morrow.
I have all this in mind, and yet my truth
Grows weak and weak, and cannot live up to it;
Thus do I think, though in this dark age,
The sun never wink’d, nor the clouds be seen.
For when my unkindness is most well acquainted,
I guess my beauty may grow to such an abundance,
That it cannot boast of such wealth,
As yet is the world without end or ender,
For there it is, in a rough prison,
And you shall see it grow, and you no farther know.
What a shame then that I did my self to hide,
By hiding myself in a poor and disgraceful part,
With knowing the heart of such a wretch’s foul heart,
That I must here make a pilgrimage to thee,
For my self I could not live, if thou thy self did live.
My love doth attend the retiring bell,
And never leaves the quiet of the close;
Her lightless sound still confounds the sound,
Which makes the quiet hour seem longer,
And never once stops the wind from his blow.
‘Thy love, my love,’ quoth he, ‘you made my night,
And now your love is lost in vain;
And for ever your love is alive and evermore,
To-morrow must be spent, and I your bed.’
‘Thou cannot,’ quoth she,’set my love upon thy neck,
And keep that which is most precious to me,
And let it then your honour to kiss,
For I will not rein him in his dark bed,
But put mine honour in his blind head:
And do thy honour to him by night,
That they may see thy face in deeds of hate.
To him that doth write, and all the world to hear,
Thy beauty live, and thy beauty die;
That the world may speak a word respecting thee,
When that beauty’s art in thee shall stand
In court of thy beauty and thy hate.
To me that needs, my dear, is my advocate;
And if he surrenders, if that be not enough,
My dear friend, I fear to die with him.
“But behold, the world is at an end,
And all these world powers that are to me made,
Are in session with some new devil.
O, if these worlds have their object so forbid,
Then come to my aid, and let me say,
Good night, and greetings to all present,
I pray thee that I may return tomorrow,
And not so much as wink at


======== CHECKPOINT 072 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Weak in his own face he looks, in others’ by him blushing,
Even in the flattering praises of men’s eyes.
“If I could change my mind, what wish were I ever had
To rob a man, and then his life was free,
And rob him again, and again he would rob me;
The worst was not to rob him again, but he would rob me still.
‘My bones do not break, thy lips do not mend,
My lips are full of tricks, my heart is stale,
My joints do bend, my bones break and my joints lean;
My heart cannot bear to go to bed, I long to get there,
My body cannot endure the feeling,
That I have to die here in a tomb or in another.’
But that heart, though new-waxen, yet not new-lidd’d,
Threw Tarquin’s blade from his shining armour,
And in the flames of his fiery fire,
With purple tears, each feather o’ercharged,
Soothed the wildfire of his flaming rage;
Heard where his foul abomination lie,
Where his foul adulterate daughters went about;
And, blushing, did as if to say, “Hast thou cursed?”
She replies, “He was not his; he was not his.”
‘But then,’ quoth he,’she sees my unadulterated face,
And all her posied thoughts are in agreement,
As if she were some kind of devil;
She says no, I did not see him wink;
But when, shrieking madly, he reeks,
Some lily white and pined beak, each several foot,
With red herring, gave life to his lily,
And death to his redness, and life to his blushing.
So now her eyes with all their might,
Appear on mine own twisted chaos,
And with each eye contending in opposite shifts,
Distemp’ring the light of day, and night’s harms;
She who hath such separation cries out for her friends,
But she alone hath none to complain of.
‘O night, my love! night, my love! stay where thou wilt stay,
And in the morning let those that are blind,
Lie with us and let our wills abide;
Who when our wills have done, lo, these impediments stand,
And blind we with thee we march.
‘”But how can a father-in-law hate his child
Unlock the treasure of his youth,
To give a steal of wealth to his son,
To give back to his wife her husband’s land?
what are your faults, then, to do justice to me,
Where I am from now on so call’d to complain?
How can I then be loved when I am from thee,
When I have no one to blush with me when I am gone?
O pardon me, I can no more bequeath thee
To my stain’d and twisted image than thou art,
But to thy shame do I vow,
that no loving husband shall ever guess,
For his love or her husband’s sake.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘but if thou mean to do this,
Thou canst not in vain bear to be tempted,
Even to the cross, where thou shalt find this cross;
I’ll inflict it upon my foes, and upon thy foes,
That they may depart apace.
“Ay me,” quoth she, “how many times have I wished I could write,
Of those unprovident hours that wake me when tired,
In that hour when I would assay thee so,
Thy passion, which doth physic thee so,
In thy weak body, supposeth still so:
The other four, if it prove thee still,
My body doth physic thee, thy soul doth physic me.
And therefore I, by this, do repent and say,
Thy soul was not thine when I slew thee;
Thy soul is not thine when I curse thee for my murder.”
‘For lo, mine eyes are dumb, and neither their will
Nor their heart can hold them still, till they see thee;
As it were dark, so bright they must their eyes behold
In the dim dim place where they rest;
But like shadows hiding in a dim mire,
I blind my true sight with my lame tongue.
‘But let me say this: I have read some sad tales
Of people gone mad, and left me feeling,
Though in thy arms I could not defend them,
Nor Love, nor Fear, nor Time, nor Collatinus,
Were I with them, they would not defend me;
And if they did, then thou


======== CHECKPOINT 072 OUTPUT # 004 ========

armed, but do not boast:
What can I say? he hath no passion,
Nor lust, nor murder in him,
But doting love, and all things earthly,
That dare not look with their lustful eyes:
For in his rage do they disdain to ne’er look;
And in their rage do they disdain to well resemble
His kind, and in his rage do they despise to scorn.
O that thou were so bold I should say so,
That thou didst speak on my death, and I on thy life,
And that I should speak on the death of thee.
‘In vain, O thou that art such a thing,
Be still, O my love, and still be still;
And keep thy breath, and stay thou all the night.
And sometime she hears an old woman’s voice,
Whose sad story ends with ’tis well, ’tis true:
“She saw his face when he was slain;
He did not catch his breath, nor lean upon his head;
She that saw his face when he was slain lay panting,
And did not request her help to help herself;
The better angel that through her tears might lend
His help to those in need, would lend her such a hand,
As when a poor widowed maid doth lend a child.
‘That thou hadst but look’d on this mortal night,
And had but mourned upon the death of my friend,
In life’s death I would weep, and life’s mourning would be,
living in thought, not in deed.
‘”If, madam, thou mayst then, my dear beloved be gone,
The earth and all her creatures will curse thee,
And live, as thou art, in the hands of thine enemies,
For my sake, that thou mayst still live and be.
‘O then, madam, thy beauty hath made a tomb
That will bear thee not in eternity,
But to the obtaining of goods assured,
Which shall then be the purchase of my death;
The plague, I mean, will live in thee,
And then, madam, thou shouldst, my life and thee,
Do thy utmost to curb my infamy,
And rid the world of thy false murd’rous plague.
Let not thy petty faults confound me
Within my compass, for I am not wise to judge,
The better to blame the thing that should be done;
My inward shame in thinking this proves,
Is full of vent, and yet it is concealed.
“So then she takes the knife from her quill,
And begins to sing:—’When thou art as fair as my brow,
Till now my brow is all scarlet, and my brow all purl:
And now she cries, ‘O false, but truth will soon catch!
She told the time, but the lines fell out:
“For thou shalt not be missed, for my sake,
Though the stars seem mad, yet I tell thee so.”
‘But ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah!
Such devils lurk in shadows, who in darkness lurk,
And in darkness lurk, dreaming devils lurk.
But if my soul wake and find a spirit there,
I believe it to be a devil, and I must prove it,
To swear it to vanquish the fiend,
And to rid the world of my stranglehold of truth.
The thing I sought, I did not obtain,
And yet did find, I found, and yet did find,
And yet did find, and yet did find,
And yet did find, and yet did find
And yet did find, and yet did find
And yet did find, and yet did find
And yet did find, and yet did find
And yet did find, and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find, and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did find
And yet did find and yet did


======== CHECKPOINT 072 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Penal-speaking black maid, this wretched babe of mine,
Saw this black beauty fight, and die for my sake.
‘So, Adonis, what of thee is not of worth,
To slay the phoenix that was his?
Hast thou poisoned by Venus’ smothering?
O but with a jewel of that quality,
I must confess that I have seldom seen her naked,
As thou wast the mistress of her sight,
When thou was the subject of many a kind of grief,
A thousand proud titles in thy brow,
O none could make her sadder still,
For thou art such a beauty still, that beauty still
Pursue thine eyes and give life to her face.
I will not kill thee so that thou mayst give;
I will not kiss thee so thou shouldst kill me,
For thou art such a worthless weed that lives by drooping,
Which life and death can neither forbid.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘though all my sin is mine,
I will bear thy name, and life shall never kill.
I will weep, and thou, and all my surviving friends,
Will be thy slave and keep thy face hidden;
Then, sweet Lucrece, thou wilt make me suffer a while.
Thy love hath put me in an eternal prison,
And taught my mind to murder that which obeys,
That is to blame should thy slander destroy.
‘”Now all these hearts that ever held sway
Upon thy breast did chorus assemble;
And, like spirits entombed in earth’s norbs,
With woe, and lamentation, and clamorous groans,
Scarcely heard but by a distant guest,
Doth call attention to this mortal wound.
‘His complexion did change, as his form had been,
He wore a short-shining suit, with a short brim,
Whereat he took his hat and down began,
To make the spectacle more strange;
To make him seem more white, so more white
By displacing his height in his face.
This hateful jocundness of his did tend
To annoy her angry eyes; but, as her wits did subdue,
more than one should say,
And even in Rome they still bear the same;
When Brutus did, Lucrece did not seem to him much:
For Tarquin she was as purple as her cheeks,
And Pyrrhus as full of rage;
And as Priam to the Trojan war were gone,
By Tarquin’s side her tears, and by Tarquin’s side hers.
‘”My garments were but short, and their trim trim
Were sharp and simple; their point of pride
Hath been neglected, and yet do contend
To wear the proud title of thine;
I commend this shame to the audit of days.
Thou art the fairest in this; let me not say so;
The world may well regard it as a lie,
Though it be true, it is not so;—
Heretic thou art, heretic thou art.
This, O thou the virtuous heart, wilt remove?
Thy hand shall ever defend thy life from the knife?
And ever be the sovereign of thy will,
When that right wert by thee infringed?
So should I, my life, and the life of my wilful Will.
But thou dost forsake me, for thou art my Will,
And life doth forsake thee, and death doth stay.
So shall this poor tyrant be my prey;
With him my life was restored, and death the oblivion:
That life which now is neither heir nor victim
Tis still my foe, and he is still my friend;
So must life and death be companions.”
And on a hill whose concave womb reworded
The lines of a song so well said,
Her voice such ecstasy and so cheerfulness did engush.
But when with her Lucrece drew near,
That sweet concord that between them did seem,
His soft arms did frame her being;
And in their mutual embrace did drop their snow globes,
And in the dim dimness of their view
Shook off their chill and gave fresh life to the night.
O, what a sight it was to behold!
And from the violet vapours of her shining eyes,
Whose fresh hue did all the rest ill,
She fix’d a torch that light’d her eyes,
That light’d them on and off with her speed.
Her eyes thus did she behold:
She sees them dim and their light do open,
Their diffusing light do tend them still.
When thou dost behold the splendour of their light,
What merit dost thou in


======== CHECKPOINT 073 OUTPUT # 001 ========

reelection from thence onwards to seek their own?
Then she must resort to every thing that will bring her light.
As from a mountain-spring so falls she a flower,
Which is to her eye but lighted till it blunter light,
She prays, as it doth lend, that her light may appear,
As soon as I am near to rise I rise and fall:
Her eye, in that fair field where Nature lays,
Will lend her light, and in her fair field render it faire.’
For they that are beguiled with so fair a sight,
Will in themselves rise, and there they will dwell,
Being beguiled with thoughts that would do them shame,
Yet in their pride their thoughts do their offences abide.
“So much for pity,” quoth she, “for thy good name,
And for that, too much scorn for thee,
As for thy fair name in general obeys,
So much for Troy’s treasure, and all the Greeks’ pride,
For that, too much praise for thee.
“I do love thee dearly,” quoth she, “and thou hast done me wrong,
I did do that which thou art all the stronger;
For what else but me (I hope) can live thou another?
And in the act of loving guess what else thy will do,
I suspect thou in some kind of foul act,
When thou thy self shalt be glorified.
To this she replies, “O thought, this is a subject
Which is not to my mind settled,
My verdict is true and only,
No matter what the verdict may be, my verdict is
Ought is not, that is, which makes my judgment
Bewitching, or wanting, or wanting,
What I am, what is my state, what am I?
Thou art as a mountain, and all the world beside:
My thoughts on thee are but vain;
O, what a misery then ensues
when one by a hill with poor creatures lies,
The other receives the harvest of day,
The poor dead of night receive an infant grave:
What is thy true name but that which thou shake’st,
That says ’tis me,’my name’?
Because thou in thy will dost abide still,
Then mayst with thy Will take satisfaction;
And in my will I’ll live (though others’ wills forbid)
Thy love, to whom I’ll owe some regard,
And in this unjust earth must be thy trespass,
So my will live that which thou hast made lawful.’
This said, his shadow in his dim mist did light
The rose, which, like a precious dove, did follow
The hare, when the blessed thing was wink’d.
“That my sweet boy thou art, it seems,
Of a more blessed date to thine age.
But in the meantime thou my sweet self,
Lest that desire should betray thee,
With a sad sad sad groan, with thee stands
The sun, and moon, and all round unadvised.
“O what a sight it was!—sweet mirror, here!
As if the world could see it; but, lo! the world cannot see it!
It was bright, and then the world could not see it!
Why then do you look upon this blot,
As if the eyes of men did behold it?
Or if they behold it, they think it strange?
‘The world can see it,’ quoth she, ‘but my eyes are dumb,
And dumb they cannot see it unless they look.
O, that you may in your imagination think good
The sight of forced change,
With your gross out imagination doth attend
all that your gross is worth:
For as your gross is great so your glory lies,
so too in love’s rank still the compass lies,
Which is all the world’s ill, or least part of it:
For love breeds in others such as himself
Love-breeding breeds in himself, so in thee.
Love hath in the general of his might,
Thy love so constant, that not one eye hath troubled,
Sith he robs thee, for his sake.
Love keeps mine eyes open wide, to see all;
My heart my fire breathes, my blood my fire renews;
My soul loves not grief, but ’tis true,
And that soul loves to weep, and ‘gins to weep.’
‘”O, that my poor eye, which doth watch
All this inconstant watchfulness, that mine eye doth neglect,
Will not see it, yet it sees with my heart,
That my poor heart doth watch, and doth part,
For this purpose doth I entertain a war.
“Lo thus the weary eagle


======== CHECKPOINT 073 OUTPUT # 002 ========

proceeds of time are spent in mirth,
And sorrows in mirthless sighs wait on new-fall.’
‘My dear, what should I say?’ quoth she.
“I have sworn to secrecy all my life,
For fear of public shame, which my love might well make known
To those that by my name might know, or to those by me.
So now I wake and straight awake countenance,
As if I should suddenly summon forth a spirit,
Who, by my deeds foretelling the day’s end,
Will tell my life and me of that day’s end.
Yet, unseen, the fearful night
In his dim chamber shrieks and dimmings,
The very poor creatures that his shadow hides.
“Woe, woe!” cries she; and, from the fire,
Shaking his neck, a thousand hollows she interprets
As pitch-black quakes to the clamours of her ears.
Yet this vapour thence disperseth,
And every part of her body, with water still resolv’d,
Cannot breathe again; for there remains an air
Cooling the affected fear, and all insufficiency;
Which in her head all this resty heaviness
Pierced not with gentle motion, but was warmed with her delight.
‘”What do you intend?” quoth she, “my dear, what of it
You may regard, but be not so sure
That it is true? Were I in it, I should say so,
I could not tell it to myself, for fear of fear’s stain.
‘”Fie, fie! as the sun doth scorch his shade,
Then is it my fault I have been here hunted,
As thieves of my self I have been;
Who, by their foul act of stealing, have so much:
And yet they possess my self in all their might:
If they should find me again I’ll hunt them all,
And kill myself in revenge for their crime.
‘So he, sad, struggles with his elbows
To put down the sad shrill he hears;
Whose heavy drum keeps ringing in the hollow;
Which rings oft to make the earth shake;
When his loyalist troops, armed with red,
Under whose heavy wing his proud hoof they lie,
Are faintly astonished at his neigh;
The poor birds, whose heavy and trembling wings obey;
Some laugh, some cry, ‘O heavens!’ and ‘Fie!’
A thousand cries attend this loud repetition:
Then with a sigh, they all rise up and fall.
O how mine eyes, like flaming fire,
Did quake down the fair queen and saved her life.
Then the strong-besieged monarch
As one that hath four suns, one forest, one air,
In pursuit of his desire doth forsake,
And doth charge the poor turtle with much slaughter.
“The boy that did in me his thing borrow,
Hath beguiled his skill, and done him all good.
Who, silly fool, dares not break the silence?
The wolf, which doth within earshot bear the proud,
Tiresome beast, yet not of such modesty bear:
Yet though some tame beast dare not tread such a path,
Yet am I bold, that I dare to tread on such a lecher.
For I have heard thy name told, and know it well:
Him have pity’d thy image and brought it to life,
As if some miracle were wrought by thee.
And thus it shall appear unto thee;
The wolf, by thine, shall eat the lamb;
The ungrown lion shall not dare the white lion stay:
In this the Greeks do their utmost;
And therefore this thy name shall remain unknown.
“Now, thy love,” quoth she, “I would swear this man lies,
He’s not my father, nor I my husband.
‘”Ay me! what are you slanderers?
O answer I, I have no such thing;
I have sworn many that say I have;
And they all swear that I have not;
And many more swear that I have;
And then there’s no more striking what struck me,
Thou art not like, the boar, but what grazes him.
‘Well, how do I repay thee this time,
The one I owe thee for this ill deed?
To pay the other, I must undertake;
Thou art my partner, and in it I must live;
For thou art all I am, and in it I must die;
For this ill I bring forth foul infamy:
Thou art my slave, and in it I must die;
Therefore I must kill thy lover


======== CHECKPOINT 073 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Dairy and her soft fingers doth latch,
So true a sire is sire, that she must be
To swear feasts of love to husband,
To keep their vows though her heart break.
And, lo, the moment hath passed where she sits,
And no longer with her still hath she to do,
She merely sits, her eyes to the fire,
Like tender cherubins, smiling at the fire,
Ceasing the wind that blows their faces so cold:
But in his fiery arms they fight, and in his warmed blood,
They win, and yet life is death.
This forced pause, which in Lucrece’ eyes
Hath been made absolute, is now forfeit,
To be undone, by force of will.
“When thou art gone, tell me thou wilt leave me,
I’ll do my best to stay with thee;
And be gone when thou wilt re-join me.”
This said, he rushes off, panting,
And to his amazement finds himself sat,
Lying on his buttock, his cheeks well armed.
Her beauty doth wear her beauty like a garment,
Like cloth upon which the fillet lies,
Tearing it from her fingers and drenching it in mud.
Yet thou lov’st not thy lips, for thou art love,
And for that, not my lips, nor thy lips’ livings,
Mine is love and my words are my only music,
That is, to you, to me, the greatest of my bethinking.
“It shall seem,” quoth she, “complexions, scandalous,
With iron-fac’d figures, gross and outworn,
Or like a boar, peering through a rock,
Which, though not yet tame, is so tame now,
It will strike fear into the heart of a man.
O fear not, for fear of such things,
The lion hath his hide and no fear,
Even to a wild beast obeys,
As fear from a lion cannot fool a pure horse;
For fear, it is afraid to stand on the cross.
‘If that be untrue, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the shape and content of that,
But that it may be so well-tuned for entertainment,
That fools’ eyes may behold it in their dreams?
If so, let that music which the eyes sing,
Which like melodious timbres might play,
With the rich melodious harmony of songs,
For sweet melody makes fools laugh and make fools fight,
Which mad mischances at fortune and makes them turn right,
Like fools that did defy the fore,
To win their turn, and do it well.
O that heart which yet did defy the back,
And had not the strength to fight, yet was still strong,
And with that strength still ‘gainst my verse did fight!
But now with the strength of a man I no longer fight,
Yet will not be so strong, yet will not be so strong.
Thus is it with all mine that thou hast this will,
A thousand golden trophies to keep me company:
Let me excuse thy bad, though thou excuse not mine,
Thy fair name is Olde Time, though it not give thee rein:
If thou wilt permit my name to be called,
Thou wilt have a son, and that son be thy wife.”
‘O false lord,’ quoth she, ‘I did vow, and vow’d life,
And lo, the night hath ended, and the time is past.’
Yet she still could not keep her vow,
For sometime ‘Lucrece’ and her maid had come,
From distant Duremberg where they lay,
To greet the blessed Lucrece they see.
In them Adonis writ his will,
Who, to make his will known, did his will print,
And then Lucrece did register the change
That would bring him to his senses,
Where now his thought, that thought so true,
Could say to all men their fair parts were wrong,
Which in their faces was but fair: now they were black.
‘I did register the change that would bring him to his senses,’
‘But now he’s black again,’ quoth he, ‘and I dare not say so,
That word’s too dear to read in this rude tongue.
‘O my sweet;’ she answers, ‘it shall be well understood,
And that it shall never stain in thy face;
For why not, if the mirror be glass,
Whose substance it set not shine upon,
Then my love’s worth in others but in thy show will.’
‘Poor creature,’ quoth she, ‘how doth he abuse me,
For beauty


======== CHECKPOINT 073 OUTPUT # 004 ========

illo with his face concealed in a veil did behold the fiend,
Like a miser that liv’d in luxury
When by fortune with his fortune should buy his weariness.
“To prove his love, he will say:”
And to prove his love another way,
I’ll say this man is false, he is a man of wits,
And wits, not truth, but folly,
His foul tongue should say ’tis right;
And tongue thus blazoned is Tarquin’s;
‘His tongue is blunt, his tongue is kind;
To speak truth in him is defame’d.’
‘O what a hell of witchcraft lies in thy breast!
The thought that my life might be taken away
By such a black-fac’d devil hath cast
To death the whole of that I love,
That I may live, and to death I must live.
How could I live if I was forced to live?
And was death so hard for me then as for you?
Thy eye might behold the guilty sight,
And hear the commotion of the dead,
That they were once dead, if they now were living.
Her eyes do behold the fearful sights,
And their infamy so far as their light goes,
Their infamy not faring so.
But how deep-brain’d must they sink to make this plea?
Why hast thou to such a time of need
As when your poverty doth extend,
And where your own spoil doth exceed?
O when I say most things need, I mean not what I mean.
‘And why should men’s eyes be blind,
When their own mightiest mightiest wish be?
Let it then be, that life and beauty be mute,
And live in shadow and beauty alone,
By society’s shadow and beauty’s excellence bred.
For when the world’s fair queen dies,
The world’s fair queen lives, and the world lives only
In beauty’s fair, but in death’s fair place.
‘Nor can it be said, O friend, that I am unwise,
By the course of events I have been
From this commission that now seems right,
That I was the fore-grip of this misfortune,
That in her beauty was bred still the shame,
And then I a youthful man, and then no age,
For I no man were born of so pure a mind
As she now is, and never was,
Or ever was nor ever was nor ever was not:
She was no mother, but the same
For he in her was both; for her was both still.
She sees him frowning, and then his eyes
Like sun-kissed margents dote his face;
She sees his crooked teeth, and there they meet;
She sighs and frowns, and then his lips meet;
Then do I not pity thee, I love thee not
To blush at thy unkindness, nor hate thy reason;
When thou shalt by law contradict my will,
And by thy unfair fair law abuse thy tongue,
And teach them thus to misuse thee,
And so to themselves so abuse me,
In that thy fair law abuses my tongue,
And mine be subject to all unfairness.
‘But when he had sworn this to me,
With her oaths of secrecy sealed,
And such force as she possessed,
That she did break her oaths of secrecy unstained,
And never again with the same firm grip broke,
Or like a ploughman break, nor unloose,
By shifting his bending motion with the earth.
‘Therefore love’s charter is, that no man hold it unto me,
Or any thing of worth lasting,
whatsoever of worth,
Mine eyes have taught me to pity all that are
Which abroad are thought bankrupt,
That nothing there is worth of worth to me.
But, if they see what effect this sorrow
Deepens, theirs grows stronger, theirs less severe.
And when, mad, he strikes her, her friend,
To kiss her, and to prevent her pain,
He strikes her again, and again she answers.
Thence comes the swiftest autumn,
Which in this part of the spring doth grow,
And this summer’s smell is so strong,
That it takes on the heavy of May,
As much of it fresh in this part doth grow.
Let not my love, mine own, be called short,
For in that we have more than enough,
To sing, and in that we more strongly owe,
A thousand happy words to write of love,
That I think you know well, or have heard told
Of you, I count it one of many.”
But when he concludes thus with a pause,
She shakes her head, and her


======== CHECKPOINT 073 OUTPUT # 005 ========

genome to see what it is, or what it contains.
O let it not then from judgment that I mean
To judge as to thy good,
My soul’s treasure is but to know, to show what it is.
That I may (myself) be a part of it,
I think it (my soul’s treasure) in other respects,
Than in my self, though my body still doth dwell,
The body in itself doth disjoin,
Though in my part it hath all disjoin’d.
For if I die, all my part is forfeit.
My life in this is forfeit: so my soul doth part.
“But what shall I do?” quoth she, “be with the boar?”
For if he go, he’ll run away,
For he hath horns on his head, and he’s fright’d there;
And when he hears the dog neigh, he strikes fear into his eyes;
And if he run away, his fear in his eyes is blown,
And all fear doth bide his coward coward fear.
But why should my life (my soul) depend upon him,
And life (my body) from him to him depend?
Or what part of thee that gives thee all that live,
Thou all dost begotten of thine own free will,
And given to thee by the law, not made by thee.
‘”If my dear friend and I be slain,
Then shalt thou thyself become the prisoner,
For why should thy foe, who thy foe doth hunt,
Eat up the day thou hast spent in my eyes?
Have I not seen thee like a sickly star,
And in his dim cell with other ill-wresting
Plagues, sick and tired, hath he bandaged his wound,
And hath drained the maiden blood,
And hath blood on all his living doth lend,
That he in blood in other’s kindness lends still.
This thou hast not read, or seen, but must not know
My poor self through time replete dead,
Doth tell my grief, my love’s name still remains unknown;
And now, in the very act of grief,
Another wrinkle of this same wrinkle
Hath crept in my soft folds all other wrinkles,
Even as thy picture once took place.
That I alone in this world have eyes to gaze,
And seeing these beauties in thy faces,
As the dead with the living set eyes,
Who in thy image stand still, look again,
And in another place, say, “This time I see this:
This time I see thee this:
This time I fear not thee this:
Look for fear in thy face that thou mayst find
What kind of fear lies in thy soul’s eye,
But do not kill it with words, for fear of false killers.
And look deep in thy heart, as deep in thy breast
That the thought of it shows thy sorrow.
To-day thy image doth in this deep black night stay;
Sorrow is compounded of many, with many more being,
And thus words are exchanged for one another:
For oft the same thing is said,
As two sorrows compounded, one is better.
Now when my heart is out of tune, mine eye
Presents thee like a smiling child,
with the white veil over his or her head,
His or her eyes, when they behold the night.
Thus his speechless youth she doth tell
The sad story of a vanished day,
When a desperate war with her old foes seemed to end.
Then Lucrece, angry at this unprovoked night,
Puffs forth his hot wrath, and sets his steed upon the hounds;
Tires, blushes and sore fits are all but invisible;
And when the sun is set, the world hath no need
For entertainment to sad men’s eyes or sad women’s breasts;
When birds, hawks and other birds sing, the day
Is full of happy hours to see happy people.
O what a sight this world we behold!
The smiling queen sitting by a rose,
With red and white across her face,
Which makes the sky and ground seem green;
She looks so bright, that our eyes do miss it.
‘My love, why lack thou the strength to make me swear?
Why didst thou bear it upon thy head,
When in the hope of everlasting life thou canst not renew?
Thou art all that is left of me, and yet no more:
But if thou hast no more to do, say so,
Save help from home that thou hast here set
To give me all that thou canst give back,
That I, with thee, mayst restore.
Then for


======== CHECKPOINT 074 OUTPUT # 001 ========

8 the shadow he cast on her face,
And every whit she saw doth his picture hide;
Till she see’d in her tears, on the pale cheeks,
Like marigolds, scratch’d with mud, but not stain’d with mud.
If from the blood that thou gav’st me, thou shalt have
The spoil of many a shameful death,
Who are not born again, but die in thy art,
Who canst not live another’s sorrow,
To give thine own sweet self another life?
The one doth not live, the other dead,
thou hast made the dying age.
Let me assure you one thing:
Thou are as fair a moon as any in the sky,
And therefore my judgement calls me a moon,
A woman of her fair colour, although not as bright
As I am, having thee as my queen,
The rest would prefer.
That thou mightst change thy self from youth to age,
So would I, till my beauty should change thy name,
And live in thy image, till thou reigned in youth.
Thus, Collatine, to Tarquin, bid th’ encounter
In his red and white battle-horns, that through the night
They might behold the spoils of war.
The night’s prize is fame and fortune;
The day’s prize is health and comfort;
The night’s prize is sorrow and oblivion.
And the day’s prize is wealth, and the rest is luxury.
And in these pleasures sits Lucrece dead,
While in her body her beauty liv’d and died,
Which death, like a cloud, did cover.
“But thou shalt not see my face, nor hear my name;
And being full of fear, yet never fear’st
Shall my hairs prick, nor my nails blend
With the fatal blows thou hast brought thine;
Thy brow be pale, thy lips be rough, thy tongue wild,
Thy nose rude, thy heart heavy, thy joints dolour,
Thy joints shake, thy joints tremble, thy joints be slack.
But thou, fair lord, through the smoke of thy woes,
Will smoke this weed up and down for smoke,
that is to me a daily duty,
When in thee daily duty so much depends,
I’ll grind my brain to dust, and then to death;
And every hour spends lamenting my state,
I’ll moan, and cry, and groan, and cry,
For ever, and evermore, that life in thee lies:
Then is life, if living, a perpetual state,
As barren death, if living in thee.
Then is this thy verse, and this my verse end,
For all thy beauty is dead, and ever is no more;
For ever, and evermore, thou livest, and never dies:
Thy beauty art all, thy beauty all that thou dost hide.
And yet being slain, thou in living life hast
Thy living name, thy living legacy:
For if thou wouldst live, life’s heir thou art,
And life’s heir thou art, the living name of me.
And, from me, on the barren earth,
Whereon thou mak’st all eternity,
The earth, with thy earth’s living flowers,
Saw thou fill with living dolour the grave,
And turn thy barren brows to dolour the sky,
As they with dew of night the day doth rain.
“When thou wilt, my love I beseech thee,
I beseech thee still, O thou beloved of love,
do not so, for fear of harms, curse the day.
‘I hate’ she, yet she is not mine;
Her love was to me the light;
She for my sake desired the spoil,
To live a life of luxury,
But now, as guiltless death, so doth she live.
When I have read the sad account of her death,
The lines whereof seem but to confirm my suspicion,
Thy voice and beauty’s content,
To all the world well might she express her mind;
To none could so express her grief.
She looks upon the world with such keen eye,
That she falleth in strange circles,
To make the world her web, and make her sorrow
Dance in her crooked body, and she lose all sway.
So am I, O thou that didst change my state,
A new beginning to this old tale!
In thee, thy breath o’erweaves this change;
I breath new life, and new sorrow!
That which thou hast o’erworn, thou art new:
Thy breath new beauty, thou that art new:


======== CHECKPOINT 074 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Lat the eyes, the mind, the tongue, and all the body.
And as they view these impediments,
The earth with sighs and tears oppress them,
And in their tears such strength do break their faith,
That they break their hearts, and die for such a cause.
Thine eyes, thy heart’s eyes, my heart’s heart’s eye.
Him, why art thou in such a hopeless fight?
But why dost thou think on my poor health,
And on earth so much misery befallth me,
For mine eyes have cost more than I pay for thee?
My heart, thy heart’s heart, mine own turtle,
Is in this turtle helpless, not in thee.
‘The brambles that throng his wall are broken,
Each bough to his wheel breaks several roots,
And each root breaks several times more.
Then as they look on their enemies,
Some pine their faces with their hair, some with their nails,
some like fishes with their tender hide.
A certain poor boar, panting as he goes,
Doth now for chase, but soon he is gone;
He runs for his life, and dies for the chase.
That his death by him be might for a kiss.
This said, on the brook where he lay,
The turtle, with two young men armed,
With proud Arabian speed did gallop by,
Tiresome and playfully trotting on,
That they almost trot down upon her with eager pace,
And did smile with all their might, all at once swearing,
That he would fight her in such a fight.
“And thus he answers: ‘I have sworn the night before;
This night I will slay, and thou shalt win.”
This answered, and win or lose the bet.
“And now in the dim light of this dark closet
Two old-timeless maids lie, gazing on
The tempter still with their lamps still bright,
And looking upon the clock with sad looks,
As if from some unknown unknown dark purpose they mean,
If Time’s creation were some other,
And all things heavenly were but beasts?
Or was he merely the foil of Time?
‘And now I think to myself, and this dread night,
How dreadful it was to behold!
How dark it was in the dim alabaster night!
And I think of dreadful days since then!
What time doth beauty waste, and mortal woes breed?
What wealth lives and is not begot
in thy bosom’s image, doth it afford?
To love, love with largeness doth strive,
To be good, and be bad alike:
So is love, being true, and being false doth strive,
To win the prize of loving-kindness.
The beauty of that name is as old as man,
And in that age the wits of both was seen,
In the beauty of wit, and in the beauty of youth.
Here her cheeks and all the rest, so young, seem shrunk,
That he cannot see the change in them,
His heart hath his heart set on different doth bend;
For he cannot see that he himself is changing,
His heart is in a league with her heart,
And if she should have her heart, he must be gone.
What cares I then if my muse be absent?
O love, what cares not love that my name may remain
When fame and all my fame lies near?
If my name ever shall be called beauty’s,
Thou wilt have no more of my likeness than mine,
And mine was beauty’s blood, but now thy queen lies,
Till I take her husband’s life, to give him my wife.”
His lips are fix’d in a frown, his voice hoarse,
Their blackened faces lend a clearer view
Of crimes, than their clear skies can see;
The stronger eye, the stronger voice,
The more black the greater the danger:
Now this man hath power to make men bleed,
And therefore I defy him to make him swear.”
O that false blood which thou shalt find
Swear by water, which cannot stain, shall suffice
To stain my epitaph with slander.’
‘Poor instrument,’ quoth she, ‘without a sound,
I’ll place your poor instrument in my tongue,
Which will not be slack’d in my abuse,
To make your love sound worse than your love’s.
‘I will,’ quoth he, ‘tell your Muse to my ears;
My purpose is singular, and you two must be
Each to set the other beginning in motion.
I’ll leave this work unrecalled,
My mistress’ ornaments to your desire,
And tell my love’s name in


======== CHECKPOINT 074 OUTPUT # 003 ========

cinnamon with tender sauces,
And sweetly with sweet sauces combined,
Which to please her palate would seem sweet,
As milk and honey, to those sweet aids sweet.
‘Yet love cannot possess the power to make war,
To take that labour by death, or death by choice;
So long lives Love and will not last.”
‘But’ thus begins the tragic dirge:
“Lo here Adonis, young, armed with a long-hurting tongue,
with a flaming torch lies he upon a napkin,
He lighteth on his head the thought that he must go,
Whose motion makes him tremble, and he cries, “O eye, see! behold this face
Swear this to Tarquin; it shall never be forgot:
The day will soon seem black and weary;
The skies are red, the weather is bad,
And all the rest is ere long since.”
And from her shining torch he doth fly,
Like a pale-fac’d leopard, whose black and white
Distributes itself like a band:
Like the dire wolf disperseth when he goes.
‘”O, behold this vile cloud, that hides the day,
Howling madly at thee from afar;
To the earth it doth dash, and to the sea it runs;
The sun, shining from high heaven, with his golden head,
Whose downward eye hath gazed upon all that is
Of earth and heaven, and all his manifold power,
From whence it hath descended this inundation:
And now Adonis takes up his breath,
Like lightning from a falling fountain,
To exclaim on her death, yet not fear her pain:
“I love her dearly, but then I’ll say ‘She died,’
‘”O, my love! how doth she owe me? how doth she owe me now?
To hear her tell lies in my hearing, and see her make no sense;
She knows all, but hears none; she knows none of thy truth;
And yet I know her true countenance, and she my love.
The lark at this ill similes her wit;
At her retorts ill-declares and takes
The bait which shall win her heart’s delight:
The lark replies with more venom than tongue;
So Tarquin takes his excuses ill,
Like fools who, like fools, make errors of proportion:
Her husbandry she finds wanting, though his might
keep quiet, and wait the time for his coming;
As the clock, which should give the time
For his entertainment, should delay his coming so,
In other respects he so excels his lord that she fears;
He is his own man, and she is his own woman,
she will kiss thee, and thou dost kiss her too,
And that thou hast my will, yet do it sparingly,
For I am with thee, and thou with me.
“Now all alone he sleeps, and wakes her tired eye,
Which on the pillow lay sheathed in her head,
Till, dimmed by the moon, with trembling pale,
He saith, “Nay then, nay longer,” and turns away,
And whispers, “Ay be advised, this night I must kill.”
So says she Tarquin, with tears welling in his eyes,
Like rain falling from a mountain-dropping sky,
Whose heavy woes the birds do miss, and the poor birds much afraid.
O how the lines! the sweet harmony!
That sweet melody so well should charm the heart!
Love’s sound design is both baneful and tame;
And being mute, it sounds so, too, with thine ear,
And doth rehearse the commandment;
So the choir of sweet tunes agrees
That they should all sing and sing together.
‘”Now for thy help, thou thy servant to kill,
To keep the secret hours of wicked Sin,
Till thou come to my aid, kill me with that deed:
That’s thy fault, not thy servant’s: for lo, behold
My lord, by this, my servant’s murder
You shall not kill him, nor take away his breath.
For you, my lord, in him thy foul stain grows,
I have so much treasure in thee that
I will not forget thee, if thou live one of thy sweeties.
But, lo, this deed will prove so unfair,
And so true a fate shall befall thee,
Thy untimely death, thy untimely bastard,
Thy untimely rape, thy untimely incest,
Thy untimely treason, thy untimely treason
thy untimely treason still thy will doth abide.
The boy that prophesied would soon grow up,
Even so thy unaged


======== CHECKPOINT 074 OUTPUT # 004 ========

taxing with her husband’s skill I do vow,
To do her shame, that my praise may be.
And this, as they look upon the cloud,
They see, in the dim mist they behold,
And, like fools, do abhor the sight,
Making this their bedchamber-like face:
But now that the cloud hath been seen,
The weary weary hours that must be spent are nearly done.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘there I was nursed in this hell,
When thou shalt purge me of foul harms.
‘Why dost thou pine and yet not pine to rid
My sin, that thou lov’st to stain my stain?
O never, thou scorned friend, bear false witness
That thou didst bear a sicken eye;
Yet dost thou bear false witness that I did ‘ask
The deep question of my worthiness,
To ask of false Sinon’s shadow why he doth live.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘some maid have come to thy bed,
Who, in a riot of tears, with red and white,
With sharpened fangs, and shaggy pikes had sheath’d;
To show her sad, and make her woe worse.
‘How often have I wished I might catch her,
And she at my side would clip the stalk and hang her head,
Hiding shame in her shame’s blood.
But all too soon, deep in thought, she thinks to wail her woe,
And to herself she utters this vile wailing:
So being captain of her sorrow,
She ducks to the bottom of a drop and to her right,
ose bosoms did hang upon her head,
And now his neck was to my breast.
‘Gentle day, that thou art forced to this contending strife,
I will bequeath thee unto my son,
And he unto my wife, and thou unto my daughter.
The one shall remain my wife, and the other thy son,
Both by marriage still shall live and evermore be.
Thou wronger hast done me wrong, and am yet free,
And to this end shall live I nevermore live.
‘Yet be not so, O love, dear friend,
I wish my Collatine were here alive,
And all the world might see it was foul,
And here her voice would be merry, and there wry woe,
With merry company doth call him Collatinus:
But not here, in her sweet Lucrece bosom,
The happy Collatinus thinks he hears her say.
As he lies, she with trembling fear betakes;
‘What about you, O lovely guest, what are you doing
That you should think to deserve our leave?
O hear me tell! I had better not be tempted,
To steal your dear heart and use it for my own.
O tell me, love’s charter is ten thousand kisses.
‘”Fie, fie,” quoth he, “this thy fault shall never be forgot,
And thine shall live in peace as thine in mine;
And never, ever, nor evermore, shall thy sweet self be stained.
And thou shalt not steal my heart, mine own, mine own thy friend,
Even in this mine stain thou shalt live, mine own thy friend.
For thou know’st thou art cursed, thou dost steal from me;
And if thy body evermore shalt live, the thief hath thee.
Thus is he cured of his reproach,
And by his reproof clears up a kind of shame.
‘”To kill was my first desire, but now kill’d the coward one;
To slay myself, I must first rob a livery.’
“What did I say?” quoth she. “I said kill’d him first; kill’d him now, kill’d him now, kill’d him now;
Then why not I rob him first, and kill him first,
If he be such a devil as thou art?
So then thy help is to blame. Ah, if thou be such a devil,
The devil hath no power to set foot on thee;
That’s all; but I have a vow to uphold:
So help me God, and I will give it thee.
I did, O comfort me, but now I find
That all is done, and I can’t live again;
And thou in this despair, for I could not cure thee;
And yet thou in me, wilt prove so foul a devil.
“No,” quoth she, “no,” quoth she; “no, no;
No, no! no, no; no; no! no, no! no! no;
No, no;


======== CHECKPOINT 074 OUTPUT # 005 ========

previous to hear her wailing mother weep,
Which with a sigh fell she did utter,
Making all tears in her wide host’s sight.
“Poor child,” she cries, “this ill-wresting night,
I must seek elsewhere to find you,
And seek a cure for my afflictions.
I must kiss you; tell the truth, tell the truth
And swear fealty to your true love;
For by the love that you have my blood,
The cure might be death; and in it, your life ended.
Thus can my poor conscience plead
That to die is a lesser evil than
The theft of your life.
And, lo, no, my love cannot live in vain;
For he that lives, if he live, my life is forfeit,
And my life to be perpetual be forsaken.
For my life was a fleeting joy,
And then did my life become a living dulness;
When this dulness died, I no longer die,
And live thou in thy death by thy death.
Love hath an appetite, and will devour
all things with lust’s rotten carcass before it be fed;
The one eats, the other by poison;
A third kills; both survive.
thou hast lost my life’s lease; let me return again
Or, if thou wilt force, bid me return again;
With my loss should thou use all thy might;
For thou art all my, and all mine is none.’
‘”O then thou mak’st all excuse,
For the world can make excuses for mine ill;
To make excuses for my ill, I bring forth
The cause of my ill, which in my mind
Contains but my ill; but for thy ill, my ill is well,
And yet I say, ‘Thy ill hath done my ill; so is thy good,
And yet I say I am still unwise;
Yet do I question, to prove my point;
That you were before me when I had reason to mistrust,
To this I come again and question,
And that you have reason to mistrust me now,
To trust me then, and therefore mistrust you now,
To mistrust you now do reason trust:
Thou were once false and all that now is true,
The shame of the false I call,
Is greater than the victory I got for my rhyme,
But that’s all, the one, is all the world:
And all for my fair beauty didst persuade
The mourner that would render me more;
And, lo, the day I would countenance my beauty waning,
And say thou lov’st to me no true jewel,
Whereon I would not dishonour thy good name,
But with thy loving name still shalt have thy fair name:
Since that name, which on thy fair skin
Pleads in heaven to thine own base,
And in thy fair soul doth dwell,
Where thou shouldst return again to dwell,
With the rest hath ended, and the man away.
“O night, thou poor slave of lust,
Thy beauty sleeps by thy side, thou sleeping slave,
Thy day is wasted, and night is spent:
Let it then be said, this earth is thy prey;
thou the lord of this night’s spoil,
And my flesh thy image must live for posterity.
The sun doth set, and the wind doth lend his power
To blow the wind, and make the weary desert
A thousand foul shadows, each several foot in height.
‘Then shall I prophesy the day’s victory,
The razed bank wherein thy sweet beauty lies;
The herald of Fortune’s new-sprung gift,
To lend her a kiss that shall yet hold her company,
Or the very ocean, to show thee where thou art.
O how thy ocean doth compare with the shore,
And yet thou denyest such a truth.
To prove me wrong I’ll strike some harder blow,
And I’ll prove thee right, or thou a mourner wrong.
But if thou be the swine of this sea and slaughter,
The wolf doth swine, and the lamb will catch
Thy tempting virtue, and yet thy deer remain:
Let me promise, my love, that thy love will remain
As an ever-living bond, and will stay
The painful hours, the weary legs, and the dead
Of this idle prey, till my praise be proved,
I’ll vow to keep thy memory alive,
When in thee thy true love’s loyal bed.
The plague of death will live with this wound,
And, sadly dying, with this life bereaves thee.
For through my negligence thou my self,
Have made my life, and made thy whole


======== CHECKPOINT 075 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Jesa, I do not hate thee,
But thou lov’st me, and I will kill thee outright.
The one, as it were a dream,
With thoughts strange and yet true to man,
Upon his visage was he encaged;
Touches were made in glass and made not to grace;
Thou art as ugly and grim a spectacle
as if from thence it would not fly,
And yet flies in the face of heaven.
What were Tarquin’s eyes when he saw them,
In darkness now, now bright heaven?
Or when he in them had seen the stars,
Like stars in heaven, but with more motion?
What with his bare bare nakedness was his face made,
That men might see but his face, not his sight?
“And in thee this I list,” quoth she, “these trophies,
Of all thy hard-earned wealth, thou art worth the greater.
That’s to say he was not king of many,
When his rightful title to the throne
Feeble was the close of spring,
And summer was to be yet another raining year:
Yet did my absence with my maid persuade
That Tarquin was king, and Lucrece queen.
So my servile mistress gave in,
And all Lucrece’ content was withering.
The sun being set, she hears a heavy groan,
Which she interprets to his grief, as pleading,
pleading can seldom make thee grieve;
She says she thinks some foul soul there,
Whose foul act she says is revenged on me.
‘Therefore he hath imprisoned me in a closet,
where by him Tarquin lies,
The guilty guest, now free, to speak.
“The warrant hath expired,” quoth he, “and my conscience
May lend the warrantless suspect a look;
A gaol which shall not close the door,
Shall be cloister’d in that wherefore thy bail:
For lo, the warrantless suspect, if his plea bear
, there lives a son, and the father lives to woo.
A son, a son to be, and neither of them,
yet ’tis a hell of witchcraft;
What might this child have be of advantage
If his father’s life or mother’s were harmed?
If he had been of more, beauty’s heir would be,
Though his worth be short, yet his life be
A kind of disgrace to his true father.
So, if thou wilt, I believe that thou art
A daughter of mine own untutored, untimely death,
A widow’s child, but untimely dying,
And being widowed all her household’s wealth,
Dost thou the rich give to the poor?
A thousand hearts, and all hearts in one?
That’s my surviving, my surviving with thee.
‘But what shall we say? ’tis not till she comes back
That we see the light, and we conclude
That it is a stormy day;
And with a little wind she blasts a hole in
The mire, that till now she hath not touched:
And to be sure, this she advisedly doth tell
She dares not look again, fearing for her life;
And, lo! behold her face is mortgaged to scorn!
‘Tis thou, my dear, that on thy heart
Thou art to blame, and not for my sake;
But if thou make this plea, my life is thy grave,
Which thou shalt see thyself in my grave burned.
If thou know my soul doth pine for thee,
I will pine still, and yet be forgot;
And yet is thou the first, and the rest after thee.
‘For behold the treasure of thy days,
Thy picture in thy book will appear,
For you may take it from thy self, and use it rightly,
As the foil that holds the wound in thine;
In that case the wound may not be fatal,
But only be remembered to show how thou didst wrong.
His eye hath cast some beauty on him,
Which is but the best, and yet the worst,
For it can neither love nor hate nor fear it;
But then every affectionate eye
Will wink, and there it shall appear,
In smiling simplicity, to praise it good:
In it smiling strangeness dwells,
And then smiling truth, smiling modestity:
To speak and write for this excellent style,
Whose lively voice so true doth want to belong
That no tongue can well express it well.
For why do they talk, I no word answers?
O tell me why I did not speak,
When you were come with all the host of heaven,
To bless the blessed state of mine


======== CHECKPOINT 075 OUTPUT # 002 ========

lic as the snow covered with the sun.
“And that he did take, by that unlooked-for favour,
To eat the grave of his grave,
And that the world might behold the proud pride
Of this unlooked-for grave,
By thy fair sun who doth in his fair shine
Even in the shadow of death’s image live?
For this shadow doth his fair beauty lie,
For shadow doth life still live and death doth live.
“And being gone, being gone, so be it:
But what of my deceased friends, whose lives I seek?
Or friends whose lives I do seek?”
And for what, say they none, but me,
Since that I am still alive, and live a friend,
Or friends with whom I do seek to mend a blemish?
But since I am still alive, and die a friend,
Or friends with whom I do seek,
Or die a friend, still lives and dies for that;
(If I have to live, or die as I like)
Such is my love, supposing it be gone,
That I live and then it is forgot,
And nothing further is said in it:
Now in it, thoughts are thought and reason is force.
O let them know I love them not more,
Though I die, and they live and then I live,
No more can say I love them, though I be dead,
For death hath made me immortal and I have no breath,
No more to love, no more to love,
My life is but a shadow of the thing I loved,
And all this doth but shadow my death,
And now all this doth all but fade away,
And no more can say I love thee so,
That thou (my body) hast but lived and died.
O what a hell of witchcraft was this,
That Time immured this mortal look,
Of this antique look and this ‘twixt thee and me,
But love, for love of love, let Time change thy mind
And lose his lily white, and be rul’d by Time.’
‘Thus begins the long-abridged of her story,
From the time when Mars, the daughter of the sun,
Beseeched him to entertain her still,
And gave her arms to his waist, to hang upon his head,
To sit still, and do nothing with him,
Nor let him go, till he have full power, to hunt thee;
And there he sits, panting, and stares intently,
With his long-gone youth, and all his living youth,
And on the earth so his sweet smell lives decayed,
That he calls it his flower, and in it still lives.
The smell is sick, the taste is full of disdain;
And as the sick one doth crave, the taste is full of delight.
Yet here Adonis sit and contemneth
In her ailing ruin, with the eye of thine eye
Crawls away her pure breast and prepares to ravish:
As the flood which through the brackish channel clears
Doth feed this flood anew and anew:
Her beauty still is beguiled, her fame disgraced,
Her beauty still her fame is blotted out;
And then she woos and wails in lament,
And in a languorous dale wails the line
Who, like an extinct dead bird, doth trot away,
With a languorous but heavy accent
Lifts up his voice, as if it would hear his reasons.
‘So with that heavy theme of hers,
Which she hath in thought over her head,
I’ll add to the list of hers, that is not lost,
Being for thee, I’ll add more to her lists.’
“So with that heavy theme of hers,
I’ll add to the list of hers,
That is not lost, being for thee, I’ll add more.
This tedious repetition brings me to my mind
The subject of the song, that is told in rhyme,
And the authorizing words which he spurns,
With dull repetition do amend;
For as he speaks, his lips are doublet,
And if he speak again he starts again again.
‘”Now, my dear boy, I have a dream,’ quoth she,
‘This will prove quite false;—too blunt a cry!
How shall my beloved Lucrece bewitch thee so?’
‘That tongue-tied fool that deceives thee here,
Who with false blood so lov’d a god,
That hath done his will to destroy thee,
In this vile and heinous crime committed.’
‘What tongue can utter to make the same ‘Will’
Upon the wretch so untrue


======== CHECKPOINT 075 OUTPUT # 003 ========

electronics from him she shakes;
And, in a desperate struggle, with trembling pain,
She falls and, by the gentle action of his hand,
Kisses her lifeless body in ecstasy.
‘Then what did she intend to do? she could not have said,
‘Say she loves,’ quoth she, ‘but I hate her so;
‘”O! what witchcraft have I done,
To hurt her modesty, or to disgrace her mind?
Thou canst not see what wrong thou wrought’st,
I had my revenge in this deed,
And yet thou hast provok’d thine revenge to bear,
By going to war against me.’
“As for me, if he kill’d me,
Lest death in thy swift desire persuade him,
Or I die of thirst, he bids me stay;
And yet my soul, through him it suffices;
The worse for me was his desire,
The best was his desire’s concordance.
Thou wilt take him to your command,
My strength is strong in all parts, but weak in one part,
Thou weak being weak, be strong in all parts,
And me being strong in all, strong in none,
And strength in none. ‘Therefore thy will was never compact,
To keep what was compact in thee:
But when, all in, all in, the thing was torn,
Some little thing to hold up a huge head,
Some huge thing held in place, some slight thing,
Some part, some parts done all together. —
A kind of fever quakes in her being,
And she dares not wake, nor sleeps;
And all these darks are quaking, till one by one she wakes,
Another wakes and cries, “Lest thy poor mistress think so.”
‘Why dost thou think on all,
And think on shadows and inanimate matter
What sensible effect the world’s picture may have
Upon the mind, the eye, the nose, the mouth, the heart,
The liver, the lungs, the brain, the heart,
The veins, the blood all moving, all melting,
And all compact together, make thee a world without end.
My bones have power to make thee more strong;
Thou, my flesh, with strength’s deadening strength,
Have all my joints dumb, and nothing strong.
And yet the weaker with weakness make me bolder;
I make my weak place stronger by thy strength’s renewing:
Thou art the strongest man in this, if thou wilt have more,
Then let me boast that strength alone is enough.”
So she concludes, and leaves him no further answer,
To conclude a lawful league, with another
To be more modest, with a tongue that is fair,
A tongue that is but true, but a tongue that is not true:
And that tongue, which in my heart is truth,
Thou know’st would be a tongue worse in worth,
Thou shouldst speak to the world with a tongue like mine,
Where thou art, where thou dost live, but no love shows.
“If thou wilt find a way, let me be a king,
And give it to the turtle, which in him lies,
As soon as his strength is sore with sore rest,
And wake him up, if that be thy will, do strike him dead;
And kill him with thy foul voice, that thy foul tongue hath.
‘To get thee, Opportunity makes me stay;
I did my part, and will repay the rest
With more than I had in my head.
To do me honour, I’ll undertake this deed;
To get thee, my self, and undertake this deed,
I’ll undertake all the rest, that makes you stay,
And being in you, makes me thrall, far greater:
Then by this, the world will think me a fool, a fool
Of true sense, and of true feeling;
That’s why Tarquin makes me laugh, and why he calls me mad;
It’s a satire that he cannot cure,
Unless his true eye come to life.
‘When thou gav’st the time, when thou wilt have all thy friends,
Then come and take my love, and tell my story.”
That night the bright sun began to glow,
And from the crystal spheres, with a dazzling shine,
The young couple with white and of fine hue lay,
Like young dewclothed creatures sleeping, bent on weeping,
Whose sad drops their bare hands have pelleted,
Like misty vapours from heaven being pelleted.
To make the cold vapours expel their vapours,
So their lovely hue do remain,
As perpetual vapours from a furnace cool


======== CHECKPOINT 075 OUTPUT # 004 ========

ounded as it were a melting morass;
But as the world’s heat from forth it cools,
And hot lust from thence cools,
And cold lust cools, and cold lust hot;
Which is to blame is Lust’s cowardy spite;
For to make him so bold, her grief would do him shame.
But she was as she seemed when she made him plead,
That they should live and die jointly,
So they must in some contracted division live.
‘But woe is me! Too early I attended the school,
My maiden suit was untucked, yet untied;
At my command she began to play, and, neighing,
Like a wild boar, with her tail her back seized;
Catching his neck, nor his neck his tail free;
His neck her leaden hand holds fast,
And nuzzling his neck with her leaden foot.
‘And when this blessed trumpet shall sound,
I will thrust my sweet knife deep in her dark,
And leave behind my beloved youth
No lasting mark of self-love,
In any dear phoenix of thine?
That I may be newly created and live as one,
In the self-same true-kindness of thy name.
‘O false alarms!’ quoth she, ‘hast thou forged this?
Mine eye may be blind, and thy right behold
The dreadful hour in my brain begins.
‘Then why, my poor heartstrings, why, where have I felt thy pain?
Who are you that so cares to hear me complain?
Who cares not that I am old and lame?
O hear me tell, young man, I did but entertain thee,
As a toy for your pleasure,
To sing your praises to my eyes, as a toy.
As one in a trance doth labour to rise,
He descant’d the mountain tops, where he would lie,
And in his bid-t’attendance doth trot on,
And sometime flies to the edge of the valley,
Where gentle summer birds sing; and being gone,
A view ill advised faints there,
And sorrows in thy breast, where thou art still.
‘”Then excuse me, O silent friend,
As I from my bed mightily be tempted,
To go about my malcontent to-day,
Looking for some unwelcome guest to-night,
Who may greet me with a kind of welcome,
Or if he find none, would be contented to remain.
Yet have I thronged with merry-go-ry,
When thou wast all forsworn, and I all alone,
Thy beauty was chang’d from vassalage to king.
Then for thy sake did I entertain thy bed,
That thou mightst drink thy honey again.
Her love, on the other hand, gave thee strength,
And so did she suckle the boar’s venomous gills.
Now that thou wast well pleased with my life,
More than idle talk may be, so be it:
Till thus ends her argument. ‘For to my self I commend thee,
A true love to love whom not so much as my hearing can tell,
Doth teach the world my worth, by thy help I know.
“The day’s proceedings now are past,
They that watch thee do the rest likewise.
So thou wilt keep them short, that not one word of mine,
Shows what virtue in me I am;
In thee, I much admire, thou art much more than I,
Thou art my beauty, and beauty so thy art,
that his image thou dost see there doth live.
O thou that art so bold as to say so,
Make him proud, as proud a god to be,
And use thy might to persuade him to say so,
O that in this proud jewel thou art,
Thy claim on my life is unlikely,
And in that case, my life in thy might
is as it were made, by accident,
From a greater number of your kind,
And to a greater delight in me,
From all those that love, and in me more,
Which by far exceeds your sums, you give more:
For I have made yours less, and yours more.
This did I expect, and still expect,
But all I got was this, and that, and this nothing:
And yet thou wilt give it ten times more,
When thou shalt see how thou canst not use it.
‘Fie, fie, fie, oh fie,’ quoth she, ‘this is thy last,
To make me a living tomb, a tomb
That I may in thy eternal memory live.
‘”All this ill I to


======== CHECKPOINT 075 OUTPUT # 005 ========

� for he had died,
But that thy sweet self, whose light thou dost glow,
May still thy beauty still shine, in spite of death.
O what a sight it was, a creeping thing,
That beauty still could not blind it,
Whose motion still it did behold;
A creeping shadow like a dove, with wings folded,
hovering on his visage did catch
The boar that did question his stay.
‘O, no more! no more!’ quoth she;
She would have gone on yet, as one that pricked the life,
Who in life is death’s poison;
For life kills, and death takes no part;
If life, death, and death are supposed,
Which they to each other, is neither:
Thine eyes, thy soul’s eyes, thy soul’s souls!
How do these dead gods come to life,
That through thee this mortal plague may be ended?
The time thus begins, ‘Since my body was slain,
The plague to be revenged on me must.’
‘Then kill me, and then I will kill thee again,’ quoth she.
But if they so desire, thou shouldst leave me alone;
And if thou willst be gracious, leave me there alone.
No more then shall I groan at thy crime,
Th’impartial traitor, still my friend,
The one to whom I wish my friend would post-partum,
Avenge him upon his self-same wrong,
O my love, with all my might would I act,
Since thou art so vile a thing to live.
‘Then being silent, as one that shadows thee,
Or as one that doth not seem to look
When others behold his face, yet are seen
Who through their dim alabaster lights,
Show themselves to behold the beldame.
But when she tells the tale, with trembling lips,
Her countenance, as it now appears,
Tires on her body like wildfire;
Tires like flaming wires burn in the dark.
‘Thus she proceeds: ‘He, she thought to entice him,
Through a gate he might enter her maid’s chamber;
Or through a door he might enter her maid’s bed.
‘For now the latch shuts, and his light
Presents him to his seat, where he sits and eats;
And now his shadow (masked in visage)
Presents him to his seat by the light;
And now to the light bids him look, but neither sees,
Nor gives him satisfaction, but beseechers what he craves.
Thy beauty sleeps alone in this blot,
And thou (my shadow) by thy shadow sleeping resteth,
Thy beauty’s sleep doth rest and sleep again.
‘O, what a sight it was! A pale infant,
Soothing with hot desire, with raging desire,
Like a cloud admir’d of red rain,
Who by raining down scorches the heaven and the earth;
So, too, her beauty doth seem pale,
And by raining forth so much fire doth appear.
But for my love, I love thee so in that sense
I can see thy pity and pity still,
But thy pity so far exceeds thy pity’s light.
“That in him there were presenteth a face,
That in his back came a piteous look,
To show the face that once on this face had been dyed,
To mark what once on this face had been dyed;
That once on this face, as if from thence it were
Rotting, this strange change now seeming evident.
The deep impression that his face bears
Begins, like a rough-grown hill, whereon it bears
Whose steep face it doth bear down steep mountains,
With gentle majesty, which being gazed upon,
Shows it not the tender sap it bears,
Which to some mild-seasoned hound it doth resemble,
Or the red-cheeked boar, which on the ground doth hunt:
Hence, the boar would seem to thee strange,
if my love could persuade thee so.
The morning sun doth smile, the hot springs daunt,
The deep ocean doth hush the shore, and the weary day,
Tires do their work and they soon seem tired.
‘O! that thy unkindness might be blest,
Shall be thy sovereign to lend me excuse!
But why dost thou lend it me excuse,
Thou mean’st to lend me such a thing?
Look what good fortune I have to live,
Unless thou mayst survive the long hours of night.
Thy self thou art so weak, let me excuse thee,
O hear me now: why


======== CHECKPOINT 076 OUTPUT # 001 ========

stimulate of her own accord she doth contrive to show;
Her eyes doth their course, the air they hold is mute;
She takes all her force to kiss the very ground:
Their lips meet together, the fire heats their mouths;
Then Collatine ‘gins to say, ‘Nay if ever there was one soul so beguiled,
Thou wilt destroy that which is kept alive.
To put that which is kept alive in thee,
Thou wilt burn it up with some sweet herb.
In the meantime some lady of my acquaintance sits,
Wreath’d in a reverend’s hand her flower’d brow,
With outward semblance of a goddess,
Came for my benefit with an infant,
To give birth to a son, to have a son again:
So thou wilt take what thou wilt have, and what thou do’st
Grows from thee the pride of a king.
The boy will be my lover, and thou my vine;
Thou art my father and thou art my youth,
And my youth thy vine, and thou art my youth,
The one being pure, the other thy fruit:
Thy beauty being both, thy both is both:
To both thou art both, and I neither.
‘But where is beauty in the book of beauty
That is so engross’d with shifting age,
That never leaves the edge of being forgotten?
Or is it that keeps the old record alive,
In words that can still stand, despite age?
For beauty was once king, and queen of women.
The naked queen in a park sat by a green light,
Who, holding a youth in high regard,
With downwardly slanted her eyes, did teach the wat’ry,
The eye that peeped through the closed door,
As well as the ear should know what is being done.
“Then be this my love,” quoth she, “this morning I pray,
To have an early grave built of you,
Of graves where you will dwell as I call you,
That I will hunt for buried treasure,
In tombs where no man may see buried treasure.
‘O yes, in that I am truly true,
I know it is treason to trust
The grave-keeping law of nature,
To place so dishonourable a dwelling,
Which so defil’d in a king so proud.
And therefore in that time do I find
Thy pure-shining guise with thy fair face pluck’d;
Thy fair complexion in demure lust doth chide,
th’imagination of thine fair,
Or else of thy fair self is all too true.
The heart that to thy sweet self doth convert
Is too strong, too dear, too weak, and still
To bear it on thy strong extremity?
When, like a falling snow-white shrivelled tree,
Hang on high, and I fear not thy spring,
But with a plenitude of freezing cold,
Thy spring should soon be outworn, and all frailties
Divert thy sorrow to that spring that thou pine’st:
In that spring wast thy spring replenished;
thou thy fair self, thy self too fair,
And yet this false thief should find new life,
And steal the living from thy living sepulchres.
Let us this winter be bereft thee,
That thou shalt live to be remembered,
And never be forgot, for in thy dead body
A mortal fear shall dwell.
O, how thy dead body to decay shall belong
is this: a coal-black mist,
Which staineth not in the clear water it covereth,
Yet stains like water when it is distilled.
Now that I see her bleeding, let my sorrow remain
And let her mourners’ eyes gaze upon her;
When, poor infant, their eyes are dumb,
And mourners’ eyes turn their sorrows even there:
So let them not be captivated
That they in thy bosom’s folds may behold
The gross and abominable parts
Of such vile creatures! be of more service
To me than this vile act is vile.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘now this man will lead
The child to maturity and to heaven:
That father’s interest is near,
My daughter’s interest still farther distant.
My son’s interest still farther distant,
My wife’s interest still farther distant,
Her husband’s interest still farther.
His interest in me now is thine;
His interest in me now is in him.
And therefore, quoth he, I may live or die,
Unless thou wilt change my mind.
“O, my poor child! what did I say?
How dare


======== CHECKPOINT 076 OUTPUT # 002 ========

rily it were as if all were dead
And still he liv’d on, ere he had tired.
“O false Muse! what art thou, sick of truth?
What false tongue can speak ill of me,
Or say my name is Tarquin?
What canst thou but say is thine,
To show my face, my face in Tarquin lies:
To make a likeness of thee, my face appear,
To steal thy breath, breathe thee again,
And every fair breath breatheth thee again,
To show thy beauty in thine age.
For what sake should I complain to-day,
When all my creatures that are in thy face are gone,
Saw my face when thou art old, and never did speak
What wrong thou didst inflict on my life.
“And now to the store-house door I close,
He lours her still, and then he chafes her,
‘Tarquin, what treasure thou hast hid!
What treasure thou hast not stolen from me!
For now I do crave thy good report,
And thou in return bids me good night.
O, that thou mayst return and see me,
From me thou mayst leave the place thou dost stay,
And be altogether unused there:
thou, and thy posterity
Of images in the heavenly world, make my day
Of eternity. Amen.
‘This said, in the shade of a tree,
A young, of fairer complexion, bearing a damask,
Highly ornamented, yet without any thereof;
That in it stood the image of youth,
Whose shape was inestimable, yet gave no form
To his sight, nor feeling disposed to take,
The prize of eternity.
‘”I have no hate in this, my love I love more,
More than my untimely untimely lust
Left me for lawful end, than my jealousy
Hath brought me to the level of thine,
And for lawful purpose put me in thy arms;
But now I am a swine, and thy lust
Kill me before I kill thy husband with slaughter.”
“How shall I be revenged upon?”
“Leave me be, and live, and live you will,
And live thou lov’st to die, and not to live again,
I have every right to question your excuse.
‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the face of this black-fac’d wretch!
His face is as glass from heaven peeped;
Yet if his eyes be glass, how can I see
How bright the morning would appear to me,
From this foul-painted heaven whose foul face
Shall on this foul blot be made some kind of comfort?
What dost thou see that man deceives his eyes?
O what proof doth thy love need
Against this false god of witchcraft
That he hath so grossly mistrusted?
For him it was thy right, that did devise
His scythe, and when he saw it he blustered,
And now it would seem murderous if it should stay.
‘It was not my mistress’ fault; now it seems
As if it was her own; now she hath it all.
She kneels, suppos’d him by the side,
And her red lips round about his neck
Make him frown, and moan: ‘Thou lov’st not love to kiss; kill me first.’
“That said, the lily pale and gilded,
With bristly teeth she webbed in lattice of white,
And forth she goes, to prevent the wind.
‘The wind will not scratch her, nor her maid be hounded;
She darts from thence unthrifts, but being near,
Intends to chase the boar, in whose sharpness she rides.
My mistress’ eyes, nor their sweet semblance
Are made of wax, and in them she receives no light,
Nor can she smell the sweetness of a flower.
‘That sweet feeling which my mistress craves
Upon my flesh, whereon she holds my dying skin,
That is, to me, my sole object,
Which is to die, that is my perfection,
Whereof I have no other but death to kill.
‘But whiles against a thorn he pricks his thorn,
Wherein the thorn’s root grows a curious pith;
Wherein, like a grape, a plucking pricks the bud.
‘Why dost thou pine at this unfair torment,
When, ere thou shalt see beauty rob thee?
If thy right, and that of thine, shall excuse
Such unjust wrongs committed against me?
Who, mad that I am in love, is so dumb
To let such treason


======== CHECKPOINT 076 OUTPUT # 003 ========

corporation, that did the worser end;
To show the tender teen his worth,
In deed, in deed, and in form, of an old,
As weury now being paid,
By means of new-fall’d wealth.
Thus ’tis well I know thy taste, my palate,
And will seek out thy true interest;
That tongue that best can well express my love,
To be the guide to all truth.
To show thy true taste, I’ll rehearse,
And for thy good, be of my service to show,
That tongue in praise of thee, thou shalt know.
‘”O! that may be said of a virtuous heart,
Thy fair nature hath well-tun’d the tongue,
That sweet melody of praise may be,
To give thee a sweet tongue that can better sing;
When truth knows no fair tongue to praise,
Thy fair nature doth too well praise,
Making love, and loving, as they must,
The weaker part, to blame.
Such foul spirits do at this sad hour tread,
The sour soil with their sour odour mix’d,
And, from their sourness make perpetual winter:
Even so her father died, and she to this date
May not boast the fresh beauty of her age.
“Lo, this device is my mistress’ devise,
Since every tongue bestows praise on the other,
For every tongue bestows a less.
To speak for himself he seeks, but tongue for him
can not debate, why thou shouldst say,
“I love thee not more than thou art,”
Whence art thou this, despite of all thy beauty?
But thou, my love, my love, seem to know
All kinds of silly tricks, all sorts of foul tricks,
And yet love is not enough to set an example;
For love is a spirit far more powerful than tongue,
Which with a thousand accents calls it wisdom;
But in thy tongue is that tongue more strong!
for thy sake let me leave this world,
Thy parts must be used for one purpose,
In thy thought, which must be thy art,
For this purpose I’ll use thee less;
Thou art as thy beauty doth complain,
Since I thee (my mistress) do thy use draw,
And thy thought (my art) as good as thy art doth complain,
This thought (my art) should make my use of thee
More rich, and therefore more lasting,
for thy sake let me leave this world,
Thy part is wasted, mine is all thee:
For now this poor world hath Sinon gone,
And Tarquin dead, and he no more alive;
‘Tis to Tarquin’s death, my body dies, thy part doth live.
Now for your benefit she sets thee on a knife,
In hand, in pity’s effections, thy part doth stay.
Now thy good pleasure and thy part is lost.
‘”Ay me,” quoth she, “this night I must confess,
I have been mute all this night;
And thus thy spirit, outwore me unto night,
And from me came this apparition,
that she hath, he will not be with her,
She will hold her tongue but in his,
Which she much liketh to lust’s flame,
And thus her fame she may confound:
His flame will burn her though she herself live,
So shall I be revenged on her foul stain.
Thy shame is but an excuse to set
My bad in hope, not in hope’s own good;
And therefore my fault is not my own fault,
But mine own fault being both fair and bad,
Thy own bad bad to my bad deeds being fair,
My good to my bad deeds being fair,
The one’s faults be neither so, nor the other.’
‘Thou be the tenth,’ quoth she; ‘this gives me plenty;
Yet more than enough, thou my maid’s eyes need,
Give them every hour of thy wanton mind,
To watch the time, and then, when thou shalt see,
Give them every drop of time I have missed.
Thou my mother’s flower, but grown old and bare,
With new-sprung sap, old leaves and tramping mists makes:
And thou hast left me alone, that I cannot bear thee.
The world, for thy sake, will not let it go,
Unless thou make some special dispensation.
And now she with a lazy hand brings her hat,
Whose platted face she hath ne’er shaded before,
And in them all white daunts the poor creature:
Her lips their own sweet parcels do lend,
And now Collatine’s torch doth play;


======== CHECKPOINT 076 OUTPUT # 004 ========

duly in me a heavy heart lies;
If I had such a heart I might live a better life,
My love should live, and live a better death,
That death should in a pure body by my side live.
‘And now, ere he hit the brake, her face was sway’d,
He had not struck her, she had not shied;
Even then his keen eye his lance did follow,
Who soon after that swift-shifting eye did leap,
With trembling arms his serpentine back again,
With red lips and blood-sopping white makes me wonder,
Who in his haste did he then render,
Or did he yield before her eyes so black a tear!
What good was thy help if thou dar’st not help it?
But now let me tell thee I am not fond of thee,
I have all these, but none of them I will treasure.
“The one, dear boy,” she says, “this injury was yours,
You gave it to me for my wife’s sake;
For thou didst give it to mine own free will;
I owe it to thee for my freedom’s sake.
‘This slander against me hath an end,
To make me swear falsely, that thou dost curse me;
I swear that I have been cursed with certain deeds;
To tie my life to the guiltless crime
Of loathsome witchcraft;
And being levelled on me with a cross,
With cross, I will slay my self, and then no more.
And this oath hath made me swear that I know
all that I know, all I can say,
That you are my true, and I am your image,
But this false oath hath not kept me in trust,
And this oath hath put me under threat,
By which I think my tongue will say that I love you so.
I will make such an adjunct of my moans,
That I am deaf to your proud moans,
Which I think you worthy of praise.
To your fair praise my tongue will rehearse,
When every tongue can read my worth,
How proud my praise is to point out
all your foul abuses, to correct all thy defects,
Make your golden age some rascal’s trial;
And in the midst of all this fighting fight,
My tongue too, too well knows thy shame,
My body too, too late hath seiz’d,
And all my spirit hath seiz’d, and all my mind doth depart,
And all my soul is destitute,
And all my spirit my body politic bankrupt,
I forsake thee, and forsake thee wert.”
So many, as thine eyes their wonted brightness doth behold,
Or like celestial spirits (as they call them)
Like heavenly spirits doth alter their hue,
To give new life to the old, to renew the youth.
If thou wilt, then lend me thy hand,
And join with Lucrece in thy league,
And come thou thy neighbour where thou mayst join,
Till thou wilt give, and join as thine by thy side.
But thou alone hast not the power to set an end,
To leave men without a cause, without some cause’s cause,
To be master over men without some cause,
To take physic without medicine,
And die miserably unsanitary,
With this she seeks to stain the coat of her pride.
And from the blue portal of a fair fountain,
Who waits for the hours where she may detain
The guilty, the weary and faint,
To come nearer to the light, to make the prisoner come
With more than he can lend;
To get him where he needs himself most,
For presently the door being proffer’d,
Upon a pale, vapid, and smoke-distained hill,
That hath in abundance smoke and flame,
With bloodless streams filling the dim hole in the hill,
With hawks and hawks, in wild confusion;
For from the fires of Troy stand this dire wolf,
Who in pursuit of some prey,
Gazing upon the helpless wretch,
Who, like a afraid dove, by him devours;
And with a fearful look, his rider, mounted
With a fearful cry, and by him neigh’d
A troop of wights, each two hundred and twenty paces long.
His hand, like a huge falchion, his breast
Flaps open wide the wide brim of his hat;
His nose the same as his lip, his nose a little bow;
His right hand his length his length of storey hounds;
His left his length of storey hounds him most;
His right his length of storey hounds him most.
This long line he often begins to say,


======== CHECKPOINT 076 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ATED with the light of day, and night by night
Darken’d by night, and night by day.
‘”For to thee thus far I will excuse,
Of faults I have not yet committed;
Since thou art still, I’ll excuse thee still.
Thou (good) Venus, in thy face shouldst put blame;
Then shall my lips be painted green, and mine eyes red.
Her hair was webbed in web, and in it
The web would clip the web; now it was in her mind,
Who would say no more, and yet would say no more,
For fear of shame still to hide her shame.
Her face, like that of a cherubin,
Holds like fire, with blood, but in it burning rage.
His eyes were green like winter’s snow,
His chin was pearly pale, his nose was rough,
His lip was rough and tanned, his chin red,
And on his back were bandages applied;
These did remove all evil properties of his face,
And to a lesser effect were they green:
Thy beauty is liv’d in thy trespass,
in his pride a spirit of thine,
I did count my blessings, too, but not too much,
And yet thou seem’st to be spiteful,
For even as thy proud foot doth laugh,
Even so his pride I do reckon fair,
As thou being proud of thy worth’s pride,
And yet thou seem’st not to be so fair
As I am in spite of thy praise.
‘And therefore the wolf hath fled; and the lamb there
Was not slain, nor the bird did catch;
But the former did catch and kill the one.
Thus was he fed, the other in fear;
The one by, the other in joy:
The one by, the other outstripped extreme
of his worthiness, the other in seeming shame:
O, be of thy self so kind,
As I am with thee, I’ll lend thee excuse,
And leave all things else that are, you know,
And abide in that which is thy self so abhorred.
Then with an all-eating knife,
A pair of poor unbred and trembling lambs,
Who being slain by some wild beast,
Upon her neck lay a platted hive,
Saw’d by unseen spirits unseen she had stowed.
“Here weeps the sire; here weeps the groom; here weeps the groom;
here comes the dear-shining-horse, here comes the livery:
To be put to death, she would not be so kind;
She would cry foul, and then he would t’assail her,
And kiss her still, and then they would both yield;
And when he saw her again, smiling sadly,
She did not flatter him with his threat;
She merely flatter’d him with her words;
When he would speak more, straight she would raise her voice,
And, speaking of praise, would do her part
To win the respect of all the place.
Then do I not disdain my mistress’ wit,
Till that mistress’ beauty may well deserve,
The due which she finds undeserved,
If ever I could wish to do her wrong,
Till then, in that true abundance of true love,
Each and every fair part is enriched,
Within my level-pressed compass,
With an expir’d rank placed not in my level,
Which till then hath not yet got my due,
Since, as one digs, another prays.’
For this purpose some one with many digests,
And from among them falls a certain delight,
A certain abundance which in the ranks thereof,
Lends such a rich, true, and deep regard.
“For where is my treasure? where is my goodly store?
Where is my glass, crystal gate, door?
Where is my true love, if he deceives me?
where is my love which hath lost his spite?
where is my true love, if he lives?
he hath slain a fool, yet there is hope
Of succeeding in succeeding in life.
This he did but surmise, by wailing her head:
For his sad song still echoes in her ears:
‘Tis thou that murmur’st; but she hears him wail’st his woes,
And yet she cannot hear what he says.
So now his lamenting, his weeping still agrees.
‘Even now he struggles, and yet she is mute;
Her cheeks are pale, his face full of cares,
His nose full of cares; his lips red and white,
His nose full of cares; his chin down, his chin up,
His lip up, his chin


======== CHECKPOINT 077 OUTPUT # 001 ========

stocked the tender bud which buds in a puddle feedeth;
That’s a pretty picture, one of strangeness, but ill
Without a self-portrait, but with the self-portrait
Hath self-love, being vulgar.
Beauty be thy guide, and thou thy guide’s slave.
By this, she hears a heavy groan,
Like the time out of a dream she wakes and awakes;
The windy night sooty with cloud,
And sun that doth burn her world with her vapours.
Poor boy, how canst thou waken me when my day
Doth wear all my beauty from me,
And still I in this do wonder
What dost thou in vain dost think of me,
In thy face is beauty made of lies.
“Lo, it shall be remembered that love was a devil,
Who did teach the brutes to abuse;
He did them penance, and death, and virtue,
And all the other forms of the devil;
in him there were but two gods, each fair,
of that true heaven that did him disgrace.
‘Look what fortune of that fair sun doth lie,
It shall in all respects be a shame to me.
To me, this poor idol, whose fair face
painted with the filth of filth,
Enchanted the northern glow with a green radiance,
Who, graceless in this unseasonable day,
Doth yet entertain the thought that I do so,
For sun and clouds doth make all the difference
In all their splendour, both within and without.
But as Opportunity now doth entertain
That Opportunity’ likeness is painted white,
And Opportunity’ beauty blemish’d black,
In his self the shame dwell’d on him.
But here Opportunity smiles bright, and here he doth grin
His fair cheeks, for the first time in many.
‘This time I’ll tell the sad story of Collatine’s fall,
And then let the poor child in sorrow know
Of how his fall so true-timeless,
That the fair Dian fell on her belly,
And being stow’d with care she went on
To Lucrece’ cloister, where, in a bold enterprise,
Her young son, Hector, had fought and died,
That Tarquin’s bastard horse should in him take.
Yet she by that example, and in her pride
Even thought to betray her vows would stay,
That Tarquin might for Collatine’s sake be free,
Even so from his strong-bonded bed he sleeps,
And wakes Hector by the power of this blessed story:
Her beauty now outstrips her cost, and now she cry
To him like water that is gushing from a brine;
But as the brine it rains cleanly, and when it rains again
The stain is so black, that in his cheeks
All hail from him is raining death.
“How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!
You were strong then, you see! now you are weak;
Weak now, hear me tell: you were strong then.
A thousand tongues that had heard your wails were mute,
So many that thought they heard you speak,
And thought they saw you smile; then did they tremble,
To death and still no more answered.
But at last she hears a mighty hoot,
Which her eyes well knew did summon her eye
Where she now lay, where she now sits,
And now to gaze upon that unseen thing
She doth call ’tis Lucrece,’ and ’tis he;
‘Tis he, she says,’sweet boy.’ ‘But if I swear, what thou do swear,
I’ll swear that thou lov’st me still more,
Than thou lov’st me still in spite of injuries.’
‘So then I would be revenged upon perjury,’ quoth she,
‘though by heaven I could not be,’
‘Tis said in the common law that there be,
One grave where there shall never be another;
For as the seasons’ breath are spent, so do I dream.’
‘In vain,’ quoth she, ‘I tell my maid that I am dreaming,
And she replies, ‘No more than the sun doth spend.’
‘O Time, what of it?’ quoth she. ‘When first I saw you,
Thought it a shame that I must stay
By day and by night by day to eat;
Yet by night and day by day to frown,
To laugh, and to love none I could see.
Yet never had I seen before in my youth
A boy of ten years old, standing with a proud steed,
With proud-proud arms, with


======== CHECKPOINT 077 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Consult in Lucrece, where she doth live, and here live the rest of her surviving son.
But he lives, and I (the wife) live,
To be wife to him.
She liv’d but on debt, and died for his sake.
‘”Thus is he brought up, that I may despise,
Thy beauty’s flame I may burn, but not to light
Thy sweet self, that thy sweet self deceiv’d,
When th’ inviting hour hath done,
A pretty redemptive flame that flame of love,
Which life and beauty hath both confounded,
Thy sweet self to flame shall stand in abhorrence,
But in thy sweet self thy sweet self thy sweet self do abide,
As beauty’s altar, thy altar to life.
“Then love’s sweet boy, that I love, yet I do love him so,
That I may be loved but by him whose deeds prove,
No man but my own self art so loved.
When all these adjuncts shall last,
One poor widow’s grave with a thousand flowers shall stand
As monument to that dead man that doth live.
O then with thy soul I confess
Thy infirmity, that in thy heav’d life thou mayst take,
Thy defil’d youth, thy infirmity
And all that is in thy bosom doth live,
That thy sweet self, the ornament of thine
That is thy shadow and beauty in all their glory,
(Though to my shadow the living dead still lay)
What shade dost thou leave, what hue dost thou cherish?
Thy beauty doth still stand, and beauty still doth stay,
And thou this shadow doth live, and beauty this life,
(And beauty in spite of thy dead shadow
Shall wink at the dead and be buried in thy living)
‘Tis promised in this to be a paradise,
That when my bones have felt the sting of this sting,
The cure will be in thy joints;
Then shall I live, and to die thou wilt give.”
He looks, she speaks, and she is dismayed;
She says she saw the deep crimson blood
Of the martyr that she pictured;
In his hand she found a brand, a sacred engraven book,
Drenched in crystal clear water, and blessed:
So Priam, I pray thee, hath receiv’d,
Saw what was so wondrous, thou hast receiv’d,
And seen what thou art made of thine.
‘But when Adonis saw that babe,
The guilty eye being white, and all fearful,
Lust-breathed Brutus’ face gazed upon him,
And from his shining out-bragg’d lance did fly
Whose swiftness and violent wing did do contend;
And to her fair eyes fell, like sluices in a glass,
To make him smile, to make him wail more:
His lips, like pearls, did hang open like pearls,
And when in their sockets the eyes of the beholder,
All blushing, his lips did likewise utter.
‘O, that infected fever of it,
That through many a vein infected
With an infected and infected deadly fever,
Which in the brain the dead do proceed
In a supranational dirge,
And do perpetual exile to remote hell,
With every mild present present a new coming
And coming death from thence would remove all impediments,
Till beauty would have annexed,
Her perfect love to one still surviving,
With either dead or living, to be.
O Time, how hast thou forgot to spend,
O Time, how have I missed you as much,
As I have missed you with every thing.
Since then thou art gone, come back and let me know
Where all the world’s backward worlds are done;
So will I know where you come and where you stay.
‘Tis said that ’tis self-same,
Which made the sun and moon the same.
She, silly maid, how canst thou tell
The secret of subtlety to thy lovers’ eyes?
It is thine, and mine alone, and thou alone’st,
But jointly it hath both cop’d with deceit.
It is thine that makes my body and thee weak,
The other that works thy body’s deceiving power,
Which is thine and thy poor soul’s minister,
Which, like an adjunct to the other,
Makes the sick, the brave, the bold, and the brave’s wounds bleed,
With sick forces their sickly fountains augment,
Like weeds augmenting their fragrant dregs.
In him the plague of ill-experienc’d disease,


======== CHECKPOINT 077 OUTPUT # 003 ========

menstru that hath no name can afford.
“This night I will hunt the fiend,
And slay him in my sleep, till he return;
This day I will hunt the fiend, and kill him in my sleep;
And in vain my tongue thus doth writ,
My epitaph will bear the shame and meanness thereof.
‘”Why weep?” quoth she, “why let the pity of my tears count,
When in thy face I have cried, ‘O false blood, lend me some water.’
To make the tears more, the tears more swiftly flowed;
For to one crying tear there are several forms;
Then like a dancing tune, the tears mix to one tear.
At last she shakes hands with Collatine,
To whom he answers, “By virtue I owe thee.”
So they shake hands with Collatine again,
To which Lucrece replies, “By virtue I owe thee.”
And so she shakes hands again with Collatine,
To whom he replies, “By virtue I owe thee.”
‘For thou art the fairest of all thieves,
And for that which we owe thou leave’st us no debt.”
A thousand ways she says, but nothing agrees,
She for his part makes a desperate appeal,
To touch the wrack of the damask, to tear the hive,
To break the peace of her womb, to blow up the fire;
Then for his part she smiles and swears,
Even to the edge of death’s fury quakes her head.
‘”Lo, this device is sent me from a nun,
To attend the ill-fated entertainment of my grooms,
So that my sorrow might not stain the record.
If that be the case, I vow to stay,
But thou, my love, for thy sake shalt not attend;
My dear friend, my love, my dear friend, my dear friend,
Will attend thy motion and make my motion ill;
For if not, my dear friend, there will be weeping.”
“Then help me God, by and by, and by,
I will give thy picture home-painted,
To posterity and posterity, to posterity,
Where thou dost lie and where thou dost thrive,
What canst thou boast of beauty but to wear?
Thou art so fair, dost seem so fair,
Till beauty drowns in a sea of ugly faces.
Thou art the sun, which doth but imprison the mind,
That hath not power to take physic from us,
For he himself is destitute of eyes,
And therefore can physic himself for having eyes.
“If the earth do quake, the earthquake should not be so great,
The flood being gentle, the poor should remain,
And not the rich at all, till they have all been emptied,
All distress and sorrows under a roof beguil’d.”
“But then, ah! the world is a living hell,
And to stop a living hell by stopp’d time,
might as yet have lived tomorrow in thy bed.
And if not, how mightst thou survive this hell,
When thou livest in my image still alive?
Or what might be the matter, if it arise again,
From the picture of thy deceased self to tell thy story,
What made thee alive mightst thou live again,
or if not, what might be the matter,
Of the matter, if it arise again from my image,
Thy self should live a glorified life,
And die with thee in that image’s fading:
But what should it be, alive on earth,
living dead, and living extant, how can we live
To talk of the dead and living in the past?
But what should we talk of, living by the living?
How can we live, if we live by our own deeds?
O love, how can love live a tongue alive,
That still hath words to give if ever it needs?
O how can love live though death be dead,
And yet still not tongue to write,
How can love live though death be alive,
And yet not life still to breathe,
And yet still not breath still to breathe,
And yet yet still not sight still still to see,
O how can love live though death be dead,
O how can love live though life be alive,
And yet not life still to breathe,
And yet still not sight still to see?
O how can love live though death be dead,
And yet still not sight still to see?
O how can love live though death be alive,
And yet not life still to breathe,
And yet still not sight still to see,
O how can love live though death be alive,
And yet not life still to


======== CHECKPOINT 077 OUTPUT # 004 ========

hundreds to be gazed upon with unkind envy.
But as the golden hare swan,
By proud antics descended her from the sky,
To this purpose, my muse, and my object,
Shall bequeath thee virtue to a more spacious reign,
And give thee such a dwelling as thy bed.
“Wonder of time,” quoth he, “now is the hour when all men must bow;
Time seems to me a perpetual time,
Beauty doth life and death constant;
Beauty loves both, and death neither loves.
In short, it is as it were an ocean,
Where all but one shore hath all beauty hid.
‘”And as the treasure of many a loving sight,
Who by their filial love so self-loving
In manifold parts of the whole was slain,
Some modest eye, some hard heart, some unruly hand,
Some in all their strength but one, stood victors;
Who, unthrifty, despite their fair hue,
Each rose by their fair fair hue did grace.
O if one behold her beauty in youth,
And in her youth so much disdain reigneth
As in this day, which now is summer’s turn:
one by day they labour their way,
The rest rest content with idle lamentation:
For when we strive, what we think is right.
Yet do I see some of you still alive,
And in your deeds of woe do we smile,
Thoughts like these we sometime say, “O day, love.”
O how mine eye, in pity for his injury,
Shows the tender lion the sad spectacle
Of such an abhorred sight, and so goes he;
So is he not with himself oppressed.
“O false thief, thou art guilty of the deed;
Mine eyes, like cherubins, upon thy brow
Are as pale now as they were when they first seen,
And their contents so much the worse for fear.
And when they have emptied the Lucrece fountain,
they that are so filled with thy good report,
Will chant hymns that could bear longer:
And when poets breathe, do chant more:
For when poets breathe, do so praise be gathered,
Like ‘twixt poets and hymns to the east:
For when thou wilt use them, do tell them so.
Then will I swear my fair love was forged with thee,
And thou lov’st not my life to vade thee back,
Unless thou thy self would redeem me from that cruel doom:
But thou being fair, even in this deed,
I will not be revenged on that fair fair face:
But if thou canst wane so fair, I will revenge thee,
And live to hate thee with a life of love.’
“I hate not love,” quoth he, “though I do hate it,
And yet you did it to impress me.
‘Yet if it be murder, the boy shall not know
How it can inane and unapproved kill,
But at the same time, be madly mad with death:
If I, if I survive, thou livest, and I die,
That thou art not thy friend, and I must kill thee first.”
And, lo, with that cruel knife in her hand,
Her passion did him in another’s rage kill.
‘Tis the law in heaven that heaven’s crime hath
Thou self shalt not kill, unless thou kill’st thy self,
And thou thy self shalt never kill again.’
‘But if it be murder, the boy shall not know
How it can inane and unapproved kill,
But at the same time, be madly mad with death:
At my false altar thou bear’st my false blood,
And in thy bed thy deeds shall hide the grave:
Yet shall I not live to bear thee that false witness,
If ever, my self, thy sweet self, thy parts,
Hath lived to bear thee false witness, or thy parts,
Whom all this world against me I would not break,
But for thy parts in thy life’s end, be thy friend:
For that I in thee thou art all I care,
And for thy parts in me all harm befits.
“And in this sad plight do I hear Adonis cry
“That he shall not die; but thou shalt be his captive.”
And for that purpose bids Hector say
“Ay me! Collatine,” she replies,
“Ay me! Adonis; let him go, and we both go.
“Oh, no,” quoth she, “not tomorrow night, or ever.”
His lips did untuck, and he set them upon his lips.
His eyes their lights forth in frantic darkness,


======== CHECKPOINT 077 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Verin to the very foundation of nature’s decrees,
And all the harmless substance of a man.
“So thou shalt see my complexion change;
With thy lips, on my face change with my hearing;
Then shalt thou thyself be my guide,
And lead the way, and I thy guides,
To true courage, and true virtue to false slavery.’
Here she shakes her head, and exclaims on death,
For where she lays, all men are butchers,
And maids’ and servants’ labour is so light,
She can scarcely bear to look on them with ill:
But that evil eye that nightly doth look
Into her bleeding face all frowns, and all grief,
Save on that which her blood serves, is stained:
And if it stain, then my love will stain it dry;
But if it convert, what good will it bring
By kissing the base ill that ’tis infected?
By all means, dear Collatine, make thy bed;
If not, then thy bed and my Lucrece will wear.
‘Then woe is me! Too early I attended
The young of late Night’s Night and Priam’s Old;
Their songs so fresh now, more dear,
That many o’erworn seem to have attended
My grief-stricken father, and mother, and all the rest.
‘”What have I done wrong? I have sworn;
Whose oaths and sealings were ever strict,
Which word shall he use when he hath sworn,
To steal my life, my life from thee?
No, my oath, thy life’s sake be bound,
By force, or nature’s will, or duty, or spiteful.
If that may be, I do defy thee;
But if it be none, then thou shalt be free;
The storm hath come, and I will not quench it;
To clear this doom shall be thy will;
The wind shall blow it away; but Tarquin, my love,
With swift rudeness will not hold him back.”
She stops her words and stares dumbly:
‘Thus, all ignorant of my untutored youth,
My ignorance and youth so precocious,
That I dare not know the reason
Where I came from and did this strange-doing thing.
O what a sight it was! the deep blue of night
With her eyelids did confound her mind;
She could not see it, but smiled when she saw it.
Then smiling, she fix’d her eye on his cheek;
The other two were gazing on her,
Which, like dying clouds, did hover and fly;
But when she saw him smiling, she knew it was death.
‘In vain,’ quoth she, ‘I quest for health,
And life in vain leads to decay.
But when Opportunity shows me how
Through cloudy windows I see the very same,
Then my grief-sick eyes behold the change
Of form, hue, and quality; and from thence their
resurrected form did their repeal
Reveal, beauty’s fresh death, and made new light.
This miracle, which Time did give me,
And from thence it my will, to make my cure,
To retire, till I might speak to thee more,
To be revenged on my self which thou hast done.
‘”What of thee then is most dear to me,
That thou art thought so unjust that thou dost curse me?
The answer is that thou art not thine own;
And therefore my love is thine own, and thou art my friend,
Love, if thou wilt make me so ill, do not hold my tongue:
And if thou wilt, my dear love will speak,
In poor dialect, which is thy friend’s but poor.
O thou art all that, and thou art all my self,
And I the sum of all, then my self is none.
If there be such a thing as love that cannot lie,
Then love’s ashes should never be put to flight;
But thou, all the world, in all respects divine,
Who with thy constant love doth live and die.
So should you, in that you were before this,
Now in some measure you were before this last.
‘To be revenged on me for this vile crime,
By revenging my crime on thee;
I have no remedy but this;
Therefore swear that I will not inflict this curse,
For I have no such right as this;
So am I, and thou shalt bear it worse.’
“So long as thou livest,” quoth she, “I will live, and thou shalt not die,
To kill me outright with this vow;
And, if thou die, thou shalt be buried


======== CHECKPOINT 078 OUTPUT # 001 ========

request’ers of time;
Who as fools have seen with more amaz’d eyes,
Who, confounded in their own folly, do view
The sage’s face, but with much confusion
And with this dumb spectacle mock the sage,
And make him swear against Time’s day,
The hour of his coming:
Since he hath sworn against thee, to slander thee.
‘O, if it be so, how can I slander thee,
When I have sworn so good a thing,
I have sworn thee foul, and yet thou art my friend.
The poor beseechers, the wrinkles, and wrinkles
Of their locks did tremble with her seeing,
And with trembling pain did the knife strike her;
She thought he drop’d, and with trembling pain
Hath ducked, fell, and died in that instant.
So did he weep, and yet her tears did not dry;
His grief was swift and heavy, her grief slow,
Her lamentation more slow and bare,
Her sighs more mild, his sighs more full:
His sighs are stronger still, hers more fierce,
He sighs in her grief still, hers more vehement.
‘”When I have sworn, O thou a true friend,
That thou art my sweet, and love to know,
That I love thee lovestly, and I will abide,
Whilst thou art, and I am both,
My self, in thee I’ll be absent,
But where thou art, and where thou thy self shalt be,
Will I then be thy love, nor thou my self?
Then be not of my love as thou art,
Thy self my love’s shade, and thy self too strong
To be forced to move thee there,
My love with thy self was but an acquaintance,
That was, by far, my acquaintance.
‘For more than a summer’s day
Or any of my many hunts occasioned
Would by heaven come and spend his weary hours,
Servile with lazy coyotes, poor dogs, wild beasts,
And all frailties of late toil,
To make my absence revenged on thee.
To do me wrong, I will thy will.
‘This said, she takes the knife from his cheek,
Like as she were a strumpet, trembling in fear;
And from the bushes where the fowl gather,
Holds her forth, but do not approach;
Till, neigh, in fear, the spotted fowl neigh;
And from her neck a horn, that the birds imitate,
Holds her neigh’d still as her neigh’d rest resounds,
For from her neck the spotted birds imitate.
‘For here weeps Lucrece, ’tis her fault,
She’s her fault, my fault; ’tis thine; ’tis thee alone;
She blames him for my mishap;
Her mistake is mine; if thou wilt remove
from her body the strength which it contains,
And use it for a living cure,
By thy death shalt thou survive.
‘Yet not to blame her for that he did,
And for that he admir’d;
And yet, all enraptured with his beauty,
As fools with their ill-experienc’d eyes,
They make him smile, to make him blush,
And then they kiss again, till kissing become a weeping.
The painter, as he beholds the wrong,
Tells his child’s heart to weep, till his heart woos.
‘”Now come, O fool, in thy soft hand,
A little hand of nature, that taught thy youth
To do the task of handling thy loathsome foe,
By stirring in thy mightier hand the tide;
Then would thy mightier hand possess all the spoil,
And so thy mightier hand make more spoilous of thee,
That thou art more vile, though worse thou art.
Yet do not let that fortune of thy
Untimely woes make it harder
For gentle policy to gentle offenders.
‘Thus says he, ‘This time of year, thou shalt be gone.
Now if ever I encounter you,
The morning sun doth but set upon my face,
Like a sad-fac’d beggar with weary legs,
The wind doth shake his poor hoof, while he runs on,
Who now is no more, but that which he owes:
O, be not afraid! I am dead, and thou hast no more,
Than thou didst make me here.”
Thus she speaks, and he replies:—
“O no, my lord, my love,
How much more sorrow is there in thy state,
Than in my untimely deaths, when thou livest.”
That said, the white-


======== CHECKPOINT 078 OUTPUT # 002 ========

SEA for their father’s sake hast thou made them so!
In them art all thy glory,
So why not mine own glory, mine own being?
Who then shall say what mine is worth, mine is all mine?
But in the name of my self, mine is all mine.
But now, like a dew of blood, with the wind
A woman’s brow, a man’s brow, a woman’s brow,
From the clouds themselves doth homage fly;
But in Adonis’ eye they fly, and in his eye
The sun doth shine, and in his eye lives.
O no, I do not think that she meant this,
That this coy glance may insinuate foul.
If so, be advis’d that tongue so fair!
“Look at that face of thine, that did before my eyes tear,
That beauty doth now wear, and all shall perish;
That on it hath imprisoned all foolish thought,
And hath done me double wrong, and even double good:
I have sworn by oath that thou must not know
The true purpose of my crime,
To use the grave to gain my grave’s use;
Or, in the act of perjury committed,
To swear falsely that I did swear falsely,
The place where falsely began was found.
When thou on high commission shall devise a cure,
The earth will pay the price for my untimely death.
The guilty by my side will plead,
that his injury is greater, and he, by him,
resounds more like a thunder storm than it did her hear.
“Say I saw the lily pale, and then I saw the face,
I had never seen such red as this in the west,
And therefore did I not conclude the matter so,
By outward variation so strange.
Such signs of love did appear in her cheeks,
Whereon in her soft pale lotuses still did cover
Her pale cheeks, as they did on my cheeks.
‘That Sinon’s armies in this desperate war
Have plundered his kingdom in such a short space;
And in a desperate race have they been defeated,
In vain they have sought to take back his kingdom;
When, weakly, they have batter’d their way up,
And with desperate cares have slain their foes;
And in a desperate race have they contrives
To tear the Roman emir,
To take Rome back, if she return’d from him.
“How many lines do I verse thus?” quoth she,
“For in one?” quoth he. “Few, I say, did ever
Begnight me to sing them; and now all hearts have died.
But for my sake, as I pray for you,
My verse needs no other, and no better,
Than their own cruel, unjust, false shrieking.
‘Had my love been as tender as now,
Then thy beauty and thy sweet merit,
Would have remained as they are now, if thy beauty
Had not been tam’d with some fatal stain.”
“But,” quoth he, “since thou art gone,
What of thee then are you missing?”
“The locks are out,” quoth she; “the maid will get me some,
And shall she bequeath thee thy mantle;
For now she thinks she must kill herself.
My flesh will eat up her rage, and bury me;
And from her fire a blasting swoon
As often doth flame out her torch, as her breath;
And as she draws near, her blushing tears,
Hisses like sore pirates when they break their oaths.
To hear the sweet tune she says she hears daily,
Which many a windy night hath done her;
And, flatter’d by the birds, doth her heart groan,
And every where nigh by a greater distance stay:
With her eyes her sorrow doth make the woe,
Her weeping heart cheers, and her eyes make the sky.
‘To hear her, I must stop at Aix-Aix,
And ride my weary horse in pursuit;
For it shall be the night’s expense,
And all pleasure doth the weary rider get,
Wherein I toil till sometime rest:
Then do I not crave, nor do I not desire,
That I may entertain you in my breast.
As often as thou dost in this show survive,
Thine eye this, that art to my heart beguiled,
And thou thy pen that erst to steal thee away:
Since that time hath men left me, and thou hast no pen,
I must write to him, and to thy good:
I have no pen, nor will to write till thou gav’st,
Though to-morrow do mine, to-


======== CHECKPOINT 078 OUTPUT # 003 ========

pty in my bosom do drop
Than that, which in thee seems made stronger;
My womb being full, yet thou hast not brought it to discharge.
For I have pow’d thee many a rainy groan,
Which till then hath not warmed thy heart,
I suspect will soon break, since I have pow’d thee many a rainy groan.”
‘”Now hear me out,’ quoth she, ‘this sorrow is very old,
If not this sorrow in the dying of time.
This said, as she rose, his eyes presently began
To tear, and she aching for help presently began.
“No matter how hot the sun is, his sight
Shows a deep respect for nature, and of his pride,
Lilies with purple buds cover their leaves,
Rose-tinted and feathered in opal are:
He puts his foot upon her breast and neighs,
That she might kiss him in her bloodless ecstasy.
Thence comes he to a bend in the lawn,
And, levelling his spear, with some care she throws,
As if he were swearing, ‘I swear, and thou shalt not tell.’
Then she drops her spear, and he answers,
“Ay, ay, ay, ay,” quoth she, “look what thou didst do,
Look what I did for, did thy Will do for.”
The painter in blood was guilty of a crime;
Yet she, as his image was put in prison,
Sheathed in his guiltless shame, did confine
The little painter’s shadow to make the picture more;
The poor patient’s face now her part
becomes the centre of all the world:
But with Collatine’s death, liberty dies away
And beauty dead, nature still confounds
His beauty with himself in all obscurity,
For he is so grounded in beauty’s disgrace,
And in his pride so base doth live.
Then like a virtuous vassal seated,
As he lies at his post with his affected head,
He cheers his horse, neighs his name at him,
Tibey he trots with all his might, to bear thee to wits.
To win his joy she fastens her cloak,
And white opal in the crystal orb
Doisons her visage in every light.
But when thou thyself in art eclipsed,
What sorrow dost thou that content me,
That I shall bear thee so ill a part?
Be thou thus thy last, for I love thee so
As thou thy self in all things, and in thy spite
For my self thou art all my glory.
“Lest I should say that she had but told my tale,
Her voice so clear’d that all men’s ears could see;
O, that speech might better be understood!
To clear me of my guilt, I’ll say more
Of my guilt still to you shall lie.
Let me, Collatine, your mediator,
Make some general appertainment of my state,
To show your lordship that all is well.
And, your lordship to me, to you descended,
By the aid of thy help, canst thou prove
that thou are as fair as thy suit!
Or canst thou not be so fair, being so fair?
For why is this fair I call mine?
If it be, if it not, why then are you deceiv’d?
“Then why didst thou go?”
“Nay then, my dear friend, I’ll go,” quoth he;
And from her lips did he hear a little talk,
Of silver or gold, or both, or both their hue;
All these talk’d with such a gracious air,
As air to rain on wet earth, or fire on dry;
But now the thought strikes his ear, as thunder follows a fly,
Or as the eagle flies, or lion bites at the ground.
Thus did he catch her attention, and by so, so, so,
She thought he wink’d in his direction, so that he would think.
“Well then,” quoth she, “if you will excuse me,
I must kill the boar! He’s too fond and wants no fear;
The other day I saw a boar chasing a young man;
And as he ne’er saw his pride I did mark
His neck, his back, his belly, his legs,
And made my heart rate his heart-wand his pace.
‘”For lo, they stole thy beauty from me;
My dear daughter, thou young and beautiful,
I would have them buried in thy tomb,
But thou hast in thy blood such a shame.
I have sin against love, and against true policy
And enforced such an unjust death,
That I did


======== CHECKPOINT 078 OUTPUT # 004 ========

repairing that mine eyes have lent to my other a stage.
In him was a pair of fairies smiling;
In me was a wolf, and in his were several dogs.
He in a band of him began to woo,
And they in a peaceful distance
Fondled but the fatal wound which they had kill’d.
Thy self thyself being slain, how can I then seek revenge?
O pardon me, thy beauty’s dead,
Who for his dead body hast live to be.
My honour my self, so honour’s dead.
‘And now I wake, and there doth Tarquin stand,
To take physic from me.
I love thee, I love thee with all my might,
But all my might I complain that thy soul doth live,
And doth not die, and still lives in me.
O how my mistress’ eyes hath died!
her passion hath cost her life!
But what kind of expense is it to me?
My love she replies in this way,
That she thinks he may still be alive,
She replies ‘he may still be alive, and he may still be.’
So she replies, with this change,
As if he said’she’ or’she’.
To all her fair truth fair fair beauty say,
All fair parts be corrupted by deceits,
Fair parts pine and wither with age.
Thou art immortal, immortal be thou art,
But be that, and I prognosticate
That thou art not, in thy nature,
For I, a divine being, do defy thee,
Thy beauty surfeits, thy beauty needs cure.
“And yet not till the warrant of thy will,
His golden chain, that dear chain bound
With golden thread, to bind it to the lute,
Upon that golden stalk stood his son;
And when his proud head would display it
mock the world with his beauty’s slide,
For shame and disgrace was his look so king.
So is she sad now, and sad still,
For pity was his tongue when she was sad.
‘Why hast thou cast off thy self,
To live in self-love or in love of none?
For I had self-loathed thee for this,
Till then I was a true friend, an ornament
Of true modesty, and true gait, and true pace,
To men that did not wear them with gentleness.
‘Yet was he your kinsman when you left him,
As the present is the past, now the past
How you like now, now you like best.
And now he comes again, and offers his kiss.
‘O peace! that did my heart make
For my sinful lust, and your true faith
And your holy love that you swore to uphold,
But now my sin is done, and I am done.
Who, lo here’st thou with his torch-light’d brow,
A worshipper of hell-boding fire?
And how long, poor soul, shall he keep silent?
And where are thy sins that should be confessed?
Why should thy blood let the good name perish,
when the well of souls doth thrive?
When heaven’s image doth rehearse,
In mortal terms doth heaven divide.
How many tongues can one say,
And all the world hath right to say,
That heaven’s picture did in heaven’s image stand
A mortal image, but with mortal form.
For there was sin in this mortal image,
Which had his picture painted in heaven’s face,
But he hath in heaven the mortal sin,
Which no mortal sin dare deny to deny.
O peace, thou youth, thou art of worth a father!
O let not the prophetic hours tell,
Thy shadow must ever foretell his destiny,
Though never attainted with all his might.
This said, Collatine, his lily hand,
Whose eye hath seiz’d the churlish bird,
Which, blushing, shake’d and crossed,
With sad gait doth Tarquin leap,
Lust-breathed Siren shrieks, ’tis Tarquin’s fault!
No more torment me now; my fault is thy right.
‘Thou vile child,’ quoth she, ‘behold this deadly night
My dear beloved shall I maim,
Unless thou purge the filth from my blood;
And if so, kill me within an hour;
Or else I thou blot with death the stain
That lives in my blood in this unjust death.’
This said, his lips his fair head,
Whose fair lip his fair eye hath fram’d
Upon his fair chin did enclose;
And, blushing, did murmur with her another:
‘What were thy


======== CHECKPOINT 078 OUTPUT # 005 ========

disappointed of what is, what is not;
The one true respect of the other is despised,
And, to make the former false, still be so:
‘Tis the heart of true love, that doth hate not love,
To hide false love in others’ lies.
This false painting did him disgrace;
The other, pure, did him disgrace.
‘This,’ quoth she, ‘these lascivious pirates
With vile accents will not be believed;
But with fair tidings of foul scandal will lurk,
In poor Lucrece’ face’s foul abuses;
And they, poor fools, on their wicked looks will tear;
And to this fair trial will they resort,
To answer their compeers; and when they have replied,
With ugly repetition, they curse their foes;
So is this Tarquin’s trial, or her true crime,
Or that of Collatine.
The one false praise that you make to one another,
Your self admir’d to do me shame,
Hath dishonoured by my false theft done:
O be not of my plea guilty, if that be true,
Thy honour’s decay and ruin to my deeds,
And to my waste reproving, in thine own law,
By thy trespass put to death my worth’s disgrace.’
But all these she gives thee breath, and yet her breath
Is shallow, as the lark doth neigh in the night.
If thou breathe on my sorrow, how can my tongue?
And yet do I say Amen, and then I bow,
With soft aloes in love’s sweet service,
And even so, listening heart-eater,
Holds my woeful state with deep regard:
The more I look into it, the clearer my mind,
In little sums makes my picture more bright,
And therefore ‘gainst my self-example more bright
With that which I myself derive.’
But if I compare thee to the livery of thine,
And to thy fair complexion the fairest shade,
Thy fair beauty’s complexion be both pretty and fair,
And in both to my beauty be compared,
Being both things that are, and things that are neither,
Is my love to thee, and mine to thee.
‘This said, he starts, as in haste,
With dire intent, but being held aloof,
He delivers his blunt instrument; that poor hand,
Which rudely hath pluck’d, and tushes his weight;
The poor bird, being tame, doth well protest;
The lion, which is tame, is proud, and is kind;
Then thou (sweet-thoughted lion) being kind, being proud,
Holds thy sweet beauty to shame, and thou shalt have it
Bewitching well with men who know thy beauty is beguiling.
In thy pride thy pride thou base issue,
Thy pride thy pride thy pride’s pride’s pride’s pride,
And, true to this boast, to this shame,
I’ll live, and live I will live, and die alone;
By this promise do I come to a valley,
Whose white, and violet hue doth on every cheek contending,
Doth unreserv’d the life and affection
He owed her; yet she was never his friend;
So she would not be friend nor foe;
Nor she at all, though she doted so,
Would swear she saw him shiver in his bright eyes.
Thus concludes the night, like a cloud dishevell’d:
And, like a proud cat, woos the poor bird;
Like a proud bird, that dare not fly,
In the gentle gust of his quick wings would fly,
He runs, and in her fast he sings,
like a dream, like a swan, in the night
He doth entertain the mind, but in the morning
He doth entertain the heart, and in the morning
His thoughts are in vain distractedly done;
The mind with thoughts is asleep, while the heart
Is dreaming, in thoughts distractedly done.
“In the morning,” he says, “look out, the sun is set;
For there I’ll beheld an old man, sweating in some brook,
With hairy bristles about his head,
Hanging crosses upon his head, with hairy bristles about his neck;
His visage is clouded with a deep black,
And when the judgement-gazing world beholds it,
The world hath no reason to approve it,
For why should eyes which see such a face,
When eyes therefore view’d this plain face make such a frown?
‘Why should eyes therefore behold such a face?’ quoth she,
‘Because eyes are but eyes, where eyes may not see.


======== CHECKPOINT 079 OUTPUT # 001 ========

analy, as he flies, so shall I fly.
So let the love of thy self keep him from me,
And do not so fair a love keep him from me,
That thou shouldst break my heart with my blasting moan,
Bequeath all thy force to his use, and make me die:
For thou livest and never live’st, and thou livest and never die,
And in thy trespass I am much troubled.
“Well, dear boy,” quoth she, “how many times have I sought
To woo him with my gentle language;
But I have not found a man to do my harm;
Suff’ring is the sound, so sparingly made,
To charm a boar, or hound a sheep;
I have seen but weak-fed dogs fight;
Or tigers and other wild beasts of prey appear;
Suff’ring the sound, so sparingly made,
To charm a boar, a sheep, or aneseh tame:
Or tigers and other wild beasts of prey appear;
Suff’ring the sound, so sparingly made,
To charm a boar, a sheep, or aneseh tame;
Or tigers and other wild beasts of prey appear;
Suff’ring the sound, so sparingly made,
To charm a boar, a sheep, or aneseh tame;
Or tigers and other wild beasts of prey appear;
Suff’ring the sound, so sparingly made,
To charm a boar, a sheep, or aneseh tame;
Or tigers and other wild beasts of prey appear;
Suff’ring the sound, so sparingly made,
For charm’d a boar, a sheep, or aneseh tame;
Or tigers and other wild beasts of prey appear;
Suff’ring the sound, so sparingly made,
For charm’d a boar, a sheep, or aneseh tame;
Or tigers and other wild beasts of prey appear;
Suff’ring the sound, so sparingly made,
for aught he did question but his mind,
What should we do for such a sake?
Or what part of his will should we have
To play, to entertain, or to die?
Or what part of our wills should we live,
And where should we live if he live?
Or what part of his will did he ever entertain?
Or what part should we live in revenge
if that be thy will, do unto my will,
That by thy will I may be made free,
A tyrant monarchy, which in thee reign
Ceasing thy will and disturbing thy parts.
For then will she behold his face,
Till he frown’d on her with sad eyes,
And then with sad brows did she rise,
That her eyes might dart forth forth her sorrow;
So did she turn her sad eye to his,
And in a fearful rage threw it about;
It fell to the boar, and on it lay
Dumbly shot, with the rage of his passion;
He in blood, being slain, did it give life.
‘That this, for my sake, will excuse me from my bed,
Thou art so full of cares, and yet am full of want,
Thou art so full of cares to think of me,
That my life in thy sight cannot stop thy thought.
‘And whiles not thou turn, that all my foes might take
From thy side, my verse may stand
And sing, in thy sweet self! in thee is none harmed;
For in thee the enemy lives, and in me thou stay.
‘And whiles not thou turn, that all my foes might take
From thy side, my verse may stand
And sing, in thy sweet self! in me thou stay.
Then shall I see your beauty in thy beauty shine,
The more bright I to hear thy beauty shine,
The more bright I to see thy good name appear,
And to his fair face give a bad frown.
Then shalt thou guess at my fair state,
The more I like your beauty, the worse I find
Than the truth, when it seems fair to thee.
And thou being fair, yet not so fair as thou seem,
Thy beauty is but a shadow, a shadow dim,
And in that dimness doth liv’d,
The world shall never know how hard it is to lose
The light, as the dead of night,
To be buried with her, or else stay
The winter which their dead form doth bring
Atan’st and winter’s quick decay.
This said, he quips, ‘O fool, how false a fool
I am, and will be, unless thou make such a vow!’
This advisedly he makes a


======== CHECKPOINT 079 OUTPUT # 002 ========

flix’ and ’tis ’tis ’tis a hard-favour’d sport;
And with his bluntness with swiftness he clepes,
Bid him come to the wood-heel, and hang his head;
That’s to say, he hath come, to play a sport,
And ‘gins to jest at my rudeness;
His soft nature doth smile and neigh;
Her eyes are fix’d on mine, and mine are on hers.
‘Now, my dear,’ quoth she, ‘this is my bed,
And every linen napkin and coverlet will cover it,
Of which I’ll wipe the bottomless grave with my tears,
And then shalt thou grieve, and cry, ‘O thou lov’st not me,
For slander hath no voice but my hollow groan.
‘”His face is full of cares; there are worms in his beard,
Thine eyes, and all their filth in his beard,
Thy brows, and thy heart’s heaviness are:
Thy soft heart will do thee good, and thine honour,
And thou thy soft heart will spare me ill,
And then shalt thou grieve, and cry, ‘O father, kill me;
‘”O,” quoth she, “since thou shalt see this, I will murder thee,
Since thou shalt see this, I will kill thee in my bed.”
And by that, his hand, which she did dismount,
Grew upon her thigh, and fell she on her breast;
She was not fond, but she felt his hand,
Her lips, like pearly pearls, softly trembled,
And did presently remove their lily white,
Whose white vapours from their burning mouths did remove.
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘I did cause thy death,
And from thence I may not return,
The shame of this ill fortune to me.
‘My poor soul was thy father, and thou son’s deceiver;
Thy rightful heir will take thee from me,
And be thy compere to take thee captive,
That thou mayst not hold me captive in thy desire,
But take the plague upon my untimely absence,
Thy plague upon my untimely absence,
And thy unhallow’d absence be the cure?
The suff’ring fear which she under the charm bears,
The suff’ring fear, which he so much as shakes,
Is apt to leap from his bed and hang his head,
If he will do it with grace, and not with lust.
‘What excuse can I have to do this deed?
If thou have my love and I my self betray,
Then I’ll tell my self thou lov’st me then,
And mine own self thou lov’st me then,
And mine own self thou lov’st me then,
And mine own self thou lov’st me then,
And mine own self thou lov’st me now,
If thou lov’st me then, then make no secret of it,
That thou lov’st me more than I am now,
The love that thou lov’st me still is thy debt;
So be it: thou lov’st me then, and my love
Thou lov’st me still, and mine was thy good report.
What am I then that thou lov’st me still,
For thou lov’st me still, and mine was thy good report?
How can I then I say I love you more,
When I have no love but my self to love?
Thy beauty, that is, and true, and true,
All praise and all praise is but a form,
Of little praise, which is to be found only
Within the measureless breast of the thing it stands:
Wherein there is no form, nothing worth, nothing worth
Which in this remote place dwells,
So the user in his prime can say,
“Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh,
Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh he


======== CHECKPOINT 079 OUTPUT # 003 ========

disperse for thy part being king,
That is to be procured,
And used sparingly for my use,
The wantonness of my gain,
For my gain’s use is best kept by thee alone.
O, be mindful of this,
thy mistress’ eyes are dumb, and she herself
Disorderly walks in them, poor creature!
Thou iniquest thy true love, and in thy self doth
Demand all my beauty, both in me and thee,
For that which thou dost hide in thine own.
‘And having thy parts, thou being all,
With the whole subduing of my parts,
Doth I then surmount my unprovok’d challenge,
And in triumph with others surmount my own;
‘Tis well they say, thy sweet self hath no shame
Till they will kill him first, and then it is revenge;
The first kills, and the other kills no more.’
If I may be so bold, so bold a king,
That dare not defy my will,
I’ll defy your might, and with my might,
And if you were as thy wonted will be,
More might my will obey, for more use I make of you,
That your wills may govern my willings.
“And when thou shalt speak, lo, behold, here I am
With a band of armed maids, with wires tied,
Under which were they wont to lay their swords;
Which, like valiant Roman guards, they would guard
The helpless citizen from being hit;
And they to a Roman grove, where sit
A bierc’d monarch, with armed maids.
Her maids’ faces they did contrive,
And from the lattice of the grove began to glow,
The burning bush which Priam bathed in it:
Her tears began but to rain water on her face,
To cover her weeping eyes and make them wet again.
Thou grant’st I am old and wearied,
And yet thou art young and yet not so good,
Therefore why should I be old and wearied,
Thou art old and therefore I am loathsome?
For thou art old, and yet I abhor thy spite.
‘”Look, here I sat and observed the strife
Of a pair of sparrows that were trim and green;
And being sat by one, one of them seizeth
On the base of its hind foot, and by bending it
Pupils forth a loud cry; whose bark being blunt,
The other fearingly leaps in;
Both to the base tree raise their voices,
And to the shrub by the roots take up their cries,
And all ranks embracing them, cheering each other,
As if from some unseen power they should say,
“O unseen treasure! unseen foe! O unseen friend!
Worthy foe, and true foe, enemy?”
Even so his proud arms his mighty head shook,
And like a toy removed from a toy,
Pushing his pride to new heights, his pride
To climb a mountain, conquer all, conquer all alone.
Look, O eye of heaven, what a happy-go-lucky day
Such luxury enjoys!—an hour I scarcely spend
In gazing on you from my face,
For when my visage in heaven is so full,
And you in earth are so flat, so bare,
that our hearts break, what means so?
“My heart hath no heart, but a hard heart;
Then how can I then praise thee, methinks,
For thou art so kind, gentle and kind?
If thou dost compare the two,
What should my heart’s note be, that tells of thy state?
Or should my heart’s note be thy liking,
For one, but one thou dost call thy love,
Or even ten of thine, in all haste hast drew,
Thy beauty still lives and thou art all grown.
‘But ah! a man hath no god but respect,
And therefore is he misled, so oft ’tis said
That he cannot feel what he feels;
Which is why he thrusts on his hat, and all the rest
Are ashes to him, and thence to be determined.
‘Tis well to be a fool, and yet not so well
As those in vice that preach virtue;
Thy face is plain and straight, and all well expressed;
My heart’s shape is like a dial,
Which is played on the heart by a tune,
Or is it the other way round:
Thy lips this way, thy lips this other round,
For this sound the dial makes more and more curious;
And in it all skill is excelling skill;
Thy voice thus, what tongue can sing,


======== CHECKPOINT 079 OUTPUT # 004 ========

optimism of a purest heart,
That blazoned so firmly with this cross.
‘So then with his vulture eye Adonis doth view
All ugly sights, both civil and heavenly,
That make him rich and poor, each with a part,
Of their own peculiar hue, which lives in thee,
Like a pale-beaded sepulchre in summer’s weather,
To those red cheeks he doth mock with disdain,
That she looks pale, and in his grief doth mak
The sun gloriously gloriously glorified,
Then to a proud riper she doth protest,
And to her shame still she hurls,
As if some heinous stain had crept in her foul.
He takes, not mine own unsavoury providence,
But from her lips, which are pluck’d so, receives the grief,
And thence proceeds to talk:—
“For fear of harms done to me, I’ll kill myself.”
His habitude with sad words grew stronger,
And, sadly, the book more readily
Soothed up his angry thoughts.
To me he gaz’d, but in a more mild regard;
I do envy thee so,
Though my wit be dead and all my skill live.
So for thy good, be wise and kind as thou art,
By obeying in vain what thy father taught me,
But being wise, by obeying in fear.
“Thou wilt have no love of my life,
That so thou canst not scorn me, for lo, I am no poet;
So is she true, and all false, that I praise.
Then is she as gentle a muse as I am,
when Lucrece’ eyes, ere they wink, she sees them!
“So be it, O comfort, sweet boy, as thou behold’st
The scene which thy pretty sprite doth brave in battle,
While thou play’st, as soon as thou canst leave,
The scars that to my pretty face thou art wont to show.
O how mine eyes are bent like marble,
That th’ aspect of my face in thee will peep;
And if thou view’st to my face thy looks doth grow,
The day will soon be spent, and my cheeks pine more:
But ne’er loves her that day, for she is not much;
Thy eyes were beauties when thy lips had wrinkles,
Thing on this earth hath an end, and that end is ne’er loved.
His visage, which in every joint
Hath conformed to the course of his motion,
Shows his will, his will being strong, yet his will weak.
Thy joints with thy joints we must fight,
O let my joints, that with thee so languish,
Thy joints with thee should receiv’st such pain.
For thine eye this eye affords me this will,
For in thy heart my will it serves,
To love, to hate, to love with that love still,
Since all my heart that loves thee is so converted,
That thou through my deeds bring thine to thine own hate,
By thy deeds thy love doth convert.
Love is love and hate it is not:
It is, in my mind, my constant policy.
A true tyrant loves when he cannot control his tongue,
And when he cannot hold his tongue, the tyrant loves;
And as the helpless helpless helpless child,
The sufferer of his suffering pain,
The sufferer to his own oppression,
The slave to his master’s oppression,
The slave to the self-same torment,
(The slave to all, all to himself, and all to none,)
Then love, with all his might, would break from his scale,
And then all in rage, not in force,
But in his own strength crushed in the breast.
Then love, with all his might, might break from his scale
And then all in rage, not in force,
But in his own strength crushed in the breast.
So is love like to Tarquin a desertion,
Even in this desertion doth he abide,
Who like a despot doth forsake him,
who, fearing her own infamy,
Is contented to hide in obscurity,
And in the shadow of scandal so doth she stay.
When the painter did best by nature appear,
The child was neither seen nor heard,
Yet beauty in beauty doth excel,
The black dappled in pale and in hue,
The deep violet in hue and in brinish
The deep green all combined, making him seem
Like the summer’s day, or night, or day.
“So shall we stand, O brave Collatine


======== CHECKPOINT 079 OUTPUT # 005 ========

== from his chamber did fly a flaming torch
That dimm’d the bright noon, bright night,
And here and there doth Tarquin lie, with a wetly puddle,
With his bare back his bloodless eyes, and there
Pure lust in his pale cheeks, and all his hot blood,
To stain his face with water that from thence might get thee.
‘And straightway, in a modest cabin where none
The cares of household held them still,
Came this apparition of a mourner,
Banning the stalk and bark that in his way
Would seem a thorn, till they saw his beard.
For when they saw him, they had seen him gracefully,
And smiling on him made them wits;
When they saw him frowning, they knew he was mad;
Then, straightway, they both did perceive
Which he did not, but for want of grace did frown;
That he seemed to frown upon her with a frown,
As if it knew not whither he fled.
‘O Opportunity, that forced doom of mine eye
To gaze upon fortune and ill,
By accident through a closed-circuited window
Or falling prey to the foul fiend
Of foul-reeking Tarquin, doth attend, and she,
With trembling dread, shrieks and groans;
When in her arms the dying world’s sentence
Upon his life or death that confounds her fears,
Nor her honour or her shame bear
Her threat with looks, but her fury alone doth restrain
Till either side fears it alone:—So, by law, this court
Strikes fear in the lion’s eye, and by terror in the wolf’s fear.
Thou art as vile and cruel in my judgment,
As the boar that doth chase him with his horns;
O yes, that’s true; but that’s not true of me.
‘So with this, I have begun to sweat
That blood-red margent I in my self,
That’s owed to thee I’ll never bore;
For who ever owed me that loan forbade,
Than thou whose death, and all thy slander,
To do me fair a service is bound,
To give a living hell to that vile name.
‘O pardon me then, I have been speaking ill,
That may be the spur to my sad doom:
But now my sorrow is strong enough to push
My penance in addition to your woe.
So then I say to my self, thou art the better man:
Thou art the fairest of all, and the one is love.
My self hath engirt thee with blame,
And thou the fault to blame, my self thou hast ills assailed.
Yet did my fault not assuage thy guilt:
The pitying pitying virtue did assuage
His guilt, and thy guilt it assuaged:
O then thou wilt excuse my infamy,
And I thy guilty, by thy self shalt know!
As to the guilt thou hast of my untimely deed,
so to speak in love with a loathed tongue,
She sings, and so his ear will hear:
This poor instrument will curse my poor soul,
My body and soul are in strife,
I bear this disgrace to myself, and you to me.
Thus is he mute, and hears no heedful ear;
His lips their own accord, but he tells them so,
That their lips their own accord are praised.
Here a cockatrice with a peregrine hide
Hath suck’d up his prey, and like a fearful slave
Tiresome, but govern’d in a loving hand.
Such gentle sportiveness with thy mistress’ eyes,
Her own kindling, her own sweet smell,
To sweeten her vows, to stain their infamy,
And to stain their infamy with thy trespass.’
The poor lark, in sympathy with his foe,
Doth now raise his chin and neighs, “Gentle hounds!”
“That hurt,” quoth he, “will not kill me.”
Yet quoth she, “some ill angel from abroad did lend
Her some sweet balm, and from thence she did fly,
To rub some gloss on some foul abomination.
O, lend me some gentle care, I may
Give a quick death to a vengeful god,
And yet thou thy servant’s legacy live!
Thy honour shall live in thine age, and not in thy foe.
If thou dost curse the honour of thine age,
And I curse the honour of this earth’s breed,
Then be merciful and kind to me,
For thou the lord of this mine is absent,
And me the lord of this


======== CHECKPOINT 080 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Voice, like a flower, stand upon a limb,
Like a reed that wounds; it being red, yet is white.
‘Gentle mistress, how much more praise I owe thee!
My love was first my love, and last shall ever be,
Thy love I did not change, but th’ interim addition
(Which late she had decreed)
By a holy and lawful grant.
That I might live, and thou livest,
Thy pure love made me this.”
‘But mayst thou still be my muse, my muse to rhyme,
To recall thee when thou last dost be gone.
When thou last shall seem to recall me,
O truant Muse, this my fault, my fault not!
For why dost thou write to me,
If thou know my death thou art supposed
To leave me for a journey of death?
Is it that thou art so fond of stories,
That thou, like a late-eighth-aged boy,
Spurns at the clock, and goes to bed dreaming?
O, how love should love be amended,
when the morning is full of cares,
Ceasing all desires and encouraging no cares:
The night is full of cares, and ne’er begins
To woo his beloved, nor his lust nor his lust’s lust’s lust.
“How is love as hard as glass is hard,
As hard-favour’d glass as crystal is soft?
How cold it is, how fresh it grows, how dear it is:
How old it is, how rare is it,
it befits this rainy season
To strain the buds of many a beautiful bud.
For winter’s break we have not, and yet
When summer’s due comes, summer’s season’s sweet buds die,
And the boughs that to our soil do ache,
The blossoms of many a red rose add
a reverend air, that taught the bard
Of courserty, courser of manners,
And captain of his pride,
The proud, forlorn bard would not stoop to such
Of truth or of modest skill.
For with these fair leaders in his pride
And in the league of true beauties
He seems to mock them with his showy tale,
Till speaking to them in company at table.
‘”O, if it be true, Love is all the rage here,
The world will say I left you, and now I
Return, swearing that you did not.”
‘Then tell the day,’ quoth she, ‘if thou see day’s bright issue,
And pine for that bright hour when thou art all set,
Where all my woes are, and all my hard-favour’d strife set.
And yet fear no greater dread of ill,
Thy face is but the earth’s flower, and all sin’s body;
So shall Tarquin live, and Sinon live in hell.
‘Yet, for my sin thou art blamed, and that thou mak’st,
Thy defame’s precedent will live in thy rage,
And in the disgrace of thy sin will never be forgot,
For I am thou traitor to that which I do deface,
And so am I to be revenged on thy defame.
‘Now hear me; if you would help it, tell me
How you love and cherish to-day,
How you love those, and you cherish them still.
The night of Sinon is ending, and the day begun,
In a glorious day of shining glory,
With a hail of heavenly fire that burneth
Like a white sheet the babe lies asleep by,
And Tarquin in his burning charmed out guise kneels,
And looks upon those on whose withering died,
Where beauty, in dying, now living doth live.
The very picture that we behold
Upon the mourning brow of a deformed child,
Which in her dying image sits still,
Save that she in her life’s image sits still,
When by the mercy of death she doth behold,
The child dies and the mother lives.
Her grief ebbs and flows like a river,
Like heavy rains to the plain;
At last she starts again, and this time she stops
To let the stream run dry, that stoppeth the tide.
No, it is not, O thou that dost deceive me,
Thy true heart hath no cause to frown so,
Thy sweet eye hath reason to frown at my folly.
‘O, poor coward! what dost thou prove
How canst thou prove that thou art so crafty,
Whilst I in thee art so crafty? I know thy reason,
Tis the better art, and yet thou art so crafty,
Thy presence


======== CHECKPOINT 080 OUTPUT # 002 ========

fellow, that is, to the eye, the origin and end of all ill.
O, my love, I cannot but say that you do me honour,
Since then I never thought to invite any
Of those whose bright lights and lovely sounds
(To whom I pray) I should live and die.
For if you would not invite me hereafter,
By all your fair fair blessings I might live,
And in this fair earth your fair name should live,
For as your fair name in this fair field is painted,
so should your beauty be.
If you could change your state of seeming,
With the swiftness and dexterity of your will,
So with this change could my love live and die.
The time’s cost is not lost, nor the present pleasure,
But the present sorrow is the loss,
That we all adjunct to a state of rest,
We do perpetual sorrow sit,
And then in our audit do record
Whereon we may compare the state of our doth,
The present state to the present doth appear,
And where we may not compare the present state,
We think but how we do compare,
when I see the world in such light,
As that which my picture shows, or every thing,
Which nothing else but the stars comprehends,
But all that we see and hear comprehends,
The world’s manifold manifold shows and alters,
And all in one, all in one place.
O, how the world’s beauty hath arrayed
In all her huge parts, with many a bud growing,
Or in her meed grew, or seemed to bud
From forth a meed growing from forth another bud.
“When the wind disdains thy strong will,
Or when the sun disdains his full will,
Or when the morn hath passed away,
What wanteth thy will to abide thy leisure,
And where you live, why not to disgrace thy foe,
Being in love with Fortune, with others thou dost stay,
And be of more good help to me than
The landlord of my will.”
What was thy will for me, if thou couldst return,
Or were I of you, with your help could I help
Give the world my will, and in return fulfill my will.
With these words she he chops off his tongue,
Whose words are breathless, yet yet still seemeth breath.
In these vapours thence forth she stirs,
And, blushing, her face seems pale and dim.
‘Thus far thy parts from my sight have been driven,
But thou, my sweet child, mayst tell the day
Where the plague of thy deceased self thou art.
This said, his lustful eye still did pursue
The picture which on his visage
Hath concealed the filth; and fearing lest it should appear,
With that which on thy visage doth lie,
The filth thence proceeds:—
“Ay me, do not say that I love thee not:
O yes, my love, I do; but if thou break, I’ll break again.”
‘O yes, my love, I do; but if thou break,
I’ll break again,” quoth she, and from thence he proceeds.
This she did, and so the night went on,
Playing merry sports in the dark;—O, break! break!
He wakes her up, and she on him sleeps.
His arms do lend her arms, her heart her power,
He opens them again, and there they abide,
Praising him, and cheering him; but as the sun sets,
He prays them still, and nothing is heard.
But what is heard is but sighs, and nothing else.
She dares not let him in his sweet closet,
And puts on black, that grim and grim look,
Like an infected cholera when infected with
The plague of this hell-beholding disease.
Thy spirit being away, being let in shall stay;
The plague which through the cure are obtain’d
With this gross distillation keep the Roman nun,
Which she under whose authority
Bearing the charge of such foulness still stands,
As I must likewise stand and bear her untrue slander.
O, that the eye may discern the face of this devil
What kind of foul creature thrives here in Rome,
Forc’d by such an imposition so high a rank?
O yet that inward sense may discern
What kind of foul creature doth live in this place,
Thy self that so strays thence to seek
With so pure a face this judgment so dear:
So be it, thou livest, and thou live’st not to die.
The very thing that strives for my sake
To rid herself of this stain shouldst thou lose,


======== CHECKPOINT 080 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Parts that love may be the ornament of true age,
But is it love that engirts your worth?
A woman I know that she is true, and not deceiving,
She forswore me, and yet I in her was
To trust her assailed falsely.
‘I will not blunt thy appetite,’ quoth he, ‘though with my tongue I break
Thy hollow tongue, to make thee mad:
For tongue is hard, and hard a harder tongue;
Yet you have both: that which doth your sweet tongue make,
Is all my hard tongue to please, sweet tongue to make mad:
Yet when you like, my hard tongue will make it more,
And worse tongues are made, for my tongue is true.
Now look in your glass and thou behold
The face that I have contorted, and painted
In all my subtle aspects,
In all my outward parts, as well as in thee,
you whose passion doth call mine eye,
O pardon me for my sin, thy beauty doth call
And through thy beauty hast made all harm.
O pity not me for thy sake,
for thee in all thy largess
Thou hast all, and in all my store is spent.
Thy fair name is not in my memory,
Her honour I may claim; but mine is not,
For that name, thine, is in me, and thy name is
Tongue in cheek, to knot my long life.
‘”The traitor that day in Troy took
The life and liberty of his pride;
He threw himself at the head, and died by
A double shot from his cross;
Anon it charged straight in his blood,
And through his liver fell all the fury
Which followed the bullet which struck him dead.
‘Then was he armed, and now he fell;
Then were he armed, and now he fell,
And now he fell, and now he fell again;
As one falls, the other cleaved by his fall.’
“Then be bold,” quoth she, “and be sure
That my case is not as the other,
Since in my barrack a stout-bon’d man stands,
Stand in the threshold, and by a double gate
Give him entrance and stay his breath;
Let him have no accession to his tongue,
Nor taste of the odour of his owner;
For I love him because of his excellence:
O yes, he loves me more than I do love him,
I love thee more than thou know’st,
For I am thy slave, thy wife, and thy children.
I do not love thee as thou lov’st me,
I think thy love but for thy love’s sake.
Then is he driven mad, and falls upon his face;
No foul act of lust did incur his rage,
He beats her senseless, and soon afterwards breaks
The fire which she so valiantly devoted:
This she did destroy with a holy groan;
That word she would have writ would have made a saint out of me;
The fault with her was so great she herself did abuse;
That if it had remained, ’tis a sorrow worse still:
And yet I have proof of it strong enough,
In Lucrece’ blood, where thou art found,
Of my love, of her life, and of all thy force.
Now on the tip of this sad crest
The deep folds that to the brain are inclin’d
Shall fold, like congested rivers, filling the place.
And with her outstretched hand he lean’d,
Like one in a league, the other in a huddle,
In either side, stood Adonis, holding his head,
Grip’d in both his gloved arms, like two fairies smiling;
But one fair fair, the other fairer, in each was gaz’d
An eye that peeped through Adonis’ eyne,
Or who sees these fair beauties moving with their eyes.
“And as they view this fearful hour,
their beauty weeps, and cries in grief;
To none is so much as their voice admits,
That it may be said, ‘Thou art our sister,’
When all is done, with tears her eyes well out weep.
‘But if thou wilt, by some miracle bring
A thousand lamps bright, that burn in thy face,
And brighten thee when thou shalt come to light,
And brighten thy face when thou shalt see them,
That my love is the sun in thee burned out,
Unless thy love were thine own, and not in him.
By this, Collatine and his men were led away;
All pale, dim, and pale discolour’d in darkness,
They read in dark


======== CHECKPOINT 080 OUTPUT # 004 ========

struck, in that night so commended,
And by heaven my sweet love doth lie.
‘O Time, be of such a peaceful resolution,
And do not so, unless thou wilt have a war of words,
To put an end to my idle muse.’
“Why didst thou not leave me till I was quite gone?
But, lo, these poor creatures of thy breast
With idle jealousy, with vain conceit,
Made me this night to behold, but not yet seen;
For thou, the authorizer, art the one to blame;
And the other is the gracious gift of thy will,
Which lends thy will to all willing guests;
For with this gracious help I have been wooed,
And yet thou alone am my guest, despite of time.
O thou false thief, I have receivest many a jest,
And still more will not confess thy fault.
Now when Opportunity calls, let him know
He himself is a debtor, and hath lent
That sum of gain to poor Lucrece’ benefit,
And she to him hath sworn a debt of direty.
O then love, this I do but say,
The fault is mine alone, and neither my part
To correct it is in the general of benefit.
“To obtain the thing it seeks, it first must resort,
For it is not enough to show thy virtue,
That thy office by trial still may be got.
If thou be dumb, then shalt thou be dumb’st;
If not, then why not show kindness?
Thou art as sweet and kind as thou art,
And in thy thoughts, thy thoughts more liv’d.
If thou be wise, then my will is weak;
If not, then why not show kindness?
So help me God, and I pray thee so.
‘O, that tongue that told lies had speech,
That to hear others’ false tales told,
O, that eyes that have taught to see
Pain and disgrace in men’s doting eyes,
O, that sick tongue that speaks untrue
To the body’s own sick cure,
O, all these, against thy true heart’s will?
‘”To make the present session more short,
With brief stories to please your fancy,
With short stories to please your fancy
And stories to please the heart, with stories short,
To please your heart and to your heart’s liking,
To help keep me from wandering round about,
For this purpose, in the power of Time,
I’ll keep my office and do my will
In short, with little time spent.”
And that by these short times may be said,
The present session is expired, and I leave you
In this doubtful doom:—
For now you shall have to see what sort of merest hour
Such dismal creatures have to live,
That to death they can not be stoned to posterity.
Thus do I for revenge take this life
And to make the grave of a true wife,
To make a new mother of my self and of thee,
And of your self I will live as one you,
If thou my self bring forth another son.
“How shall I live?” quoth he, “if thou mean’st to live?
Or if thou mean’st to live, then live thou another’s death:
I am in this matter my self’s end,
And that of all the earth’s living creatures,
I have no self-trust in that I know.
But if thou be mine self, then all my parts
Are partakers of thy sin, and partakers
Of his swan and all his parts’.
So for thy sake do let thy part live,
Thy part in me thine own self shalt die.
I had thy father’s love, thy mother’s love,
My husband’s passion, my father’s shame,
And mine own death, and thy mother’s shame.
What love’s force doth do amend,
What virtue doth change, what wrong doth redress.
What love’s merit doth grow, what virtue doth bear.
For now I am contented to die,
Since death doth my shame my guilt bring.’
Thus Tarquin speaks, and his brows knit:
She tells the story of a lovely boy,
Who, like a cherubin, did not seem;
But when he saw her, a sad, trembling look
Hergens in her and neighs unto the sky;
What wonder then is! the weeping dove lies panting,
Her eye drops red and blood pours forth again.
The fair queen’s complexion is set,
And all her beauty is smiling:
Who, holding a youthful amorous hound,
Foldeth down her mantle, and trots


======== CHECKPOINT 080 OUTPUT # 005 ========

anchester that is, and cannot be;
In his majesty hath over-rested his heav’d state,
To dwell, and to dwell in heav’d-up disdain;
And in his heav’d-up disdain now holds his interest,
Which is partly to blame for his fall;
That partly it is blame’d for his fall,
The other partly it is blame’d for his fall:
O never allow me excuse myself,
Though thou excuse’st me, my excuse be thy friend.
O never, for thy self thy worst sin ever did appear,
Since thou art all too dear to all that praise praise.
“So many a time in Greece have I seen
Some form of beauty in decay,
Sometime ascorbine, sometimes red and sometimes white.
As each successive drop breaks through his glass,
The one doth flatter the other with his hat,
And each successive tear falls more heavily in his eye.
Thou wast the first, and thou art the last;
I’ll be the first, thou art the second, and thou art
The first and I both this invention die,
Then I my self, my self, my parts return,
And all my parts return again, and the parts
Return what they took before.
‘”Thus says he to his fair-nurtur’d maid,
When Priam have enchained thee to their bed.
“How is it?” quoth she, “that you live with me?
To live with me is as life is to have;
I am now a sovereign king, and live as you,
When life makes death perpetual.
And in that you live I fear no evil,
Thy name is too dear, thy office too dear;
Thy name is dear to me now is ending,
And then I fear to die, my life is ending,
And then you (my sweet self) are enduring,
Thy name is dear, thy name is sweet,
And to that end I come, shall thou survive.
Yet for this reason thou shouldst not let me stay,
Nor leave the fort where I belong.
O if there be a love-suit, a maiden’s face
With painted beauty in a suit of mourning,
Ceasing sorrow and cheering up her mood,
Who, sad that she too late with that sorrow,
May not weep, for fear of harms done to her;
She cry’st thou cursed, ’tis thy fault she hath done this,
And thou shalt see her cursed face on pain.
Thus did I dream on Tarquin, and on the hills
Till he come and take me away,
So thou shalt see my face abuse a king,
And rob thy heart of all treasure that’s within.
That thou in thy self dost lie in want,
Thy part is in thy self’s theft, and this doth belong
In the rest to be thy self’s owner.
And thou with thy self thy own stealing pay the rent
Of all others, and all thy parts being lord,
For being as thy self is in others’ rents,
The breach makes not thy body but thy body be.
thou art not my equal, thou my friend,
When that war against nature’s spring shall be ended.
The more are you in one, and the other
in a careless knot do knot belong.
‘”I do not hate, nor do not wish it to annoy,
As is the case with those hard-favour’d women,
Of dull-jointed knighthoods and of old,
Who never can live more than one,
They wear out the world, and then thou return’st
Of every lover’s beauteous wife, and all the world’s queen.
‘Gainst freedom, liberty, thou shalt have no law,
Nor justice but disgrace. Let no man rob thee of thy goods,
Till that unjust thief return’st thee the rest,
Thy trespass with him be deemed good.’
And yet no, no, it is not,
Even as a kiss, or a kiss the user doth dote,
When the user doth dote on the flower,
Or the user dotes on the leaves,
In either case is the effect not bad.
“Look, how a careless mover on his hedge stood,
Turn’d his hedge a thousand ways, to make his way:
Then, lo! the wind hisses from his high horse,
To hinder the pitch of his pitch with more noise.
“Lo, this device is double ill;
Thy husband may in them abuse their wife,
And in her bewailed husband, still might be brought.
But in thee all sin hath scope; in me all sin
Is committed as in a guilty


======== CHECKPOINT 081 OUTPUT # 001 ========

suite in the shape of a boar. ‘For he was not tame, but kind;
He was bold, and did fight, and died for him.
‘O eye of eye! thy mistress’ behold her face,
This face she wore as a formal garment;
She sport’d withal the rich gloss that white hides;
Her cheeks gave the hue of red and white,
Like those ruby lips of Adonis she wears now,
And, like a dying jewel, on her chin lies
A pair of pearly greenish-red eyes,
Which like lifeless birds did ghastly fly,
Like the dead birds that did life imitate:
O that infected moisture might cure her rash,
Such dangers must physic her sadly.
‘All this discourse doth not attend
The fact that in her hand a pair of fair locks
Of crystal’d amorously empleach’d,
Hath been dividing her hours, and that I am gone,
To mend my state with thy help.
The painter, in honour of this well,
Encamped himself upon the hounds of night,
And painted in their behoof
With a kind of white death, so pure were his complexion.
The more are they sensible that they see
The dire face of death, as soon extinct,
As the lion kills, and the hawk bites.
This said, his browny locks did hang like hooks,
That he had no place to run, for fear of being spotted.
The boar did like to hear his prey,
And, like a proud lion, would bark at him again;
That in that it were slain did him disgrace.
‘The poor bird, fearing it had fled,
Will now fly and fly away again, still panting:
What did he do? he threw the boar’s venom in his mouth;
She did not, he did, and now he will kill her.
Her husband’s tongue seems to me to have shrunk,
To the blunt and careless tongue that says,
“She will not eat my sweet flesh,” or “Thou art worthless,”
or else she will be my nurse and keep my knife,
She that calls herself thy nurse must call,
Till she calls thee nurse and nurse to me,
Where patiently weeps our sorrow,
And, sweating with it, weeps at thee,
That we must all strive for this blessed cure:
But, for thy sake, make of it a feast,
That I may my self behold, and yet see,
Beauty in blood must always be my nurse’s disease,
To my poor love being blind, why art thou so wise
As thou art blind when thou art blind in love?
Her beauty’s strength thou art strong, though thou art weak,
For thou art not strong enough to break my steel.
‘My dear Collatine, what were you that did sting me so?
Or at the least, did you intend to harm me?
Or worse, to stain my scarlet and pale woe?
Or worse, to wipe my tears from my brow?
Or worse, to wear away my light’s light’s delight?
Thy beauty’s stain, and beauty’s lusty swine’s heir,
Or worse, both, is thy trespass to steal my breath.’
And he, still sleeping, with her dull and weary eye,
With her continual moans doth protest her untrue tale.
“Sweet boy,” quoth he, “this morning I saw a froward old man
Hath been woo’d by a hairy false hound;
And with a little terror, did him dismount
From a hill whose steepiness he did not like;
And having disarmed the hounds, with swift motion took him
To a troop of merry deer, and away ran
The thought, all naught but a pause and a look;
For he, panting, began to say, “Sweet boy,” and gave
The same sound again and again:
The more amaz’d his amaz’d ears did hear,
And more amaz’d on her that she could hear him say.
‘All this time she thinks I have slept,
Nor yet will she wake till tomorrow morning;
And if they say so, I swear she must have slept
Within an hour; and then she doth begin
To rave, swearing she hath an amorous mind:
All these hours she with burning lust
Lends credence to the charge of her woe.
O Time, in memory of me that you lack,
By this I may assure thee I am not dead.
When thou shalt have made me wax bold with new beauty,
And in new strength I old glory,
To greet new beauty with new beauty’s old reign,
Or with old age with time-slowing slumbers,


======== CHECKPOINT 081 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Math the sun that shines from heaven doth daunt him there;
Then with burning heat his foes are nought to do him rest,
So I in vain will strive to get him rest;
For now he sleeps, and I wake, and yet he sleeps;
Then let me excuse thee, my poor muse,
And thou wilt, with thy sweet voice complain of my sleep,
But never I may so far excuse thee,
As yet thou wilt say I slept late,
And then thou wilt say I slept ‘twixt thee and me.
‘O, my sweet, what an earthly sin
Didst thou cavil for my sake with thy tongue,
That tongue’s sweet but mortal could not aptly write,
For slander’s foul breath, which on my brand new tooth
Leaves the stain upon the world’s silver-white blood.
‘Why, child, is the earth so foul a prey?
What can it do but groan for?
Till that rage of her foul element is done;
She answers: ’tis for the fault of my stealing;
And not to do with foul creatures foul abettors.
Thus she answers with answer so long as she hath power:
When thou shalt hear the verdict of justice set,
Avenge what is amiss of my woe,
Though in it I kill a happy child.
O what a sight it was!—a flood that doth but subdue
The rich and powerful in a region so unbless;
And from their bright em’rald, the Greeks lent
Their silver wealth to pay the debtors.
The fault is great, and sorrow less;
The poor man’s grief is greater,
And thus the show is plain; for shame is more laud’d,
For shame doth every thing commendable:
But when a glutton doth eat up his delight,
And in the sight of all, no glory doth dwell
In that true face of woe, which with his lot doth grow
As he who doth not curb his course doth smile;
Yet with that glutton be praised so fair,
That he doth by and by say, “O sight of shame!”
But that he may say, in praise of his fair,
True sight doth his praise subdue,
Which he with his crew makes to his pleasure.
If I could see all that was painted,
How beauty in white and in murthered hues
Applied to every hue,
I might see what beauty was, what it lacked,
I might smell what it had, what it contains,
And in either to win my self I would part,
Or, if it survive, I would part in all cost.
“My sweet boy, what is wrong?” quoth she, “painful night’s labour,
Or even wretched cold hunger of any other reason?
Do I not in my youth, when my youthful arms
Of steeled steel I should thrust them into thine;
Nor have I, even to the present day, begun to despise,
Nor never did I entertain the thought
That death might sometime prepare my dying shape:
That dreadness of it might sometime be forgot,
Which might prevent my joints from moving,
That might prevent my bones from swelling;
In that motion might I live, to live another age.
O then I was as you are now,
When you and I were one,
Your beauty was your excellence and your youth
As you were now to be.
‘My lord and lady, my lord and dear friend,
The plague of my unhallow’d birth
Is stirring in every part of my breast,
Like a sudden inundation;
Till the tender breast weep in protest,
Where her husband cries aloud, ‘O help me, my lord,’
And’my friend’ to ‘provoke the flood.’
‘”Lo, this device of witchcraft,
From the bottom of a hill lie Lucrece’ father,
That taught the poor child to ride tall,
With gentle care her gentle but foul steps took.
But the truth forbade him this cruel crime;
‘The truth forbade me this shameful deed;
And ‘the truth’ forbade it ever:
But this oath gave my poor husband a kind hand.
‘”And more sadly than I could comprehend
The dreadful scene I must go about
To get the knife;—though I dare not say
That I am brave, for fear of my fame,
Nor do I vow a league to kill;
Nor do I vow to kill myself, nor my friends;
Nor dare I, unless they surfeit upon me,
With bleeding fits and bloody words affright me.”
‘To make thy life for my dear love,
Hath serv’d that duty


======== CHECKPOINT 081 OUTPUT # 003 ========

hydro-substantial, which it encloses by a separable wall,
As if from thence it could not be removed?
A closet thus concealed in this closet could
Unfairly possess a maiden beauty,
Who, to the disgrace of a common-law wife,
Would not by lawful divorce be kill’d,
With gentle chastity still preserve a lawful wife.’
Such modest privilege then, such virtue,
Such fair aspect, such worth,
Such subtle excellence, such true aspect,
So dear to none, yet so dear to him,
That he could not but be his own, nor he his own man.
He may boast that in his prime he did change,
His looks, his grace were in all things enlarged.
How can I then say, thy love is as old,
As barnacle still from the thunder of thunder,
I came of age with thee, and yet thou art old.
Thus, for the benefit of my verse,
In brief, my verse shall dwell on thy state.
This promise hath my seal broken, my blood
Sworn to eternity in this unrecalling doom.
“Lo, this shadow of mine I cast from my sight,
My inward parts, to whom I confined,
Saw these external parts betraying their hue:
Whose face was veiled in that black of night,
As if from thence the invisible face did come.
But all was done, as suppos’d the warrant,
Then Lucrece’ voice, ’tis but a windy tune,
Which late it should appear and stay,
With my inward parts still controll’d, and my outward parts controll’d.
What shall we call it when, foul as it is,
it shall not be, nor never be,
Thy self, thy self in thyself is disgrac’d,
And thy foul act, thy foul act thy self be:
For thou art thy own man, thy own self in shame,
And yet it is the same, and the same:
‘Tis as thyself, though full of blame,
To seem the other’s self, for thou art still,
By thy being called in this self-same shame.
“And that thou mayst be rul’d by that which thou dost call,
But let it not be deemed slander,
As thou being from this false law of things,
The foul thief being caught and charged
with all her might, and all her might still,
To rob one by another’s stealing.
‘Thou canst not live with injustice long,
And when thou art dead, how can I live then?
My life’s end is near, and yet thou art not much;
Thou art still, and then I dare not live to die.’
When thou art dead, there is no life left in me,
Nor mine, nor none else’s surviving fear;
My last act is my only surviving fear,
The only love I have is this, and thou this, and thou all other.’
So by this, Adonis answers with one brow,
“That’s all right, O no, let it not be so:
That’s all wrong with my muse, it’s not my fault
That she’s such a hard-working clerk.”
And when they have told her all, her countenance
Lifts up a kind of dread, and she exclaims:
‘Why dost thou want to know my heart’s workings?
Mine eye looks sad, mine eye is kind;
For why dost thou look on that sad hour,
Which is so full of ill and so full of joy,
With all these ill things I see thy face,
My heart is full of sorrow and of dread;
For why dost thou look on me so far,
And yet so far is from me so full?
Then let thy sorrow speak, why say not mine,
If for love’s sake thou shouldst hear it?
The same words he pays to Nestor,
A thousand ways sweet, and yet not quite fair.
And lo, as the lark on the sands,
Through the open gate he spies the way
To his sweet-tun’d horse, eager for passage.
‘But ne’er hears what’s in store, let not my wit stand
Into the crooked latch, to the wayward rider.
‘”And as he runs with speed he peers
The winding vine that grows by the stream,
Whereat he stops his horse and leaps in,
To catch the boar, whose bright plumage he fawneth:
Such quick speed, such pace in his haste!
This he will not fear, nor he will not know.
‘O,’ quoth he, ‘let those tears fly,
And those in my piercing blue eyes,
That in thy


======== CHECKPOINT 081 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Diff. I know this, thou hast receiv’d of them, and they will not give it me again:—
“O! what an event would that event have!—
That’s but the tip of an ill-concealing
witch, to put in motion the most foul thing:
That all tongues, as it were composed,
Have admitted this foul act, and will bear it worse.
For here I lie, listening, and in a dream,
He rouseth, she quakes and falls.
‘Now that thy husbandry is thine, so excuse me,
From the place of thy true love’s repeal,
To shun this treason that hath me been
To betray thy true desire, to leave me here alone,
And here all at once doth Tarquin begin.
“Woe, woe!” quoth he, as he strikes her,
When another herald, like a trumpet, plays;
And to the hounds of war, quoth she, “Lo, lo, my herald here
Is to rouse the enemy, and prepare them for fight.
thou shalt see my shame; let it not disgrace me,
And then I may say good night:—good night.”
A pretty red rose, white and bashful,
With pale sap and pale blood falls to the ground;
So Lucrece’ cheeks, as white as snow,
His lips pale and red as blood,
And rough breathing repeateth this sentence:
‘”O, my poor child! how helplessly
My sight, my hearing, my cold body!
No form of resistance can stop me from my thought!
But if your ill-contented will,
Do my will, and all my will excuse my stay:
And now my true will is done, and you my foe.”
‘Why shunning good and evil,
That which we call virtuous,
When in our ill-doing deeds so well may be,
The proud offender receives a slandered end?
Let the guiltless slanderer have time to list
the faults that in him they have offended;
His faults they have anathematized;
That poor, despised, and disgraceful he in
His deeds hath made even to the fire;
The plague on his sickly state is so great,
That he finds it necessary to kill himself.
A pretty rose, with silvered conceit,
With honey-melting damask and round violet filling,
Which in her smooth white weighs down the air,
Showing she is hives of pure air,
And hath no blot upon her red face,
Whose white and violet hue gives it beauty and courage.
The painter, contented with this fair favour,
Pursues the poor patient to her breast,
Who, blushing on him, soon receives her answer,
As if the painter were mad; the more so,
As if her answer were some untimely device;
, but for Collatine’s death, thy will forbid,
Till hereafter, when he last reigneth alive.
She did remove her eyes from his face,
And placed them in her lap, where he would gaze;
And with one thereof began to sing,
‘O Time, thou shalt see what is best: lo, behold this
A hapless maid lies tied up in a net;
That the wind, like a heavy-hanging bell,
May blow her away, that never sleeps.
But if she do this, shall this night seem so blessed?
What shall she say then, that thou must not say?
‘She must,’ quoth she, ‘I must not say no more,
But swear the oath that’she’ shall never say.’
‘Her oath, her oath, this vow;
She swore it to keep me, to keep me from this.
‘The traitor,’ quoth she, ‘I will betray thee,
Even so my tongue commands my will to keep.
I will not break my oath, nor take away
My vow’s force, my will is strong enough.
O yes, with me thou shalt stay,
That is, to you, my only desire:
And with me thou shalt stay the night,
For fear of harms done to me by thy will.
‘O fool! that thou mayst see what am I
Of thy deeds, do I not begin
To question thee as to my reason,
And then (perhaps imaginary) imagine
The face of thine own evil-doer,
And I my false thief speak of thee.
‘Well, well, well, well, that I know not what
To do, to do must I dally;
So I dally in self-skill, to make thee know
The right course of action, and not the left;


======== CHECKPOINT 081 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Cer for his glory and his fame:
This shame must his legacy bear,
And so it shall his legacy bear;
And in it shall be sepulchres of right,
Which to his posterity he will quote.
How is it that I am forced to cross my way,
When I have my self thy kinsman’s eye,
And never the better to kiss him when he’s mine?
I could not persuade him, but he would not hold my tongue,
Till he would say ‘you are strange,’ and then ‘you were fair,’
And would say ‘you were lovely’ as if he said ‘you are’.
‘The sun doth burn my cheeks, but he takes mine kindly,
When he doth burn mine myself, by him it is his;
Which, poor me, is a perpetual flame,
Till oft as mine eyes look on thee, mine eyes are mute,
And often do they open their mouths:
And when their lips have open tears, in tears do run,
When thou (the sun) in my self, being set,
Will o’er-snowed be the ebon hours of summer.
Yet let the poor dame excuse me,
In sorrow thou art so full, that all my sins
(Of mine) would be forgotten, if thou wouldst come again.
But now she wakes, and her face that she held
Upon his pale back, with one web wrought,
Hath writ in her a black line, all black and drawn
To her lips’ rich lust: ‘His lips are maidens’ ornaments;
And thou shalt see them gilded, as thy beauty lies.
And thou shalt see them gilded in my blood,
Thy eyes like stars do thy beauty live.
‘And, lo, this is the case with this ill,
The sufferer now hath his sufferer’s will,
Till each wrack, every groan, every drop of blood
Will hurl him on his back, and make him bleed again.
Thus he sits, and thoughts take their turns
To look on the hopeless and to weep;
Some will say that her cheeks are red and white,
Others, she in them she is green and blue.
His cheek, like a cherubin, above them appears.
This word, ‘his’, he interprets,
‘Hang on, my love, do not fret;
Make no vain attempt to kiss me;
If thou art willing, do it: though my lips are red and white,
Thine own eyes do amplify this rhyme,
And I a palate hath for taste some gouty verse,
Which tongue-tied makes me weep more, though mine eyes are green.
But when the sun hath set, there is no sun
To make my blood boil, so mine eyes have died.
O, that thy picture might be read,
And in thy memory the world might learn of thee!
If there be such a thing as beauty set,
By what accident can one beauty do so good,
That one poor sickling in thy picture may grow,
Whose sickly maleness to him most dreads?
Whose hand, where once on his thigh it held,
Shows it hath seiz’d, with trembling terror;
For in that trembling trembling trembling place,
His bare foot struggles to stand, his chin to fall;
His eyes are dumb and dumb, his body caves there;
In that helpless helpless helplessness,
He hums, and cries, “O quick, quick, quick!”
all the while his eyes, dumb, and dumb,
Stand motionless, staring sadly into space;
Their pleading interlaces are mute and stifled.
And with each struggle forc’d on, their cries are slow,
Which makes it seem as though some batt’ry is being be’d.
“Alas, ah! Time’s a hell of a book,
And yet it can be fairly scorned,
And yet it is praised not in Time’s rank.
But for love of love it is almost praised,
The poor unripe bark that needs no handling,
And much being made of it, is esteemed so.
To-day my love keeps up his light, and night
Mine amiss takes his smoke and gives it light
bright and dim, so I am.
Now, true Adonis, when you look upon me,
You may be dismayed, as I am,
If some obscure paper doth prove to be
Poor work of craft, that hath lost his grace.
“Wonder of Time,” quoth he, “this ill effect,
To-morrow doth call me to tell you more,
And now my woes begin:—
This I will tell you shall suffice,


======== CHECKPOINT 082 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Pretty in thee, I lie,
Thy honour’s livery is not so strong;
The heart’s strength’s strength weak point I do shake,
Though my heart doth quake with my poor conscience.
And yet thou art strong enough to know I do abhor
Thy face, beauty’s strength, and all the rest.
O what a pity it was then that thou bore’st this ill!
What a sad-sack’d world this world couldst thou find
And thus she doth add something new.
‘Poor child, thou look’st at this blot,
And soon upon viewing see ’tis jestful:
O, then thou mak’st a lesson;
Tis not good that I must learn to play by thee alone;
To steal thy breath from my breath is a crime.
“O then, for my sins, I’ll inflict pain:
Let those that are just, and kind, kill themselves;
Those that are, and will not be, forgive me sparing;
That is, to thee, the whole blame,
And to no perfection is my mind set.
Let those that are, and will not be, forgive me sparing;
Thou mayst be gone, then is not my mind troubled.
Thus do I bow my head, for thou lov’st me so,
That my poor neck will bear his hurtful sentence.
The thing that doth vex me most is
The thought of Collatine, that I thy son
Hath scorned him from his feast.
When he hath sworn Adon’s oaths,
To keep him company from his horse,
With a solemn oath to keep him company,
He leaps on the footmen’s crest, and doth stand
Astride his proud phoenix, proud of victory;
But when he sees them turn white and jet,
he his honour’s worth is in thine eyes,
And therefore ’tis thy honour to scorn him so.
‘But if thyself art tempted, thou shalt not tempt me;
I’ll be your slave, your slave thou art, and my slave
Thine own in thine desire to be thine own slave.
“Why, madam,” quoth she, “this is to annoy me,
And from a far-off vantage doth she leap;
When in her frenzy the wind she leaps,
She, a woman without a husband, dies a widow;
She that in filial piety lays waste bears
Her infamy with showers of blood.
So shall my verse be mute, and your verse mute,
But mine eye, which in my verse is tuned,
Perforce, and in my verse affected,
Is on fire, while the poet sleeps,
On life, and death, and fear, and poverty.
I hate when beauty doth imitate what I do,
That beauty’s errors do homage imitate,
That beauty doth the better imitate what I do,
And in doing so do I praise and adore,
those were not made for you, nor are they my,
That you are your own, and you are desired nothing.
‘O, in that I could not write, nor take
My notes for you, what can I say?
And having said these things, my heart break,
And being full of despair, I find my breath
drowns, and in it comes more dreadful:
A thousand cries of pain, more than I could bear,
Like the beating of a drum having drown’d,
But my heart still controll’d, did manage
To push through the breach, where his foes lay;
Some on shore, some lying dead, some alive.
Then did she chide him that his tongue did rehearse,
To whom he with her own voice so beseeched,
That she seemed to ravish his beauty;
Till again he did subdue her; and when he saw her again,
Her eyes still fixed upon his, and his eyes
Had paled with amazement, as they had not seen.
‘”This bastard gypsy maiden he did woo,
And did him welcome disgrace; but he had not promised,
To kiss her; nor her body did expel.
‘”And many a time he would leap from his horse,
And trip upon those poor fair bollocks
That herd their young on to the highroad;
Inback of his swerving lance, brake’d by the wind,
Would with gentle force throw the boar from his neigh.
‘Thou wilt not strike her as such a show,
When she in thy fair face bears such shame:
For thou hast done me wrong, thou hast disgrac’d me;
Thou art so pitiful, in deed, and in show.
‘”O,


======== CHECKPOINT 082 OUTPUT # 002 ========

vans, the sun hath his glory,
And all the world is weeping for his sakes.
But let his pride in his pride in thee,
And thou, thy beauty’s betrothed, be thy partner.
Her eyes, that in my face have glazed
The dangers of death and the danger thereof,
May single me from the picture of youth
Till, like a god, makes a desperate stand;
And bids her stand, and bids her leap at least
To a towering height unseen;
This daring act would make a devil of my will,
Whose strength I might defend myself from this dreadful night.
Who knows, then, that I am such a windy day,
As windy showers of pitch add to winter’s heat?
But I am such a cold-fair weather,
That my withering cold is almost to death excell’d:
So is he, and his will still remains,
Though in it he is partially subdued,
Praising him still for that which he doth fight.
The man that lives, even though by death he prove,
the painter’s skill, that’s the best which can afford,
Doth invent new forms, new forms of youth,
And in vain he seeks to imitate his age.
So she on him recures his beauty,
Like a dead-shining rose that ‘gan to glow,
Whose outward semblance being blow’d forth flame,
Sinks down, to blot the painter’s mischances:
But now she receives the news of his death,
And with this proceeds to venge his grief,
By whom the painter’s black proceeds:
To make him look black, and look white.
‘And, lo, as the painter is in want of light,
He glitters, and glows in confusion;
‘Lo, this device works in darkness,
As in a chamber full of actors,
So doth it play, in darkness makes some noise.
If it be silent, the night will quickly appear;
‘Tis promised fairytale night, when the sun sets:
To bring about that fair day he doth forsake,
And would in his absence spend his leisure:
O no, no; if it be so, my absence will not last;
For in spite of fair nature’s fair favour,
A thousand favours from thy fair eyes have
Thy fair colour doth live in thine own jade,
And in that faire doth fair beauty live.
So should my life be an exile,
And th’ interim exile be death, my mistress,
Who in spite of death’s fair show doth live,
By those fair stars not supposed to shine from thee.
For when beauty deceives with ugly deaths,
Thy lovely star doth, in her sad negligence,
Make thee look so bad, I dare not look so good.
“Look here how a flower, almost full of sap,
Stands upon a sharp-edged stone, with blood on it hanging:
What proud bird would not balk at such a striking sting?
Her cheek is full of proud pride, and yet
Holds no such thing as pride of her crest:
let my love’s colour still shine,
And then, ere thou bestow’st all, wilt thou still be stained.
‘So they that in Sinon’s hope did win,
Made excuses for their deaths by death’s side:
Then thou in Adon’s guilt did give excuse
To his son, and to mine son’s crime still beguile.
‘Why, this was thy will, and this will my will abide,
Where nothing holds but love’s strong hand,
And that is love to me, and to no love.
No loving love can hold true hate nor hate to be,
Not in the bottom of all despair,
That all is but to satisfy my woe.
‘O pardon me then, with all my soul’s strength I bow,
As I to a dying world, if love maintain
Love, my love shall survive, and thou shalt not be.
Thy will, my love, shall survive the plague,
Thy will shall survive the plague, thy will shall survive
Thy will shall survive the plague, thy will shall survive
Thy will survive, and thine shall live in my grave.”
But for her, for fear of her own being harmed,
With that word, and her tears, she threw,
Whose aim it were at Lucrece’ eyes; but, lo! his lips did close,
And when his lips did close again, his eyes did fly.
Her cheeks and lips their own picture,
Whose own painting had so rigorously stood
That their own objects should imitate their sight,
Whose self-portraits


======== CHECKPOINT 082 OUTPUT # 003 ========

umper-temper’d heat of wrath;
Yet the better of two evils stood
In the purest good, and in the grimest grim,
Of either’s loving effects, both were best.
Even thus, as a palate swears that taste is new,
I still pine over the errors that have crept,
Even now the poison’d juice of love hath leaped,
And in my palate hath been purge’d all that fresh,
And tasteless salves this rotten juice,
By swallowing the fresh juice in my palate.
O how the world can the forced overthrow,
Of freedom and monarchy,
Which through the ages have confined,
Thy weak-bonded monarch back’d, and by thine own law enforced,
Crowning all her wealth, and all her honour,
From thence she goes, as if she would return again;
Yet her hope is so dim, her fame so dim.
‘It shall be thy last, then shalt thou last not more:
it shall be thy last, and never be forgot
In memory of all time.’
And lo, on that thirteenth twentieth,
As the waning of the moon, the twining of heaven’s twining,
And all the heavenly lights in darkness fell,
The deep desert of Time’s blue fire hid,
And all the tribes that knew nothing of thine age,
Were dumb and unlettered to behold;
And in their dim caves they gazed at thine eyes,
And in their dim basest glazed pits saw,
Thy beauty was nimble and strong,
And was young and simple and free;
But in their dim basest glazed pits were they seen
Their pretty faces, their blossoms and leaves,
Whose bare leaves, like leaves in the air,
Would seem to mar the moment, if they showed once again
The fading date of their vanished time.
This said, he answers her, and quickly
From his chamber comes she forth, and takes him by the hand,
And kissingly begins:—
‘O, good morning; let us begin thus:
For thou, the mistress of thy sweet mind,
Shall complain upon my absence, and on my absence
To show thy true love to my love.
‘”Then thou wilt ask for tidings of favour,
That I will be a shrine for thee,
And pray for thy oblations in thine age;
Since thou art all I have, why hast I not sought?
My fame is to hold up my life’s disgrace;
Mine own is my shame, and all my fame is
To blame my own misdeeds.
How couldst thou forsworn thy self to such a doom?
To call me not what I am, knowing thou art still,
For thou hast done thy duty, and still I repent,
Thy slander should thence be termed mendacity,
And call me not what I am, if thou lov’st not mendacity,
Thy spirit still call’d me thou, and lov’d me not.
“Now here’s to my bed; tomorrow I’ll be ready,
And to-morrow I’ll be away,
And tomorrow thou shalt be gone, and still I beg your pardon:
‘”Lo, this device was devised for thy benefit,
To prevent offences committed against me.
Since thou art as guilty as those in me,
And for my offence my offence not thy offence,
Mine offence my offence is thy offence’s aggravation.
So why are offences so hard upon me,
That in my guilt I can bear nothing but scorn?
O how can my offence bear nothing but pity?
do not so, I being guilty do call
Your Lordship’s invention,
Your true invention your true invention’s right,
And I am your true Muse, the true subject of this rhyme.
For why, then, dost thou think I love thee so?
O then I love thee, but thou (my love) do mock me;
The more to blame me thou mock’st me for my love,
My love is thy love, and thou’st the reason of my love.
O thou, fool and fool, what treasure shall I find
In thy vapour-chilling vapours and poisonous vapours
Hath vapours pour down from heaven, and vapours pour in
His eyes, vapours on his face, smoke and flames there;
Yet do thy acts with smoke and tears convert
To pure reason’s flame, and thence to thy mind,
Who is but mad to blush at a sensible reason;
Who is but mad if he blush at thee so.
This said, he strikes her on the cheek, whereupon she drops
The blunt object, and with a fearful cry
He spied the boar,


======== CHECKPOINT 082 OUTPUT # 004 ========

drivers, that hath naught to do with me;
And that thou art so grounded in thine own fear,
That I fear no cause of your absence,
Nor want of thy help, but fear the worst.
This said, he shakes his head, and as he shakes,
Some treble-tongued hounds chide, some treble-tongued loitering;
Others, seeming to frown, hiss and groans.
Thou know’st I do abhor this crime, and would not abate;
But that I have done this to be revenged,
When in thy self thy self shalt thou prove,
Him being thy self thy self thy slave,
In thee I must make my love be true,
And do not hate thy self again, if thou lov’st not a tear
From thy self, which in thy self is made free,
Mine eye hath this pattern drawn, and thou dost reword,
With what thou dost not reword to me, see.
O how thy poor soul doth repent,
That thou didst wrong me so, yet my name is still.
For to him that by thy slander doth dwell,
Such disgrace abides, though for thy name doth dwell.
And now she, holding her chin in both,
In rage at this untimely rash,
Grew bolder and faster, as if her strength could not hold
It, as she was tied to the tree, swearing it would
Not last long: still her heart, which in that proud foot,
Hath writ on the ground, is now sore dismay’d;
For fear of this poor creature it doth pine,
To tie up Tarquin’s proud joy.
And like a bold-fac’d pioner, with a proud head,
Shaking the poor pioner’s neck,
Like the proud-fac’d pioner that did Tarquin make,
Stuff up his proud neck his proud head,
And for his pride maintain’d that proud face,
And made Tarquin proud as well.
‘”Look, when a plenitude hath power to wring,
But when it seems to stand aside, all enrag’d
With force it thinks it may, but that it is slain.
Then is the time when a palate hath full well tasted
The sweetness of a mild-seasoned plum,
Which is seasoned well, yet is stale,
And the palate the better for such a taste
As cavils and sauces have.
And being full, having put on his robe,
And armed in the rigours of battle,
With his long-pined bat, to batter the foe,
By falchion and quill to his horn will do him good,
Whilst Adonis, flatter’d by the fame of his fame,
Hath rail’d at Adon, by Pluto, and many,
Which are commanders to his rear, not for his fleet,
But for their own use; so should your own pride be;
And not for your own sake imitate those,
That in him are so proud boastful;
And in him are so true a fear,
That many swear he saw his own face when he was asleep.
‘Thus with his long-hid debt, and with her rash regard
All in vain, the one with her,
All in vain, the other with more than her,
Reserved for one, or all for one.”
As from a mountain fell Lucrece comes this day
The eunuch Tarquin with his youth, that to thee dwells:
The other two, Priam and Patience, are dead;
one gentle, the other strong-built,
With proud looks, true, and examples proud.
For me, I must say this man is my friend,
And this man my foe, and this poor beast,
Both to kill and for his gain lay hid,
Under my bedchamber door, in whose fresh heat
All kinds of poisonous vapours from the furnace fly,
Cooling my viscera with hot radiance,
That the foul odour from the dead places
May be shielded from this deadly evil.
But as they were conceited,
With fearful accents and sad murmurings,
So do I now imitate these cruel offenders,
Making them stop, or go again:
But, true to form, I answer, “I will stop and say,
That you must not be afraid, for fear of seeming;
If, that fear should so please your Will,
To stay your will, would you like to be gone?”
‘Tis but to make me curse the hour;
To make me swear it never will last;
As for that, my worst sin is to be silent;
For


======== CHECKPOINT 082 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Exception, in him was so much disdain,
That his face so much misapplied,
That he almost laughed, and made a pause.
She sees his face, and then she faints,
And still she exclaims, “Fool!”
“What a wretched dame! she did her best;
She thought she might kiss him again;
She wink’d and wink’d at him with that kind of woe;
She wip’d the brinish sun with her red hair,
And then his pale hand did charm her,
Like a soft angel she would kiss;
And being kissed, he straight on pricked her.
‘In him my faults were wont to shine,
Than in the world’s badness theirs did glow,
Though in him the world’s good was blest.
And therefore like a false god he doth deceive,
Hast thou in his good name convert?
Which god in thy divinity is so disgraced?
Who in thy fair goodness is so unjust?
He in her fair goodness in thine own honour converteth?
She in him in all dishonour converted,
He in all honour converted,
Which bastard prince was his lawful consort?
O have I ever felt his hate,
yet he hath my pity still.
Even so this sad-beholding boar hath seiz’d me,
I hold him in my arms, and kiss his forehead;
Even so, his passion against my life is subdued,
And makes my resistance valiant, as the field’s bulwark.
As the weak-reticent eagle, in a rage,
Stands by her with proud wing; thus, in a desperate struggle,
She falls, and then her strength is shaken,
For fear of injury to his face, which hath seiz’d.
Thine eyes, thy hearts, thy mortal heart,
Give them as sweet assistance, and they as burning,
As fuel for my heathen fire, which doth debate
How best to bestow them on my brow?
Let them be, in their true colours set,
Shall judge how fair they are, by thy good name,
For in their self they rise and fall.
And to this session Lucrece replies,
“O thought’st thou that I did thy best
To work the heart on and to make it twain,
And to this effect did I make my craft the rhyme,
So thou wilt have thy work’s end, to that end,
Thou art all the more true in thine age: for that sake use.
‘”If that thou shalt have but two maids to sleep,
Then love-sick-thoughts shall never wake;
Who, mad, shall never pine to-night
For love hath done thy inward parts crave.
If thou be mad, what dost thou hear?
‘Why, she hath done me wrong; what good canst thou do
With my false-speaking youth? let it not be call’d evil;
For I love her dearly, and she in thee
finds some kind of penitent groan.
In Tarquin’s arms he lies,
As when she was slain, Collatine lay.
O, poor creature, what a torment it was!
Thy self thou art, and thy foe it is!
O, in the thought of thy self thy beauty sleeps,
Thy self thy self in all thy worth doth live.
To-day thy beauty’s image thee doth dwell,
And to-morrow thou in thy thoughts doth dwell.
For I love thee as thou lov’st me not,
But this slander doth call me thine, for the fault doth make,
Till all-too-partial Adonis comes roaring in:
, poor flower, how sweet it is!
“Lo, this device hath power to corrupt;
And every creeping thing that creeps in shall fall.
When thou shalt have more than one (not less),
Let every one possess a piece, one for every throng.
But never more than twenty at a time
Will take the painter to his liking,
To make a living by displacing
His antique skill and skill’s weariness.
But thou art the fairest that ever saw a man;
Who by thy looks and in his will live,
The whole of humanity would kill himself for this.
So hath he strayed from his truth,
His truth, his beauty being all that he doth fight,
Thy beauty doth still strive for beauty’s sake,
That beauty doth the dead imitate.
, dear friend, the day will soon come
When men have not, nor women enjoyst thine,
So doth she bathe in the fresh fear.
So thou wilt, if thou shalt,


======== CHECKPOINT 083 OUTPUT # 001 ========

efeated, with a more perfect respect, as more blessed.
For if thou couldst live, ere thou hadst become so,
To live that thou hadst, thy worth should ne’er exceed
His own, by inheritors’ granting.
But if thou hadst live, ere thou hadst been a king,
I should have sworn that thou lov’st to mine eye.
But ere thou were king, ere I was born again,
No king hath his right to rob a stranger’s wife.
His love hath power to win new lovers,
But seldom, if ever, his love shall win them all.
‘Thou canst not hurt me,’ quoth he, ‘if thou wish, by me stealing,
Thy will will will is enough to rob me of my will;
And, if thou wouldst, I suspect my worth would be shaken:
I am thy friend, and he my foe,
Since he himself hath infected thee with his will.
No, no, that he cannot vouchsafe thy will,
For I am his, and he my foe,
I will be thy nurse, his vassal,
And keep thy will; and being confounded,
The infected one doth slay, and the other is free.
Thou art ashy-jagged with a garment,
The world without a name stands before her,
She wakes again, and there she finds
A pale-fac’d, dead, pale-fac’d maid, with a dying look;
With a grim-jaded low-neck and a grim-jaded high-neck
Swell’d up in a grim-jaded rage, each cheek a blot,
Their blood being boil’d with fire, their cheeks red,
To be forgot is to be forgotten;
By their redness they mean to stain the ground,
And in their redness stain’d lies the shame.
That’s why I leave the sweets of my youth,
And write of pleasure to your Lordship,
And sing of joy to your Lordship;
The time will come when your Lordship cannot boast
Of your victories, yet your lordship’s name is so proud,
And you as kings in thy glory live,
Which by their virtue you as kings claim,
The world, through your glory, is confounded
by this she hears and fears not;
Then with trembling terror she replies: “How couldst thou then say this?
‘O closure!—cannot forbid,
My dear boy, there comes in the lightless night
A naked nymph that didst once entertain
My lustful youth with her maiden blood.
“Sweet boy,” quoth she, “how can mine eyes behold this?
Or mine own vision be so kind?
The sun and moon look on each other,
And heaven is both wherein our sun shines.
Whence hast thou this strange plague,
That by heaven our sun shines and we by ours
Doth not cure it? Were it not heaven, then it did not cure
My grief or my love?—I do forgive them both;
O, if they forgive me, my grief is large,
And mine is small, it is not much.
Thus, when the sun hath set, thy shadow falls,
His shadow doth homage thee, and thou shalt find
His shadow sits upon thy forehead, and in it sits
One tender look, another tender look,
Against the dull grim of night,
When thou shalt glance inward and wonder,
Where is he sleeping, and where is his face?
Then look not inward but inward thou gav’st,
If thou lov’st outward truth, inward thou gav’st,
If thou lov’st inward falsehood, thou lov’st outward lust.
O true love, thou lov’st honesty’s loss,
Forgetting honesty’s loss, thou lov’st honesty’s gain.
‘So with these impediments I kneel before
My Collatinus, still asleep, with all my strength I bow
My head’s captive, and my heart’s compass;
The stronger in strength, the stronger my heart do
Proportion my weak head to make him more strong.
The lute, the trumpet, the flock, all were mute,
And every bush the bird to sing:
Sleeping, nuzzling, and fretting in their dark place;
Each bush a thousand shrieks did it fear,
Which she in loudest constancy did assemble
To imitate the wind and rain.
She walks so slow, yet still his strength doth seem,
For he with haste still sits and feasts.
Look thus, thou youth’s time in youth thou time’s days,
And youth in youth the wrong of age,
Thine age’s time


======== CHECKPOINT 083 OUTPUT # 002 ========

gin, thou shalt see it; and I will show thee how it is done.
“To the captain captain, that’s captain, to thee,
He calls his breath a river that runs in spring;
To the poor unripe lark that doth take root
The banks of the Will, whose banks they praise;
Who, crest-waving bonnet ensign, bids them stay still
Where they shall keep the watch, with their breath.
But being gone, she runs on, and there she meets
The sun that hath cast his cloud upon the ground.
‘Why dost thou stay with me, poor old Fear,
When I have my hours to mourn?
Dost thou not leave me and me alone,
Because I am with thee, and thou art with me?
If so, thou me, then thou hast to do what thou canst do;
Let me excuse thee, and I’ll excuse thee elsewhere.
At last he gives her a kiss, and stops her whips,
As if she would begin another tale,
To answer her more following her lead.
As they were debating whether to break their silence,
Linguist, as learning is, begins his lesson with a look,
Where all things begin and end, as the sun begins and ends,
Which in our brains doth make the shapes we see,
Each to his picture made his pleasure grow.
So Lucrece’ pale cheeks are put on that make them seem pale,
For with every red that came her water had set,
all the fair parts of her fair field he took,
And all her parts in him her all fell waste.
His visage in hers was like that of her,
Her eyes, or her own made up beauty,
Which, like two white clouds, above them hovered,
Which in the sky with dazzling radiance
Show’d like heavenly faces, or as in heaven’s glory:
They so almost interchange, and so his beauty hideeth.
But when he in her fair face, like a cherubin,
Foldeth down her fair face and begins again,
To repeat the same motion over and over again.
If that be mov’d, the world will hear it,
And even in the Capitol will exclaim, “Hast thou not saw the hare?”
If it be mov’d, my ears will sing like the lark;
I swear by heaven I never saw thee when thou were great,
If it ever did plead for my love, my heart would sing for thee:
No love, for love to thee belongs a fee.
Thence comes Collatine to Tarquin and by
Him, to be my pallbearer, bid thee go.
To meet with him is as nice a stop as any,
Since every bower and every tree giveth wood a look,
And where there remains no bower but leaves,
What leaves must needs be trimmed, I’ll trim thee more;
I grant thou art fair, and that not all thy deeds,
But all thy good works (though some be bad)
Doth but beautify my soul, as thou thy worth’s sake,
But as thy good name doth appear thine, mine is thine.
‘And what can the world but complain that I am old,
Even of death, that I did not choose
To inhabit thy body till thou be extinct?
If ever there was hope that heaven might me so forbid,
Thy untimely death should in time bring
Time doth make me twice happier, and once happier still.
And I, my sweet beloved, to this end desired,
Of happier hours shall never fade,
Though with happier thoughts be happier still.
‘Then why dost thou so despise, and so unkind,
Unprofitable, and untimely,
The spoils of war, theft, poverty, war’s rages,
And so forth on, till all those annoyths are done,
To carve my life from the thing I sought,
In life my true desire did remove,
To carve the world out of love, and life out of love.
“But if thou be possessed of this cursed jewel,
My body will be a shrine to thee,
And every bush a wilderness to poison thee,
Which shall breed a thousand orphans, and a thousand
Sisters to bear them all, each a thousand babe.
thou must not love what thou lovest,
For what is not, is thy love.
O no, thou must not love what thou lovest
When thou lovest, that is all I complain.
That thou lovest more than I in spite,
Than I in spite of thy art will lovingly say.
So long as thou art with me, wert thou with me,
My


======== CHECKPOINT 083 OUTPUT # 003 ========

prefers, that I am not a partaker of falsehood, but a partaker of truth, a partaker of truth in all falsehoods, a partaker of lies, a partaker of woe, and craven in the concealing of evil, a partaker of envy and all his fair parts in all disgrace, a partaker in all perjurings, a partaker in all errors, a partaker in all woe and shrieking, a partaker in all foul harms, a partaker in all civil wrongs, a partaker in all swoon, a partaker in all pride, a partaker in all swoln faces, a partaker in all swoln swoln pride, a partaker in all triumphs, a partaker in all triumphs victories, a partaker in all triumphs triumphs pride, a partaker in all triumphs pride triumphs pride victory, a partaker entirely in all triumphs triumphs pride, a partaker in all triumphs triumphs pride victories all victories all victories all triumphs all triumphs all triumphs triumphs triumphs all triumphs all triumphs all triumphs all triumphs all triumphs all triumphs all triumphs all triumphs all glory all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise all praise
“Thus saith he: ‘But if thou prove the matter for my sin, my trespass prove none; for I trespass on thy good; so shalt thou prove, and I will prove thee wrong, and thou false, and I shalt prove thee right still.’
‘Lo thus thy will will, which thou wilt consecrate unto thyself, being all that is,
The key is within the latch, and that which shall hold it is
Pursue thou Muse, and thou shalt open it to the light,
For thou art all the more holy in my sight than in my disdain,
For all my fair parts are defame’d with mine, and my true sight defames,
Which proves much more than this insulting praise:
The guiltless breeder, being death-beaten,
The gouty unlettered maid, and the rude father,
Stray naked, as they make vile odours through their hair,
And every where looks to see if his wits are strong enough to win.
‘”Lo, the day is nigh, the moon is up and down;
To show me thy face thou gav’st my sorrow,
And to show thy grief on thy sorrow’s crest,
To do my heart’s pleasure the better by changing my mood,
So thou gav’st my sorrow’s loss, too, to make it stay.
This said, he throws on his robe, and begins
To put on his splendour, as yet untrimmed,
Against the day, who fears not the hour when his will will is done?
Against the night, how much worse is love than in thy shade?
For day thy beauty doth live in shadow,
But night doth live in shadow thy beauty doth live:
So thou dost live in shadows doth live,
And all in shadow thy beauty doth live!
Thy beauty doth live in thy shadow, thy beauty doth live:
For all in shadow thy beauty doth live, and all in shadow doth live.
‘But do not say to me that I did thy will,
That they did, and will do unto me again.
They have done me all, and now they none can say;
I will confess what I have done unto them,
And they will say I would not have done it to you;
Unless thou didst betray me, thou wouldst betray
Thyself to every fair fair in this fair’s fair.
I am the fault of my choice, and thou must bear
Their foul act, wherever thou art, to blame me.
‘”Now, excuse me,” quoth she, “why are you still gazing
On me, and not at me?
For why, if the sun were here, he would shine,
And wear the mantle and the star-hued cloak
Of his prime, and so it should wear him down.
For there he lies on a dying couch,
And suppos’d by some gentle nymph whose breast
Appear in his bright naked field a pair of green,
That, like misty vapours which cover his face,
Shone and wear out his youthful hours.
‘Tis but as they call them, spring-dropping oaks,
Whose rotten waste hides in gentle burrows some small fume,
Whose green flowers, their bright flowers fill the violet:
Their flowers are dead, and they fresh again,
Save where they were dead; in that fresh blood,
No


======== CHECKPOINT 083 OUTPUT # 004 ========

depressive’s eye or tongue can never quite comprehend;
The heart, being stern, beats so softly as steel,
And, lo, this heart that doth so often obeyeth,
Like to a falcon, neighs and bells when he neighs.
‘Then shalt thou hear the voice of such a boar;
Whose proud and lean frame is to the right,
Showing respect and obeisance,
To all the Muses that are in this place:
And that thou mayst ne’er fear, I do assure thee,
Lovely things are quickly done, wherein I am sought,
To do them quickly, wherein I am sought first:
That’s why I send this man to woo thee so,
For he’s in love with me, and not with him.
She sees him with dreadful alacrity,
And in that grim look she finds a kind of sorrow
That she cannot quite comprehend.
This sour smell wafts up her senses,
And for that she prays her sorrow be dry.
‘O how she wakes up! O how she wakes up again!
‘But lo! she wakes and wakes again,
Like as one waking leaves her bed,
Doth wake her still, and wakes again again.
Her eyes are fix’d on him like curious lights,
Her lips and nostrils are fix’d like clockwork,
Her nostrils fill with heavenly air,
And heavenly warm rainbows roll about her brow,
Like the waves that blow from the ocean.
She looks upon the heavens with deep disdain,
And yet she seems to think they are but imaginary;
Her eyes are full of wonder, and her mind wild,
In all kinds of strange and forbidden minutia,
As from a cloudy far-off summer set,
To this vaporous eye every light appears,
But when he takes in his view the scale of things,
all these beauties of her own making,
All their forms in composition wavering,
To point the way forth, she doth not wink.
Her thoughts thus he wip’d away, till she found a spirit,
And took him by the hand, and gave him up again.
She kiss’d him, and then he wets her,
‘Tis a kiss, and a kiss shall last the better part of an hour,
For if it be wasted, well worth the trouble.
‘And what labour shall I in my helpless heart,
To tire the hours of thy lamentable day,
To turn my sorrow’s lily pale again,
To make my complexion white again with my tears?
Or shall my tears be pearl-white in thy brine,
When in them thy tears shall life replenish,
When in thy blood thy life and sorrow doth live?
Or shall mine eyes, those precious gems in mine eye,
Which once thou best possess, yield not even to thy sting,
To stain with thy tears the fair perfection of my city,
And turn my sorrow to thy advantage,
And make my sweet city a flower too sweet,
To mock the life and shadow of thine eyes.
But now he again rents the time, and in her seat
A lamp that shines still, or water that doth stay,
For Collatine to greet him, with a sort of kiss,
And to kiss him yield to her desire;
“Touch me, dear boy, when I see thee, why lov’st thou so,
When I see thee frown and cry thus,
And tell my pity, thou know’st I love thee,
I love thee for that which thou wilt cause me to do.
‘Tis, my love, my love that I hold to be so,
That they all hate one another, and in some,
Of themselves all are but one, and yet,
It is my love that kills me; so all love am I that lov’st not.
‘But as I was wont to entertain them,
Till with his own weighty gaol I’d remove
Into a cabin deep asleep that hath no light,
But sits awhile, and there stay’d their eyes:
So hath she done, as night outgrows the day,
As she herself outgrows the day, till still she doth appear,
She looks upon him with the same kind of disdain,
That ever the mildest eye doth behold,
He is such a devil to behold,
That even to the outward bowels boweth.
‘But woe is me! woe is me! woe is me! woe is me! woe is me! woe is me! woe is me!
What’s wrong, what’s right, what’s wrong?
What’s wrong, what’s true, what’s pretended!


======== CHECKPOINT 083 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Liter to love, and to love without.
‘For with her he slew three fairies; one, with him lay
A pretty sprite, another a mane,
a pretty dove, a pretty mane, a pretty brow,
Her hair, ornaments, ornaments in she ride:
With her, ornaments were never seen,
Her horse drawn, nor her back any run.
She that in thy affections spends her days,
Doth call her mistress, and to-morrow calls her
‘Lo, here she lies, and now she doth call,
So thou wilt take care, and thou shalt have thy breath.’
‘Poor creature,’ quoth she, ‘these talents of mine,
When in my self I was a child, did I not wonder
At beauty’s decease, and of thy beauty,
Or at thy courser modesty, and of his fair complexion;
And yet thou art so, though to-day thou grow’st with age.
‘The one doth boast that in his prime
There were many beauties in abundance,
Of better quality and less costly,
But by and by the time he had expired,
His prime was extinct, and beauty’s were
In his prime the knife and the gun.
“That’s to say he’s not a man-tongued groom,
No, his accent is tanned well:
He speaks in his authorized language,
And speaks in a tongue that cannot comprehend
The workings of a brain.”
“Oh what a time that should have been!” quoth Lucrece,
But as Opportunity now is gone,
She sighs, her eyes are fix’d on her brow,
And looks on him scornfully, as when she had seen him weep,
He looks pale, and her eyes are fix’d on his brow.
“O! what a time that should have been!” quoth she;
“Now is the tenth hour of summer;
But come and bathe in the fountain where thou art;
Thy cheeks are full of colour, thy lips red,
And thou art all set for some foul act of crime.
Thou (sweet boy) the fairest shouldst have thy life,
Thou the best dost degenerate and corrupt,
And being dead (corrupted), shalt live ere another laugh:
And when in thee this vile plague doth dwell,
thou hast in some measure offended me,
That I was thy compeers, my advocate,
Against him I do contend an oath.
“Thou shalt not covet on my being alive,” thus saith he,
“By that oath shall not slander my life,
And therefore life is but an affront to thee;
By that I swear to thy life that thou hast not been,
life’s fair flower doth live in thee,
The weed dies, and weed a weed doth live.
So then thou die, and life and beauty live in thee.
The thief is dead, the fair jewel lives in thee,
And beauty liveth in her whose flower thou hast stain’d.
But thou art so, I will bear thee no more,
That thou art buried, and I be thou alone,
For I love thee, and thou wast not the same.
‘Poor wretch,’ quoth she,’my maid, what excuse have I
To leave the subject of my unhallow’d deed,
Suff’ring us till we meet again, and have our say.
‘Well, poor maiden,’ quoth she, ‘young, and pretty,
Him not quite sure what’s right, yet I assure thee
When I am gone for rest I must stay:
But now she is gone and that will not stay.
“Look here,” quoth she, “an ere I have laid eyes upon you,
An eagle, a boar, a lion, a mare,
All these in pursuit, all in pursuit did chase thee,
And doted on thy good report;
Not me, for I have lived and done these deeds,
In pursuit of none, none was left alive.
But now this creature hath fled from thee,
Thy eyes have blinded, thy tongue sings lamentable tunes,
And thou dost mock the heavens with thy talk.
Here is a picture of my late husband,
Sometime young and old, with young face, and rough complexion,
Wiry build, lean build, broad legs and strong arms:
The raiment in his face was leaner,
And often did frown upon his leanness:
But lo, when I was with him, the frown forbade
His eye, which was much pitchy, did peep from his chin.
Now my husband, do not so, O love, break my


======== CHECKPOINT 084 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Feer harder, ’tis better to have them than nothing.
I am a poet, and so am your mistress;
What would you do but write, and write so well?
‘”Yet thou hast but drawn the day, and I the night,
As from a dream the sun doth dote on my face;
A woman’s brow the colour of red and white,
Whose red blood on either side doth stand,
Upon either side doth grin and wave,
In either’s place a sort of double entendre;
To win a woman’s heart she needs twain;
To win her heart she needs two men.
O thou that art true and so art untrue,
Thy heart to me hath double sovereignty,
And if thy heart may say so, I dare say it is thine
That gives thee the power to win me another kiss,
Even as when thou wilt win back my affection.”
O how she loves him for that, though she herself doth hate,
She lov’d him for that, though he herself did lovish,
Her true love was for a loathed sin still so abhorred.
‘And thou, my false thief, have thy share of blame;
Thy body’s fault the whole of which is unseen,
And for the theft of thy soul I’ll be blamed;
But be too fair, and I forswore thee in such
Hast thou steal thy dear life from thy heart?
Who lets such a wretched thing stand naked
Within the bosom of so fair a lover?
O that thou art the fairest in such a crime,
Why should I be shunned for that?
Thou art my husband, and I thy wife;
But what of thine if thy wife’s crime,
Or if the former be thy true crime,
Or if that be thy false husband’s,
What if that be a part of thy crime?
If so, be it not thy fault thou art so blest?
Thou art my dear friend, and yet am I not his;
Love thrives on blame, and it is love’s fault
That so much of what we see liv’d is unseen.”
O then in pity, with such a conceit,
I’ll be revenged on my false heart,
And be revenged on thee that sent me this:
‘”O, madam, how doth she still endure this torment!
With that, all eyes, both high and low,
She struggles to comprehend the angry breath
Which poisoned her being, and in it recures the plague.
As the night-wanderer who would not stay till morning,
Shook off her wat’ry-beholding husband, she throws
The poor boar from his hounds, and bids him be gone.
‘”Now this ill minion of mine,
Who for some ill purpose hath lost his sight,
Sets his foul creature in motion, in want of will:
His foul creature by his foul act hath expired;
And thou hast, in deed, done me wrong.
The eye hath seen his foul behaviour, and the heart
Knew the foul act was foul in my state.
“Ay me,” quoth he, “your good angel, thy herald
Shalt be of help, and straight take me to your tent.
‘”In Tarquin’s court, where the chief priest lies,
The poor creature lies panting; the father cries;
The son answers that the father was present,
And says “Father, thou look’st not to deceive.”
This heraldry of some divine good will,
With this sweet heraldry shall your Grace be saved,
That thou (my husband) art your true-love’s friend.”
Thus doth she answer him, “O yes, love, thou know’st that I love you;
And I have often felt the sting of false lust,
Which is so bad in thy state, that I am cured.”
Now Tarquin’s smiling boy she did charm,
Which did his soft form enclose;
To whose gentle hand did he draw his pen,
Till harder than the pen knew what it was.
“I love thee dearly,” quoth he, “if that mean shall suffice;
No matter where I live, thou wilt stay,
For if thou wilt live, stay I will go with thee.”
As she speaks he shakes his head,
And now he holds her by his cheek;
As if her words had offended his eye,
She with a languorous gait throws her head;
Her eyes are fixed on his face,
And every joint trembles; her mouth, and her chin lie
Like lifeless margents in the air.
‘”My lady, how many lambs


======== CHECKPOINT 084 OUTPUT # 002 ========

beg the thing which it did not deserve;
It was a blessing, it gave life to the thing,
And life to all that praise which it had not deserved.
Love is not an instrument, it is an end.
And like a flower in a flower-bed,
It self-will’d to pollute the place.
So at last he throws the cloak in his face,
And doth welcome the view, which she bids him dally,
As if by some craft of her unfeeling arts she could see
Into his visage some unruly abomination,
That upon his lips with some applying gloss
Into his soft folds might some slight impression appear,
And thence the affected effect would be,
And like weeping angel, through tears would weep.
O, what a sight this made! her tears could not mend them,
And, like thunder in the night, they would rain forth water.
What a sight it made! his nails could not mend them,
And in their wet tears, rain would do them good.
“Alas, mine eyes, that made thee see this,
Are deceiving, that did see through mine own eyne,
And this did false Sin, by turning me away,
The help I could lend, I would lend thee again.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘but that thou hast receiv’st from me,
Mine eye which art now twain, as thou art,
Will, by my will, remove all impediments,
From this sad-beholding line I’ll use,
As excuses my absence from my sick bed.
“Now let me tell your story, your poor verse,
And tell them like stories, with equal parts good,
Of happy stories, and sad recitals,
Of triumph and the brief sufferance,
Of you, and that, and all, in one,
You all were but dreams, now you were men.
But now in one sweet sound, with each line
The sad task of this sad task was done,
And with his sighs came to rest his wound,
The weary nurse’s arms doth now rest her head;
A weary look greets Adonis’ eyes;
A gentle woe greets Pyrrhus’ wound;
A hawks-eye like a hawk herded in gore;
A green plum that bears no semblance
Or is but a yellow orchard now
Upon an island now barren.
O if the sun glorifies him so,
If in thy image he stands for glory,
So are we all the poorer for nothing.
Let all these woes with me then be folded,
That all this grief may then be confounded,
And then the thought may seem as it were
That nothing ever stands but for the suff’ring doom.
‘Tis but an art, a life, a child, a widow,
A thousand favours that I have yet sought,
And nothing ever stands but for the flood.
How many have but died and are living,
To hear Muse tell them a lie?
The one still alive doth bear the story,
The other lives, and that life being dead,
keeps the painter’s knife in his eyne.
O Time, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In such a hopeless and dire hour!
The locks are broken, the papers gone,
The painter hath no one to lend him any light,
Yet let him borrow his skill, and keep silent,
For with his skill his skill hath no strength,
He can steal from shadows, and use them to his pleasure,
And, by chance, the fiend his foul act calls
Where shadows to his foul self are hid,
By being stealth’d in them, and in his sight blind.
‘Thus the poor lamb that with many a flock feedeth
Hath sat up, with a fearful fear descried,
The spotted fowl that like him lies panting,
Or like a cherubin panteth still,
or if not both, then either with or without.
‘But ah! this is thy fault, this thy goodly defect,
That thou hast done this to hurt me,
That thou hast done this to gain my death.
‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In such a hopelessly-betray’d bed!
O mother, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In such a wretchedly-betray’d bed!
What shame, such a sight would have!
Yet ah, let thy grief bear it alone:
For what shame would thy sorrow bear!
O fair goddess, thou art the one to do me shame!
O fair goddess, thou art the one to do me good!
I do vow to rid thee of this slander,
I will not rid thee of thy guilt;


======== CHECKPOINT 084 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Cue, in the heart of thine,
That on thy heart my heart should sing praises,
Whose beauty would bear all my petty sorrows!
Then was she on the threshold of her fear,
Till every fair fair tear in her eye would give life,
Whose fresh regard and kindred, in embracing
The blame, in so loving a view.
“Now wake up, and look on the world; tomorrow
The world will see that my plague is still small;
My plague is small; and in it my name
Thou art well-proportion’d to ravish me more;
For in thee the disease is so great,
That I am mute for ever.”
“So is she, so bare she seems,
That even to herself the image seems enlarged;
Her face a coal-black, with pale, wiry white,
She answers every call with the same sound;
Her voice like a mangling pelf,
She sings, and soon he starts again,
The familiar hymn, in praise of her fair well.
She takes him by the hand, and bids them kiss,
And like two unshorn margents, to tie her to his knee,
Upon her neck a lily hand, white and feathered,
As if they should act like mothers’ hands in hell.
‘Now for thy good, do not hie my injury;
But thou, the good of this, make some excuse
To bear that on thine own foul trespass:
Since thou lov’st my life for stealing it from me,
I think the blame is great on thee:
Thy fault is mine; why should I blame thee?
For thou art my fair good, and thou thy fair good,
If I shall act on thy trespass,
Thy trespass is thy life, and thou my fair good,
Thy fair good doth trespass against mine trespass,
And in that I much abhor thy trespass;
Thy fair good is no foul act but a gentle show,
And I think thy fair good is kind, and kinder,
Though in my act thou wilt do them wrong,
For they in their act do me injury.
He that doth smile, ‘t’s him to grin; and, fair queen,
She prays him so, and so he prays her still.
This goodly wretch doth call him ‘The boy that didst kill his father;’
He did, ‘gainst life, thou lose.’ ‘Losing’ she answers; ‘gainst life,’
She answers, ‘gainst life; and thou lost, thou lost, thou lost.’
‘O pardon me,’ quoth she,’since I am bereaved,
My grief will not be strong enough to carry me home.
Thou hadst the power, but to no strength can hold thee;
And, being lame, I being lame, thou art still strong.’
“What is love?” quoth she, “unwilling to hear?”
“Love is too mild; gentle? Too harsh?”
“Gentle?” quoth she, “love is full of ill?
Or too harsh?” quoth he, “too harsh? Too blunt?”
‘Woe, woe, woe! Too short a time! Too long a time!”
“I love to hear her say it, I’ll tune it once;’
But I find it childish, and too credulous,
To watch childish things grow up; and too early
That childish antics are of prime care;
For princes, but not their subjects, live in childish days.
But this false music, so true a god,
That not my heart to music should teach it lesson,
Which he by stirring should teach to praise,
So that not my heart to music doth sing
When music hath taught him so wrongful lesson.
‘The gouty landlord that ransoms him so ill
His privilege doth pay the sum of his ransom;
The parson that ransoms him so well
is so proud, he awards thee still more,
And still he lends thee more, not less.
“I’ll kiss him once more, and then he’ll say,
“The kiss did give me life, and now I hate.”
“How can I love if life being stopp’d,
One minute’s chat with another’s cry,
More than suffice to drown me in my sorrow?”
“What did you say?” quoth she; “sweet boy,
I’ll have a kiss with you tomorrow, and then
I’ll have to live with you tomorrow,
And then you can’t live, and I can’t live;
If that be enough for me, why not you?
As far as I am from being tied to a king,
Love holds


======== CHECKPOINT 084 OUTPUT # 004 ========

rador in the night by his side.
But the better part of the picture was made bright,
Which, like a dream, struck her heart as it flew,
And made the sad groan in her ears stop.
Her face, like glass, was damask white,
With her blood-white stole running from her chin;
She winks and neighs and makes merry groans;
She rubs her eyes, and hisses, and neighs in joy;
He strikes her on the chin, she on her back,
She grinds her nails, and prays she will bow;
He strikes her on the chest, she on her back,
She rubs his wounds, he wounds her in pain.
How dare they steal leaves, let them bleed!
And in the blood so they stain,
And in the wrack so they wrack.
Then will she turn her pale face to shame,
Or red as blood, if in it stain’d so.
“What should I do, now that I have died?
Would I return tomorrow and let some friend go,
To kill the day, to make myself scarce seen?
Or would I be a kind of slave to my looks?
Or would my lust for truth be such a bliss,
As a purblind night in the night’s dim mist,
Who, sweating with shame, would not glance
Where the sad bird lays in a nest of dying white.
Let him have room to think; and then let him have room
To talk; for the time being, talk to talk.
When shall I hear th’ ivory-white tributes tell?
When shall I see you in your fair skin?
Th’ hour is nigh, and yet do I ne’er begin
To woo the wind, to make my shadow more keen,
To hide the truth from the better part of me,
To hide the truth from the dead, and the living dead,
To make me idle and forgetfulness,
To live my death, and be dead before I die.
O, if Time well knew his name, he might say
That thou dost love the thing thou mean’st,
And in the love that thou mean’st, I dare not say so,
He knows nothing but sweet love to do.
, the morning dew of the ne’er-wet,
Doth almost wake her, and there she sits,
For hours, hours with no rest;
She sits, and hours rest makes her wailing sad;
She looks, and she wails, and she tears;
She tears, and she moans, and she grieves,
She cries, she begs, cries, her parts are forfeit,
The sun doth burn her face and make her wet;
And every light occasion of that hot and raining night,
Doth convert her beauty to black,
And every shadow blot her with sorrow’s effect.
When thou seeest my face forsook,
That’s when I’ll cease to pine,
I’ll begin to blush, and then I’ll wail my shame.
So shall I beeauteous night, as thou day’s leisure,
From me thou shalt not see the day,
For nothing hast the power to stop a wind,
And to stop that wind thou hast some skill;
But if thou wilt stop the wind, thou wilt have no leisure;
For then, for my woes do come my way,
From me I should thee, still my grief should be,
And my woes my self to thee belong.
Then for that I might aptly be called,
an unperceived object in a straight,
Which in itself is not of worth,
but as the centre or opposite place,
Being no such thing as the true,
Herald-like reflects the true on the ground.
Whence hast thou then such confusion,
That not one word in one particular comes to mind
Writes it in ink or on paper?
The lines are too long, too short to leave a mark;
And for that purpose mine own eyes make them grow.
The one looks on, the other hears none;
They both see each other, and then neither eye doth hear;
In either’s case, the thought of the other being
(Which makes the red blood boil,) the other doth red.
He in his rage, but against himself,
Doth turn to look, while in the other place
All rage, controversy, and change make;
But he, with rage, contending with his foes,
Is yet his foe’s prisoner and he his prisoner.
‘And that thou mayst prove me not, behold this wall
Of thine eye which thou mayst see burning,
Or the dreadful torch which thy naked eye doth burn,


======== CHECKPOINT 084 OUTPUT # 005 ========

pler at first, but she grew bold;
And from her hot heels descended a steep-up hill,
Where brambles, tangled in her boughs, lie;
She throws them about with a violent moan,
To make them think twice; so the moan,
Making them look so, their minds with a groan extend,
Till each cheek takes in his or her other half.
‘”How shall I, my dear old Muse, help thee to get up,
And that thou my guest mightst seek thee in a dream?
With my blood my life, my life mightst thou find,
Thy pure worth with thy life mightst thou be sufficed?
I have no love in life but hate-kind,
For you must be mine, and mine is thy love.
To win me thou must fight to death,
And kill me outright with your gross tongue.
‘”Therefore seek not with gentleness thy parts,
Though they in their dying youth were wont enlarge;
If ever heaven forbid, thy face should ever lie
Upon the earth’s surface, like clay,
Showing full beauty and true impression of thee:
Yet, if ever heaven forbid, thy face should ever remain
On the earth, like a painted chest,
Thy inward parts being bent in outward parts.
‘For why should one that is divine live,
Him come and take thee by the hand?
For why should one that is holy come and take
All that is in thy inward parts?
The reasons why are manifold, and more
Applying themselves to the best.
Love is the true sun, and false heat the fire;
As the wind and rain both doth homage,
But as the dove, the grass doth adore.
Yet do not hold Collatine in high regard,
For Collatine is thy true love, and thy love’s flower.
This thou wilt have remembered, that I have said this,
To show thee this painting in painting:
What beauty’s looks do to men’s looks,
What wit to beauty’s looks doth show,
What good in a beauty is for art dead.
Let him thus fulfil the office he gave
To make acquaintance of thieves, of kings,
To enchant the mind with false and gross thoughts,
To make the dumb gull obey his will,
To set the silly lambs to sing a silly tune,
Make them pine more, with blemish’d faces and dumb minds:
Let him thus make the pattern of such,
When in his wildest thoughts he commits such folly,
If he can learn to love his master so well,
he, being hunted, doth forsake him.
‘But now on this mortal scale of your behoof,
I feel your deep sense, and your deep sense’s variation,
Thy rank discontent with mine own state exceeds,
And makes me swear I saw not the thing I saw;
But now I see what I have not, and see what thou wilt see.
As one of these passions with two passions,
Lays aloof the eye of the other,
And bids the channel to open should have some light.
He in his quest doth wrong, and betakes his eye,
Which shines like a moon that doth light up in the sky.
“So shall they walk together in darkness,
And idle hours thou wilt not waken,
So shall they sleep together, and rest assured.”
‘Thus shall they live together, and not so with me,’ quoth she,
And from the mansion of Lucrece she hears
A sad-tuned bawd play, which the maid takes,
Where sadhus for her sake hath seiz’d,
Where poor Ilium, poor daughter, hath seiz’d,
And now in this sad chamber is she cry’d,
That his sad task is too slow:
She, sadly crying, with another cry,
Grieves at the poor creature that her sight so doth behold;
To no effect agrees she proceeds:
A loud groan so great it rings out,
That Lucrece thinks it earthquake and shakes it,
Which wakes the woebeet and makes her woevereld writ.
As if that Tarquin were a child,
Whereto the world with sorrow’s onset should get,
It is but to gain thy self, by dying on me.
‘So shalt thou wert as I am now,
Thou as thy sweet self live, that in death I praise,
So thou as thy sweet self die.”
And now the direst wolf steps forth, and with swift speed
From the bank he doth trot, as proud a lamb,
With proud courage, and speed of pace so proud.
O who fears a proud


======== CHECKPOINT 085 OUTPUT # 001 ========

assaulting.
And then he throws his sword,
And all in fury, at his fickle breast.
“But wherefore hast thou that done,
Against my self, that thou through the law should break?
For in me thou gav’st no good, no harm done,
I still live to be married, and thou shalt live,
But my love was thy husband when thou wast slain;
Thy death was thy right, and thy life’s purpose;
Thy use was to rob him of that right,
And he for that crime was free.
Thy slave to slavery, that he did free,
Thy love to my sweet, which is my love still alive,
Thy only child to live another’s child.
And, from his angry breast, quoth she,
Thy fierce shame, so strongly fortified,
That in his blood was smeared all the world.
O let my grief be the pity of my rest,
And my joy the grief of absence,
I love to be gone, and to-morrow live,
But you, the reason, your self, I the truth
Will say is true, and that you should say
My life was a sham, and your true
Thy life is a sham that ever taught thee.
What shall I say to make that my friend seem false?
Even so she began to answer his question,
When she might say, “Well, if I were ever the same,
Thou must die, and I must live again.”
And when he had answered her thus,
Her husband’s eyes flinched in her face,
And she, dumb and trembling, did as if she were dead.
‘Well,’ quoth he, ‘if I were still alive,
My husband, thou art all the better for my sake;
If I die, thou art all my grief’s end,
And all my grief’s end is thy death.
For thou art as guilty of all my misdeeds,
As mine eyes that blind did see are as my tongue;
For shame hath no excuse excuse for frowning,
And foul-sounding excuses to bear false harms;
But I can never die for my crime being told,
Unless thou wilt prove to be a god.
‘The fault is that thou dost lead a life so cruel;
To death thou canst not take;
And in the end thou hast no excuse but a liking
To steal life from life’s creation;
That is to say, it was supposed
To steal life in thy image;
The better to make death’s gift a tomb
Where every old man could see his beauty grow;
Who in his prime did not look so,
When in his prime men saw his beauty die.
‘So many have died for me,’ quoth she, ‘and by them
My surviving friend is hanging by a thread,
Which he will not steal; his body will not bear it:
I have sworn my oath to love, and fear’d it never,
But with each false rape I behold,
Thine eye shall not gaze on mine beauty,
Nor mine own self to self pity,
That hath mine own self stain to blame.
Yet thou art so tainted, so art I.
“As I have been woo’d by the devil, so be it
That all my offences are new-applied.
Who was my self so willing to betray?
O how thy honour should I lose,
When all my offences were new-applied?
To lose all, what fair loss can’t I have?
Thy honour is to be lost, and in it
Thy self should by thy defect forfeit;
But where thy self thou art, I lose not a thing,
For thine self doth live thine own image in thine eye.
And every fair flower doth stand in thy field,
That thy self thy self doth imitate,
For in thine eye thou art so glorified,
That I in thy face glorify thee.
If thou wilt, thou wilt live remembered,
As living images in heaven of thine eye.
‘So many have died for me, and by them
Drawn up in thine own image drew,
Thy merit’s dead reckoning, and died with thee.
If thou wilt, beauteous heaven, bid me return
To thy good angel, that hath brought me
To thee in this dire-dreaming hour,
That thou mayst give a better account of my state,
For by thy deeds I can well compare thee,
And be your judge of well-doing men,
When thou art all in favour with the rest.
And therefore I will sing hymns in thy face,
To praise thee, and to be charitable


======== CHECKPOINT 085 OUTPUT # 002 ========

/Oaths and prescriptions for my happiness are not kept secret,
My bones mine own, my soul’s part, mine own purpose;
For this purpose they have kept a secret book,
In secret cabinet where no one may read it,
Unless thy sweet thoughts should tell the world,
How I am deceiving thee, how thou shalt not be seen
How I am deceiving thee in this shameful night.
“For now he comes and kneels at my breast,
Breathing salve, sweating with hot desire;
His eyes well-rimmed with eager attention;
Like wise men they scorn not ill intent,
They find best a remedy for their ill:
All offences are but fair, none for blame;
And all offences are proportion’d to blame,
And blame is best when none is at all appr’d.”
And having this in mind, she answers,
“I will not bewitch thy youth, nor my might,
And for that I will not bewitch thee;
But bewitch thy poor beauty in all my might,
And in thy might my might do thy beauty grave.
This said, he throws a wide light upon his face,
And for his offence he blushes, and a deep groan,
So dumb he sounds, with that sickly sound,
that if I could write to you, how could I wish,
If you would let me do your verse.
‘Tis said in Love that all men are created fair,
Fair is kind and kinder than foul,
Fair is kinder than unclean,
Fair than tame, tame than boar, and so on.
Then do I envy the world that makes me wonder,
Till beauty’s dead and lifeless form return,
And all men are made just for thee,
And mine is true perfection,
And all men but for thy true spite,
That is, my true perfection, and not for thee:
That is, thou being false, I am still thy friend.
As for thee that didst speak thus,
Thy voice hath my verse, and my song is
And in my song hath my audience.”
‘O! she hath no lips, or nostrils,
let us leave this wretched scene,
With this our fault, with this our gain;
We must live together, that blemish may not be so great,
That death can blot out the good name of thine,
And thou in posterity’s name will live untold.
‘”Now hear me, young man, as I ride,
The earth’s sustaining banks do wake,
And wake our hearts tomorrow in waking,
Lending them strength to fight their shame;
But tomorrow’s woes are dire, and night’s woes dire.
So now she wakes her poor tired heart,
And wakes the heart that tells it’s time
To rest, or to get up again:
But when the messenger comes, with tired gait,
With tired ears, and weary arms he leads,
To a chamber full of hounds, where sits a woman,
With quill or pen, or both, or both, wiry yet,
To make her moan, and in a few words quench her thirst;
Each leaf a shrub, one a swallow, would swallow.
‘”When thou seest thyself in the fire, let not suspicion
Seize thyself at the cross; for I have met with
an unprovident devil, that stealeth life from thee;
That said, there attendeth him like a flock
And merry birds sing, but unhallow’d, he doeth stand
With Hector, whose golden wings excelleth Collatine.
‘For in my love I have many spies, and spies
Of my self I might prove, if I might devise a lie,
Of my self in general or in particular,
And of that my self I might so grossly deceive,
As to have myself deceived, if I should then live
In other men’s eyes, either pure or tainted.
Thus ’tis my duty to foil the deceiving:
I’ll swear fair Tarquin is true and kind,
And fair Fortune be true and kind enough,
To kiss him in the general kiss-licking of time.
‘Woe unto them that read this ill,
Tell them not so, lest they mistake their eyes:
They did not see the wicked creature lie,
And beheld the harmless creature that were slain.
His true face was so pale and pined he gave,
That he seemed to scorn and balk,
To the use of his sharp teeth, to strike fear in his foe.
“Woe unto them that read this ill, tell them not so;
Because they did see the harmless creature lie,
And beheld the harmless creature slain.”



======== CHECKPOINT 085 OUTPUT # 003 ========

74:
And like a falcon not fearing the sting,
Sits upon a steep-up prong, and with her wings she flies,
As if from some unseen flight,
Intends to chide the thing she flies:
Yet, as the crow prepares to fly, her wings take him by,
So he holds her by the neck and kisses her.
She, as the birds in the distance sing,
Will say nothing, but when the crow will speak,
He starts, and stops with a neigh,
And that in his restless flight weeps:
For in his flight there is division,
Within a hive of loving love,
Which in his hive is imprisoned the pain,
To whom he grasps that he is confined,
The breach of his bond of love,
Which from a prairie where he lives is fed
By the strong desire of his prime:
But in his place is love, that which he fears and fears not;
And then he, as he leaps from his horse,
Will by invisible force scratch him on the back,
And then, with a loud cry, ‘Holla lend me my help!
The wind beats against the deep brass breast,
And all in vain weeps that she is deaf.
O lest those strong eyes that hear you speak,
With gentle wailing, would say, ‘She’s dead; see what I did do;
She went with them in terror to the banks of her breath;
And there they met her breathless eyes, dumb and still,
And, lo, she had not the power to speak,
But ’em like sheep would obey,
She would for a kiss; but he for no reason did.
So I tell her, and she on the ground do swear,
That she is but a child, and not of worth;
That she was but a child, and not a man.
Yet if I may, my love to her be a lie,
Though men find fault with beauty’s livery,
And be blamed for their looks with infirmity.
My heart be thy mother’s shield, thy father’s knife,
thy heart be thy wife’s knife:
So shall I live as thy wife and husband,
For both shall live for love and hate,
And be buried in the rest of posterity.
Thou art my best friend, and my best foe,
I must love thee with all my might;
And in the hope of that I must forsake thee,
The more must I forsake thee and adore thee,
more than that thy sweet form should ever live
For that which thou shalt lack thy self,
Or that thy beauty should ever be forgot,
Since all the world am I bereft thee, mine is thy store.
‘But then she kiss’d me and I, and she on the ground did begin,
To weep for me, for she hath naught to lose;
And that burning fear which she feels hath no defence;
So is her wailing still, till her blood shall rain again.
‘So I love,’ quoth she, ‘this unfair tyrant,
That hath done me wrong, and that I am to blame;
I have no power to stop him, nor do I need,
To keep him from my party, if he dare challenge.
She is fond of accusing him of treason,
But when in truth her witness stand she hath slain,
The one thing she loves most,
The other is most of all, and yet none of her delight.
And lo this I mourn, for thou art so unjust,
And for my poor absence hast forsook me,
Even as death itself prepares me to retire,
to hear what others have to say, not know
But muse upon your state of affairs,
And tell your stories in your tongue-tied tongue,
Making war upon words, in deeds, in words, and deeds.
“His” and “his” in both their combined accents
Shall in a dull and doubtful register
Be the slave of several unprofitable ears;
The one being good, the other an all-loving,
With sounds sweet and vile, but never in respect,
Both liv’d, and died together like two sweet friends.
But when you behold the true face of a king
That governs with subtle majesty,
With majesty controlling in him
Than all his subjects, and no respect above,
Which makes the very same face
As the turtle, but different in height,
(Nor was there then a man in his right
The look of beauty so much fearfully expressed.)
“O, good day,” he says, “look here, for more,
With the curtain drawn the shadow of night will stand,
And take the dreadful night, to make the rest
As pleasant a rest to myself


======== CHECKPOINT 085 OUTPUT # 004 ========

appellant on this plea do me good, that I have been here before,
And thus my injuries may my cure still remain:
‘But, lord, if the said offence have me confessed,
All my fault shall be my cure; and if it be proved,
It shall then be a private malpractice,
Which is supposed to cure myself, but never cures me.
‘No,’ quoth he, ‘no cure at all; for I am strong,
And mine eye hath wrought physic, and physic was
Drugs, cures and beauties bred not in looks,
Or balls, or wrinkles, but physic alone bred,
But force and cold fear in my blood,
That the cold and hot terror can neither live nor die.
What is wrong with mine eye, my heart’s cause,
Nor with mine own thoughts, my thoughts being dumb?
The painter in me doth deceive,
And all my thoughts base and senseless remain:
The thing that doth so much mischief do,
Works in my thought, and nothing in me.
‘To make the worst worse,’ quoth she, ‘this ill effect
Will by insinuation put an end to my good:
Being thus assailed, my poor soul will be mute,
And thus I die, and he will be my rest.’
‘Poor child,’ quoth she, ‘you mustn’t boast;
Even in this most remote stage of your waking,
Your beauty can’t be hid in shadows,
But in my soul’s place can lurk all secret goodness.
If your self be veiled in foul disguisings,
You are thy shadow, and all that is worth
Which makes it self to hide, is thy face put first.
If thy self be too proud,
Thy proud self to be so proud be so low!
And yet thou must not seem so proud,
To me too proud a self to be so low,
Or else so low, in spite of thy fair name.
So be it, my dear, thy self is mine,
My shame to be so proud, and my fame to be
Triumphant of my being, now in my pride,
Like to a miser with all his might,
The cost of my fame still being paid,
And still no man but my self still praised,
To be free and free from all earthly cares!
That’s why I love to be absent, from my true love.
For my love was but a fleeting look,
An end in itself when it must be renewed;
An end to an end only when it must last:
And that end is to be oblivion,
And never to revive the thing it was.
O, what a hell of witchcraft lies
in thy blood these words cannot express;
Since my body was thy mother’s womb,
She nursed thee, and gave thee life,
And thou art of her blood still alive.
So should the hairs which on thy back
Did cover my face, and on my forehead,
And on my forehead were confounds,
Doth Tarquin weep and groan, till thou find
A scar which he shall not blot with wax,
And on thy brow shalt thou find a blessed pattern,
Which on thy forehead standeth like a mane,
Hanging like a mountain on thy chin,
Whereon thou shalt not be disturbed, neither shalt thou be disturbed.
‘Dear god,’ quoth he, ‘you must attend me
As much as I think necessary to make my bed,
To leave you the matter of your choice;
For I have sworn my oath to love thee still,
And vow’d that you are thy self, and that I will kill thee,
Unless you do lend me your blood again,
And in that I will kill thee alive, if thou dost kill me in such deed.’
“Ay me,” quoth she, “your love is no longer welcome,
My love is as dear now to every creature,
Till death, or the very thing it is.
‘Why should you be out in the open,
For trespass or to enter a locked door?
Why should you stay in the way,
As I in the dark of night would creep about,
To find you naked in my bed or in your breast?
Why should you stay in our house to stay
Time-proving conspirators to steal your breath,
Or watch your every move with fearful eyes?
Because you love what you see, and nothing else?
Or why should you live in our society to hear
Your sick, harmful words that we breathe?
Why should you be forced to live in darkness,
And live as a living ghost, haunted by your evil?
Why should you stay where you do torment us?
And how should you live if you should live in crime,


======== CHECKPOINT 085 OUTPUT # 005 ========

mathematical the time it must wait for, and yet no sooner have it be
Than before the time is ready, when thou shalt most desire it.
In vain thou wilt, O heaven and earth, hold these prophecies,
Not to use my excuse, but to sue for my life.
‘”And to set the warrant in motion,
That his unhallow’d haste may bring him home,
So fastly they did depart, by which he might
From foul danger in his unweaned haste:
And for this purpose did he frame a boar,
Of strong-built, lean build, and well-groom’d:
But now she flies, as soon as thou take’st to leap.
‘Fool, fool, fool,’ quoth she, ‘this night I must stay,
Being away I’ll straightway depart;
That will not, but methinks, be my death which thou hast wrought.
‘Well, then, all is well that is said.
That thou mayst by my judgement be counted fair,
Thy beauty’s form in thee may still endure,
And in thy beauty still may it be forgot.
‘O no, my love, this is not a dream,
That sometime false thoughts may insinuate,
As sometime true sorrow commits some grave sin.
Yet in thy outward woe do I perceive,
Thy inward woe is assailed with woe;
Thy inward woe being assailed with woe,
Thy inward woe being praised with praise.
O pardon me, I have several wet looks,
But none of them so very good as mine.
‘This said, the wolf ran from the way,
And lo in his terror panting still, behold
The young wolf that day was but nimble;
And now the proud lion did neigh, and fear’d
With a sudden hoarse neigh, neigh’d up his horn,
And down he began, like a boar, to tuck;
His horns, like saucy young men’s, did likewise bash;
They did neigh, and t’assail neigh, both at once,
Like feeble phoenixes when they prove slain.
This heraldry of his beauty in mind,
Hath the power to fright the foe,
to win the day and make it seem plain
That she herself was murd’rous.
Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Doth debate where she lies, though it seem to wane.
She tells her story to provoke the eye
Where oft her voice mak’st arguments, or plead’st.
So many bewray her beauty’s place;
She for her she is made pure, she makes her argument strong.
She is mistress of my muse,
And mistress of my love, and the kiss that will bring me.
‘”But poor fool, what did I do wrong?
Or what of my foul act did I not do?
Or what of my foul foul act was not done?
But when I heard them cry aloud,
The guilt was great, the pain was little;
But when the physicians advisedly advised,
The boy was mute, the wolf did utter;
And all pitying his innocence did give
A voice, resembling the fair, full of respect,
Whereat the painter, as victor in a fight,
Would put his image where the beholder sought it,
Whose likeness the beholder would behold, and where he would put it.
His hand, which now is upon his breast,
Holds in contact with the maiden’s hand the key,
To seize her by the neck, and force a kiss;
Both of them thus would she thrust his chin in her mouth,
And kiss again, or else remain standing.
‘Why, gentle child, why art thou mute when I speak?
That I am not so, in spite of thee;
Thy face and all the rest of me are too young,
To hear thee speak, nor touch thy lips with tongue,
For nothing am I worthy of thy touch.
O, how my love’s face hath lost that pleasing shine
That gives beauty’s beauty his fair shine,
O, how thy beauty, to thee belongs
beauty’s seal is broken, where thieves sometime open:
Thy love doth make theft more frequent,
Thy sweet smell the more precious,
Thy smell thy sweet smell the more dear,
thou hast more beauty in me than thou art,
Which by thy deeds hast made me more dear,
Than thou art, in me, but in my loving.
‘”But if thou wilt,” quoth she, “tell my love to leave
The thorny part of thy right,
And make it leave the thorny part of thy


======== CHECKPOINT 086 OUTPUT # 001 ========

parsing which he did to prepare,
For war upon Tarquin, and for his bastard son.
‘Yet, excuse me,
When this is said, my Grace,
And all my Collatine
Have sworn that my sister was with him slain;
That her life was stained with blame,
For shame’s seal is dear;
She was his wife; and thou must remove;
Thou mayst be my queen, thou art my common
And husband my true love,
And the spoil of my life thou hast wasted.
To make him love me more, my love doth beguile:
Even here I behold her weeping, and I laugh;
For she doth so, and so again.
Her eyes, like pitchy pyramids, seemed to glow,
Which like stars did bide their silver blind;
Yet the sun, shining through the cloud, did little dim
The blushing cloud, that did cover the place.
My sweet Lucrece once more my love forgot,
The loss of what we once loved did seem,
For now in the knowledge of all us,
we like to be new-waxen and trimmed;
Nor we like the rough trim of a dame’s
Hiding in weeds the precious stalk of a mare.
‘Fie, fie, fond love, love, let us not name
But mark that name with our deeds,
With what we have done or that which we expect;
Then each of us, when he speaks, sings,
with a little song he will begin:
‘To vex thee in thy petty vexation;
That thou in this is much ado defeated:
That in my absence thy pain may suffice
For further thoughts, to help me in my jollity.
‘Fie, fie, fond love, my love,
In vain I rail, and yet my rail is strong,
When it seems to me that he will not win,
Since I himself hath committed this heinous crime;
And if he win, lo the day is ending,
If in that I my self be cast away,
Thy strength return’d, and mine honour be cast away.
“Ay me, my dear, my love, my love be here,
At least let me be mov’d thence, as quickly
As if from some remote place;—I never knew
That Tarquin could charm a man with his hair.’
‘Why, Collatinus, ’twas tempting
To kiss Lucrece’ or ‘To ravish her face,
Make love to her own detriment, and make her hate
To him as he seeks her, and to her she loves.
When Lucrece’ or ‘Twas his, or both their gods’
Hath both sexes their parts, it is I who
Encamped in their souls the heart of love.
She hath all his affections, and none of his skill,
So doth she keep a silence, still to make him woe.
“Now, poor widow, this injury I do
disjoin, since thou art my husband,
But then, lo, I do disjoin thee,
Although thou livest with me. Let me have some rest,
To kiss my love in another’s tomb.”
“Say not of the world so great a thing
That truth will not know which of us thou dost deceive;
O no, that thou art our Lord, do not mistrust
Thy true affection, or that which we call,
Or even that to thee so called be,
When that false name (being our best)
We must all revere, and all things else perish,
When all our good works are done, all our graces
Return with swift flight, like clouds which once flew:
But in their waning glory come,
The gaudy cloud tops them with their crowned shine,
And with their glory they gazeth on,
To the skies with their crowned glory:
Now all alone in this high desert sits
a thousand wrinkles in his face,
That none could stain with his complexion:
Nor could he smile nor laugh, nor groan,
Nor would he touch her nor kiss her;
For she was his wife and mother, and they were new.”
‘So then, this false herald, who doth tell
The theft of this blessed jewel,
The world shall never know what it was worth
For theft and robbery in this cursed jewel:
And if it be stolen, how much greater treasure
May be had for the purchase of more?
Or for the use of thy beauty’s worth
What precious things in thee are still kept
Crowned and untun’d. Collatine then, thou art worthy
To be the banquet for my love,
Or even my dear love, to be buried where thou


======== CHECKPOINT 086 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Murder’s eye;
And in his affections sits she sitting,
Who, appalled, utters to her some tale
Into a black-painted book:
‘My mistress, what wrong have I done,
That she may allege to thee?
O tell me, ‘Poor little Lucrece,’
thou sear’st not the breath that life so doth breathe,
That life’s breath may purify the fog which doth cover thee?
Then life’s breath purify’d; let it breathe, and let it die
Without stain, and beauty be buried:
In death, beauty’s shadow was left,
And beauty’s shadow was present’d in the stain.
If there be foul act, it is not committed
With any whit of beauty, either in him,
Or in his image, or both, in either’s place.
‘”If thou wilt jest at me, my love will kill,
Or at the least inflict painful death,
by thy side he runs, as he runs on his way;
If he run, I will not defend thee so.
Thy self thou dost betray, thy self thy foe;
And, lo, it is thy fault thy self thy foe commits.
She looks for his wounds, hoping she might catch
His bleeding bosom, and hear his cries;
For he, feeling pity for his friends’ suffering,
Doth, with a desperate hand, strike her over the gore;
As his blood clings to the fire, so she hurls;
And with a desperate eye her flame doth boil,
Which on the fire burneth so quickly it seemeth black.
Her grief being quick, his rage fierce,
She dares not let his tears drop, but smother’d them,
And all round her he runs amuck;
As when she thinks he flies she leaps,
And all round doth he neigh, as if from him
He had stol’n out of his sweet senses:
But now his rage and her fury are set,
And in her fair face hath seiz’d his thought.
‘For one minute my heart commands thy tongue,
For another time doth thy love entertain
Whose masked breast the world confounds with his sight.
But never with me hath thine own true sight so charged,
As when the world confounds with mine own sight,
How thy beauty, thy beauty’s shadow doth confound,
And confounds in each part of thee what rest doth lie,
So doth my shame linger in thy pride,
And in that pride am I guilty of thy shame.
He gives her a kiss, and she straight doth begin,
And with his lips on hers drops a kiss of love.
‘”In honour of thee, with all my might,
Myself in arms I’ll fight, and let no coward stay,
Nor my self in honour survive,
Nor my self in defence alone survive.
Myself as a sovereign lord and master,
Under that unprovident sky and the sands,
Who by my sovereign power would make all dangers,
And still above all other men I praise,
Thy honour be the fairest and wisest part,
Thy brow the fiercest and the sharpest point,
And thine eye, which never shadows is seen,
Is ever dull, neither hears nor sees anything.
, Collatine’s son, to-day
As to make them live, my dear love would like,
To make them live for thee, that in thee,
Thy eyes do my duty, and thine for me fulfill,
And I their lord, to do them good, are to slay them.
I will not let them live in thine own image,
But by their own command, by their own desire fulfill,
And be free to live their own filth in thine,
And be lords to all men, whether in thine or in thee.
Thus am I led away by false alarms,
As leaden night, when waking most fears waking,
In fearful Lucrece’ dark bosom doth flatter me,
For now my voice, my sweet life hath confounded,
And confounds a sacred trust, hath confounded
The lives of my five loves, and they death,
The five deaths that could not last.
‘”Look what the devil hath done to my eyes;
They like to dream, and they like to dream again,
But heaven forbid, they look at the stars and see nothing.
O pardon me if I were a little child,
As Lucrece in those eyeballs beholding,
The beauty of these niggards’ eyes,
Thy beauty doth yet be concealed,
In that eyeball that shows thy face.
But


======== CHECKPOINT 086 OUTPUT # 003 ========

cerv, with her bleeding breast
Her wound, still bleeding, being newlywound,
Doth cry out to thee, “O father, love’s end!”
‘Tis better than death, ‘twixt husband and wife!
What a wretched shame it is!
When thou shalt see the pale face of her,
She will not smile, but will cry:
‘His spirit may take her place, and so
His words may appear lovely, even unto me.’
‘Then how do I cope with this new crime?’
‘O yes, as soon as conscience sees my bleeding heart,
I will take counsel with my husband.’
‘Then be wise as thou art, and do not look so,
When, Collatine, in his fair bedchamber, lies,
To make some merry bed-wanderer for sport.’
How can such a thing be false in me?
Till now I see the beauty of love,
A man in woman’s ornaments hath stood,
For conquest of his love, or woman’s love.
The sun, his eye, and the wind all part,
Reserve their place, beauty bids them still.
“Let it then be told, O friend, that I am old,
That the age is nigh, if thou be so bold,
To go about deceiving men with my tale.
“If thou wilt,” quoth Lucrece, “I must go about,
To nurse my old friend’s child, that thou mayst survive,
By telling the sad story of old age,
To show the child how sorrow can deceive,
The sick child how much sorrow hath cost,
And then weeps to make our discontent seem;
The orphan looks pale, and seems pale with sorrow;
The widow her husband redoubled looks,
Lascivious though she be, her husband did lend her
As much coin to pay the debt she owes.
No, thou wilt not make use of it;
Unless thou make use, lend it to me;
‘Tis but to show the guilty how thy fault lies.
Her lips are red as blood, her lips pale;
Her hair loose, tied in formal gait,
Neck-twinched, tied in formal fashion,
Hanging gently on her head; with her other hand
Her hair tied in formal fashion, still hanging fast,
She lies, and I to my breast rest.
When her husband’s name shall speak,
The morning is but to get up, when thou shalt go
To bed, and I to the closet to get me,
Where thou art, and where thou thyself art,
That all my hard-favour’d labour should rob thee,
That thou on earth being bereft me of all,
What shall my heart say? wert thou a flower, or a weed,
Or was it pluck’d for a dwelling?
Or were it pluck’d for a dwelling bred,
Or pluck’d for any part of thee?
O neither, my love, thou art as thy name shows,
As my self, whose light and shadow were confounded,
Who in thy sweet form is in darkness concealed.
“Look, see my dear friend, that is so sadly affected,
To wake the widow and the orphan,
Make them moan, and then mourn, till they hear more.
At last the gentle chide chides the fox,
And for his trespass is so sharply blunted,
That no less than a lily stand in front
The rose by her side may be seen.
What a torment! what a spectacle!
How can I then excuse my untimely death?
Even so my woes in my bones are confounded,
The guilt I feel is great enough to render me free,
Unless by some miracle some miracle my soul live.
‘”All these trophies of affections hot,
And pride their trophies hot sink, confound my wit,
Make me wonder at others’ misdeeds,
Have I not seen the worst of them?
How many a smiling-pale youth bears the crown
Of a decrepit steed, yet yet reigneth in power;
And thus in the dark ages he deceives,
Though his unlook’d upon beauty boast still:
And lo, this grim grim look hides a pure complexion,
Which his untimely death so dignifies,
That he takes from his friend and from his foe
Even the semblance of a living wretch,
Reserves his beauty and all his honour,
Nor gives them death by scar or thrust.
But I for whose sake thou dost contrive this deed,
Whilst thou livest, yet dost live, and die,
Thou hast no other choice but to die by thy side.”


======== CHECKPOINT 086 OUTPUT # 004 ========

isites to be, by others, admired;
And to be, the better so must our looks be.
O Time, thou the owner of my time,
Do I not beg pardon that thou didst undertake
The seizure of this ill-possessing jewel,
And sent it to his death-bed for framing?
O what a hell of witchcraft lies in store,
Where thou art the sole sufferer of my ill?
Let it not be used to make me boast,
Of my mistress’ ornaments I misplaced,
Or jewels I misplaced, ornaments I misplaced,
Haply I have them, nor they am I bereft.
Thy eyes have seen them, but thy beauty hath not.
O thou wilt take them from me, I pray thee,
To find elsewhere where thou art buried.
For there I behold the dire-tun’d face of a wolf,
�”Look here, what a tragic spectacle it was,
From the rocky cradle where it lay spread:
The young, silly, and all naked stood in gore;
one by, another by took;
This time it was Philomela’s, and this man by.
‘What treasure hath he in his pride sole tomb?
He’s not rich, he’s poor; let him have it;
A thousand silver votive candles rest his chin,
Tis but a bare shame that some rebel steal it:
Incapable of much robbery, or death,
Or theft, or death, or both, or neither:
‘For he is gone,’ quoth she, ‘and away he goes;
Then come, and look how wondrous it were
To hear Lucrece speak, to see how she laughed;
Her eyes, like dying pyramids, with tears
Swoon as they dream’d on the direst hour.
If thy eyes be blind, thou wilt see how blind they are;
And lo, the night is spent, my dear love,
To wake up thy old age with new sorrow.
No, it was not my fault she had not told
My husband’s eye that gaz’d so true a face.
But, for some foul act of witchcraft, that fair eye
Upon my brow thou canst not discern;
My lips, like sappy pearls upon the sky,
Are weeping like the helpless helpless birds.
O never fear her, her jealousy is strong!
“Ay me,” quoth she, “it is the law of nature,
That beauty is never harmed in self-will.
Let us have the pleasure of our times together,
And have the rest of our lives in one;
But now we all make a desperate cry,
And each other with weeping breaketh away,
And dies, as one by striking his prey.
Thy fault is thy right, and no other’s right,
So let mine be thy good report and good report only,
For thou, our lord and master, didst in our time betray
The body, the mind, and the will to bear it.
This did I make a vow to keep silent,
And to never make that vow again;
And though some one say it is divine,
Another, that thou mayst bear it true,
That we live in this unjust world, and in thy will.
How much less is the fault of such
As thou in thy self doth seem. O, what a shame!
For thou art that in this, despite of thy will,
Thy likeness is still forgot. O, look what a shame it was
When thou art as thy self doth deceive;
Then for this vile crime hast thou thy self made,
And in thy deeds, in thee, thou canst not boast
What thou art, thy self dost boast of it.
O what a sad spectacle this was!
She that did speak, did speak, and gave breath,
And breath, and smell, and sight, and all together.
But thou art all that, and I all the rest
Who in thy parts, despite of all, still do stand,
For now, thy beauty canst not stain,
For now thou art all that and I all the rest.
‘Then be mindful of your adjuncts,
O make some excuse for my absence;
For when I am comely to leave you,
You must excuse me still, and promise me rest.
This said, her eyes brighten up, as they should from the wind,
Shall march onward with more speed, though with heavy eyne,
More fearfully knows where she is than when she was before.
O, what a wondrous and dreadful thing
The world could achieve by some daring enterprise!
Yet being galled so far on, from thence she flies,
Like a


======== CHECKPOINT 086 OUTPUT # 005 ========

omorph, but for his own sake, being tutor, with others taught.
Yet for shame had he not writ to her what he would say,
That he would not do her shame with words,
To make her complain in his advantage,
As he would complain her tongue should break,
And say what he would say, ere words begun.
“As soon as I saw you, you were so kind, so kind,
That ’tis true, despite of all distress,
That I have never seen a beggar so kind;
Even so now, reading from a sawn-off book,
His face contorted in grief, and ‘gins to flatter;
His lips pursed and his nose was pursed in bile;
His soft lips, like margent sepulchres, on either side
Would swallow the venomous venom, or else be drown’d.
“And whilesnot the bushes yet know thy deeds,
How to climb such a steepy steep chain,
Mine eyes (truth be told) I view thy beauty with mine own eye.
Thy soft hand, soft foot, soft thigh, hard ear,
All these things I see (I have them all) but thy own view.
‘This said, in a trembling high-pitch high,
A band of men armed with weapons mounted
All sorts of combat in a winding maze of fight;
As the hopeless prisoner being attended,
The coward holds his breath and ducks in place;
, as the strong-bon’d crusher by,
Hath disabled his falchion,
To make him falchion to the rider pursuing;
He thus begins: ‘O, how my weak heart breaks,
When all is stopp’d in this mighty aim?
Is it death, or spite of all my hard desire,
Or spite of all my hard desire to hurt?
Or is it spite of all and hard desire,
That I harden in this hard desire to desire,
And desire harden all, and harden all in me?
When all is well, then hard desire makes me woe;
To harden I harden and harden woe.
But thou mak’st my heart a bath,
In which I can warm myself and cure my cold,
And straight from thee, from false Dian,
I grant thou lov’st to be untrue,
And for that I did perjury deceive,
Thy untimely untimely woe will live in thee.
Yet thou hast false Sinon, and false Collatine,
And Tarquin false Adonis, and both for this sin:
In other words thou art all I know,
I have sworn Tarquin false, and true Collatinus
And all those that followed Tarquin straight.
Yet here she hath writ Tarquin untrue, and true Collatinus,
And Collatinus false Adonis, and all those that followed Tarquin straight.
‘This said, she on his horse steps,
And on her back the proud beauteous wretches she marks,
Catching the time by shifting her gaze,
Borne by the gait, and the trembling neck;
Her eyes, like mad tigers, seized his eyes,
And call’d him that day, tomorrow morning.
In vain, his spirit presages his woe,
For by heaven he takes every hour to lament.
Look what he did to his self, what he did to her.
No, O love, if it did not belong,
It is the precedent of love’s fickle course:
It is love’s duty to make gentle infamy writ,
And so to speak, if such foul fraud should live,
He will not in his angry rage slander her name.
‘That you see this man in that guise,’ quoth Collatine,
‘though not to your own command, yet I have reason
To question and question patience with your will.
When you have looked into the workings of nature,
The thought is of a fickle being,
But all things are made by some supreme being.
In that sense all things have their place,
But in your view, and in my view too,
You see my perfection lies in my face.
This said, his hand trembles as he descanteth,
And, lo, there it is met, with a fearful fear;
To which it obeys, and begins a groan.
“O false alarms!” quoth she; “this heraldry
Of celestial fire, that the fair sun doth shine,
Whose fair sun doth rehearse’st this dreadful tale,
And makes my face tremble with fright,
And my joints with throbbing pain,
In a desperate desperate race to death hold!
And now she, with swelling


======== CHECKPOINT 087 OUTPUT # 001 ========

avoids at a glance he hath done her a hell of a shame.
Her hair was webbed in mud and all white,
With webbing all undone still, like marigolds when wet,
Borne in blood the silken webbing on her head.
And as she walks, he shakes her still, and stops to look,
His lips on hers do extend, like velvet,
Like velvet that she wears must be a bramble;
To make her tongue more keen, so she breaks away.
Then can she hear the sad commotion
that follows, and still cannot stop her head.
She hears a heavy thud, and starts to jump;
Her bright eyes, like living gods, wondering where she
goeth, now she is gone, and the way
Is to find another bed, where she may rest her head.
‘So many of you, in my verse, did plead for me,
And in some say ‘no,’ ‘do me part,
Since in your words you so truly express.’
If it be true, I do love to hear you say,
That in love I did speak, you can in no way persuade me.
My verse is true, and that’s all that’s left,
And not much of my rhyme was ever written;
No painting in heaven is but glass,
But that which men view in their faces lies,
Their beauty their defect is in their looks,
They that see more see the defect worse.
But be this as it may, all my love is fair,
I love the change, and never the other.
“O pardon me, I know not how
To charm a woman I sought will win me no more;
Thy looks alone are their own, and their own minds forbid.
All passions, passions, passions! are but devils to grace,
Who in their passions render good and evil.
‘But he, when he hears of his mistress’ wound,
The eye that sees his beauty doth quench his rage;
The heart that feels the heaviness of it’s heaviness doth bow,
And so with his vulture disposition comes
An unstained plenitude to each word:
like an angry crow, this noise doth assail
His rosy cheek, and all the swelling swelling
Is like a hard swallow’d gull’s droop.
And every where, doth her trembling hand proceed
, to make my verse more stout,
With brass rings, till I have steeled the heart.
No, thou hast not the power to break a man’s heart,
Nor canst thou prove it not; for if thou couldst,
Tis a man’s heart to rob it of his freedom.
‘”And being gone, ‘O false Philomel, what of thee
Thy servant, ‘why hast thou come back again
With more lamentation than I have spent?
Or with thy trespass in general more
Heavy than my guilty parts endured?
Do I not wonder at thy woe? Too late I come back again,
And in a flash of sorrow I find thy face
Where once love’s brow had pelleted the face of men,
When beauty’s brow had pelleted the whole;
That look, all red and white now, now seem’d both red and white,
And, as one fell blow dispers’d all his might,
The other fell blow fell on both her cheeks,
And the stain was so hard that it did not bleed;
To be blamed would seem so, to blush so.
Yet for my sins thou lov’st me with all thy might,
And with mine is so much graciously lent,
That my will is never shaken by any evil.
Then love’s strength is strong, and my will weak.
‘”O comfort!” quoth Lucrece, “my cause calls me here,
And that dear cause hath receiv’d from thee,
All kinds of kindness, all kinds of fear,
As from distant forests weeps we behold;
All kinds of fair, white, and blood-red,
The rich in deserts we view,
And all kinds of fair, pure, and double,
For whom we delight and curse in turns,
But as for thee, for my sin he lends thee such.
O how the world couldst thou be so kind,
For one true good deed per kiss yielded
To another, one false deed did yield?
Or were there none, all ten, then did three yield?
Whose sins should we allege for trial?
For each false deed we allege is
A thousand woe’s and woe’s and woe’s worth
Is nought but a few false offences committed:
Let no words, for this reason I say,
The worse offence deserve’st


======== CHECKPOINT 087 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Stephen as one man thrusts into a bath full of cold water,
And, winking, in amazement, the basest of all men
May drop to the bottom of the deep brine.
“Let us not debate whether thou art virtuous or not,
Thy honour lies in thy sweet self,
Thy proud self thy proud worth,
If thou be not thy own self thy proud self,
That we know thy proud self to be.
Thy self to me thou art my proud self,
And thou to all my earth-loving crew,
O thou that to me I can forbear,
Thy proud heart to every fair fair fair hounds.
O be it lawful, if it please thee,
To live in love, that thou in love doth live.
For love’s parts thou art all too willing:
If it please thee, live to love, and die by my side,
But live to hate, and live for love,
And never die to love, though die again.”
And to this he replies, as if from some fear,
She were weeping, and did remove her hat,
To show that she was sad; she still did remove her eyes,
And in them still tears could stream;
For she herself, as weeping for her friend,
Under the impression of his pain,
Pals from her pale and hollowed-out face the place she stood.
Thus with a sudden desire she removeeth,
Her grievance being double’d with a murmur;
one of her arms, that once upon her breast,
Began to sweat, the other for fear of injury.
Her cheeks, like lifeless carcasses, began to dry,
As blood drops in a river, and rain doth rain,
Till his pale back diminish so,
That no more shall wash his face, nor him his cloak,
Nor his fair beauty be left unclaimed.”
Her tears still did rain from her brow,
And when they had pelleted again, her cheeks began again to dry,
And when they had replenished, tears began again.
For she had for his sake his sword, and his honour’d cloak,
And he for his sake hers for his sake her life.
O pardon me then, if I may confess,
From false-believing hearts I’ll be led away
From this truth-telling world and place:
But if thou wilt be true and abide by this deed,
Then shall my poor soul return and be cast away,
Since I thee in truth hast defiled,
Since thou dost my body’s foundation being defiled,
That my life in thee is defiled with thy deed.
‘But in this I receivest the news
Of my virtuous welfare, and found it barren,
And with this I much esteemed my might,
The one sweet object so esteemed so despised,
Hath so to do, another yield up the stalk.
Thus much the better for one I do,
To live by your side, if you live by me alone.
‘”Why, my dear Collatine, do not you see
A time when love conquers all petty fraud;
And for the break of day the wind blows,
Where rain doth everywhere, snow melts at night,
And cold breeds darkness in winter’s drench:
And thus to make my suffering untimely,
That I my flesh must breathe a sigh of relief,
In this time my sweet self, like one of my dearest,
Would, in the dim night, behold a devil descending,
Who, like a deformed devil, with a devil’s cross
Holds the prisoner in his cross, and all but helpless
Are melted away in the instant.
‘Poor child, you must not read this note aloud;
If your heart or your soul could do it,
you should have this double benefit:
And to this advantage come you must strive,
With gentle enforcement, so you may enter.
‘”Now therefore, by the power of your passion,
It may be said that I did give life to life,
And life to life, and life to life.
My passion, as you see in it now,
Shall consume the force of your passion,
That by the war of your passion your life may hold:
Which of you is not a part of me too dear?
Which of you is not too dear to crave,
When life itself is your storehouse and altar?
Who is not a part of me too dear to be kind?
And, ere you see, I have been kind to some,
Which you may call your friends.
With my tears I once more fell in love;
A new lease of life to my bosom held
When death itself


======== CHECKPOINT 087 OUTPUT # 003 ========

HEPaying her husband’s expense with his wealth?
What excuse should I have for doubting her,
when the audit of her soul
Foreshadows every thing?
For how many tears have my eye, my heart’s interest,
Shone, like a dying jewel, to lend the dying day?
If eyes like fire, as some believe, light,
Of gold, or colour, or shape, or all, must they borrow,
So shall mine eye, thy heart’s interest lend,
To lend thee a thousand loving tears.
Her eyes, though full of wrath, did not curb it;
But their gentle disposition did teach it grace,
Which she now stains with blood, and it doth cost her life.
She hears the boar neigh, and the fox jump,
And now she hears the crow hie, the eagle leap,
And now her eyes, all hot from their fury,
Feeble to see the blossoms in her bright eyes,
For what sake do they now complain she
Would kill themselves for viewing such a thing.
“Fie, fie, fond love, what dost thou wear!
Hast thou seen the face that gives forth hate?
Who gives but a poor widow’s pity a kiss,
That leaves her child penniless and destitute?
what shall I do for love?
Or who but thee will ask bequeath?
Her eyes, like flaming amber, with white thread
Under the crystal eyelids now dotting his face,
Showing her face well refined, as well endowed:
For they see thee as thou once did before,
And now they see thee in thee that weariness lies:
When thou reigned king of Troy,
To do thy image wrong, why dost thou forsake me?
I have writ to thee, and yet no more will write,
The one true, and all the other be mistook:
The one in me is truth and all the other is hate.
Then how shall I be freed from this senseless slaughter,
When no other remedy may redress me?
And in this sad hopelessness lies thy heart,
whereof was the light thou seldest so?
By heaven I may say no more,
To make thee here, now, in a dream,
The day shall come that I can no more be here;
And there shall never be one day in all my life
Wherein I cannot love thee more than thou hast left.
Thou (O heartless heart), the day is past,
For evermore I love thee; and to-day thou art
Bid thy beauty stay, thou hast still one year to live.
‘So shall I live in the present, till death do make me woe;
When that time comes, that dead earth must wipe my face,
With the bath, I’ll bequeath thee to my grave,
And to thy face shalt thou dwell.
So is it for thee, to enjoy me still,
That thou hast my pity still to bear,
As in case of desperate need, thou shouldst lend me
My absence, my cure unto this doom.
The very circumstance that I call,
Hath enclosed me in a sort of bondage,
Which in this sad and dismal shadow
Shall with the aid of subtle skill unfold,
The strength of thy love, which still to thy side
Doth contend for limping rank.
‘How shall I return home, and hear my story told
When home I have no one to write to?
O return of self, not for aught can I say!
When the sun hath set, it shall fall upon my head
And weep for me, since I have no other joy:
O leave me alone, and hear the rest of my story told.
‘To be sure,’ quoth she, ‘this will not pass;
The safest home shall be found open,
When all unhallow’d terror shall ensue
The desperate hour of nought’s stoppage.
“I hate,” quoth she, “the thought that my heart
May go unloose, being stopp’d in by some power,
And fall to the level earth, where thy load may be:
Mine body doth answer his call, and thine eye
Perforce shall search the whole region;
Which for a stopp’d seizure thou wouldst place,
I’ll place thy sorrow under one roof,
And let thy load blow in all directions.”
“How would he like that?” quoth she, “if he could speak?”
His answer was mute, as if he meant to say,
‘Speak,’ quoth he; ‘if he could speak, let his tongue speak;
Thy part is mortal, and thy parts invisible.
‘O,’ quoth she, ‘let


======== CHECKPOINT 087 OUTPUT # 004 ========

guarding who would stain his name,
With such an oath he would swear,
As he did slay the lion with his spear;
So that I, being Troy’s dearer, swore the deed,
And in that I did swear to him.
Then being set upon this cross, being pale,
To my self shalt thou bear wrong,
Then shalt thou bear this cross in my deeds,
But if thou bear my cross in proud deeds,
My deeds will be proud, and mine in proud deeds blanks.
‘Gainst this feast, thy body and all that it contains,
To taste this delicious delight, to view thy state,
Thy sweet taste, thy sweet taste’s content in me being wasted,
That in my body thy body thy body’s worth remains,
Then I with thee thy body’s worth thou return’st,
Thy body’s worth in thine is abundance wasted,
Thy body’s worth is thy body’s wasting waste.
And for this purpose the picture hangs upon my face
Who when she first saw it, smiling,
Gazing upon her still with smiling eyes,
Whose mouths half-fed, as though they had swallowed it,
Shook off the whirlwind, with swiftness and speed:
The painter, being with her, did do justice
To the false gouty painter’s face;
The earth’s shade being despised, beauty’s shade
Applied to the hot sun, moist and unheated,
Which doth beautify in such a hue,
That beauty in the air doth stand out more bright,
Which in his aptness doth excel more in hue.
“What is so great a thing that we think but we do,
And then we think but what we do, and that is still
So much worse is our state when that thought appears,
That we look upon that which we mean,
Or think upon things that we do not see,
Then all our seeming things are done, in vain.
“So then thou wilt permit me to speak of remorse,
To set the record straight, if my words are true.
If any one ill may say, ‘This man is mad,’
I will not bewitch him by night,
And swear falsely, that he is not so.
‘But let him go, if he dare,’ quoth he, ‘his eyes will wink,
And with the wind that bloweth from the sky,
He will curse the night and rain all night,
And never sleep, for fear of shadows there.
‘So my servant, the night-owl, to watch
The proceedings of my unseen soul,
Which in the dark cabinet of my breast sleeps,
Calls it day, and night it night.
Here sits he, sleeping by the fire,
In his fair throne, where he lies, to be seen.
Thy eye (fixed upon the gable wall)
Hath gazed upon this serpent all night,
And sometime hath Priam wittily invoked,
That every one by chance hath stol’n thee there,
Whilst I thy picture hath serv’d and done him shame.
How can I then praise thee when I have praise,
When I most owe thee nothing, when thou best live’st
A thousand happy trophies to thy liking?
Is it not enough that thou in these last hours
Eat up all thy leisure to last me not?
By this, some old maid hath come, to greet him,
And she takes him by the hand and kisses him;
So with this she straightly descanteth,
Whereupon he replies, “Yea, I love thee.”
Then do they bow their heads, and sit with him,
Like two dials that dials must every hour keep,
To hear the faint of heart’s supposed alarm.
Now wake up, and see my good friend gone.
If he live, let not my good name be called,
Unless he be some herald that hangs by thine eye.
‘O Night, my love, if thou wilt, bewitch the dark,
To slay me with my deeds assured,
And set an end to that dark night,
When I have no more reason to hide
My true colour in ghastly night than thou art.”
“Fie, fie, fie,” quoth Collatine,
“if thou desire, be my pallbearer,
That clears the way for thee to be brought back.
I would do thee good, and thee all harm,
As pallbearers should be for thee absent.”
“No cause of sorrow so great hath he had,
As mine own ill-favour’d ill, which he now seeks
To wipe clean from me, and purge me of foul abuses.
‘So that she may be reven


======== CHECKPOINT 087 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Plot as an adjunct to the general good, to shun and abhor;
And thus to prevent, like an adjunct good, I stay,
To keep the adjunct good, and keep the adjunct bad.
“O, if that be your true heart, thou art all deceiving;
To say that it is all mine that art deceiving
(Though it be untrue) it is the head of my creation,
And that to thee is the power, and in me all
Gives life, and death, and shame, and shame, and stillness,
And then each by himself deceives;
Which makes thee a body, and all death a body:
A body but of a soul, a body but of a spirit,
Which was the child of thy image,
A body but an image of thine,
And thou, beauty’s child, art that body’s owner,
And all in him there is no end, though death be near,
Nor life, that doth physic him, do remove.
“O, then love,” quoth she, “this man’s heart is but a temple,
And therefore is it sinful to scorn him:
Yet do I not despise him merely for this,
but for this sin he will live, and for this crime still
there remaineth a son and a daughter,
Thou couldst not but disgrace herself in such a deed,
The son to be, but the daughter to love thee,
The son to love thyself, but not for thyself.
‘Well may my heart be silent, my heart my heart to hear,
And yet it will not abide, nor be mute,
it may be, thy sweet will, when thou shalt leave me alone,
Be brief, do not despair, since mine will is long.
O thou that art dead, and yet have not touched my face,
My lips and my heart, what art thou to grief?
For lo I know thou art but the child, that tongue
Which in lips hath taught thee all kinds of beauty,
And beauty made my lips new and old,
That on them still I saw thy change and change,
And in my living brow thy beauty hath grown.
Yet can’t I be true and true to my friend?
Why should my glass and my mind deceive
What is plain and what is not?
Then are they not my friends but in our
Affectionary rings, whose duty it is
To look on truth and to turn what it finds,
What it doth dote on, what doth it teach.
Yet do I not love those who preach the truth
Or those who preach the filching of truth,
Or those who preach that which it doth denote,
Or those who preach that which it doth dote,
Or those who preach that which it doth denote,
That I in each I have said is true,
And all those are false, and none of them true.
Thus she wets her face, and she smiles as she would,
like the wit of old, so here the sun doth lend.
“It shall be twain that every one that sees it,
Doth give him the victory, and all those that do not see
Are dead with him, dead with him. ‘Tis not enough that thy face should ever appear,
If it live, then it is thine, and thou shalt have it.
“For now thou wast once revenged on my deed,
I will make use of all means to rid thee,
Of blood, and tears, and of fear, and death’s scars.
‘This said, he sets his hand upon her breast,
And says, ‘This,’ and his lips pursed,
His lips shall never open again;
He lies, and hears no more of her cries;
He stoops, and, as he falls, the wind makes a groan;
Whereat her eyes roll forth a desperate hue,
Which the deep wind blasts from their sockets,
Who look upon their trembling extremity
Like snow-white idiots as they are amazed.
These watchful eyes, dim objects unseen,
Till with trembling passion they wink, and laugh,
Like fools that sleep with trembling eyes.
O then he did not know he was a devil,
And therefore did she think him fair,
Even in his cunning breast.
‘Fool, fool, fool,’ quoth he,’my mistress is dead,
And I did not kill her; nor am I bound
To any lawful end, shall live by force.’
‘Well may she say, thou wilt see my wound,
And yet thou didst kill her; that thou didst kill my life.
‘So thou mayst say, I will hunt down that levell’d child
Who,


======== CHECKPOINT 088 OUTPUT # 001 ========

agrees with this thy power,
When thou shalt see my pity and pitying friends.
That thy pitying beauty doth live,
Thy love doth this, thy pity doth live with me.
‘So then thou beauteous youth,
With outward simplicity and outward youth
Shall stamp thy rank in the pride of kings.
And by that, mine enemies were far off.
O who, having so much as thy deeds to say,
thou hast many a mind to wittily add.
‘Lo, these antique masts of his time,
Threw their light to the fire, and flame to the mire;
And to the mire, to burn himself with fire,
With smoke and filleth did them disgrace.
‘And thou shalt not kill them, for they wore vestments of life.
Now this vile, despised and despised breed,
Not a weed but their blood their habitude,
Hath cop’d the infection of every joint.
That they in their lusty ecstasy did blot
All impurity with their blood,
And made every fair blot a heaven unto every tear.
‘So, this thy pitying youth,
Doth wrong, and in thy thought wrongs betake,
An accessory mortal sin,
That by thy deeds in deeds thou dost pervert,
And call thine own evil, as thou wrong’st me,
For thy deeds do mock thee, and in thy deeds praise,
And then slander’s hooks hold what they catch,
In worms, in children’s tears, and in men’s woes.
‘The moment, oh the moment, ’tis not so;
The moment that I will not act on it,
When my love, my love’s heir, will be dead,
The world will wink, and mine eye will not see it.
“This time is all right,” quoth she, “but now I will say
No more, till my mistress’ eyes have advised,
To clear the way for me that thou hast fled:
A thousand excuses are my style’s bow:
I am to Tarquin now, not the other way round.
The lines of love that thy beauty doth invent
are thine own, and in them live,
But in the life of another, thy life doth depend.
“Thou art,” quoth she, “a man, a mane, a mane,
The chief fount of all, and all objects in it,
Being full of cares, full of sorrows, and full of fond:
Then I was not a painter, nor were I a man,
But a living being, an image of man.
For thou art the best of both, and best of both
Thine own, and all of thine image’s progeny:
For in both they liv’d together, and both died.
“What of you, me,” quoth she, “since I slew you, and have begot thee,
And taught thee virtue, patience, kindness, and wit,
For you did these things to me from lack,
And I in them from absence thrive.
For me as the sands are hot, the deep blue doth shine,
And in the sweet smell of the fresh air
Shows the earth and sea are two sides of the same story,
Wherein beauty’s and virtue’s unity lies.
So do I my two wills mix,
Like one that wills my will, and my will my will do.
But you shall be your own judge, and my judge my will do,
I’ll be your guide, and be your guide’s guide’s guide,
To where you’ll breed the best of all your breeds:
In other words, be kind, gentle, kind, and kind not
To take your sweet will nor your sweet love’s will,
To let the world your false sight do the telling.
‘To show the world my false face, and to hide my face
In a painting of your worthiness lie,
What will your worth say? I’ll answer them as you please.
“Show me thy love, sweet boy, where you live;
And where you live, I’ll give you a place,
Which I’ll call your house, where you shall live.
Let that living name of yours live,
And name not his be buried, by my side,
For my sake, by thy living being forgot.”
Then said she, in a low hush,
Her lips their silken parcels began to bud,
And from thence it rose, till it breaketh
Through a valley-corner, where it may be seen
What beauty looks like in the midday sun.
O let it then shine forth like a sun-kissed flower,
And in the clear day it illuminates,


======== CHECKPOINT 088 OUTPUT # 002 ========

DoS from the bosom to the bosom;
And yet did her still keep her still,
For in his place sat she was waiting,
And by and by he drew his sword.
“Fie, fie,” he says, “this stoppage of time
Till now, twenty minutes hence, I’ll be gone.
And yet are you not yet twenty minutes in?”
So replies Lucrece; “at least twenty minutes.”
“This stoppage of time,” quoth she, “this stoppage
Of yours, this stoppage of your love:
I have said this and this to you;
For love, to love, I must change my state,
And then you must change your state with my will.
For this purpose I send you hither to assay,
If thou wilt prove my love worthy of acceptance,
So stay my desire, and bid fair Lucrece convert,
In thy desire’s good pleasure, and not his own fear.
If I may be deemed so, thy true love is
Thou being unjust, so being unjust,
May be his beauteous suit, and this beauteous suit
Against his will to be.
“And with that word,” quoth she, “some tongue-tied boy
Hath stol’n to cleave my verse to yours,
To speak well of thine, and speak well of me,
When thou speak’st ill of thine, how dost thou hear me?”
For lo, my verse is too short:
O pardon me if I am late,
When I have more words to say, but less time to write,
Than twenty now, and twenty ten minutes to write.
“That you, Collatine and all the Roman graces,
Have been my subjects and my guides,
With noble lines, and lines of noble skill,
That through your love have my verse been translated.
‘This did I promise, if thou wouldst take it from me.
‘My vows are strong and unlettered;
Their contents, their spirit weak, do not give it grace,
Wherein it is supposed to survive.
A thousand excuses may suffice me here
To give you my account of my love,
When I have nothing else to do, but write what I like,
And tell the world your true view of me,
By what example you like I call mine.
If you like, here is your publisher’s copy,
And you all the world will be blind, and you blind,
You can see me still when I am so green.
The old times, the world is dead, and I rise again
To tell my story anew with fresh eyes.
But now thou art my friend, and that dear friend
Sits dear still, and I rejoice when he lands.
‘Poor boy,’ quoth she, ‘I never imagined thee
A true king, a true-love-like-kindling wife;
Who, like a goddess in high society,
Holds a child, a son, and all things else
That were but imagined, could not be.
My heart, thy reason’s strength, thy will,
Thou art, my love, and all things else are imagined
Worse than that which thou dost despise.
‘”His hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Tells the whole world where he lies;
His eyes are like crystal balls, moving his light,
Which from his closed mouth doth fly;
The sky seems to him like a deep sea,
Whereon his visage doth lie, whereon all men see.
The lion on his back lies panting;
The gazelle on its breast is smiling;
The hawks by the stream are gone.
‘Then did I once more surfeit upon the fair sun,
Till presently I heard him say, “My days are nigh, my days are nigh.”
“Then tell me,” quoth he, “how many doth Tarquin lie,
That thou alone dost live, and none of thy friends.”
Her voice trembles, as if it were blown.
‘But, poor soul, thou art all alone;
Even with my help I can’t remove thee;
But for my help I must thy aid;
If thou help me thou helpst some poor bastard,
Thou shalt see him grow a thousand ways old.
‘To make thee look old, to make thee look old
To rob thee of something precious, thou hast done me wrong;
And for my sake, I will kill myself to spite thee;
I’ll be revenged on thy face,
For that I have done thee wrong, and thou excuse’s face,
Thy crime, thou foul creature, thy defame


======== CHECKPOINT 088 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Scota within his breast was concealed;
She was the mistress of that passion which in him
Foldeth in him like a foil,
Whose outward perfection in her hand doth lie;
She in him like a false-speaking god,
To whom like a sceptre she sits and stares,
Till his visage, in the dim glow of her light,
Like misty vapours doth sit and wait,
As they ‘go’ with his visage to the point.
“In vain, my love,” quoth he, “you have but one hour
To spend which you will leisurely rehearse.
Let us return to the night, and be silent,
And be kind, and leave your part to be desired;
For in that you will have my love, I will delight.
“But thou, gentle sprite, where is thy hand
That hies thy sharp invention of a tongue?
If it be dull, how much less a tongue is
than a man’s hand, or foot, or eye?
But now this stroke hath seiz’d my heart,
And hath made all my affections dote,
Swelling in my bosom, and all parts troubled.
She that in thy image doth abide,
Shall laugh at her that she hath committed,
And curse her that she hath not borne a child.
Her rage against him she doth not quench,
Nor her jealousy with her jealousy controll’d,
That for fear of him his lust should prove,
Into his batt’ry that his hope so invok’d.
By this, his mistress’ eyes did dart
As from some cloudy crystal orb, that their light might peep.
But behold her wondrous-fac’d eyes, still fixed,
Which on her fair forehead now doth rest
How nature’s light through her tears doth gladden;
Yet still she thinks on me, as on my fair cheeks,
For when thou thy fair self dost deceive me,
I was with Collatine, and they with him.
How can the earth manage a child like her,
When thine image in thy picture sits so
Like a miser dead and still stands?
Her cheeks red with pride, the red cheeks white with pride,
Her brows and cheeks red with pride,
She that thinks, and to my thoughts do believe,
Her hair, like velvet, hangs in her eye.
And like a cloud she spies her way,
Clouds too bright shine in her night-gaz’d sky,
And all the gaudy stars therein miss.
‘For from the sea-coast that our forefathers drew
To this false map of things to come,
Two reds that on shore did enclose
That sweet-smelling smithereens which in their beds rest,
And in their blood did dwell
A pure, destin’d mother’s face.
A thousand fears, fears, fears, tears, pain, joy, dandling!
All these she thinks till she hears a woeful tale.
She dares not look, for fear of injury,
Yet, beholding the world through gaping glasses,
She sees nothing; then the world doth conclude,
That the painter’s sick or that poor ill
Sets a spectacle so grim, so new-telling:
The saint that is, we praise that he shows.
O, that we praise might be a vain hope!
For in the hope of eternal life,
there lives a happy death and so
Religious life decays quite with age.
O none the less, they their eloquence,
Their fair picture did dignify their eyes,
And they their rude rhetoric made plain
The sad-tun’d, worn out weary state they had
Upon their bare joints, with trembling gait,
Like to a drunken swine, or toad,
When that sad-tuned swine doth stand,
For pity’s sake doth he trot, and by
For her own sake doth she chase him;
For his sake she takes his knife, and so goes;
“Now ne’er sees him, nor hears his neigh;
Now ne’er looks at her sadly, nor knows what he is
He did for sport, that she did slay;
Now ne’er looks at her in despair,
She forlornly sighs and sighs, yet never speaks;
Then is she mute, and yet she doth speak;
Her eyes are fix’d on his cheek, and there are
A thousand tears in his eyes, one on each eye;
Her eyes are fix’d on his cheek, and there are
A thousand welts, one on each eye;
And one on each cheek sits a sad dove;
The other is


======== CHECKPOINT 088 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Toks to make me happy.
His hand her braided web keeps fast;
Her hair doth all too readily hang;
Her eyes, like margent drops from a crystal jar,
Ceasing the view, rise and fall like clockwork aloes.
“Look here the golden key, the treasure of ages:
What treasure hath that not to do withal?
Or what small check, which yet remains unsheath’d,
If ever should need being invoked for redress?
My love is no saint, but that which in him lies,
Which he humbly doth adore.
‘O love! thou art all the better for my sake,
For lo, thy faults are fixed not with thy tongue,
But with the loving breath of hearts.
The truth is, I could not be mistress to thee
Till now I could, but now would be mistress to thee.
The locks that keep her out every hour are break’d,
And nightly she wakes by night with much weeping;
She sighs, and in her sorrow doth turn,
ose vulture folly with more than love’s green show.
And yet thou art so mild, O thou that art so call’d
To boast on my self, and on all men,
That I have spent so much time in thy waste.
But if I could not be present with thee,
Till now did thy worth register, even in thy own place,
From me thou hilt go and spend the night,
But my poor doting Love-god is gone, and now
The earth hath emptied itself of all earthly care,
To take thou all away, and all for nothing.
Thus ends she:—an hour and a half pass’d,
And from her outstretched hand she springs;
Anon he leaps, and stops her in the blast.
To win her she drops to the ground,
She drops again, and again falls.
When her arms’ length have combined,
Her breasts’ pride seem’d to her cheeks change;
When their pride is doubled, their pride looks sad;
Her cheeks blush and she fixeth on her face,
Then sighing, she throws her arms about her head:
Her eyes are merry in her grief,
And her heart’s delight in weeping.
‘Thus she saith she: ’tis an old tale,
That men have no right to make vulgar fowls their nest;
For kings like gods themselves breed,
That with their kindled groans may be subdued
To modest servile servitude in their kings.’
And with this she prepares to close the book
‘The secret of his untimely ill;’
For princes make offences and transgressions of strict faith;
The illiterate do their poor words persuade;
And illiterate in this subtle craft
Make unapproved errors that are concealed;
Those errors which in themselves are made,
Become scandal, scandal in themselves become.
And every good angel smothers the idol,
By heavenly rhetoric sweetest tongues make sweet;
So do I for this purpose strive:
I am revenged on thee for my crime.’
“Look what she did to me that I should abhor;
Inveigb the knife in my heart, and wound it not;
But if the poor unloose from my bosom
The lawful liberty of my will,
My will will, and that of my heart to thee,
I’ll strike and kill, in peace with the knife.’
But she did not kill him; he merely did bow;
But, by a wink, his loyal eye,
Upon his back, a little cloud cover’d up his head;
In this the wolf interprets what he tells,
Or in his cheek interprets what it says.
‘And where hath he gone?’ ‘Where is he gone?’ ‘No more than he was come tomorrow,
That we may have some remembrance of him here,
Past that time, when he lives to give to us.”
‘Tis true, but how can a spirit so foul
Under such extreme extremes bear such cruel blows?
‘So long as thou livest,’ quoth she, ‘I will hunt thee down,
And kill thee in revenge. I will not let thee go,
Unless thou wilt go sometime, to hunt the boar.
Let him be tame, and be not bold;
But, if thou go, be not afraid, for he art armed.
So with this, the wolf takes his leave,
And the coy wolf seizeth in her arms,
And with a kiss her lips together give:
Then wilt thou be rul’d by a god so cruel?
The wolf being proud, will not look so fair,
In the sweetest of spirits to be blotted;
For she in his pride loves to kiss


======== CHECKPOINT 088 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Palace in her pure arms,
Or in the remorseless ocean of her mind;
But, like a spirit that in her will did stay
A body still in her level,
Respect would not budge the heart from her will,
For all love hath no love, let none make love of you:
Who, being so base, yet base still,
With base vows hath seiz’d his worth so high,
That he in his lustful frenzy still doth fight,
And yet with his own passion still doth fight,
And yet he in this passion is still fight’d;
So thou wilt keep my vow, I give thee this.”
And he, as he prepares to close the door,
A shrill murmur doth his presence disturb;
O, what a spectacle this forc’d clamor
Is! too much for a thought;
To the eye it doth seem strange: yet, for her part,
She smiles, and she hurls forth her fair hand,
Whose fresh crimson tear doth cover all her face.
But if the eye see her sorrow, she replies:
‘How shall I love thee when I know thou art full of fear?
How shall I love thee when I know thou art full of hate?
O how may I love thee when I know thou art full of fear?
beauteous thou art, poor Collatine,
With such hard-favour’d sportsmanship shows;
For from his fair temple, where they worship’d
All fouler strains of Tarquin’s music,
Celestial sounds, heavenly majesty,
And on the shore aloft his flaming sun,
Lust-breathed Troy and the Greeks fight.
“Gentle queen,” quoth he, “your Grace, I receiv’st this decree,
And receiv’st this o’erlookal of esteem,
As it was lent me from the Collatinus,
That sent me to him as soon as I could whet;
To my good lord’s ear commands I beseech him,
I beseech you still, and you thine own reason,
As I can by law but curse have thy will obey.
Thy servile hand, that did lackey my brow,
Shall, like a corrupting serpent, take away thy light,
And every blot that touches thy face shalt remain
Upon thy pure complexion and deny thy parts:
But be rul’d by thy good sense to stain thy face,
And rid thy parts with beauty’s correction,
And by thy fair complexion make thy beauties double.
When in doubt thou art, I assure thee,
The fairest self I know; the worst is,
The best, though not my best, is better still.
The one loves the other, and neither mine nor yours
Will live in their extremes, till they both come to sun.
O thou art but an actor, a child,
To play the part, and yet thou being cast away,
The actor’s accent will play the part;
O, what a dull and lifeless dame! what wretched waste
Of what precious life thou hast left behind!
So on thy part will my verse be spent;
Save that thou art in this paper, and in my heart,
Till each successive line of mine will grow,
As thy beauty alters with every twain.
‘So shall I die by this, or else by this chance,
Till I die by fate alone.
When that time comes, thou shalt have thy wish,
And all I pray in vain is Adonis’ name.
That his name, and all his estate,
Upon this earth was confounded;
But now the tide turns and Opportunity
Swear to heaven that he hath not sworn.
O, that thou dost be my muse,
And my muse the world through whose eyes
O let my restless muse wander,
The restless muse (love or tears) stay the muse.’
Here she doth start a curious tale,
Of old age and youth, and death and birth, and pain,
And tells her strange tales, doth recount them,
And wondrous numbers she tells, making them hush-hush.
But in the midst of their wondrous stories,
What is new, what old cannot tell, or what writ not,
To hear, what now cannot see, what now cannot feel,
What now cannot feel, what now cannot feel.
Yet, like a pale-fac’d infant, with dark locks,
In pale sleep she doth wake, and wakes him again.
‘So therefore, to stop my breath, and to close my eyes
Some gentle note of this kind, some favour,
Upon a rose steeped in thee,
To be applied to that


======== CHECKPOINT 089 OUTPUT # 001 ========

1979, like a dove, in her prime flies!
She takes him by the hand, and with a kiss
To give him rest, as often as her Lucrece flies.
She starts but once, and it is too late:
He throws her a careless look, and throws his sword,
That is to be used by me only;
She is unkind, and will not be sullied.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘but that my mistress’ eyes
Are ill-skillful, and too lean in their skill,
That she hath so strongly misled,
That all her best signs now betray
Her false charge, and her own treason;
Who, in Lucrece’ ornaments, would seem to frown,
And would exclaim, ‘O false blood, thou stain’st such a heaven!’
How can I then be blamed for thy wrong,
Where thou thy help’st thou to keep from me a loathsome tongue?
No, methinks she herself deceives,
Who, to be blamed for her woe, doth call her
‘sweet sprite,’ if she were alive:
‘To thee,’ quoth she,’my self art so fair,
That even to the grave, as my thoughts are bent,
My thoughts ‘gainst my self being present,
And to those thoughts in me being hidden,
I’ll be confined here with thee, my self doth dwell:
But thou, my self, through me thy thoughts enter,
That through my thoughts thou mayst seem enlarged:
Therefore let it not be thought that I am new,
Nor my thought, being new, is any part
Of thee, for that I am new qualified,
To live a zealous and just life.
‘”Lo, by the force of this threat,
My voice is churlish, my body harsh,
My joints ill, my heart break, my bones ill.
O, this death which must my health bring,
Shall this despair from mine eye be discharged,
And from my heart all health be brought from me?
‘Therefore let it not be said,
That I am old, or have been, or will be,
For want of a better name, I call it.”
This, she says, makes him stop, and looks toward her;
So she starts again; his eye still is watchful;
A voice that will answer no more,
Tiresome; yet he pursues it, and her eyes open.
“Fie, fond love, how can my tongue express
The grief that I feel when my love dies?”
“Fie, dear love, that which you didst keep
Within your control, shall live among us.”
“It was not I,” quoth he, “that you forbade my hair;
My mistress’ eyes were kind, and gentle,
And when she saw your fair face she blush’d;
If the sun be blamed, her fair eyes were kind.
“What are you afraid of? Tantalus, bewitch me,
And be thy friend only for that which thou hast done me wrong;
That I might live to tell the tale of your days.
Now for my sweet self, which I have to live with care,
And in my self-loving arms I’ll hold holy,
When I have my self in such disdain,
That my self’s praise in others’ ranks
Is put aside, and thou, my self, my self’s slave.
This said, she kneels, and, by a kiss,
Her lips on hers are tied, as if she were weeping.
‘”Lo, this device did Adonis make,
In case his ill will in his conquest
Make him a king, to rob him of all conquests.
“His true office would do him good, by giving him a lie,
As often as necessary spies will tell.”
This last she gives, and her moan is broken.
His tongue, soft as steel, yet not so soft,
Cheeks up his grief, making it more keen;
The harder his tears, the harder they work;
His eyes their course and their fixations make:
The painter in his skill here is,
He subjects his pain to that which is most pleas’d.
She takes him by the hand, and gently he takes;
When he feels her, she kisses him;
The better effect is to persuade him to stay,
And often rein him in his purpose, believing he stay’d,
By encouraging his sense of duty to stay,
Till duty, being bent on revenging him,
Proving his sense of woe by reinstalling him.
Now the door is close; her voice is trembling,
She takes the spur, and in the time it takes
Between


======== CHECKPOINT 089 OUTPUT # 002 ========

compat that she with thy art did frame
Against my will, to keep him from this conquest.
“And lo this fearful hour arise, and lo this very day,
The gentle-pierced princess of thy will,
From the gentle cradle to the spacious throne,
That did for his stay summon the world to his aid;
Even so the gentle-pierced queen, by him beguiling,
Stood on his goodly head, proud of her own,
And stood by her husband’s side, still did him bow.
She did bow once, and again, and again;
She did not break the silence, but her action renewed,
Like to a dancing jennet that doth sing
In solemn tune the ruffle of her proud foot:
Her breath, too, was in her mouth full: so
As often in my verse do I borrow her force,
As often she seems to borrow mine.
“O peace!” quoth she, “this injury hath me much wooed,
I’ll hunt the boar, I’ll hunt the deer;
All this till then thou hast my will, and I thee.
‘I hate,’ quoth he,’simple law of nature,
Came to Priam after his wife’s decease,
And they had no child, but daughter,
Of either’s inheritors to enjoy,
Being slaves to both’s stealing.
But now they prove a bloody war,
And forced revolt against their rightful owner.’
‘O peace!’ quoth she, ‘if such a thing could arise
From my untimely change, would I not bequeath
To my loved one that by my death should be bred?
Or would that life still after death
Have lived a barren and doting mother,
Whose gentle love lost, and by that time had died
Stood the world, and now for the first time in twenty.
Then I mourn for thee, and tell my tale,
And for that, and for thy sake make my verse more;
And for that, and for thy sake so join
This senseless rhyme, that in my verse so chaseth,
Thy argument so lame, and for thy sake writ,
That in my verse makes more use of rhyme,
Than in my book which is the less.
The picture thus made is that of thine,
And for my sake thy good name liv’d.
Yet despite of this, I have still one verse left
all those sweets that to thee seem so well spent:
To me then are dear margent’s sweet aloes,
And of them my self most glorified lives,
For to thee I dedicate my life,
Thou all the world’s treasure, and thine own soul doth dwell:
And by this I mean to bring thee all to me,
And by this to him, all my fame and all my mis:
“Lo, as the gaudy old clock being set,
To wake the morning, and set the morn,
With a loud call to all the world, bid me stay where I am;
Now wake up, I’ll come and take thee by,
Where my unasked Fortune tells me I may go.
‘O quick nature, how quick is love!
Even so this brief note gives thee time to write,
And when in my haste comes back again,
The last thing on thy mind is interrupted.
“I’ll begin by expressing my sorrow;
Then, o’er-snowed, with wet desire I begin;
‘My love, thy dear, is but a sad accident;
My love, dear, is not a happy accident;
My love is but a fright, a storm;
No word of comfort comes to my dear;
My love is but a heavy, weary, and dismal noise;
My love is a fever, and then nothing;
And there my loving brother in this wretched doom
Presents him to the burning eye,
That burning eyes have drawn the dire-sighted star.
‘His lips are white, his nostrils red;
His lips are beige, his nostrils light brown;
His nose is blunt and jet-black;
His lips are rough, his nostrils sharp, his nose dry.
His lips, like marigolds, upon his nose,
His lips are rough, his lips dry;
“Ay me,” quoth he, “if that be true,
I must encounter another such night:
Since I am to spend that night with thee,
With outward strangeness of heart, let me stay
In my bed, where you best might find me:
For tomorrow you will be so kind as to stay,
As your better self to take me elsewhere:
For well you know me well, if


======== CHECKPOINT 089 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Davis was a rich and gentle maid, born of a widow, of a widow’s desire, and a freedwoman.
If thou wilt live, beauteous heavens, thy worth will tell
The time, and thy dear time thou art spent.
“The diamond is mine, the opal my heart doth sing;
The rose my hand doth shake, the opal my hand mend;
The grass my feet have nor root the weed killeth;
The rose my foot doth sing, the opal my foot walketh:
‘Thy hand, though double strong, cannot do justice to thee;
it befits that thou shouldst take the field,
And live in that which other men entertain:
This poor usurpation is bestial,
Thy sight may in itself make thee immortal;
it will be hard, though the hardest work be.
But now thou art contented to be gone,
Though not to dwell with that poor unkind bastard.
Thus far he from judgment she looks,
He leaves her, still the more for sorrow than for fear:
Her voice still hath his aid, his thoughts are black,
And all unlettered in his foul uncontrolled rage,
With little heed do they audit his deed.
That he in his uncontrolled fury did begin
To rage, as in a herd, may be supposed,
Against Nature’s Will, and to some lesser evil.
‘So be it; but if it be, then I am thine;
The thief will pay, and I will straight lend
His spoil to pay; for fear of him, my verse will stay
the deep-green forbearing grype
That he grazed in his stream.
‘Tis thine own fault that thou shouldst trespass,
For thy foul act against Nature’s will is thine.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘though unaware of thy rage,
Thy wound must not be told, my daughter’s shame.
‘What of it? if not, then why not of it?
Thy wound must be cautels, if thy dear daughter’s wound.’
“The sun will burn my face, my eyes will burn,
And mine own hand will burn all my household.”
“My dear girl,” quoth he, “look upon that verse,
And all the world will laugh at that sad and dire hour,
And look dumb for entertainment of your ill;
The world will laugh at your dumb folly,
And look dumb for entertainment of your fair ill;
Which is to blame, not mine own ill,
But that of your foul infamy.
O what a hell of witchcraft lies in thy hair!
I will say it is true, and yet it must be proved
With self-contradictory proof; so thou dost remain
Your pure alchemy, the purest form of man.
thou be not of thyself depriv’d,
Thou art of thyself forsaken, thou thy neighbour’s slave;
And then with a curse come back again:
Thy nails shall be sharp, and mine own are tame,
And thou thy neighbour’s pride shalt be thy pride.
“Thou art as rotten as the rest of us
When thou art rotten as that which thou art.
If that be not the case, then for the rest of us
Nothing is so rotten as this:
The plague is mild, the worm dreadful;
The wolf, the boar, the lion’s dame, the robberer;
The turtle, the dove, the lion’s pride;
All of these, one, twenty, of them, shall bear thee all.
When all these have said, thou twain shalt find
The man in white, in the other three,
Whose wiry figure now doth dismount,
In either his mane or his coat being disdain’d;
And on either side fell Lucrece kneels.
“Ay me! dead silence, dead verse,
Till my poor dying brain bear it unto you.
‘So therefore he hath my share in grief,
And mine in his leads in bleeding confusion
Shows where he hath been, where he did hide;
Till now his grief and mine in frantic strife
Hath drawn out a deep-appalling tale.
‘”The morning is stopp’d, and now Tarquin sits,
On his bridle, and his bridle untied;
Two lamps are set in a cool-complex
Which in his dim closet is chill’d;
The painter, dimmed and dimmed,
To make the dim closet more lively,
To show the tempter place where his light lies:
His eyes are fixed, his lips fixed, his nose set,
His brow, the rest of his body set,
his


======== CHECKPOINT 089 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Purchase a thousand faults I could not prove.
O let him be mute, if he hear;
That is so bad, I should have him mute;
But his badness let him seem tame,
To make the worser bark a bark of his hate.
Look, this man’s a huntsman, and hunts often:
He buys bait, and lures trophies,
He steals birds, and takes lives among his flock.
O then from the stars do I perceive
The time of summer is ending,
And death by copulation set thither.
“If thy heart be dumb, thou art unlikely
To make it his own; but if it be smart,
It cannot be so dumb as thee,
When Fortune’s Time is ending.”
“Now hear me,” quoth he, “if thou wilt, I will hunt,
Lure him dead by force of arms;
And make him stay where thou shalt find me,
To kill myself before he drowns.”
“O how she deceives him,” quoth she, “she hath thee a foe,
And from the dire straits of death draws
That unprovident knife, to murder her captive.
O how she wounds him with vows, oaths, and tears;
O how she smothers him with blameless disdain;
O how she confounds him in secret oaths,
O how she lends him force by fraud, and death’s flood;
O how she murders him with words; for he is dead;
But now the guiltless Lucrece’ red blood
Begins to stand the show, and there
The murd’rous murder-beating conspirator:
her eyes, like flaming sapphire, did soon
Appear on her imposter’s head,
Swearing feigned pity, and trembling fear,
To please the guilty with oaths and tears;
The guilty would swear to her false-telling friend,
Till oaths and tears would be drawn out, and there
No cause of grief nor remorse would show,
If in thy self thy self they prove.
In him there is no fault; in me,
Thy self is thyself created, and thy crime
In others is thy fault, but in me,
The fault is thy fault, not thy own.”
For she says, this vile abomination
Presents her face to his eye,
In cunning disguis’d with cunning words,
With dumb and direful words, and tears in their eyes;
Her eyes are like smoke, and smoke like fire;
Her lips like ivory, and her lips like blood.
But when I heard her complain and cry,
Unwholesome tears o’er her eyes did cover
all kinds of wounds, and yet she seemed still
As one with wounds heals in another’s.
But what dost thou mean, dear friend, when thou wilt seek
To repair the former’s and the doth
(Like the two-fold worser’s wounds)
With a fresh infection of thy blood?
Which, as thy mother’s womb before thee was platted,
The thought doth every minute transport:
How is it that my veins with thy blood are shed?
What can it do but heal, and nothing else?
When I was nursed up in a widow’s womb,
With blood that water cannot cure,
Wherein no such remedy can be found,
So my mother’s womb is bereft me,
And therefore I never again live,
And there my veins with thee are kept empty.
By this he replies: ‘O comfort, my dear friend,
You are not so; that is, to blame your defect;
That which you owe me, is still your fee,
So that I may live (not die) that which you owe me.
O peace, then make no secret of it;
If so, do not I wrong the very thing I did.
“In truth,” quoth she, “I never saw your face
Before you were born; but now you are,
you, in this mortal world, are but imaginary;
For that false jewel you hold in store,
Whereon it shall belong, in my grave for posterity,
To dwell your thought in posterity,
Unless you were a true and true man.
‘”Lo thus, as the very prime of his being,
He was wont to part, and, being stalled,
Would often thrust his spear through the bars,
To put the coward foe to death.
‘Now this deadly knife, blunt instrument,
With rusty quill, and proud doublet,
Thy spleen, thy pride, thy shame, thy state,
The strength of all these worlds shall be gave
In one swift hour, and of thine alone.
And


======== CHECKPOINT 089 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Month a dove, as swift as a storm,
Or as aloft from her nostril as from the sky,
Or as aloft from the tip of her tongue,
Or like a raven from the sky,
Or like an onyx or maroon,
Or like a rose on a blustering April,
Or like the hand that holds a plaited wreath,
Or like a swan that swears death to trespass,
Or like a dove that crosses water’s crest,
Or like a dove that flies in air,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that lives,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that lives,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that lives,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that lives,
Or like a dove that lives,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that lives,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that lives,
Or like a dove that lives,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove that dies,
Or like a dove


======== CHECKPOINT 090 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Sun, or colour his majesty,
Which in his majesty so much depends,
Doth depend upon many favours, and so much fear;
For in him all this blame lies,
That his pride is so grossly misled.
Whence then shall I say this man is mad,
And yet not mad with me?
Thy voice, like a thunder-cloud, doth call
Truth to my ears, and hath no need there,
As Tarquin’s balm, or my loathsome bed.
‘This night I do vow,’ quoth she,’my love shall not depart,
Unless thou shalt find thy true heart-tongued muse.’
‘Then must I my dear muse,’ quoth he,
‘during this long absence from thee,
Will drop the book, and not the thing,
Which was so timely filed,
To leave my beloved, and thus to leave thee,
When the sun hath begun to set, and rain hath fell,
To mark the very hour and to show thy state,
Will drop the poor infant’s lifeless remains,
And make him my earthly image,
With painted image in painted brow, in brow
proud eagle, shape-shifting hawk, or other bird,
Of ever-living form thou dost deceive,
Whose beauty doth live in thee, and in thy blood,
And never in thy living being canst change.
Yet being proud, thou art so bold, O be of true courage!
Harm have I done to thee, to thy surviving me,
That thou couldst not kill me with my absence;
I must confess, I love thee for that, and so do kill,
When I can, of my self thou wilt gladly give;
To wit, I will, and thou art none of my self.
The moment was nigh, the moment was past,
And Opportunity had left the turtle and mane,
So did the green of his reed,
Which in his prime doth now grow and change hue.
And now Opportunity appears,
To me a man, but to me a man
The turtle and the green of his reed being.
Thus did Opportunity weep,
For shame, for fear of his shame,
And for rage, and for lust, and for the breach
Of justice, now that he hath won the good sense,
And for the break of truth hath done him shame,
To make him turn back again and make him stay;
For then his sour glance he will not reprehend,
And that from her beauty lies hid
The worst of wrongs, still seeks redress;
That he may in a moment learn to love her,
Then his virtue may be so praised still,
That no blot in her life may seem disgraced.”
Thus is she set forth against her Will,
The first-born of his sex,
To this forced breach did he make a vow;
And now his wits have cost him a kiss, and a kiss more,
In her forlornness now her tears have drained;
So shall I die, and live thou thy last.
‘If thou dost desire, be contented
With the present state of affairs,
And take no leave of that which thou shalt find,
Nor join with all those that are near,
Nor live in thine own image, but live in thy self;
To remain, then self-same shouldst thou remain.
O let my sweet Lucrece tell her true,
I’ll say her wrong, and mine shall live right.
And that my poor Lucrece may say so,
To my poor, and their surviving friend,
The scars of many a long-gone crime,
Or of many a life in countless lines,
Or in the line of succession of my love,
Or in every line ever lived,
could not be so, but must presently be,
As the dead of night or day.
‘Tis thou, dear friend, that keeps my love secret,
What secret doth thy secret tell?
How can I if my secret love live,
Shall that love in thee should tell me more?
How can I then be a partier in loving
The one who loves me most,
And in me less, than when thou wast away?
Or when love hath more than once made thee a friend,
What excuse then canst thou have
To tell my love that I cannot see, or touch,
Or touch his true shape, or even look upon it?
What can say, then, if my love is but a toy?
Or if it is, is it not a part of love
That can say, I love thee so, even to death?
O would my love be false, and seem strange,
In thee weeps,


======== CHECKPOINT 090 OUTPUT # 002 ========

FM from the earth to the sea;
But, as the ocean proceeds so apace,
The deep green and the warm-breeding hounds fly.
She calls them to be gone, when they come again,
Then look where they may be revenged on me;
The cause of my untimely death lay,
Which is to blame her foul trespass in this.
“And all these trophies of affections gone,
From Lucrece to Patience’s stream,
My count Lucrece, I grant thee this unhallow’d ride,
I will not tire thee till thou be razed.
Since thou art a god, and I an earth,
My body was thy mother’s womb;
If my life be stopp’d, thy womb be stopp’d,
Thy womb being stopp’d I’ll be dead, and thee alive.
“So then,” quoth she, “if thy love could dispense,
The world would be thy flattish’d prison and thou lov’st;
To him this oblivion is confined,
Thy true love, my true love to thee,
I hold all for this purpose,
Thou, for love of life, thy right be free:
Thou lov’st my body not to hurt it with pain;
My body, that to thee so abysmal,
Thou mayst be dead for love of life.
Thus ’tis said, from her fair bed,
The gentle sound of soft thuds resounds,
Which strangely echoes down the length of her bed.
When she wakes up, pale and dim,
Her eyes are fix’d upon the wailing of her woe,
Her face is pitchy and weary, her eyes fix’d on the fire.
This poor creature hath done her injury
Through tears, through wringing, through all her body:
Her lamenting cry being vainly heard,
Her bleeding eyes, like misty vapours rising,
His heavy eyelids do little to do the harm;
Her lips, like misty wrapp’d clouds, do little to do the harm;
His bare phoenix feathers are pale, his bare head green.
And thus her complaining is done;
And with tears she doth extenuate,
Like misty vapours rising from her eyes,
Whereon he wildly fires up a furnace;
Who, mad that his hot breath might render waste
The world in hot desire, bids him stay still.
‘But now I must remove, and this is your stay:
The doors are lock’d, let’s you in alone.
‘This said, he shakes his fist, as one might,
The base of many a roaring boar,
That should no lawful bark enter his prey,
Hath lodged his lust, but hath no true prey;
Hateful lust in him finds no remedy;
Yet there he lies with vexation,
Like to a dying wretch, whose part is almost done,
While his spleen, by this, renews, till her lips meet.
‘So long as I live, thou art with mine eye
As the day, when thy breath doth burn,
Or even when my heavenly moisture doth blow
Pitiful breaths breathe down thy weary neck,
So thou through these lines mayst seem a part.
O how much praise could mine eyes if they had
The leisure to view those dear buds grow?
Or if they could see them in the morning,
If they could not, wouldst thou be my prey?
Even so, for thy sake I will entertain thy show:
Then with my love do I entertain thee one more;
one by one, two or three kiss me,
To make a double happy one, and then I will jest again.
“Then, O comfort-loving nun, what treasure have you lost!
Even here in Pripyat’s holy temple lies
The dearest infant that ever shunn’d
In his holy arms, with the blessed spring’s white.
Sweet infant, what treasure have you lost!
So then I return, poor soul:
As soon as conscience gives me leave,
To shun this wretched shame, I return again.
O my love, what a torment it would be!
And all in all you have many a mind,
Which gives to charity all kinds of praise,
And all that’s commend’d receives none of the worth.
So for a virtuous love to weep,
When he had all, let him not weep in his part;
But let him boast, that when he hath more,
His tears are shed more often than before.
So is she so guilty of thy stealing,
For thou didst steal from thy self a son,
And now thou wast his, and thou none’st,
Since thou no father was ever his


======== CHECKPOINT 090 OUTPUT # 003 ========

erguson, and so on. Collatine and I fell again;
So Collatine and I, as victors in war,
Will fight one another in a fierce struggle.
‘In vain,’ quoth she,’my body will not give me life,
Nor I my pure blood will give it to thee,
But thou, on the consecrated date, will take care:
A consecrate date is a sacred one,
And all solemn vows are not to be broken;
But if thou defy, the day is nought to hear thee.
Thy soul’s worth to life was vaded, thy body vaded,
And in that same body being vaded,
thou, my Collatine, do lend me thy breath,
Whose sweet breath thou art by my side still suffic’d.
If that be polluted with this foul breath,
thou wouldst purge the grave of this foul stain,
So my body would not be polluted with foul blood.
Love hath no fixed office but to entertain,
Which him that doth entertain him serves to scorn,
And so the night comes and me sits still,
Whilst he himself sits and contemns his foe,
And so on and so on he goes,
To mock and annoy his foes with idle talk.
‘And being done, his visage presently falls
From his fair temple and lands upon a tree.
‘”O, my sweet, what a shame it would be!
And yet thou art so, O hear me tell it;
And yet cannot speak, for fear of harms done,
That I have to speak in tongues, tongue-tied, no words,
To tell my story in your own language,
For fear of harms to speak how I must tell,
For fear of hurt’s false fire to stir again.
If thou wilt, my self shalt speak more,
Than the hours will tell when thou wilt write,
For in my living I must speak more.”
And from her pale-fac’d bed, whose boundless view
The violet in the crystal orb above
Birds her eyes, and makes the face seem pale,
As if it had died with the freezing cold.
‘Then,’ quoth Lucretius, ‘once more I behold the way,
Through the clear channel of a paler window,
Where water-sacks, crystal walls, and wide-open streets divide,
A thousand weeping sepulchres above;
Whereat one by one they begin to glow,
Like the moon rising from the sea, whose eclipse
From a mountain height hath pluck’d the visage of the sky.
The witless youth, who by thy lips thy sweet praise
Doth question whether thou art love or loathed.
O pardon me if my memory were rusty,
I may add more: for I know thy sweet face,
Tis but to boast on others’ detriment,
To boast on others’ praise.
Now is my day, and day my night,
All day and night my mind is my work,
And in and through my thoughts do I strive,
To know thy state, and then to know thee well,
To know thy heart, and then my heart doth fight.
For love hath many, but in this one,
more than all the rest combined.
So did he ride on, as if he did know
The very moment he would come and kiss her.
‘His beard, nor his fine coat did hide his plaining,
His beret, nor his courser’s hat did cover it:
But now his fine suit no longer seemed so;
Their petty touches, which like remorseless slaughter,
Shone like those deadly poisonous globes which poison us.
‘Thou art the fairest of all,’ quoth she, ‘and I know it.’
‘Yea, ’tis true,’ quoth she, ‘it is; but, being so called,
it is thy fault this dire-sighted god,
Shall frown on thee so grimly, and curse thy good.
“As for thee, my sin I’ll confess,
By thy deeds in my sleep did stain thy face.
O pardon me, my sin did not begin;
My sin did not end with my hanging from the tree;
But that my sin did end with thy hanging from the sky,
This act was not death’s or nature’s behest:
This foul act of murder brought me to this light,
And now, my conscience forbade it.
But if thou wilt say so, do not deny my heart;
Thy reason hath sworn it fair, and due,
That my heart’s stain upon the world is thine,
For mine honour’s worser stain on the world is thine,
For thine honour


======== CHECKPOINT 090 OUTPUT # 004 ========

grab in my heart,
For shame hath done thee wrong;
And to my grief hath he applied such
Grief’s mark to mine own sorrow.
So have I slept with envy and dread,
Sorrows that do not drown in mirth.
For now my Lucrece and I are old and weary,
And yet despair still, and yet no pleasure,
Grows like heaven’s wind when he blows.”
Thus begins his bawd, a solemn show of dexterity;
As each tributary stream chas’d by a river gaz’d,
Calls up his strong balls, to wither the flatt’ry.
This idle song and dance was his;
When his mistress’ eyes he did rehearse,
Which he did imitate, and still did rehearse,
In her own image, as his own wife.
“Now, Adonis, this is your verse:
And now your power you have decreed,
For I, as you controlled, will give back
The abuses of your life, and your death’s injury;
That’s to be desired of your self,
Then can I enjoy all that you made me.”
Then with a sigh she starts: “Then shalt thou review
The chronicles of your exploits,
And write what you will, or will say;
As poets, if you would read them, would rehearse.
For the eye of heaven is in my verse drawn,
To tell the sad story of death, the babe slain,
And what helpless sufferings have befell him.
‘So therefore ’tis, O friend, if ever I behold a maid,
And that you had not been with me when you had begun,
My life’s end would have been nigh.
No man stands in that spot, whose proud edge he falls,
And no man’s head doth stand in his place,
Even for that sad task of yours alone.
So hath she his weary breast thrust,
That he no wind can hold, nor touch can stop him,
And from her tired bosom still hath he thrust,
Whilst her husband, whose proud breast he doth lean,
Grows dumb and dumb still, till his spright doth chase him;
Then woe betide him, woe betide all, his poor soul dies.
‘Poor maiden,’ quoth she, ‘I have receiv’d
Of dire news from elsewhere, but have not tasted;
My friend, I do not crave such a thing,
As from afar doth Tarquin depart,
To spend the night with her, in Tarquin’s place.
‘Poor creature,’ quoth she, ‘how doth she complain,
Even as she cries, ‘it is thy fault! thy fault!’
‘”And when he saw her, frowning on her,
She took him by the hand, and kiss’d the palm;
Whose lips had slackened in either’s inclination,
Like pearls in the sea of water being set,
Or as the grype falls from the sky, heaven’s gaudy gleam,
In that spot whereon the stars are hid,
By thy side he finds a nun and young wife,
clad in silvered fillet and crystal armour.
‘”O! what a sight it was!—an image so hard
To comfort the sick, to comfort the widow;
Incapable of much ado, but unruly:
So it fell upon her head, and in it hung
An orb of fire, whose fire did tempest the sky;
Whereon it lighted up the treasure of Lucrece’ eyes.
Such sparks it did burn, that his visage blunted,
And his visage blunted another way.
So the night fell, like a thundering boar,
He lim’d in the dark passage through his pants,
That she, in terror, did not see his face;
She, in a state of rest, did spot
His phoenix down and up, with her back spread.
‘Thou canst not see the face of love,’ quoth he, ‘without wonder
I never saw thy face, nor thought I saw thee well.
But if thou prove true, tell the truth, and dare not be so bold,
thou shalt see what I in secret plots do.
‘And now comes the sweet-timeless April,
And like a band, with many merry balls,
Playing in the dark, like poor fools unaware,
Like late-pawn’d bank robbers dreaming,
Showing fair play, fair tidings, and fortunes,
By thy fair hand she steals and pays no rent.
She buys thee a bath, a lovely cabin,
And makes thee her dearest object;
Who by her fair hand being tied,


======== CHECKPOINT 090 OUTPUT # 005 ========

extant
His hand, in his smooth substance, doth fold;
The other, in a more or less roughness,
Shifts in and out of place; the former in
Like a jade-white, or of lesser quality,
Resembling his blood, or other copticatory hue,
Possessing but the light of day, or night, or even of night.
“And thou this on the edge of the field of view,
What upon the earth’s level is this view,
If thou thence through the muck shouldst break thy footing,
With a groan let the knife know
How to strike a blowless boar with his bridle.
Now he with a sad crew throngeth about,
Whose stout hind legs their strength doth dismount,
And down they rise to a trot, where sit Collatine.
‘Now for my good pleasure I’ll recite
The maiden ceremony that Adonis gave
In Ajax’ day, whose sweet effects still remain,
And in those golden violets of his green,
Whereon the winds breatheth, or takes no rest,
His lips, like saucy lips in languishment,
Save where he sighs and cries, ‘O, give me rest.’
now he cries o’er the ears of the people,
She prays he will look kindly upon his wits,
And smile with her fair fair fair hand at his wit;
She takes him by the hand and whispers in his ear,
‘Poor thief,’ quoth she, ‘this will not be;
And this it shall be:—anon this poor wretch will borrow;
From thy face shalt thou steal a livelihood:
That is, if thou issueless shalt steal a livelihood.
So then, in his discontent,
Some part of him grieves at Adonis’ trespass,
Some part he mourns for himself, and yet still doth grieve;
Some part she loves, and yet still doth mourn for him;
And still doth grieve for him despite of her grief;
And still doth grieve for him despite of hers.
“Why dost thou kill the day to wake the night,
And spend the night in the same wretched woe?
Or do you not desire a light, as mine eyes deceive,
That you might behold this dreadful show?
Or is it desire which gives light?
Or desire which gives shadow, and which shadows so doth shine?
Or what else doth desire but to please?
O answer I Lucrece, as I in this rest
Shall strive for truth and reason with desire,
To please, not for myself, nor for thee,
For I love thee merely, but for thy sake,
For I did the thing which thou didst serve,
And so the thing which thou shouldst serve now
Is a fee I pay for my deed.’
Now Lucrece, as I had sworn,
Doth Tarquin swear he saw the proud fiend
Borne by her fierce lust, but in her disdain
Was blinded, and did not see him fall.
‘O, that thou thy self were a goddess!
That thy face should evermore hide thy youth,
Thy voice should evermore lament thy state,
Thy hand would yet again be a tool to make thine,
To rob thy body and steal thy mind away.
That thine, in the wrong, is so thy right.
“But being so, I will do my part,
To help my friend to stay where he is.”
For she is as one of those sad-fac’d birds
That fear’d when their captain falchion is set.
‘O, that thy complexion may my will remember
That thou wast mine, and will bear it to those,
Which to thy looks hath paid the jade
Since thy self shalt live and reign in thine.
So shalt thou in that case be a tyrant,
Which by law hath no title to live,
That being dead, never hath it claim’d for possession.
‘Yet was I with thee when he did slay him;
Yet am I with him now: thou through thy tears dost survive,
And yet thou survive’st my tears.
‘Poor bastard, what treasure hath mine eye
Could nigh stain and never mend,
That his life, ruined and done away?
Or is it that thy soul’s repair is late,
For it hath been made so late by thee?
‘Thou art the sole surviving owner of my time,
And the sole surviving slave to slavery.’
‘Save that,’ quoth Lucretius, ‘although I am your equal,
Thy eyes and ears may see but mine own sorrow,
Thy heart hath no love


======== CHECKPOINT 091 OUTPUT # 001 ========

donald, to give the horse to his owner’s desire,
Which he with haste did give,
And left him, like a weakling, in a fearful chase.
When he was come, to make some present excuse,
So did I retire, as speed doth my will,
And stay my horse for some reason other’s sake.
When all these discontents have ended,
All unruly batt’ries are quit;
Who therefore sighing nobly do amend,
Like as those discontented women that were slain.
That she this night with her mistress’ eyes
Receives the sad news of her dear-purchased husband gone;
Then, as from a dream, Tarquin comes down,
And gives the dire news to Adonis’ ear.
O, be not proud that thou art not so;
Thy looks, and thy mind’s workings are hav’n;
For in th’ imagination’s picture was my face
Of many a pretty face, with many a bush:
With fair cheeks, round glasses, and round ears,
Hiding in cunning thought, were not thought proper
To bear a false or credulous mind:
But now they mock the thing they see, and think it fair;
Such fair beauties as men’s eyes, when full bright,
Have beauty concealed within, and are seldom seen.
This said, he wildly thrusts his sword,
And batter’d the maiden-pied boar with his spear:
Then from his sore groin the boar, being hit,
The boar with his sharp spear doth fall, and from thence proceeds:
She falls, and the boar with his blunt spear remaineth.
Thus far from the wood whence he came,
Two masked peasants with masked maids lay,
Bidding them well, and that well, they might conclude
Of what they see, and what they hear; and where they might be harmed,
With words, and with such an absence are seen.
Yet for the love of all my love,
My vow is never to give life to vain,
For what life would life without?”
To give life, that’s self-will’d, to die,
With words, and to die with words. Were she alive, she would say “I’ll never be dead.”
‘To thee, dear friend, I’ll bequeath thee this;
To thee, dear friend, I’ll bequeath thee this more:
And lo, for thee, I will bequeath thee this worse.
A thousand favours from the vale of sweet Patience,
Saw all frailties, from vassals of rich blood,
Wounded, scalps, wounds, mutiny, and all maladies;
She hath lost my dear love and my love’s respect;
A thousand tears, one for each tear;
In all their pureness doth she show the other,
Sorrow, distress, and murder. Sin ne’er loves me till I see thee.
His visage is no less red now,
But now his visage is so red, it hath stain’d:
So now the blotters have vanished from his sight,
And his wit lost all semblance of his grace.
Thy eye hath done me honour, thy heart no more dishonours it.
O love! wilt thou give it up for grave,
Or lend it up for wanton relish?
Or be it lawful for one knight to bear a spy,
To bear treason with so foul a foe?
Or is it lawful for one knight to bear three?
Or, if they be traitors, have none slain?
But thou that art so unjust that none hath thy will,
Him to kiss, be thy good angel to love;
For thou art the only true love out there,
For who could say such a thing not?
For thy soul hath no god to ask but thee,
But to kiss him hath to do thy part;
And I, like thee, would not touch him in that way,
As thou be most remote from me,
To swear against thee so false a witness.
“Thou hast seiz’d my mantle and am now set,
Wilt thou put on the mantle and on my breast?
If that be done, the mantle will hold thee still,
Thou art my father, and I my mother’s love;
What hast thou done but to show the world thy good
Thy youth and thy woe? what did thy deed mean?
Thy woe is beauty, and thou art false,
Thy woe is youth, and thy woe is beauty:
For despite of all beauty thou art young,
And yet lack thou beauty’s strength,
By age’s quick decay thou art old.


======== CHECKPOINT 091 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Carroll for his skill with men.
He hath no tongue, yet, in aught that he says,
eth what he must, being salve’d by force.
“In him a fair grave lies buried;
But whither comely forth he spies a pack of deer,
Who, like frantic wolves, hasteth to greet him,
Till grazing age they are thought to fear him;
Their faces doth all manner of abysm,
And when their sad voices are interred,
A woeful sound they inflict upon his eyes.
‘So she, quoth she, would have me lie down,
And lay my face on her breast, and kiss her still;
The kiss would have made a more dreadful doom;
Which should have been the better of two evils.’
“So she, quoth she, would have me lie down,
And kiss her still, the worse the worse the worse the worse.
‘”O yes, my poor child! O yes, my dear boy,
As quickly as I perceive the moment,
It will my heart to hear what I tell;
But if it hear nothing, be mute for rest of rest.
‘I have seen plenty of monsters in my sight;
But none so hideous as these are now,
As the dead creatures buried with me.
This said, she with a loud voice calls to mind
His poisoned friend, and with a look,
His poisoned eye, and with a look again doth lend
An action to soften the effect,
Which on his visage gave life and beauty
A purple new pride and dignity.
‘”So he was,” quoth she, “young, and full of fear,
And sought to kill himself; but, lo, the blow
Had struck him dead, and he had not fled;
He, being hit, fell on his face; and his complexion
Shook forth a violent fury, and with it
Controlling his motion and hue,
Distracting his eye, and making him turn his head.
This she did, and still do presently,
Like a dying coal, stirring with a cool fire,
With white and blood, in his blood still stir’d with rage;
For himself his shame stirs up controversy;
His shame confounds, and all that is good stirs
The stormy day, that to-day doth fight.
Yet are my eyelids the white of night,
And my heart the red of day,
That on my cheeks and in the ground appears night
bright day is not black as night by night;
Nor day nor night is day dim, nor day dark.
Love is bright, and ugly, and thereof is
To be esteemed but so as Love is light,
And in darkness is seen neither light nor shadow.
‘But be advised, my love, that thou shouldst make such a wish,
My love to thee shall be as simple as thy tongue;
As thy love to me thou shouldst form a tripe;
Thou art as hard-believing as thy poor counterfeit,
As hard-favour’d as thou art as worms’ appetite;
thou shouldst forswore the throne of heaven,
And to eternity there can be none king.
‘To him thus reprovingly I send’mm,’
Till she shakes her head; but the more, she chokes up her breath.
“Poor boy! what dost thou think of such a thing
That is too cruel, for love?
What would thou say to her that would say no such thing?
As thou cannot scorn a thing thou cannot enchant,
But then thou speak’st so foul a thing, to make her moan.
For I have sworn in thy love that thou art as fair
As any fair that touches me, though far off my view.
And to thine own detriment would I suffer this abuse;
That thou hast no right to abuse me for that
Of thy self, nor my self to hurt thee.
But in the face of all that is foul,
Thy eyes, and all their gross obscuration,
Thy face hath all the truth of a god,
And all the praise of a god,
Which thou wouldst not scorn, for there’s more in me.
So thou wilt (being enforc’d) keep thy tongue,
And never seem’st to speak again wilt thou wilt,
Thy eyes, thy souls are wrapp’d away,
Thy body is wrapp’d in thy self,
And I the traitor to thy self shalt find,
Thy body doth in my self wrapp’d, thy soul in
Thy body doth in thy soul doth remain.
Thus are thy false eyelids fair, though they hide
What little truth they contain;
The


======== CHECKPOINT 091 OUTPUT # 003 ========

Goal for the good of the weak;
For princes, they are gods to blame;
In kings they know no right but duty;
For Collatine, their mistress, they can be blamed;
Thou themselves the flatterers’ gazer,
In thine own self, thy own self dost love,
And then doth he pluck, and pluck again.
So is her behaviour sweet, and so her rhyme
The meed seems childish, while the wretch sings woe.
‘So long thus,’ quoth she, ‘I have been here suppressed,
Till this sad hand of fate sent me this vile note.
To make amends, I’ll write in my mind.
I fear’d not, though I prophesy some doom;
To make amends myself, I will prophesy more;
And if those prophecies prove true, well then all my love,
With you shall live as you are now,
As you should those that lived before me.”
But ah! this did not seem so;
Her lips were purs’d in a frown;
Her hair in a puddle, and she forth she went.
‘And what are you then that cannot be?
Do you inveigb the eye, to deceive the mind?
Or the thought, to creep the mortal line?
In what lust so much of foul lust doth dwell?
Myself, my love, and thee alone are dead;
And thou shalt be glorified in thine,
To live up to thee that was so fair,
As the sweetest grapes are grown in thy show.
‘But, lo! this was the desperate hour,
Till twenty men, armed with direc’d swords,
Would breach the masked door of this dire-cloy’d house;
They ne’er were armed nor seen by the fiend.
“How vile a sight it would be!” quoth she.
“How unkind, false, and infirm!”
“It was my fault; now it is my fault!”
“Unkind!” quoth she, “it shall not be!
I did not do it; no, it shall not be!”
The lion is tame; the hound tame; the hawks wild;
For her sake, Collatine, his wanton lust,
Sits and robs her plenty of sweets;
So she begs pardon, not only for thy sake,
But for my sake, too, as my honour doth stand,
To spend that bounty on thee alone:
So my honour will live upon thee alone.
O what a hell of witchcraft lies in store!
And in her eyes her eyes there appear
True forms, and true nature’s signs,
Like figures admir’d in hell, but with outward beauties,
Ornaments of filial piety, painted ere good
And glorious triumph, reign’d triumphant,
Who stand triumphant for ever, for ever’s lost,
O thou whose fair name is Too early!
And yet thou whose fair name thy self doth name still,
My name, thy fair name is Too late.
Then how shall my name be forgotten,
Unless thou take thy self and give it to me?
How shall my name in thy youth be kept
For the love of thy self, whose beauty doth still live?
Myself I never touched, nor he his slave,
But in his pride I did touch, and he in me.
O yes, that desire, which my soul so desires,
Or rather, that which makes the thought formulary,
Or’stonish’ my thought, alters the mood;
Who, that madman’s eye, hath put a frown on my brow,
So proud a proud citizen of this place,
That he claims to look so proud, and to scorn,
With those pretty fair sights that his visage bestows,
The proudest of all his posterity,
Which exceeds the picture of many proud stars.
, having made the prisoner my partner,
I did my best to give him up;
His eye hath done all that to give it another use,
Which he will use for the benefit of me.
O father, in hope of some miracle,
The world should put an end to this wretched time,
That my dear love may live but in a sluttish,
Poor sad earth, where there shall not be much music.
‘”To-day,” quoth he, “these poor stars must their doom,
From Venus’ breathless vent will bring rain,
And barren clouds to rain down the night:
And to-morrow they shall meet such wretched kings,
As to blot them with dust and death.
Yet canst thou no more blot them in this hell than I,
Were


======== CHECKPOINT 091 OUTPUT # 004 ========

{*
So he did catch her by the neck,
She had no reason to fear;
And for fear of him she did fear,
To kiss him so lovingly, so fondly.
She would have sworn he never did touch her,
Had he known it lay in his cheek;
But as he was gone, he held her by the neck;
And, lo, there he held her by the neck,
Whose blood on his lips had become wrinkle;
She, angry, tore up her glass and forth again;
She had all at once put her glass back on,
Till he startled her with a look,
And now the knife was gone, and, lo, the night had ended.
Her eyes dolour with her tears,
Her eyes did her grief cover,
His eyes did hers dolour.
I have sworn to thee that when you behold my face,
You will not question, but I swear,
You behold that thou see’st all things ill,
And then do I swear, you behold how I view
The foul, bad, and ugly things I see.
Thus I swear, the eyes that watch over me are mute,
The heart that gives me joy is dumb,
The eye that loves me thinks me strange;
And to my sweet seeing look, what follows
Like to a dream I had my self doting,
To what purpose, or how short, was my stay,
When all my loving thoughts were but to entertain
The thought that every eye might see?
O what a bliss would that thought be!
Would the world’s proud sovereign be so cruel,
Beat down every wood that stood in his way,
That every leaf might stand against his growing weed?
But that’s not my thought, it’s thought in thought,
Which gives life, and death, and all the rest.
O none, thou shalt not steal a flower from a rose,
Nor shalt thou steal grapes from a violet tree.
O none, thou shalt not hit a steadfast bush,
Nor shalt thou leave a widow for nothing,
Nor shalt thou leave a noble household alone,
Nor shalt thou leave no proud noble household
To die alone, having no lord, nor mother,
To give away her life, to live another’s crime.’
‘Thou shalt not murder a widow in self-wanted deed,’ quoth he;
‘But I’ll be blunt, my lady; and so shall thou go,
With force, or else of my will; for this purpose,
I’ll write to thee sweetly and give your rest;
In other words, give my self leave to grow old.
For who knows that life is short, and death long?
But if life were short, your sweet self to die,
And living your life to live a second age,
what shall I say, but that is true,
The sun doth burn your face in the air?
And for that reason you do call me sun,
Because I was born a sun, and you a moon,
To scorn, and to covet your sweet youth,
With that slander, is my name to scorn,
For I love to be sun, and to be no sun,
I love to hate and abhor your praise,
For it is the inward shame that penetreth,
Which drives love outward, even to myself,
To give that inward beauty to whose due,
To live for my love and your love’s sake,
When by that labour I no less grow,
than Opportunity, Opportunity doth take
By giving my time and my life and life’s sake.
He looks upon her bright-fac’d face and she takes
A deep, lingering look, her brow wrinkled and dry,
Like winter’s fresh blood being shed in summer’s hues.
“So shall the birds sing, O false birds, when nature bleeds,
That sweet melody they imitate will stay
in thy thoughts and in thy words:
Yet shall thy thoughts, thy deeds, and my words,
Be infringed on by every tongue that breathes:
And to win them all, you must have power,
To make them curse the day, day, and night,
For ruining thee in all thy deeds.
The worst of all, shall be thy silence and praise,
And then thou shalt have no more praise to say.
I will write, in rhyme, as soon
As thou wilt get rid of the book, and lend it again,
And tell my love that my love did steal it from thee,
But he shall have it back, and love shall have it in him.
‘Thus in the hope of catching, Collatinus gave
A lily and a mane; and, lo,
Upon their bare wings they lay,
With


======== CHECKPOINT 091 OUTPUT # 005 ========

ip, on my part, to rid her of her pride.
‘His faults I have not the faintest regard,
And from my love’s false fire I cannot find,
In a pure and just cause, have not figured,
Which by his infirmities have burned and scarred
Their colour, and made them wither and die.
O, that did not kill her, but made her cry;
That wretched moisture which his wilful hands did mow;
So was I for Tarquin slain; and for him I stay.
His passion, in his jealousy,
Found a peaceful resolution, as soon slain;
As soon as he had emptied his bosom,
The bullet, the wound, the blow, the pain,
Each part hasteth to a place where he intends,
Which he takes with a violent flight,
To where his horse he daunts, and thence on
To aching poverty, to die with him.
This said, the lark-footed boy, much dismayed,
Wagg’d up his chin, as though it were slain,
So Adonis takes his weariness with his tongue.
This said, the lark-footed boy, much more vexed,
Swells up his chin, as though it were slain.
“O yes,” quoth she, “this mortal sin,
That through my blood I might prove so unjust,
That life was never stained by my deed.”
This she replies:—’That life was mine, and this crime
I should my life be revenged upon;
That’s to say ‘no’ to my life, my life must be new.
This she says with some bitterness:—’For I have sworn thee here,
When I first swore that thou livest,
My life was thy lease, and death my lease.
In him, I hold such sway, that despite
his bluntness, which did in him rigour,
Thy hollow earth, to his overthrow, had pow’d with his power.
And this gave voice to his tempter rage
Which through the hot vents of his hot fire slew
Thy naked face, which forth again bids them behold.
Thy small prey, by this straying tyrant,
Thy large prey, being slay’d, takes all in thine own.
‘How much more dost thou pitiful than this?
Thou wilt put an end to this wretched season!
To live in luxury, is thy vale-flowering,
Where thou art when life and death,
Under the sun and rain, do alike reign,
For beauty’s vale doth cover the grave,
And beauty’s vale doth cover the grave the night.
Let beauty’s vale doth cover the grave,
beauty be my colour, thy worth my delight,
And therefore let thine eyes see thy beauty,
The better to enjoy thy worth thy parts.
O me! I have heard that beauty doth live,
And doth question whether I am old or young.
O yes, if my heart were three times more enlarged,
Wouldst thou, my love, still live to see thee grow
In flesh and bone, and wrinkles new-bleeding.
Thus far I have seen him corrupted,
But thou, my love, shall remain the foil.
But that false Tarquin still liv’d,
‘Tis the mark of a true lover,
The thought of many a true lover’s face:
His eyes as bright as those of men’s eyes,
When others view’d them with so much wonder;
When others view’d them so much disdainful:
In either’s judgement were there none but sweet,
For Collatine’s love was his own;
The other was neither, but both as bright as him.
And having this thought, he drops his handkerchief,
And goes, sighing, as if he were bereft,
By some mutual consent apace;
And the painter, in a jealous rage,
Doth make a desperate scene, and there sits
A naked, bare infant, with his breast gore’d.
‘I hate’ she cries, ‘I hate’, and ‘I hate’,
And ‘Kill myself’, and he replies ‘No harm done, no foul act’.
‘Yet did I see his true face, and I saw his true cheek;
That you might suppose the same,
But in your true-colour would-be-star
Make a false-colour’d hell, and in it
With foul actors do good works mock,
Or be justly disgrac’d in such a state:
Such folly should the eyes see, and be troubled.
And then they would exclaim, O, this shows thy face,
For thou art not so ugly, methinks,
When thou art


======== CHECKPOINT 092 OUTPUT # 001 ========

hed in the shadow of his head.
As from a mountain-spring thence his might I behold,
From the green of the country I view,
And every where I may look, is his visage.
My love was my youth when thou dost lie,
And thine I meant the world to see when thou art done.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘all these hearts which in me depend
Are hollow candles, that flame which doth lie.
‘So then, this thy image doth survive,
Thy beauty doth question and will not know,
Till thou wilt be dead, if thou reworded this verse,
I must confess to thy sweet acceptance.
‘But lo, behold this white turtle,
That on her back lies a damask whose downward tear,
Like water from a fountains well, feeds the turtle.
So, my mistress’ husband, do not fret,
Unless thou persuade me thou didst deceive my wife.
She loves him for whom he feareth ill;
She loves him for whom he steals delight;
She loves him for whom he lovesth joy;
She loves him for whom he lovesth loss,
And most dreadingly, loathingly, she dislikes;
She dislikes him for whom he feareth joy;
She loves him for whom he hateseth shame,
And most dreadingly, she dislikes him for whom he delighteth:
She hates him for whom he drinks poisonude.
For as his lips bleed with poison’d blood, his ears quake,
And his blood pours down his nose, all red,
But his eyes and their contents reek of venom,
So is the night for mourning confounded.
‘Woe is me! woe!’ quoth she; ‘thoughts, groans, tears, fears,
My body is with grief over;
Woe is me! woe!’ quoth he; ‘thoughts, groans, tears,
My body is with sorrow dally’d with grief:
‘O, that poor wound which in mine eye
Pawn’d my heart, now is thine own end;
That false eye which deceitful lords hath cast
And in my breast he casteth all his harmful power.
This poor wound did him no grace;
He cast it in the brook’s cistern,
That brimmed the fair water that it would cool;
She applying it, it discharged the hot vapour
That hot from thence dispers’d it everywhere.
Thus doth she proceed:—
At this she doth quickly begin to cry,
And so begins the cry,—’O unseen enemy!
Thy eyes’ sharp claws did surprise the lily;
Her cheeks are full of pride, her blood rushes faster,
Her breath is shallow, her blood is hot,
But no, thy lips are gentle, though shallow,
And in mine are they all deceiving:
Thy voice is loud, thy heart short, thy heart full:
thy tongue full of deceit, thy heart full of truth,
Then let thy shame be the praise of thine age;
And do I not wonder at thy beauty,
If thou couldst prove it not false? if so, let it not be called false,
So that thy slander may not be so.
O fairest feature of man thou art worthy of my love,
To bear thy name with mine own eyes, to show thy youth,
And in thy prime to prove thee my love,
To make thee mine own son, and to show thee my love.
‘All my offences,’ quoth she, ‘arise, and come
Within the pale labyrinth of my chamber,
I’ll quickly expel them from my chamber,
As quickly from my chamber as I from thee depart.
‘”Lo, this device works in darkness,
And in it I will spy the thief;
But if my spies do find it, I will not be so kind,
As those spies who wink wink, my true eyes swear.
O, good night, and good night!
All the day thou art not as thou seem’st to me,
I am afraid of frost, and yet thou hast frost;
Thy eye hath frost, thy heart hath anger,
And thy tongue is hateful: why hast’t thine eye
Forsworn that thou art so harsh?”
“No cause for jealousy of mine eyes,” quoth he,
“Had I not, my life would not have ended here.”
“Fair queen, then I did,” quoth she, “order me here
To retire and have some rest.
Though to myself and others to you are excuses,
Yet I do hope thou dost not mistrust
The strength and might of all the earth;
To me that trust


======== CHECKPOINT 092 OUTPUT # 002 ========

chests
He with the blunt instrument sticks his hand in her breast,
Which then trembles and her heart beats at his beck.
Her cheeks red as roses, her hair in hues
As if he did it to dry her shame.
Her sad groans and groans are like thunder and rain,
Whereat his tears roll forth like drops in the sky;
The earth trembles with her continual swearing,
And in her tears his blood rushes to her bail.
‘Poor boy, she’s dead, and thou thy slave;
If I were dead, had I been alive now,
Such sorrows would not stay my wound,
Thou art the more dead now, O hear me tell!
I am still alive, and thou thy slave,
I have thy will, and thou thy will will will keep,
For if this will be broken, then kill me first.
No, kill me first, I have thy will;
Then is it not enough I to use thy will,
that in this, in spite of thee,
I should be slain, not thee.
A woman’s heart is a hive,
And beauty dead, of a more beautiful exchequer.
“Lo, my dear, my mistress’ eyes
Are peep’d from the clouds, and their contents
Are not seen till they leave their lights.
Their stars should make the night so dim,
My mistress’ eyes, their contents dark;
And all my rest, in darkness they preach,
Like drunken vices, doth torment them with cold remorse.
‘Tis said that lust is in every man a devil,
Their worst sin is in their best good.
How dare they accuse me, I have sworn,
Against my self I have been most unjust;
And for that crime do they mock me with more scorn;
They then accuse me of some ill I did defend,
But their slander is not my fault, it is their fault.
Let us not compare the two, for one we know,
My self was a wandering youth,
And through the ages my spirit and sight
Wre with him altered, altered in time.
O, that thy beauty may seem so,
And yet thou art not thy self, despite of all thy work.
But now with my body in revolt,
My soul hath my body but as a womb,
And labouring with my old breast to age,
The worst of things to come, I am done;
But not my body, though all my strength remain,
Lends me a fresh start, a new beginning:
The thing that keeps me going is my mind,
A perpetual meditation upon thee,
Which, like meditation on a flower,
Disposeth with rest in my body a body liv’d with shame,
And doth homage place my mind where he languisheth.
So, to make the disgrace of thy deed,
He exploits her by insulting her beauty.
“This night he beats her to the ground,
Like as a wild boar, bent on pursuing him,
Tires all tender and pretty; when he sees her,
He fawneth on her, and when she cries, he spied;
He puts his hand on her breast, and on his lip,
Like unto a band which thy mistress’ fingers have,
With a sudden disliking turn the affected moan,
Like unto a lamb trembling before being gone.
O what a spectacle this world was!
The sun doth yet set, and the clouds hast
Upon the northern lights; as they fly in the skies,
Like tempest to hail, from the west comes rain.
‘The crow flies; the dove doth follow;
‘Tis the poor vulture’s mark that flies the crow.’
The crow flies, and the dove flies;
‘His cunning falchion scowls as it doth fly,
As if it could catch the coward coward and slay him;
Which on the rudderless bird’s wing lies
Into a web of tangled silk and harden’d,
Such fear doth the bird suppose it did fly.
‘”For him as he was hunted, now he is prey;
For him as he was fed, now he is prey;
He for himself now lives a prey unto the hunted;
Who, being a hunted, prays he will hunt thee elsewhere;
‘Tis he,’ quoth she, ‘though he be hunted, yet he beauteous,
Forbade him slay him; forbade him not kill himself;
He will slay him for his desire;
Yet never kill him for that desire: he will not kill him for his desire.’
What else can the world say of love, love which we read
in praise of virtuous characters?
But she, that in Lucre


======== CHECKPOINT 092 OUTPUT # 003 ========

company with her heart’s aid she smother’d;
That tongue that once so sweet had taught,
Which late in life had begun anew;
Till then Adonis gave it more than praise.
“O then,” quoth he, “let my love take up my bed,
And make my bed a hive wherein never sleeps,
Let the bees play, and the froward hive
Save where the froward hive hath no hive:
Then how can I then live a life to love,
Which I could not live though of bees?”
“Why not honey?” quoth Collatine,
But of thine, he must be immortal,
And in thine case thou must thyself forsake,
For I am not thy slave, nor he my debtor.
“Fie, fond love,” quoth Collatine,
“your dear, and true, to some untimely hour,
My poor soul doth in thy body wait,
And supposeth your body that you may be gone.
My poor soul doth now post thee, and I will find,
a man’s heart will not make a lode;
His will make a dwelling and purpose,
To rob men of his by force of will.
So am I now, by this lawful law enforced,
That thou shalt not steal my life from my will,
Or betray me to false thieves in this strife.”
When he thus speaks she is interrupted by a pause;
She adds, “But now I know thy heart’s purpose,
To find a way out of this dark prison:
The safest hiding place is within:
So let thy good faith, though shaken, maintain
That my poor soul in thy will keep thy light.”
And lo, the hours run long with that night,
Thy beauty sleeps, and beauty doth wake.
If thy hope be so blessed,
Myself shalt be queen of thee,
And thou alone shalt live all mine infamy.
In him were my self depriv’d,
Till fortune to me allotted gave all my rest,
And thou thy compeers to his office,
Which with a league of my thoughts did fight,
And to his honour with my foes bred.
In him had Collatine met his son,
And Lucrece had Adonis fight;
O then thou dost kill me, since thou art not so,
My life my love is so short,
And mine honour is such a length
That I am forced to go back again.”
“Hadst thou not prophesied, I suspect,
When thou mightst betray me to this wrong,
You should have told the time, the day, and I
Within an hour’s notice you should be gone.
Myself at Troy’s gate did open a door,
And lo, his visage still veiled in his hair,
His fair beauty was in view, and therefore was hid,
in the general of men’s eyes,
Like clouds concealing their foul orb,
They view’d in darkness like vapours hid themselves:
Thy fair form lies unmolested;
All mote, moe, and froth up thy large head,
Thy small head doth thee abide.
For thou art as one that doth pine,
Sith as one that pineth, and thine is thine.
Yet know my heart hath sworn I love thee more,
than love is fond when it is despised,
And lo, it will not scorn the remembrance,
When it receives the name of love,
The very spirit of love doth so dignify.
“Lo thus the weary batt’ry went,
From a hill whose rocky bottom lay bereft him
His weary ill-nurtur’d horse, and rider being gone,
To march the day with his lean pack,
In pursuit of some maiden good,
who would it bide, or bear not?
So by the advice of her maid, do I ensconce
The hopeless horse, as he is made,
To the swift rider to the wide straight?
The fear of the direful, being eased,
Strikes fear into the hearts of men, and it cures them;
ving to have her, but lack thereof;
She falleth not, still quoth she, she would rather die,
And live a life of scarcity,
Whose want of flesh or of death doth make her sick.
The painter, by dearth, hath made every kind,
Of antique and modern forms,
His own composition bestow’d, and made newer.
“The lion be with me; the dove with me;
Or the hare be with me; the lark with me;
Or all these, and many more I behold,
Like figures illumin’d in


======== CHECKPOINT 092 OUTPUT # 004 ========

confess as an idol, so divine
As thou wast thy true, and mine is thy bad.
When thou wilt review this judgement,
My heart hath writ on that issue a lie
That I must bear false witness against thee,
And put that perjury to use for the kill.
“But where are you from?” “Niggers!” quoth Collatine,
“From where I have travelled?” quoth she, “from Troy?”
“Where are you from?” quoth he. “From where?” quoth she again.
“Ay me,” replies Collatine, “but I have come
From Troy, and from there, I came to Troy.
When in the lines of men that live
To praise, and in the lines of praise writ
In books, and in old testament writ,
A thousand favours from a sist’ring breeder,
Saith this sire that in the time spent
Made this lady his slave; and by his
Give him what he needs, and give him what he needs.
Give me, and I will give thee that which thou hast,
Whilst I in thee are wont to torment,
The coward knife that wounds me so well,
For that he in th’ act of slaughter stalks.
O never kill thyself, and never in thy will kill;
For that thy self, and thy self shalt kill,
The guilt shall in no way be confounded.
‘”When thou art gone, kill me first; kill me sometime in me:
Then do not tell my poor wife I am dead.”
Then he shakes his head, and there he begins
To weep; then he says: “Why should I weep, O false tears?
When I have cried, thou leave’st my poor heart.
But for that, I will confess thy fault.
As the lion licking the rose, so my sorrow
Upon my face, as his downward eye bears,
The lion doth chant his rosy name,
And as each part sings, the rest descries,
Even as a child, now becomes an adult.
Yet am I haunted with her haunted fear;
So is my friend’s father when he sleeps.”
That thou, whose name she forgot,
Shalt not be the foil to my foul disguise:
That’s what I did for her pleasure;
For if I were in the picture, my self was no friend,
The world would see me dead, but her ghost did stay
And never did her beauty resemble
Or the ghastly sun of Mars,
But as she is, as her in life doth appear,
Her beauty being replete with a hideous hue,
And in her ghastly hue still can sit:
That’s why my name is Tarquin now.
And, like a deformed child, in his place
The shadow he casteth on his shadow reflects
And all in a blur the mind’s picture comes in.
“Lo here in the brook I lie,
With pale, dimpled skin I behold a child,
with his golden bridle he carries his mantle,
And like a herald it hies,
That ever will behold his shining charmed star.
‘Why, ah! didst thou give thy servant time
To write to her husband what she’s done,
She’s got papers to keep, and servants to look,
And that’s all she needs now; yet she’s not quite done.
‘”Now therefore with all my might I pray,
To rid this dark and dim hush-disturb’d place
Of all suspicion and all doubt,
My love shall never pervert, nor wear out my peace,
Nor blot my earth with thieves’ ornaments;
Nor gush my unloose bosoms with showers;
Nor wring my veins with filching veins;
Nor pluck thy lips with applying suds;
Nor bud my pluck’d prick till it touch’d
With some precious jewel of thy choice.
This advisedly she begineth to talk,
And begins by complaining of foul woe,
And deep woe respecting her woe.
“His hand, nor his hat, nor his mantle,
Make no noise to me; for he hath no tongue,
But sings of woe; so doth he. ‘”And therefore doth he begin,
To kiss the tender bud on his soft neck;
Like as an unruly boar he spurneth,
Which weakens the young pheasant with his rough beating;
‘Yet didst thou teach the time to ne’er use,
That tongue and tongue-tyrant tongue,
Which both taught the time aptly:
The poor pheasant, with low and low chins down,
Would not fear him now, though his swift beating use


======== CHECKPOINT 092 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Creed in my heart I know thy heart,
And yet if thy heart know, thou art my betrayer.
‘Tis thy fault I am bereft thee so,
And thou shalt owe me, I vow, for thy rest,
And I the greater will keep thee till I have rid’d thee.
In vain, in hope, and high fears keep thee,
My woes may be compared unto a dream;
For dreams are dreams, whereof some doth lie,
Where dreams in thee do abide.
The night I behold the lustful, direful,
Dazed, and I with all my might do my Will
Appear before my sinful eyes a pale,
Appalling like the froward morning,
As the coal-black of the night, whose light
Disorder hath made some part of her seem pale,
Some pale hath lost, and her pearl renewed;
Her tears have reposed in amber, and in hues blue,
And in her veins still the patterns she had
Upon her silken mantle being push’d forth,
In pale river flow they call it winter.
And now Adonis with two young men lies,
Round about him lie Lucrece and I,
Whose lively hue their faces so well understood,
That one of them would seem to blush at the other,
In either’s case his inward eyes would wink;
So Adonis did as one of his equals did,
Appear in them as one in confusion:
He rose, and left us alone,
Though in his pride Adonis stole his way,
Like to some untimely gust his swift flight took.
‘Well may I say that I am most proud of thee,
And of thy fair merit, and to have thee so:
You are not to blame for my deeds unknown
To this day I swear am ignorant,
Yet untutored in the workings of thine mind.
‘”And lo, the fair sun, that burns so oft,
Forc’d his fair queen, that hath put on so great a show.
And this great pollution of her sun
Hath polluted that fair ocean and of her face;
So she hath in her ocean burnt out all,
That hath burnt out all beauty, and all the best of all.
So now she looks upon the time,
And then her cheeks are full of sorrow,
And her eyes, like lusty emeralds, with grief
Upon his bare head, seem’d with dreadful terror;
And then they with purple tears would march,
Which on their silver beaded wounds did cover
The bloody wound he had done to her;
Then with purple tears would they march,
Which on their white blood did cover the wound,
Which on their slain white would cover the pain.
This said, she exclaims, ‘O father, how can mine eyes
Give life to life’s dead and living shame?
And yet they still did give life, and life to life.
“O,” quoth he, “behold, a boar would t’assail chase me;
To kill me was my desire, but now I kill thee.”
“Kill me!” quoth she, and with a mighty cry
Her voice so high that no man could hear her;
Then he strikes her hard in the heart, and softly she drops,
And so lives he in her passion:
‘”O cruel world! what is wrong with mine eyes!
I have no reason to complain, though they be green,
For they have no eyes, though they be blue,
But if they see thee weep, they are red and sad.
‘”If thou pine in this evil, I will pine thee again,”
To spur a desperate desperate hour, with woe or cheer,
Or a desperate cry, as those in danger.
And as they struggle, fearful of his coming,
The boar bites, and the dove flies away,
Who fearing for his life and others’ lives.
‘But for thy fair love I fear that my fair love doth live,
Till I return to be an adder to thy fold,
And to be thy slave in a thousand deceits.’
‘For where is love in this book so long?
The very reason why I write of thee,
For thou made them brave men and mothers,
To bear the shame of thy self-inflictions;
But thou gave them no reason why shouldst thou bear
Thy shame’s excuse, mine own reason being strong:
But thou couldst not make them brave in the face of truth,
Thy face false, thy heart true,
And would not dare to cross so unkind a path?
Thy hand raised high, thy foot low, and all in right,
This hateful act hath me a stormy hour,


======== CHECKPOINT 093 OUTPUT # 001 ========

String and all men are god,
So thou alone hast no god to complain of me;
Thy art so, and I for thee. Amen.”
I think I have found some fault with my tongue,
No fault with my story’s contents agrees;
To blame it on accident or foul craft,
Haply speaking my case was proved wrong;
To blame it on Lucrece’ breaking;
To blame it on Brutus’ defection;
To blame it on those he did slay;
To blame it on that fault which she herself commits;
To blame it on her own cowardice;
To blame it on Pyrrhus’ treason;
To blame it on the poisoned wood,
Or any of her many adulterates’
In succession have committed.
“In vain,” he says, “if there be one thing I admire,
I would say it is her beauty, and she none the less:
And beauty’s pure form and bright point is her skill;
Her sad sound and rough motion is her charm;
And beauty’s grim and proud hue, which makes it deadly
, thou dost give it life, that thou dost hast to eat.
Thou must not kill thy self in this quest;
For death doth make this living wish extinct.”
“But if the knife kill me, why should I kill thee?
But if the knife be kill’d, why should I cherish thee?
for the time thou art so credulous,
That I am still with you and with your stain,
So help I, if thou wilt lend me excuse.
So be it, I do not love thee for the reason,
I feel that you my self must suffer for your crime,
Which my guilt will bear with restful remembrance:
For now you behold the guilt of my offence,
And my self with you still must bear blame.
‘Thou wrong’st me, thy foul offence, my fault is thy right.
To thee I’ll answer thee by thy answer:
The thing is thy fault, and mine is thy right;
Mine thou hast done wrong, and mine is thy right;
Thy faults are in my fault, not in thy right;
Thy fault is not in mine, mine is thy right,
Mine is thy right, and in mine is thy wrong.
This sentence was composed of rhyme,
And twenty-one doublet letters doublet,
With ten doublet vowels and twenty-one alarums.
Thou art but a child, and therefore my rhyme cannot stand;
As children they imitate their father,
And then thou their father’s form takes,
And those eyes which see the child’s beauty take
In his gross body thy majesty do behold,
But in thy pure body thy majesty doth stand.
Thou art like unto me, and when thou behold’st me
The very worst that can be imagined,
Thy body doth tremble, the world doth hear it;
And with her sad breath doth she proceed,
For fear of seeming death, the earth doth fear it;
For now the world fears her, and now the earth doth fear it.
“Die, and live,” saith she; “and be a goddess,
So should the world be glorified with thy crime,
And be a god to men’s lewd desire,
Thy beauty’s use in worship be ended,
For men’s lust is but to stain their beauty.”
‘”I prophesy that he will not live,’ saith she,
‘That thou through thy husbandry, through thy wife’s wife,
Will indirectly undertake thy trespass.’
‘Then live,’ saith the other, ‘and let that blot
Upon my self and upon all the rest:
That is to me the fountain which the storm doth drink,
And all that is in me drowns, and nothing in me
Pushes forth the dead, and nothing is left.
‘But what could he do to stop me, if he might catch
Some worthless piece of wood? ‘Tis he hard task; let him hunt;
Let him have a little cabin in his way,
let him have a little herd of sheep he can tame,
And play some wild sport with his herd;
And be proud, and brave, and bold with him,
As our tributaries to the ocean are,
When we are conquerors of your shallow bay.
Let him ride, and be brave too;
And be bold too; for our sport we must fight;
For thou dost ride, and we all are fools,
To ride the coward that drives a coward man mad.
For if thou dost fight, my heart forbear thine foe,
And if thou dost not fight, my heart love’s


======== CHECKPOINT 093 OUTPUT # 002 ========

extrap or to gain possession of thee,
That I may mine own defect repay,
So thou return to thine own self, and I to thee.
“Gentle maid, I beseech thee with all my might:
O love, for my love, here is thy face,
And on this drawn-out grave, thou dost lie,
And thou on that side hast no right:
For that cheek which thou on my side bears
shouldst bear the curse of death,
Or being buried therein with a mournful bee.
His right, as the painter before him,
Pluck’d back the painter’s skill, his low treason;
Till he would make a dumb hasty revolution,
And bring shame to the rich by succeeding,
For through the self-same defect he would make:
For shame hath his self all perjured,
And self-defence still doth defend himself.
“But when my unripe bird, Collatine,
Sets out upon the grass, and in a trembling dash,
Sits madly upon the ground, where he lies,
And whither he strikes whate’er shall he fly,
with the motion of her arms she starts,
And in a pause do them double crosses mock:
And now she begins to sing; and all amaz’d
With her heavy heart the lines are broken,
That every where they should be broken will be missed.
‘”Lo thus with my mistress I commend
To every fair that touches her hand:—O, what a sight it is!
Even the violet and the emerald,
Whereon their radiance doth her beauty grow,
To every fair is engraven a special grace.
Now for my dear love, this ill-concealed shame,
It is my duty to lay high these untimely woes,
And pay their reproach with my life.
No sooner had Collatinus been set at rest,
O Who, whose absence such disgrace would make,
That mortal sin should evermore remain,
The boundless breath of mortal desire?
Thy honour in immortal thought stays,
Thy honour is thine alone in death,
thou must not steal my breath, for I must stay,
When thou shalt drown my love in a thousand drops.
‘And yet,” quoth she, “this verse, if I may prove,
As it shows from the womb what sort of stain
Feast I in the grave with my mortal sin,
The child will be the better witness,
And the man the better man will be.”
‘”Ay me,’ quoth she,’so must I!’ quoth he;
“And for my sake, excuse me:
I must leave this bed and come back tomorrow.
If that is not enough, what follows
So shall I do unto the world’s worst enemy,
As thou thy servant, this ill-nurtur’d date!
That thou didst (our forego) all reproof,
Thy true love’s flame will burn in my brow,
As soon as thou wilt expel it from my brow.
‘Thus far from home, away I trod,
And did behold the treasure-trove in the field;
For lo, this treasure-tale frame stood victor
Upon the wood whose proud crest lay,
Which crowned it with beauty’s majesty.
O, that whose fresh ornament still bears!
For that wondrous device which thou giv’st is new,
Yet, as thou giv’st it to newer ornament,
I might add a second ornament:
But then beauty would thy beauty grow dumb,
Like the dead of night did deceive,
And all things dead would behold again,
as their mistress’ face is, so her face
Is asunder now, still wip’d with youth:
Even as those wip’d tears are sinking in her eyes.
“Look here, lo here in the brook,
In a small closet with a lighted door,
The babe lies on her back, and her father lies
On top of her, as if he had not beheld it,
His face still showed youth, and beauty on his face,
Who, like a bad dream, awak’d in terror,
Till, behold, the child in the brook had woken,
And, shrieking, she drops to the earth;
Till he shakes her lifeless head, and shrieks again:
She hears a heavy clap and a cloud rise,
As though the earth were shaken from her bosom.
And fearfully she starts to jump,
Like a weakling still anchored in a rock.
‘It shall never be idle then to break a sweat,
To wear down a sacred vestal,
To wear the cred


======== CHECKPOINT 093 OUTPUT # 003 ========

caveats from him, that I may know thy shame.
To make thy shame more great, I will give thee another name:
Since I have told thee so, so long thou art not dead.
‘How will thy self be reconciled?’
‘Thou canst not live with me, being my self.’
And there she takes his chin, and there she looks,
As if the wat’ry watchers knew his heart,
He bade them kiss his cheek, and she kiss his forehead,
Which on their bare fingers their fingers they did do fold;
The precedent was clear, and Tarquin well understood.
This said, in a very heavy-complexioned huff
Her maid with much labour, much ado, do break
Each little twire in her busy and busy will,
To leave a legacy of their loving,
Who by their virtue, their liberty did cherish.
“That she could not touch the knife to close her eyes,
For as she stood gazing on it, fearfully
Hisses through his phoenix-like brain;
His ears hisses with purple flame, his nose grows pale,
And his lips, like marigolds, tremble with terror.
The fearful beast, that thinks twice to heed,
Sets down his gun, and fires upon the helpless night.
“Lo, lo, this man’s fantasy,” quoth she, “this boar must not be
With thine own will; for in that rage he will slaughter,
In revenge upon my death with rage.’
“The wood will not bear my burden; but the coward gait
Will chide, and wits will defend me; the fair maiden will weep;
As the boar, that chokes the prey with his fear,
Sits apace at my troth; but she that doth complain,
Will not wail her husband’s death with wailing moan;
And yet love’s lips are glass, and woe is new
No glass, no wax, no painting shall show.
‘But if thou be king, and thou thy majesty live,
Then the world will behold thy beauty,
And then I with my tongue will prophesy thee
As when in the moon’s wake thou dost fall.
O, thou dead, and I with thee are slain!
I will not steal his sweet morn,
For he hath no beard to deceive,
Nor tongue to curse, nor deed to charm;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to charm,
Nor deed to charm, nor charm to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to charm,
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
Nor tongue to swear, nor deed to flatter;
And tongue repeated woe to woe woe.
Thus with a fearful eye her thought crosses
To one side the sad scene of her woe,
And her thought doth look upon the matter
Which from her thoughts falls to the earth,
Which, like a sad-fac’d boat, overturns and lies.
The painter had given thee this fright,
And I owe it to thee; but thy foul act
In doing so, hath done thee good.
Thy love did make thee dread the night,
That Tarquin, by him full lord of this night,
might have his revenge, and now to do him shame.
O that thou mightst leave the batt’ry,
And return again (not with the haste I sent)
Thy heart’s content may be well acquainted
with thy part of my wilful deed,
And do not so at first detain thy mind;
Thy heart’s content may be well acquainted
With my part of my wilful deed,
And do not so at


======== CHECKPOINT 093 OUTPUT # 004 ========

triv-complexioned, ere once understood.
“And yet here I behold the shadow of a dead mother,
Borne by unwholesome gaol, still young and tame,
Showing life’s old course and ending in doom.
‘But I say unto you this is not the truth;
These lines from a playa tell the story
Of two maids slain by their husbandry;
And sometime she doth allege that they broke the hymn.
So, true to bondage, she did vow chastity;
And sometime vowed to kill the lechers if they did not obey.
A league of lovers thus ensues:
So her sweetly reproving words with tears roll’d,
He takes her by the blood, and by her hand,
She drops him on her knee, and with her other,
The first to embrace him in their embrace,
falls dead, like a drunken bird, o’er the hive.
‘”That, young, precious jewel, that thou shalt see,
Or at thy leisure in the city, be hid,
Upon thy weary neck a chain ill-grip’d:
That the world may see, in thy body that liv’d.
‘His complexion then began to change,
And by that he began to hie his change;
By that he begun again to stain,
Making use of his fresh place to stain,
And so began his alteration anew.
‘This, this,’ quoth he, ‘these are the lads’ and ‘dads’
Of their former lovers, and all acquainting them;
Then are they their leaders, and they their leaders’ eyes;
Then what are they but fools, when fortune tells their tale?
Or what content do they in their deeds bear?
When virtue, as inordinate lust,
May give life, death, shame, and long misery?
How much worse are they then then in their desire,
By more, than death, shame, and long misery?
‘But poor Lucrece, your Grace, my duty calls
To the scene of my untimely ill,
To tell of my absence from you this dire hour,
I’ll be gone, and yet leave you all alone;
Thy beauty still the better to me doth live,
Thy eyes, and thy sweet voice, to speak of me decay,
Till now thy self again shall dignify my state.
Thy heart’s beauty being fickle, thy heart’s truth corrupt,
Thy beauty being too fair, thy heart too fair,
Thy self too fair, thy self too fair fall,
Thy self too fair fall, thy self too fair rise.”
To this her face she says ‘This is thy Will,
In truth my Will, I will vouchsafe none to say;
That my Will in thee (my Will) is plain,
And simple, and true in all things,
Is in thee (my Will) all truth, all correction,
And in thee (my Will) all error,
The very thing we call good, or bad, or neither.
The one loves, the other hates, and both thrive;
To both, neither is true; for neither is true,
Neither is true nor just, neither both deceiveth.
‘My Will,’ quoth she, ‘will confound thee here,
And make clear where I stand: thou shalt not confound me;
My Will,’ quoth she,’shall confound thee here,
And make clear where I stand, by thy Will.’
So begins she to play the parts,
In sad tunes, sad themes, and sadly dismal rhyme;
The worst of all, though not in my verse being said,
I must confess thy worth to this night’s entertainment.
For who could say ‘I did not,’ if not me?
And what could not you but say? “That is not what I am,
To be master’d by a false-doer,
For that is my true and most pure quality,
To hate, abhor, and live an accessory?
But now I have such an instrument, to play,
Which shall play what I please, to hear what I please hear,
As a choir to heaven or hell-elding hell-elders.
How can that, music that breathes, sound,
And tells the world the story of my love,
To my music should my music play?
To you, that music should play,
Since all my music shall sound thee more dear,
Thou art the sweetest of all the sweet.
My love’s colour chang’d, not his is new:
As every white I’ll ever wear,
Thou like his in worth must new-bleeding wear.
As thou w


======== CHECKPOINT 093 OUTPUT # 005 ========

induling the day’s pleasure in vain,
To let the hours themselves exceed their allotted rest.
When they have emptied their glass, their sighs and their groans are mute,
They let their tears fall, and their groans recur,
As if from their foul paws they had fled.
‘What should I do?’ quoth she, ‘betray me?’
No assistance may I then, for my want of self-will,
For thou art as bad in thy deeds as in mine.
For I am such a thing, that even to death doth me show
My face, and I with thee must live.
Even so, Adonis’ eyes, as bright as night’s day,
Do th’imaginate the sad state of my state,
But with deep thought ‘gainst mine own sorrow’s gain,
That my state is mine alone, and thine alone doth live.
‘But in thee, my woes and woes are manifold,
From thy gentle breast I muse, and in thy heart
Thy self to others (though I not their lords)
Dost abide in thy breast’s pride.
In him my woes he seems composed,
Like a god in servile servitude:
O let my woes plead before thy eyes!
Even so my self, having been converted,
May plead for thee still, and still receive thine due.
But in thy heart do I part,
As I part with mine self, and thou my debtor.
Thy self thy brother, thy self thy father’s slave,
Thy self thy brother’s slave, thy self thy slave doth fight.
O me! Who were not so vile a creature!
I did my duty, but yet I am not so gracious.
Look, my lord, thou didst destroy the jewel
Of thy true love, and he is dead,
A virgin’s soul that was his own.
‘My lords, this is my husband’s grave;
This is my dear Lucrece’ life,
And to kill her is all mine; but yet kill me too;
To slay him that I can kill thee well.
‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In thy husbandry’s workings!—
In thee, alas! such a wicked law!
in what way was he affected?
Or what part did he play?—
O my boy what part of thee was affected
As I to him was affected?
or if it were the other way,
it is well to hear the proceedings of gods,
And to admire and admire the beauty
Of men’s ornaments, in such great figures
That one should behold such perfection wax;
Then should one imagine beauty waxen and dim,
Or like an April daisy in the field,
Her lovely form on that termless skin doth stand:
That all men perceive but beauty’s shape,
And beauty doth stand as an April flower,
In every joint but thy right.
Such thoughts, such harmless sounds, such sounds disdainfully
As those passions that under heaven’s sun burn,
Shall make war upon the tender buds of yore,
For fear of whom they’ll strain more bitter strains.
‘But ah! The gouty landlord, on whom I depend
My dear infant’s dear care, was so kind
That I often came to his bed, where sat a woeful face,
With wrinkled brow and scarlet-cheek’d brow,
Which sadly doth sadly lie, with his prey.
To him my picture lay; and on it lay
An ever-green canopy, which on it doth lie
Resembling all the beauty of heaven,
Or as the ocean being proud, being wave’d
With the current so current doth wave by.
To this hail of wind doth come and go,
And from his shining treasure sits he held his tongue.
The bird cries, and all amaz’d in glee:
She sings: ‘Lo, my dear, thou art as bright as day;
Let me assure thee thou art all the better;
And for that good fortune thou hast here,
My poor heart desires it shall rehearse.
I must confess that I am guilty of some slight sin,
And have often felt guilty of some guilt,
And that I have done some heinous thing.
But in these last few minutes I did not feel guilty
The guilt of my offences, nor my guiltless state.
O, if those tears in your eyes did sink,
What can say but I am truly sorry?
No matter where in my being,
My true affection or that dear love hath crept,
I do humble myself in my sorrow,
And give my sorrow words what they will.
‘For my sin,’ quoth she, ‘your mistress


======== CHECKPOINT 094 OUTPUT # 001 ========

VO
In the time that followed thence thou wouldst survey,
Sometime thou wouldst survey my verse,
To put a new beginning to this happy story.
But now, for the season of your will
Have made me leave your scale of thought,
And to your audit have begun
What follows best proves best to your audit,
When you audit best knows best,
As you must your audit obey,
To your audit obey every part,
To every part of me depends.
‘Tis from this bitter fault that I come to question
The marriage of love and hate.
By this I may conclude that he is a devil,
My epitaphs tell the tale of love,
And thou dost bear witness to my defame.
But for my sin thou hast committed,
The shame of my life’s passing,
Which for my sin thou hast committed affords
That much-ripe, untimely trouble to many a king.
And now, through my transgressions, his love still seeks,
To stain me in revenge.
‘So thou shalt not kill me for thy love;
O neither shalt thou steal my wife’s life,
The loss of which I have been beguiled,
Thy body thy soul hath consecrate;
Thy soul the body that thy body doth keep,
Tou hast dishonoured me that so thou dost kill.
The dead cease, and then my ghost begins
To imitate the dying: ‘Poor child, why dost thou live?
If the time come, ’tis thy self that doth entertain
The present, and therefore thou shalt not behold.
‘So shalt thou stay, and mine eye shall stay,
My soul shall tutor thee how to best obtain
The swiftest boat, and to best find my way home.
By this, the old acquaintance
Under whose care the young lord lived was slain,
For he in that trust that hath this trust lost,
Hath sworn to this, and the oaths that shall hold it,
And made to carry him thence unrecalling,
Whose absence hath done him fair favours.
“So thou wilt,” she saith, “if thou wilt break, it shall be thy last.”
Thy pen shall never take thy old woes well,
For by that will be thy death which never comes again.
“Let me assure thee,” saith she, “this is not the night
That prepares the hour of doom;
My mistress and I to travel
To some remote cabin wish to lend a hand;
Which she hath never sought, nor none which she hath sought,
Nor she which she hath sought but from a maund she drew;
And to her amaz’d eyes, beauty, was seen
A sun that neither cloud nor mist could cover.
So did she behold another sun fly by,
Whose golden hue did cover every cheek,
Till now he was gone, and never seemed so.
Then quoth she, “O ill-snouted bird! what dost thou mean?”
The old bird replies, “Lest I should break the silence,
Or worse should that wanton moan hold.”
That thou through my verse, the authorizing of slander,
May plead for my verse to be
Dissuade the false thief that steals my life from me.
Thy face was red, thy brow a pale and weary hue,
Swell’d, but not wilful, for in it doth lie.
‘I found a pretty old man whose leanness did lend
His face a rough and careless play,
And down he began to steep, as one steeped in desire.
This gentle actor did him disgrace,
For he did him dishonour by rubbing:
This gentle actor did him gain honour,
For he did him dread: and here ’tis his grave-wounding.
As in a fight, each part is left unacted,
But either to the other’s consent,
His rider being stopp’d, it is brake’d from the rider:
“Fie, fie!” exclaims he, “Fie, fie, fie!”
“Fie, fie!” exclaims she; “sweet boy, give me a kiss!”
“Fie, fie!” quoth he, “this poor hound
He doth envy the view, and makes foul play;
So, straightway, his low lourdes are appalled.
And now she exclaims, “Fie, fie! a kiss is as good
As crystal methinks is to glass.”
His bare thigh he sets upon her by,
Her breasts, whose soft folds he now affords,
And then his bare chest she descanteth;
His cheek whereon she began lies fixed,
Now it is to the


======== CHECKPOINT 094 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Caucus of thine own heart, to guard the peace of thy soul.
Thou dost kill thyself; one by thine, thou lov’st me;
The other is thy friend, who with thee’s aid
Will bear thee both to hell and life.
But I tell thee that thou mayst be the fairest in this,
Thou mayst still redeem this life, and my life in thee.
And when thou receiv’st from me my verse,
Thou mightst again assay the meaning of thy deeds,
And with this, with thine own, wouldst not stain the record.
‘”Look what largess receives from above:
The lion hides in the white of the brook;
The lamb in the green of the brook;
The mouse in the bud;
the green, the white and both:
As they have, with thee, their worth in me will be measured.
Thou art the fairest in all of me,
And I the best in the whole.
‘”How can the world’s richest jewel be so misplaced,
That it needs a desperate cry to be put out?
A thousand crosses must a thousand blows carry,
The world’s greatest star to die out of commission,
The world’s greatest star to go home,
Or to die alone in a desert,
Or to be made a beggar by his side.
Hence, he begs, and begs he will,
That he can speak, and will use his tongue.
What’s the meaning of all this, and what is not said
Is this: The world’s greatest star to die out of commission,
Or to go away dead, with her crew.
‘”But O, my sweet, if aught more,
Than the earth’s sole ocean, what treasure is there!
Till life is dead, the world is no more,
The ocean hath no sea, earth no man,
Nor air, but dead air, in space he liv’d.
thou hast receiv’d the possession of some
Of crystal and wax, wherein thou dost hide,
By whose gentle control the tempter doth stay,
In thy shady thoughts and deeds thou wilt find,
Till, when thou shalt feel thy friend being haunted,
Return thou shalt find a tomb in thy mind,
So thou mayst not be confounded with thoughts and deeds
Or with thoughts that have nothing to do with thee.
Such have I been, nor thou any,
But thou thy fair nature’s fair name, I have sought,
And to my dearest love, lov’d, and kept in trust,
Found elsewhere than in thy fair bosom’s arms.
‘For with this the world is ended, and I my captive
With my life in life is dispensed;
And all my household is sold, to pay the debt
Which forced me here to live in this dark age.
To do this, she entreats; and presently
She begins a slow talk, with short verses,
And begins with the familiar similes of a wolf;
‘And I have receiv’d from many a several fair,
A woeful variety of descriptions,
Beauty, falseness, shortness, and colour.
‘So on that brief and weary woe of mine,
All these faults shall attend, and then my rhyme shall run,
By th’orbed earth, and thou hast thine,
Which in thy speech in my verse discloses,
As thy unrecalling gaggle of offenders,
Worn out my soul with stale looks, and done,
Shed for my husband, and his love to die,
And married to the sluttish aim,
Without attaint, till attaint was made of thee,
To kiss the grave, and then be buried in grace,
And never touch’d with more stain than thou art,
By what means do I then survive?
My body being cast into a bath,
with his gentle help she with a kiss doth extend,
To him a kiss of supplication shows him,
Like flowers growing on the bier,
Doth his tongue adorn his short neck,
And bids her say, thou young’st this groom well:
‘The shame that I feel from your trespass,
Thou art my advocate; my advocate’s shame.
Thy shame I feel, my shame I dare not say;
Till that thy name is not so known:
Thy shame doth make me forget thy name;
Thy shame doth my shame make my name forget thee;
Till shame doth his name doth forget me all too well.
‘And in this rage of his, two swords excel
Against his wingless sprite he began:
‘If thou


======== CHECKPOINT 094 OUTPUT # 003 ========

daddy, so much worse than thou art!
Thou art of this world more black and damned than I am;
Thou art the worst of all devils,
And devils that can do him good,
Being black and damned, and must not be cured.
‘When thou gav’st Tarquin to the slaughter,
He will not fear him with his foul fighting,
Unless thou wilt kill him with thy spear;
And in that the wolf will not catch him,
But kill him in that which thou shalt slay:
And that’s more than enough to satisfy the wolf:
To slay the coward, kill the coward still, kill the coward still,
And yet he shall be thrice kill’d by the coward.”
“That’s the fault that makes my teeth quiver,
I can’t breathe that air I breathe;
Whose tongue is hard, and whose air is soft,
Mine eye doth frown, and my heart doth flit;
Mine heart is too hard, and mine heart too soft,
Mine heart too soft, mine eye doth flit,
mine eye doth flit, mine heart doth flit;
His tongue doth moan, mine heart doth moan.
Mine heart doth plead with mine eye; mine eye doth plead with mine eye.
Thy eye hath sung, and thy heart hath sworn,
That thou art the son of God, and thy father is dead.
The lion, like an early-sack’d toy,
Lures the young tiger by a chain link,
The golden eagle by a black kennel chain;
The ruffian by a golden chain,
Which like a proud warrior she doth fight,
But her beauty doth not delight his eye.
“The sun is new; why, young love, are you not old?
Love hath engirt his beauty with newer,
He hath dyed his golden locks crimson,
And every bate-worthy thing he holds,
Is mortgaged to him that he cannot wear.
‘Twas true that my maid attends my stay,
For that purpose gives some excuse to leave me;
And thus she ends her argument by scowling:
He, with maid’s diligence, will not look,
Though to himself he abuses his beauty.
For he, lust, that so fram’d his eyne,
With shining eyes hath seiz’d his affections.
‘Thy beauty lies buried, and yet thine is young;
Thy worth no more is thy beauty measured;
Thou dead, my love, and beauty die!
Yield thy love and lov’st to the wayward boy.
‘Look what my life in life did foil
That ambitious heart that was hoping thither.
I never could see the heart of thine,
When nature had my image, my grace,
And taught it thus to make beautiful men:
But with the overthrow of nature I drew
Beauty as the deep ocean doth give:
In this way the deep gale
That drowns the world, makes all our pain greater:
So shall my sorrow be drown’d in other bay.’
For I love to hear her talk, as when she speaketh,
Even in tears, and all over her face;
Yet when her sad song began, his tears fled,
As if from some strange power draw them again.
“So then she calls to mind the day’s main,
Hearts five, with deep sighs and mighty groans,
Whose joy is to blush at woes endured,
And to sad tunes sighs and groans delighted.
Now she hears a dull clap of thorns in the grass,
Hearts three, with heavy groans and hounds,
Whose joy is to weep at woes endured,
And to sad tunes groans and groans delighted.
Then do you wonder at thy hours, O what dost thou do?
To weep for me now, and then for evermore,
For then am I contented with sighs,
Sweet sounds, sweet sorrows, and joy therein.
For fear of which, I have sought some remedy,
And death by strangulation no remedy found,
Which after the strangulation did subsist.
‘To-day,’ quoth she, ‘though out in the dark night
I find myself in a cave full of shadows,
Looking for a cure for my cold sickness;
Pain is but the mildest and most dangerous,
And often death breeds by abusing a friend.
‘For now, lo, the world is ending,
The world stops, and all is but to rob me of a dream.
Look, as many a white foison stand in my way,
To-morrow they will stamp their hoofs,
Like the dew-


======== CHECKPOINT 094 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Spread that their proud anthem hath been mute,
Where their proud anthem now is blown,
As if from thence it could not be heard.
‘Then for the privilege of this blessed-fac’d place
My body and my soul with thee are mute,
If that be your will, then stay and write to me;
The worst is past, the best is to do,
And with the rest come to my judgement,
My judgment with my will is left unseen.
Thy will is strong, thy will weak,
Thy will plead, thy will resist, thy will say.
The poet once more reworded
My love to the stage of praise,
The painter once more reworded
Thy love, even for my love, still liv’d for thee.
Love was but the tender stamp of nature,
That still applied salve, still gloss’d in gloss,
To all men, of all respects, but to none,
With beauty that in thee doth thrive,
The defects which it bears to every thing.
‘”Lo thus begins he to cipher his ill
with a sigh he dumps his brow,
Like misty rain upon a wetter day;
Like the strong-besieged channel of a strong-hammered gun
The batt’ry, the proud banner of such proud pride,
Whereto his speech doth hush the proceedings,
And, levelling his sighs, doth begin: “‘Tis but a question of pride
To betake that which thou shalt hereafter kill,
In pursuit of that which thou shalt hereafter aspire.’
She, mad, shakes her head, and says nothing;
He answers her: ‘It will be thy last, and then I will hunt.’
And, lo, those words, so true to her mind,
All truths should be told in plain words.
How can Collatine lie unaware
That one by one he hath strayed so far from truth?
Or would it be the other way fair,
As the tanned-beached nymph from the fairy tale
Hath strayed from her true love’s picture,
To drown herself in a sea of foul water?
What of that, gentle maiden, what of thee dost thou mean?
‘Tis to show my love and thy love’s parts:
And if thou wilt go, be not wary,
That’s to blame where my louring breast lies.
And, lo, to be fair and lovely is not enough
To make me love thee so; so be it.
If this please you, write to me again,
That I may publish it in your city,
As soon as I have time, though my tongue cannot express it.
Thou art all the more mine, if thou keep my love,
For when thou art all alone, the world will say ‘Here goes thy song.’
‘O Time, thou fool, when thou art all undone,
O present dame, when thou art all bent,
The day is past time to spend, and all is spent,
Let Time’s sweet livery doth hang,
And Time’s sad anthem sing’st softly in decay,
And Time’s sweet sorrow, ‘gainst Time’s grief, drown’d
The day with lamentable woes hath ended,
So shall my sorrow be, as the day doth begin.
, this is the period of sorrow till discharged.
This said, she throws herself on his neck,
Like a dying cedar, stoops and prays her eyes,
That he may hear her words, and then she will rise.
In him this nightly vengeful gaol
Hath drawn the breath that breath’d her to his eye;
When all ears were ear’d together, that sweet smell
Which in him still gave life, and death’s sweet smell,
Saw yet no sin, nor death’s sin, not in his.
To make excuses, she set her eyes on the maid,
Where she hath had a son and daughter die,
They must not live like children again, nor must their faces be seen,
Nor tongue-tied maids be so kind, though their hair grow’d
With wrinkles, nor their nails be twisted like thieves.’
And she, quoth he, in that dark cabin,
Which hides in the mountain of Lucrece’ brow
One in which she lies unperceived,
And that the image of her face lies so
In his place hath power to move the mind,
That where it is, it never sleeps,
Nor manly terror can set a man free.
‘Then do not be afraid, O good lady, to see the face
That on thy face thou dost bear such dreadful terror,
From me thou art but a child, and yet not an age,


======== CHECKPOINT 094 OUTPUT # 005 ========

bec a woman of my equals, my mistress, and yet not of my love.”
“O then she was not,” quoth he, “but was mistress of her, and of mine that she kill’d.”
“Why not kill her?” quoth Lucrece;
But why not me? to rob her of that which she lacked?
Her death was her husband’s desire;
That she might not be slain till he himself took,
Threw him from her by force of lust,
Who, angry at him, quoth she, “have here thy servant kill,
And thou wilt see thy servant die, not for my sake.”
‘His love was kind,’ quoth he; ‘his passion was kind;
But now he befriends and respects her disdainfully,
And when she’s vexed, yet never dissemble;
And all at once she beats his lips till she hears his name,
And then she doth begin to cry;
‘That he in his passion was kind,’ quoth she; ‘but now he in his passion hate;
And when he hath done, his passion will strike the poor beggar,
For shame’s sake, though he lose his wit.
‘Thus ends the night, when Adonis sleeps,
In pale fear, still the prisoner away:
So with herself she sleeps; her mistress wakes,
And bids her keep still in silent bondage;
Who, dumb and dumb, with Lucrece’ woes still
Till now ‘gan shake her gently off, as if they knew
Her intent was not to woo her:
‘The matter, my dear boy, is quite controll’d,
I’ll confine myself to your purpose:
You are to be my tutor and guide,
For in the school which you to this end prepare,
Do teach me this lesson of courage,
Which seems better than folly, and less cruel,
In seeming strange and far-off to thee.
“And now she starts and he in his charmed steed
Tires the ivory cabin where Adonis lay,
His crest upon his falchion,
And on it hangs a flaming torch,
That the eyes which see it might dart forth
Upon the fire, exclaiming aloud,
Whose fire, in flaming smoke, should burn the world.
Now all helpless, helpless she doth cry aloud,
And from her burning cabin, through the smoke of the fire,
doth hear the rustling of carcaseings,
And all at once she exclaims aloud,
‘A moiety hath naught to do with thine eye,
To make the poor helpless helpless moan for rest.’
‘But then she would be forgot, wert thou such a fool!
To be forgot she would be so bold!
‘And lo, if the league of nimble fools were broken,
No man in his right would touch her;
No woman but a man would touch her;
That they both might not see each other’s shame.”
So concludes he, in his rage,
Whose hate-painting eye hath so grossly pined,
As if from some frightful purpose procured her,
Which in her head Tarquin with many awing’d,
As if from some foul purpose from some foul doom procured her.
Now with a sudden look he says,
‘O Time, thou art not Time, thou art not Time;
For once in this grimly sky shalt thou behold,
a little while doth he entertain,
Thy eye thus opens wide, where on this ill look
He stares, as in amazeth our lord.
‘The crow that flies with all his might doth sing;
Whose wings they let loose at random, as they fly.
The birds, in abundance, in abundance doth sing;
the poor beast hath no part in the deed;
But as the rich grazed on the bounty,
So his appetite for gain is contented:
The coward that cannot hide his true taste
Crawls to the bottom of his pride to meet
His bewitched foe, who in his haste kneels.
O, by this, poor Lucrece’ soul saw some fraud,
Who in his haste came to a stand
Of sobering age, with a kind of woe,
Who for his self-example now stands disgrac’d.
“Why dost thou waste such a peaceful hour?
Thy glass will show thy face ill, and my tongue good,
Who should speak ill of thine, if thou speak’st well of me?
Thy lips their silken parcels betray thy lips,
And my voice my sorrow, being mute,
Thy eyes, as marble imitate’d, are dumb.
For why, O comfort, didst thou forsake me,
When


======== CHECKPOINT 095 OUTPUT # 001 ========

perished to be the tomb whence his body was kept?
“The body being chang’d to be the mark,
Shall crown it eternal beauty,
As beauty bred not to crown the dead,
Or vice versa.
But when thou shalt see the beauty of this deed,
The spirit hath castrate’d the thing dead,
That man’s brow, though white, yet not mane.
‘And now in this black chamber of hell he sleeps,
Till presently he wakes again;—O! that blood which thou dost clothe in me,
is but a weak seal, and cannot hold
To dwell with tempests or famines.
“For behold, in a brook of green cistern
A viewing the deep gorge where he was slain,
A view so rare, yet so dear!
That in the bud some of his white yieldeth,
To show what bounty there was in him died.
Thus she re-enslaved the breach,
And forth again to meet the hounds, wondering what they did
Had done to him;—his answer was so
“Ay me, my fault,” she retorted;
“O yes, of course, of course; for my sake let me go,
Thou mak’st not a woman’s dream: let it not be said
Thy beauty in thine own will lives forgotten;
Till beauty’s own will being born again reigneth.”
‘Poor creature,’ quoth she,’my mistress’—
Thy beauty did kill my life, my life’s sake!
The sun that sets daily on this earth doth stay
Into the furnace a perpetual smothering;
But here my love, whose light is burning now,
Till now his light shines still in the dark place:
And now to light, in darkness sits Collatine
With the world’s foulest fiend, who lives and dies by day,
But with my beloved Collatine still liv’d,
Losing Collatinus and all his fair parts.
‘But where art thou that thou mayst find some respite,
From this unhappy bondage that to me belongs
Thy hours of rest, to be missed when thou livest!
I prophesy that thy years shall not be long,
Or that thou my self shalt curse the very day.
This said, he shakes his head and begins
To sing; and, in some deep gush, as the water runs,
A cloud of smoke disperseth from his face,
Which now disperseth again, like an earthquake.
“If I die, my woes shall soon be told;
If I live, my woes shall in my dying be.
And yet thou art as guilty of my woes as the hare,
The dove forsworn in the rose he took.
She says, “Toucheth not, O fool, to lose one of thy friends,
And forsworn to lose all my friend, all my love.”
So she replies: “Ay me!”
So says he again, so says he again.
‘O love, that false tongue that tells the truth
May as yet be invisible,
It ever hath the power to stain, even where no stain
can redress my trespass, nor bring relief
To me, nor remove my stain, till I prove
a purer form to live, a false worshipper:
The thief of his lust, by thy fair fair fee,
May in my heart remain a pure slave,
And be blest in thy heart when he takes thee.
If that be dead, then life in me is liv’d.
‘Now I view the dire hour which my defame
Grows dim and hopelessly, and, fearfully,
From within the dim prison of my vile breast
The coward soul doth enter, and dies there:
And, behold, the guilty fiend
With hideous terror enters a deep chamber;
In there sits Collatine, and to his right
Lends down his long-slaughter’d pen; and straight
To the painter’s black, with round out-hanging pen,
Like the surly Tarquin seated in his horse,
Resembling in every part of him a king,
His true self in his false throne hides,
And in the vacant seat sits asunder,
In standing in remembrance of him,
And doting mother that makes him this grave.
Who for her daughter’s sake supposes her son
Is buried in a tomb so foul,
That his posterity doth still cherish
His immortal name, and makes no new
Wherein he may live, or give his living place.
“For this purpose, I bid thy picture be taken,
To show thy worth in posterity:
Thou, Collatinus, art thy greatest god


======== CHECKPOINT 095 OUTPUT # 002 ========

operative to do, if he should wish;
Yet is not so with me, or you, or I.
I have sworn fair justice shall be my witness,
And fair justice no fair witness shall know
Nor fair trial fair justice not but foul impious;
So shall I be revenged on thy fair
Finding my name shall in my deed be called,
Forsworn in my tongue by the foul-ruled,
Of old age, and decrepit in power:
Yet not to this end shall I be bound, nor free,
Thy love, thy love, thy love’s repeal be done,
thou shalt not murder me;
And, lo, I am revenged on him for thy death,
Since thou dost end a life of mine own,
Till that my life being lived in thee doth cost more.
‘Yet do I not (my body) dare to be so bold,
As to challenge the honour of this blessed fame,
By swearing feigned love upon my untutored
mouth; but his infirmities, so severe
Upon his weak body that he durst dare
To lie, and die, under his forced sway.
‘His infirmities’ are manifold,
That their strength is slow to grow with age;
Their weakness is stout, and their coward pride
Will fight it out with more than might be quick:
That they themselves, in their coward pride,
Make all defence of themselves, that we may defend them.
‘O Opportunity! Opportunity is gone
And my dear friend, whom she would bring back,
That she would weep for her deceased friend,
Is gone, and now she will cry that she shall kill him,
And yet her husband will not let her stay
A thousand tears, if that be ten for one.”
This said, Collatine with heavy care
The aged lady that had her own chamber open,
With trembling Lucrece and Priam down,
Whose white weighs down the place where she lies,
Like the dew-bed shrub whereon the violet sleeps;
And every light occasion of his wind
Whose windy and hot body doth in turns raise his shade,
Whose bare foot falls to the ground, whereon it falls.
The painter, to correct his art,
Or in the wrong, do what is right,
To make the subject seem silly, silly still.
But the shadow, in his dim misty place,
Pawn’d up the clear sun, to blot the fool with his shade.
O Time, what proud boast did you make of me
When you as sun and moon were crowned
With two of the three doth now stand
In spite of yourselves, and in spite of thee.
As they view the night so bright they gazeth,
But, lo, they have not seen the day as it shines.
‘I did shun him for that; now he’s here and there,
For I love him; and to make him hate me more,
I’ll curse the hell out of him, and make him come again.
Love did win me for that; now he’s here and there,
And now he’s dead, and I am back again.
‘That’s enough; he’s gone,’ quoth she,
And leaves us two alone.
‘Look, as the wind picks up the cold, so do our eyes;
When we pine, the heat from the sun doth blow
And shade nothing, till heaven forbid, to set a man
In shade, by raining death’s parching rain.
When thou wilt set a dwelling for men
in that time when heaven hath no power to set
A school for you to learn to hate,
To despise the world with your looks,
To dwell on all-absent sorrow
And turn inward, far worse than in your looks.
O, this thy will, this thy will will’s force entice,
Thou will’st an inward war, and will’s strength persuade;
Then being set in this siege, let not suspicion
With thy will’s outward will surfeit.
A thousand tears, anon she drops,
And bloodless eyes, like misty vapours from a furnace
Will not stain his silver nor his gold;
And like a black swan, will fall if he lets go.
She tells him to get on his back, and hold his head still,
And kiss his lips; then with a desperate cry she throws,
“O bloody hell,” she cry, and stands quite still,
“his bloody honour!”
“Ay me! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah


======== CHECKPOINT 095 OUTPUT # 003 ========

mun is he not called fair,
To whom some wretched traitors bow,
And in honour of his fair name awards
Unfair, kind, or tame praise?
Look how the merciless tyrant with sluices reigneth,
And when the fair goddess weepeth for his kill,
Her angry eyes make the hairs stand on end,
And all their fury doth double-doubting:
But as the hours pass by, her tears shoot forth
And make her grief even greater.
He puts on a careless look, as one of sport,
Till he finds the fault, and blames the man’s mishap;
‘Why, it is well I guess, but foul thou art,
Because thou art so foul, and I believe it true.
What could it be that so fair a thing as death did
Make so foul a spectacle?
A man walk’d on the bare earth, bare on foot,
But he did walk, and now she sits,
He lies upon her face, and she by him sits.
‘Thou wrong’st me, and yet I am still thy friend.’
‘Why art thou such a spite? I dare not know
Thy love was made for sport, and not to disgrace.
O, if love were a goddess, it should shine so
Into the prime of beauty, and reign
As great embers in the sky are smoldered.
So is her muse still, and her invention still
Lends light to every eye, and foul thoughts to every tongue.
When thou art sure of my untimely death,
My unkindness is such as no pen can tame,
Mine art such a merciless knife to burn:
I can inflict great deeds upon my foe,
By striking him dead, or wounding him with blows.
O thou my gracious muse, what dost thou mean
By insinuating that thou art his art?
Why dost thou insinuate that I am thy foe,
Which is to my detriment the more
To slander and wound my self so gloriously wrought?
O fairest act, wert thou thus revenged,
O fairest sin, murd’rous act, I will blame thee,
For that thou art that I sought to impress.
‘This said, he spied a handkerchief lying
In a well-mouthed bough on the ground,
Akin to the effecting charm of his voice,
With a cool disdain his lily green hand doth confound,
And on it she exclaims aloud, “O thou fair queen!
Who dost thou feed upon whose lifeless shell
Seems to swallow up so vaporous a face?
Hast thou cast the fiend off his wits,
That his life and his liberty may live in confusion?
Then wilt thou wert so fair, and so fair
That thou must abide by my side,
Though to this I must change my mind, my deeds unknown?
Or will thy sweet beauty be lost, and live
Like an ass in the field, having no face but
Of his unadvised proffer to look,
And never to show his true face again would give
Truly ugly shame upon him, and making him laugh.
‘For behold, he took the boar’s hide,
That hides his true fear in that white-hiding fur;
He hath no shame in that, but the boar hides
In that he may surprise the beholder.
So, if thy love were true, why didst thou forsake me,
When thou shouldst forsake the hope of such a bliss?
Thy love was but a tender love, and therefore receiv’st,
But now ’tis a sour, sour, and barren state,
It becomes bitter when it is shunned;
It becomes sour when it is esteemed sour.
How oft hath my love been outsmarted
By those whose unapproved stewards are;
By those that approve thy merit,
And those that praise my worth are not so kind,
As those that praise thy worth are not so kind,
Thy merits are not enough to justify thy merit.’
But yet my friend, if those unjust hands kill thee,
Thy light should blurt forth the poison which thy breath
Grows from thy breast, all blotting it with death.
‘”Now therefore shalt thou wert as he is,
And lo, thy sweet will, like him, will play;
Till him play the taker to the self-same altar;
So shall I be a king in this false god’s court;
To rule my lord with false gods and men’s eyes.
If thou wilt, thy will will is strong;
But if thou wilt, my will is weak;
If thou will, I will


======== CHECKPOINT 095 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Tes’ his true eye.
‘”Ay me, poor soul,” quoth she, “on this line tell me,
What sorrow did I feel when thou rotted?
But when in Lucrece I behold the fair sun
arching on his visage,
Then on the visage’s edge is a tear,—
Showing him dead he was born again,
That this time he must die by raining.
‘Tis to disgrace that we must leave out,
Beauty and virtue must be married,
And beauty must be a monarchy,
And vice a king; virtue a subdued love,
Tends to lose place with beauty’s show,
Tends to win respect, and then win acceptance;
When virtue is master of the prize,
But when beauty is the owner of the prize,
Which is in himself the prize,
Then beauty’s chief virtue is fear,
For what it fears fears it doth despise.
‘Thus, ah, it will not be so, that it fears,
Thy sweet form should not be called so;
For beauty is sweet and sweet fear is sweet;
I hate, and thou lov’st not, for thou art despised.
And yet thy likeness thou didst betray,
Gainst my dear love’s likeness a semblance.
But thou art thine, and for my love thou art
Thine, and I thy image still remains.
“But where is my true love?” “Ay me,” quoth she, “if thou wilt desire
To know it, be it not thy will,
To persuade thy soul to move thence?
To leave a body so replete,
With all the fresh effects which that new-born dead,
Feeding on diseased mothers, breast-eating spoil,
Struggling to rid the world of all filth,
But death, mother and child, stand so justly dead,
That our posterity in posterity
Could but kill them all before we were born.”
And yet she said this in a careless rage,
She hath no right to boast of blame;
Her words were prophetic, and they will not be said;
But the eyes of men, as they see them, are dumb,
And often do question and answer them:
Why should I be dumb when my tongue knows
What kind of talk I have of kings, lords, and ladies?
And what should I say to those, who by my deeds speak,
Of deeds so fair and so true?
No, thou art not my kind, though thou know’st well.
Thus she concludes with lamenting;
But she stops not to acknowledge her fair cause;
And yet with sighs and groans she wets them again.
Her woes are like two streams passing side by side,
One to her own foul ocean, the other to the west:
The one turns back, the other a new-swelling wave,
That seems to let the mind wander, till it find
How far the sea away comes, where thou thy self dost abide,
And all at once, through the deep ocean relenting.
O, help me, thou hast an eye, and a tongue,
And if thou wilt permit my love to speak,
Be a tongue worthy of thine own:
Though words be hard as steel, yet thy soft touch is strong,
And all things mortal are hard as stone.
“But be so bold, thou art said to know
The art of craft, the semblance of beauty
The very essence of matter, and of substance,
Thy proud best is but the most remote;
When this, thine, is the day of judgement,
The day is all but a waste and ender;
Then I will not rest till all men have died,
The slaughter of all breeds was the lawful end;
And by that time the lawful end had been gave,
That swift death to thee came not with slaughter,
But in swift succession came swift death to thee.
For whither did the boar come that did slay him?
Who, angry with fear, would not curb his speed,
But would not relent till his pursuers had run,
Who, being full of fear, would soon be gone,
To chase after the boar alone.
‘Tis with grief and disdain that she utters this,
That she utters this more, than all the others.
This said, his hand went up, and down he began;
The wood, which he in turn would clip, did tremble,
Like to a violent and trembling bat.
‘That’s all,’ quoth she, ‘of him I am composed.
No, he is not; he will not touch me;
I have but one kiss, and he my only wish,
Thy


======== CHECKPOINT 095 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Sud of his face doth flatter himself,
And to his advantage sits he by a tree,
In whose weeping sap the sweet smelling rose prays,
When by a cedar she pricked her young,
Which white, well-painted, had mulberries pricked when young,
When she herself pricked them white,
So her pride did stain with her own.
‘So be it,’ quoth she, ‘this man’s death-bed,
To kill his self with his own venom, and then his foe,
Shall plead that they themselves are dead, or else be kept,
That thou in thy self being thyself slain,
Thy self forsworn by thy self being slain.
My reason hath writ in my mind the murder,
And the guilty be sent to die, where they may live,
Till either be absolved of the blame,
Or they be absolved by their guilt’s obtaining,
And put to death their chief suspect.
As the painter who in fresco to fresheme
Of fresheme of fresheme he did bless,
To show us the painter’s misty face,
Or in fresheme of fresheme of painted blood,
Saw my blood being painted new in life’s freshness,
And in life’s freshness new beauty being born
As beauty dies, the old one is new,
And life is dead, the old is new.
‘Well may I say, this man’s death was an art,
And beauty’s life was but a toy,
Which nursed him to health, and then to death.
The other side, that beauty was,
As fast as light can turn to darkness,
Through all the power of his being gone,
This one beauty returned the favour;
And from him, like a falling plume,
A thousand voices call it thunder, and water,
Cool that made it rain, and brake that kept it light.
A thousand dials answer each call,
Answer me as thou wilt, or tell me I am old:
How old is love when thou art old and yet never dies,
Or when thou art old and yet never dies,
Or when thou art old and yet thou art not,
How old then art thou when I am but new,
I do lament, and yet do not grow old,
Because of thee, and not because of thee.
I will not vaunt my praises to be forgot,
But for the shame of a guilty verdict so charged.
Since thou art guilty of my offence,
Your Lordship will thus abide mute:
‘Tis true, as it were a vow,
To swear in favour of no lawful cause;
And in that offence is so invoked
That one ill-declined, all-hurting vow,
That ever will the world force his will in her cause,
The world for his sake would let that leave,
And to leave this world in so far off so
Than kill himself or herself.”
O how her tears did rain, as rain on a flower;
O how she herself herself herself would shed,
As weeds do in paradise do in weeds shed,
With tears, and sobbing still, and frowning,
As if all were jocund in one fell swoop,
Till, like a dire wolf, with her prey gone,
With white fleece, and pelt, and all merchandized,
Till her eyes, whose glued bright eyes had th’ impression,
Shook off all fright, and down she goes.
‘Then shalt thou take the map and begin,
To play the parts of a true poet,
Who ever lived, nor ever would die.
Thy fair form a true sheet should contain,
Of truth’s worth and worth a counterfeit,
In worth or false a plain epithet,
To distinguish thee from that fair creature in thine,
Thy fair form should in thy worth contain,
In truth the true and most just,
Wherein it should be honoured and not lacked.
thou shalt never boast that I did alter
The shape of thy face,
Or that of my face with my nails dyed,
With thy loving hand how thy beauties glow’d!
What art thou that so hard a mind bleeds,
That all thy worst fears to despise?
No, but he which makes my worst fears excelling,
Lends my love a spirit of majesty,
And gives it a hell of terror to hear.
O no, this thy sin shall never be forgot,
For it is my love, and he will bear it
Thy love’s mortal sin in mortal shame.
Let him leave his post, and stay where he dwells,
And do not bid him depart thence so.
He will not leave his


======== CHECKPOINT 096 OUTPUT # 001 ========

uptake, but with greater patience, than those present.
For thou mayst see, this is not a woman’s husband,
For no, thou art not thy father’s wife,
But she thy lady’s lawful slave,
Who buys thee up where thou wast wont, purchase’st thou not a wife?
A woeful slave that pays all her income
Toil in numbers for hours thou canst not spend,
Her bare hands must do her bending.
O let not the rich be tyrants that set eyes
To their own image, who are themselves made free
Of wealth, rank, and office, to rob thee of it.
Thus is she like unto the morning;
She wakes him, and he by her side lies.
‘And being gone, with a loud cry she drops
Upon his trembling head, to make him stop,
The bush that his lusty foe hath tied
Holds still, till he be spied again, and be set.
“No,” quoth she, “this man shall not touch my breast,
He is but a man, and he wears nothing.”
“No,” quoth he, “this man may touch my breast,
And in my breast may some gentle evil come.
Thy lust, which to-day still doth fight,
Till tomorrow shalt know thy shame, thy shame’s strength,
And by that time to-morrow shall know
thy disgrace, and thou didst do it.
This said, as his lips did presently move,
They did likewise entertain the light,
And by this bright light did Tarquin see
the deep-green vapour that from thence flowed
Into the channel where she now lay.
‘Had I not,” quoth she, “hurriedly to catch,
My breath, that burn’d up all my strength,
Would have eased my spirits along,
To bear this on as quickly as I could stand;
But now my strength is all but frozen,
And as their captain hath quit, they fight and die:
‘I will not permit it,’ quoth she, ‘if thou permit’st
A thousand blows to the heart, and he will wither,
For one kiss will do the other ten.’
‘Thou wronged groom, and thou defame,
Hath committed this stain to my well-doing,
And am the first offender to my troth.’
“Fair queen, thou look’st not the heart, ’tis the mind,
That burns up the fire in the brain which doth rehearse,
Who, being asleep, is forced to rise again,
And this time is so much hotter still;
Who, with her continual hot desire, wert full hard,
For the eyes were white and their beauty black.
‘Then be wise as thou art, and do not take
The morning’s entertainment too much delight,
Nor let the watch be dull’s night’s delight,
Unless my mistress’ eyes be dumb as thieves.’
And how she compares him to her lover,
And such a night will not do her husband good.
‘I will,’ quoth she, ‘raise my eyes, and pray they stay,
For with my presence their infirmities,
I will strive with them, and they their infirmities,
To purge my body of murder’s poison.
‘”O, this is the worst of all!” quoth she;
“these canker worms that in thy blood
Have done the world their cruelest wrong,
Who, like unshorn velvet, doc’n downward remain,
While stoic women, chaste in their filial regard,
Or with crystal eyes in the brinish rivers keep,
Will clip the false teeth that in his pride keep:
This proud lord of mine shall be free,
From all this wrong and all my wrong’s end,
To be a true love-sick fool, I will stay,
For thou (Thou lov’st to know) I have been woo’d by many,
And then my body was nigh and my mind away.
No, hear me, there was no such thing
As thrift or sport; for sport in that term,
Grew sport’d and sport’d the fowl.
The turtle would not hear her complain,
Nor his loyal friend would question his reason,
But his loyal friend would be mute and disdainful:
She would say nothing but ‘I love thee,’
To show her husband’s disdainful tongue.
‘I do love thee dearly, my love to thee
Till then I do curse thee, my love to thee.
O, how do I swear that thou art true,
And yet am I the less assured
That my love is true, and thou my love?
Do not believe, it was thy


======== CHECKPOINT 096 OUTPUT # 002 ========

lodged on this occasion I’ll say more, because of want of words:
Thy name is Tarquin, and thou dost steal my life.
Ah, if thou art the only, I beg of thee,
If thou livest, be of thyself thy right.
I never was acquainted with thy woe,
And thou hast no name to call me now,
But foul-speaking Tarquin, doth shake my hand,
And I in him, like to the turtle,
Lurk’st, scratch, scratch, scratch; and then he doth
Crack my heart and drown my mind,
To make me think on thee with more grief;
To make me think on thee more woe,
And loathsome, in thy voice make me swear a thousand times,
But thou hast no name to make me swear a thousand;
No, wilt thou be my betrayer, shall I swear,
I’ll betray thy sweet love to rob thee of me,
And rob thee in other ways, if thou wilt bear it.
If thou break the law of fair law, thou know’st not fair,
I’ll bewitch thee, as soon as I get my way,
To kill my hopes of ever-ending love.
‘That poor bird, that hound now by the way,
Will never fly away, although in her beached nest,
Which now her young and young’s time are spent,
As often as her birds doth sing,
To sing hymns to the drone sweet bird,
Whose sweet melody to our chorus exceeds tune.
Thus to his lawful bed she lays,
As the turtle on the grass,
to thy oblivion I list
My love in general, and thy beauty only,
In that I live alone, in eternal love.
Thus am I come to deny thy sweet grace,
And to deny thy beauty live in me?
How can it then be said I love thee as thou art,
Even when thou art living in this false plague?
O pardon me then, I have not felt the sting
Of that dreadful plague which I did prepare,
And yet the thought of that painful deed,
May yet still in my soul behold the sting,
And still in my heart may think that it is right,
That thou being dead, I did crave thy good.
‘O pardon me, I did but see thee
With my own sinful eye, as it illuminates:
But as I sympathize with thee,
And have pity on your fair defect,
As with fair defects my eyes do accord
With false eyes that did my self confound,
For eyes that taught thee how to discern
What is most divine in you, and what is least?
Give me one, and I’ll give it thee.
Look how a mountain doth fall from a hill,
And the world bereaves it, save that in it
Wrack it with snow-white matter. O, help me, I may lend
Those arms that did him dismount from his horse,
And ride on to the next use,
But, by accident, his rider is gone.
So now the sad bower is about to break,
And those tears which the world could hold are stop’d:
Even as he lifts his glass, another stream
Hath blown the glass up, and this more is seen:
What was he painting? what did he say?
No painting shows what substance it was;
But what struck his eye, in his blood, stood transfixed;
So was he amazed at this double action;
So was she dismayed with her dismay.
‘Tis for trial and not for acceptance;
For as she had the verdict, so her heart
Hath forced his will, and she hath still not the will;
What shall I say, my poor soul, that thinks
That I may say this man wrong?
When in greater truth I may say this man be!
For me, I am the same, and he the other.
Let me say, my love, that in you
There is such a thing as truth in figures,
As if they had no name.
In him there appears truth, in him there appears fear,
At first, then seeming to wail, as if from grief,
Deep-wounded, with bleeding wounds to her face and neck.
“Now for your part,” quoth she, “I grant thee the light,
Though cloudy day tomorrow doth make all the difference;
But now to your defil’d and defil’d glory
This will I in secret secrecy place.
That honour that thou left behind me,
By thy deeds, my will, and all the power of this world,
May be none, till this golden key shall open:
With this,


======== CHECKPOINT 096 OUTPUT # 003 ========

adjud as she were beguiled by thieves.
And therefore forth he goes, ‘O daughter of mine,
Hast thou my partner’s heir, and do not break
My promise to return my love?
As guilty as thou art, then be not of my swearing,
That thou art my love, and I am his.
In answer to her, he answers: ‘O love, thou counterfeit,
If I could tell, thy face should be bright red!
And I should one day swear to thee:
I have sworn this oath, and thou shalt have
My sworn love. ‘O swear it not! ‘Forsworn oaths are everwound,
Unless thou swear it never shall be wrenched.
For in the power of this oaths swearing,
I do swear unto thee this, that thou shalt find,
At least, I swear to thee this for the rest of thy tale,
And that I am to curse thee woe shalt thou find,
Because thou on my swearing hath stol’n thine ass.
O thou that art not my brother, I do swear,
That thou art my best friend; and I trust that thou wilt,
Thy gift is both truth and worthiness,
And that all men’s eyes are dumb with paying:
Even so my poor false-speaking wife,
May speak ill of him, and still not love him so.
‘This said, Collatine, the urchin,
Grip’d away his golden habitude, his livery,
And set sail for the ocean, where he would lie,
And hunt the boar with his beak,
By which he would clip the youngling’s hide;
That bastard was not to blame, he must be nigh,
And nimbly for his prey would hang his head;
And therefore the cunning hounds would catch the maiden,
And, lo! they catch her still, the bounty
Is far greater than was promised in thee:
For if thou wilt wilt by my pleading,
the giddy joy that follows
From this high tide that makes the ocean turn green,
Or from this deep, that deep’st sorrow doth stay,
Or from this ocean all ocean away,
Or from this ocean all place let go,
To one place, all together is one sad doom:
Such dolour doth beauty seem, so doth beauty seem,
She liv’d, now she must die, and all for gain.
She says ’tis better to hang than live,
‘Tis better to live than be dead,
When life and death are both evils.’
‘And being out in the open, in pursuit,
With the bushes and in the distance fearing,
With the boar and in pursuit still did stay;
But then a green light from the horned cat,
Appals both his senses, and he hears the bell.
What is wrong, thou searcher of beauty’s deed,
When in the deed of the deed thou slay’st,
Who, when thou blot’st the stain with thy deeds?
If thou art so bold, let him go, if thou wilt leave
The mark of foul reproach on me,
If I be so bold, then in that I stand guilty.
O what a shame it is that death,
And all the world to this day cannot curb,
To bury a son or daughter whose name
Die in this unhallow’d path?
If so, what legacy shall this bereft be,
To the grave, where thy ashes shall remain?
For princes have no right to leave their subjects so
Unto their subjects’ affairs be done,
They make no breach of oaths, nor honourable feals
To leave their lords’ lands, nor give their kingdoms
To beggars, toil, and much more.
‘”Lo, here I commend this to your memory,
You have my bestowal for this privilege,
Thou mayst redeem for me the cursed garment I wear;
And I’ll bequeath it to your legacy,
Thou mayst in the end be blessed, O thou hast that gift,
So may my soul return to you, if thou dost give.”
And in this he recites from memory
The sad-tun’d tale of a swan that her owner had kill’d.
He then begins: “O poor creature! thou eat’st a living thing,
To drink life’s sweet poison, and die by swallowing it.
Be thou thus revenged on my blood,
That thou didst give life to another’s life.
Thy face thus beauteous thou art,
And thou so gloriously stand on trial,
For that thou bear’st this shameful crime:


======== CHECKPOINT 096 OUTPUT # 004 ========

oples the tender buds of thy flower
Can in a minute impart taste to buds,
And buds as tender as thy ripe heart
can comment on our state of well-doing,
But who should say most, before our time is done?
Even that of Fortune, her glory,
Is to blame if she is not crowned king.
‘O that thy unyielding mind will not let
Thy face contrive to disgrace thy self,
And for thy disgrace so thy shame confounds:
And by their foul devouring cry
(Whose foul callings in others foul call)
(Each hand in his struggle would remove the garment)
The foul creature that did remove him,
The foul creature still would the same remove him;
To use all forces to do his will,
Thine own unfruitful hand would crush him in thine place:
the deep-green rose, as the day it died,
Shows how life is made and dies with it.
“If my heart then could sing,” quoth she, “my body’s music,
Music to my heart, my soul’s note;
Love to mine, dear soul to mine, dear soul to me;
Love to mine, dear soul to my body,
Love to mine, dear soul to me,
Thou dead, beauteous fool, the universe calls
This present doom: thou hast lost my love, my love’s grave,
And now I have to bury thee in mine own bed,
I’ll make a tomb for thee, ere my love die.
But if thy spirit, ere I am mov’d,
Will sing, and thou art dead, ere thou live, ere I am mov’d.
O false music, hateful, barren of rhyme,
Let it then be a praise to the wise,
And to the illiterate, rude, and illiterate,
Who in this false painting will behold,
A thousand roses, each several foot in height,
Thin and round, each several metre in height,
With round, thick, and thin, with or without?
Or can they all be one, and one thing?
If two, can one be a thousand?
O but beauty can change thy state and change thy mind,
And all these beauties that are in thee depend,
From thy brow to thy brow’s growth,
And from thy cheeks to thy brow’s growing.
“Here,” quoth she, “my mistress’ eyes, thou young one,
Have seen my face painted bright red, in hopes
Of ever-glorious day in the fresh-sprung mead.
Thou hast receiv’st many gifts, and done receiv’st many;
My will is simple, my will strong,
And true to this, no faults therein can be said:
This man is mad; let him have time to read;
Why should my will abide idle,
When every part of the world is bent
To make my will more powerful, and more lawful?
Which means that I will your affairs, to set your laws?
Since I am lord and master of your land,
And in your controlled monarchy, you will hold
My head, your state’s affairs, your pride,
And in that, shall govern your living.
“The horse that can’t trot, nor cannot gallop,
shall in a moment be yours, and no more be.
The field’s green, the meadows red,
What’s this? Time is wasted, mine eyes are set,
Time to you shall be wasted.
If there be haste, then be it not said
If beauty be dumb, then beauty be dumb;
If it be bright, then beauty is dumb;
If it be short, then beauty is dim,
Short is swift, long is short.”
And to this he replies, with a sad breath;
Even so the sad nurse’s voice quoth,
“She doth tell me I was fore-deceased,
When, lo, thou art wont to comment,
Thy death will not destroy thy note,
But, lo, that thy love can still shine,
Thy note, in thy note, mayst sound a thousand ways.”
And all this on he doth entertain
The black bear, who being tame, would not let go;
She being tame, would not let him go hence.
At last she says to him, “Lo, I swear, this man will not touch
My face, because it hath infected thee with some deadly evil;
Mine eyes are fair and close, and yet they scorn not ill;
No foul they may be, but beauty forbideth them:
For if they in thee be poisoned,
The very same they say,
He that liv’d by thee shall live by


======== CHECKPOINT 096 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Files, and of many, many particulars,
Of every kind of date, shape, and quality.
O Time, what a hell of witchcraft lies in me,
That I am worthy of your viewing!
What of my being old, what of you I am,
If you compare me to any, no better,
I for the life of you see,
Thy beauty is thy own, and in thy breast doth live,
Thy beauty liv’d and died for thee;
But when in my blood thou art dead, how can I live,
When in thy blood thy living blood is liv’d?
And why, if thou art living, where is thy living,
Which in thee in living thy living blood
Consists of thine and in living life thou hast left behind?
This question, till resolution be given,
I dare not say to answer, but to make certain,
That thou my love, the most,
Will by thy help and help find thee, where thou livest.
‘”His browny locks did hang in crooked curls,
T’assail’d like pearls, and in their pearly brine,
Like rusty chain links the helpless warrior wore.
This black cloak which Hector wore,
Upon his unweaved back, stood, as it should have been,
Against the tempest that burneth in his face.
‘Why, thou hast brought forth this cursed boar,
That hath done my life unfair a fair blow.
That bastard that taught me to sing and dance
May in the end live as he in my song,
I can love thee still, and yet, if I die, thou must be gone.
But I did crave thy help and favour,
To take him prisoner in my tent,
To make him think of what he would say; and there mute,
The wanton child of lust did torment him;
The priest would not dare him; for fear of injury,
Thy lips had prizing fits, as one lips prizing another.
‘Thus I besiege thee;—Thou art of such a land
as barren of fruit thou dost bear,
When thou canst provide a harvest of my liking.
O Opportunity, what are you striving
With this worthless craft of thine?
Do not think on my unsavoury humour,
How hard it must be for hard-working men to break
The glass, that windows so good show!
What fair creature cannot be so hard-go’d
With his hard labour so he cannot shine?
Behold the hours of thy happy life!
But if ever Time, with Time’s help, will shake all my fears,
I will shake them all with my life’s proud deed,
And sometime I think to mine eyes,
If ever I will behold that face of thine.
The world will say ‘He did it not for shame,’
or to say ‘It is not his fault’ ’tis he:
And when it seems, the world agrees ’tis not his fault.’
‘But, madam, it is not his fault I do it.’
The one with rage, the other with mild disdain:
Their lips one, the other a pale hue,
Bare and unruly: ’tis the traitor,
To betray his liberty by force of will;
His body a cloudless place, that disguis’d
With violet and onyx so well commended.
O love’s eyes! sweet, but false, and ridiculous,
And all those defects which it doth call,
Is truth, beauty, and truth’s wrack.
“If I may add,” quoth she, “this to my own sorrow,
The night with his mother’s help I’ll hunt the boar,
And put his shadow in the channel to see if he may be found;
The next day, when I have set my light upon his,
A thousand excuses and confounds of grief
As to how he died, I will tell;
And if he shall say in my words, ‘He fell;’
Let it not be misgivings; there may be some good will,
But most of all, let it be said, ‘Thy spirit in me is slain.’
Then my good Lord, be compassionate, I’ll leave him,
And thou my partner, mayst remain strong,
As thou livest in the grave, because thou livest in thy foe.
My love, love, do thou, when thou wilt, bid me stay
One minute, all alone in this world?
Or ten minutes in this world are spent:
O Time, tell me how to get some rest!
Time doth wake me, and doth wake me ten minutes in.
The mind doth wander dumb in thoughts of ill,
Time doth chat with


======== CHECKPOINT 097 OUTPUT # 001 ========

tallest, or nature’s sharp sting,
Hath wounded herself with a thousand knife wounds,
To die for her self, to spite her foes,
Forbade her self depart from home, where she was wont;
And she by this going withdrew, did run into a tree,
Where lay the carcass of a beloved friend,
Who, angry, began to hie the young,
And rob her from thence, and kill her husband.
Her anger thus, though it drowns in water,
The floodgates seem to close, and the world,
Till presently did her strength to divide
From the helpless hive where she lay.
She had but one look in his dimple,
Which forth she view’d, as one would behold the sun
Growing in a cool subtleties concealed.
At last she saw a face full pale with sorrow,
And down she laid to list the particulars,
Which she noted with curious wonder,
To prove her wit false, which she in so proud a state.
By this she concludes to put an end to her troubled mind,
That she may make some progress in her art,
To live by a purer pen, or by a true tongue.
O none could write what thy beauty is,
And yet thou art so pure as thine,
That thy beauty still can live in praise,
And still, in spite of all, in spite of thy name.
Now she knows her love better than ever before,
He that made her swear she saw him steal,
Shook off all reproach, and now all for lawful redress.
‘Yet with my Collatine gone,’ quoth he,
‘By thy side a little child lies,
with this said, his lips began to move,
And softly they did call their father,
And told him he must her Lucrece’ tale,
To be his guide in this troubled time.
‘My love,’ quoth she, ‘if thou dost tell,
What follows next? Will not my verse be harsh,
For it is true, my love will follow when thou tell’st,
When my love, my love’s child, deceives,
I should by surprise him with some swift action.
‘For shame, dear boy, thou lov’st that which thou accuse’st me;
And now I fear’d not my body’s repair,
Since thou art guilty of my life’s loss,
In th’ offender’s death’s repair I suspect,
That my life’s end should suspect my life’s sake:
Yet never is it thy self, mine eyes, my body’s coffers,
Which feed the dead, pay the living how much.
What will thy mind then be, that thou mayst see
When thou shalt turn the pages of Time,
To read my woes in the history of Time?
Or when the time is short, when all is paper?
The sooner will it have the better part,
The late will be late night and be late day.
“Woe is me! Too early I attended this
Exceedingly long sporting flight;
Losing my youth and fortune in so doing.
Such childish folly must live a death!
A widow’s death and a bankrupt’s bankrupt.
Let me confess that I have not read much of her,
She is true, and I am glad she will read;
Let me confess that I have read well the sad tale
Of a bankrupt widow and her helpless daughter.
‘All these errors that I have seen,
And in their full truth bear them out in one,
I do commend them not to posterity,
But rather to the eye of posterity,
To view the happy and the harmless state
Of this fair and so rare breed.
When I have looked on them more,
More have I seen proud and modest birds,
Thin with plumage and in looks so rich,
That one could not distinguish them from any else,
But were themselves painted of such grace.
“And having so praised, that name so affords,
To use it for my own use was forc’d;
For all our faults that abroad we see,
Shall be hid in baser destinies:—Lord of that, let me be light
Within that limit, and that limit let none come
To view my shame, nor seek redress there:
Even so shalt thou view the plague and the woes
Of infected and uninfertile women,
As the sick and afflicted in other parts.
She sigh’d, gave him a kiss, and he gave her a ride.
“Let me be brief, before I jest at you,
When I like to be so bold as to write
Of your unkindness, and fear my tongue’s untimely woe,
Let my old pen


======== CHECKPOINT 097 OUTPUT # 002 ========

cance.
“In that case I will bear it on thy part,
And then in a few lines I’ll chide thee:
‘Thou canst not love what thou hast,
I will not bewitch thee with my tongue,
Nor hold up thy mantle in homage:
In short thou hast a heinous heart and a lusty mind,
That is as bad in my judgment as in thy deeds:
But if thou wilt show me justice, I will hold thee in high regard,
And thou shalt possess my love when I deem to break.
In honour and shame do I in turn
Demand of thee as I have begot thee,
Thy worth, thy honour, thy honour’s worth
And my body, like a deformed infant, do weeps
That thy soul did but resemble a man.
In him a pale-fac’d youth stares still,
And in his youth a smiling-fac’d father laugh:
That in his youth such beauty’s face
The cedar and the rose did lend
Into the green of the roses’ sap,
Like flowers did over them do appear.
‘But when I came to set sail,
My lord and I were decked in the best,
And on the rarities of all the field,
we have not done the thing we sought,
We have merely done what is said.
I fear’d the worst if that were to come.
“But be of opinion,” quoth she, “my mistress’ name,
That she will not be found wanting,
The worst is past. ‘Tis she foul that doth wear it ill;
My tongue thus proceeds: ‘Thy servant,’ ’tis not so;
I do vow to thy servant that thou return,
And come again to Tarquin for supper.
This advisedly he sets his sword on the grass,
His sword drawn, and with his fair fair hand he strikes.
‘Then look where I the blind do exile;
I see no excuse for my sinful crime;
But woe is me! too early I attended
A virgin man’s grave and then he grew a king,
When maiden beauty’s reign was thine and thee was free.
When the sun that doth burn doth out all beauty,
And all these blushes now set the world on fire,
Then look what the world would do with thy shine!
O never let the sun set on a cloud nor
The moon over-goes the sun, for he hath no light.
“Lo, all these trophies which I in Fortune hold
Have beguiled, my love with curious diligence;
Some of them, jewels of worth, some merely curious;
Some of them, famished for sport, some merely rare;
Some of them, wealth, some for sporting grace.
All these triumphs, like the gaudy sun,
Have done their object admir’d,
And been admir’d by their added glory:
But now the star-gazers have begun
To shine like a gaudy-gaudy sun,
And their fame is done, as the mountain tops are:
So his name, which in his pride sits
May seem like a proud unlettered plaiter,
Till when every part of him falls flat,
He confounds himself to appear, so to speak.
‘But have I not, dear old time, seen a face
Like him, ere this I see him now.
What beauty was it that you did destroy?
O that my face might in some measure be kept alive,
Or would your worth life forbid?
Whence was it that you, your fair self, such fair shade,
As you to-day are to-morrow,
Him have I not but been invited to this banquet,
To look upon the beauties of your days,
And to taste the wealth of your fair days.
My mistress told me of a very nice little song,
with a heavy sigh she proceeds,
To put forth the issue of her grief,
And to quell her grief with a heavy groan.
“Thou wilt have a son, and still to live is
Thou shalt not have him till he be free,
And if thou shalt, he will grow up to be a king.”
She concludes this with an eye full of scorn,
And she with more than might be supposed
Intending the Collatine Tarquin wrong:
Even thus she replies that she is unwilling,
To be put to death by a lawful death.
‘”The world shall watch, and weep for their eyes;
They shall hunt them down with bows, and tear their brains
With direful slaughter; and till their eyes have been blind,
The world may behold the fiend
In a cave where


======== CHECKPOINT 097 OUTPUT # 003 ========

contribut is the eye that doth gaze,
That glows on his true sight, and all the world’s glory.
The boar looks upon his prey with a keen eye,
He takes with a keen eye the white scale,
To show his disdainful foe the dire-beholding lion,
Who in turn darts forth like a deadly knife,
Who by his foul action with his deadly tongue,
Shall be devoured and in mourning be
Till by the hunting lion die.”
But from his cunning pride she receives the story,
Who, being told, replies with a look,
And bids her modest maid be her guide.
He says that she was a virgin, and would not tell,
She was the fairest of all the store;
All the rest were idolatry’s offspring,
Himself espied and admir’d,
As children of hearts and mothers of wombs.
O how happy a time that should in my days have!
O happy that such liberty should have!
Even then my thoughts on love, liberty, and justice,
Wish I might give some of your gentle praise.
When I think upon you more hereafter,
Than now when I have lived, when you left me,
you did my life a living hell.
So shall these poor bees, whose beauty I esteem,
As the spotted pearls to some vale doth live,
With thy beauty I will strive to breed again,
If you are as I am now, with more speed than me.
‘”If,” quoth she, “all men will enchant me,
With some fair sweet-seasoned sport they call,
Their silver bells to sweeten the day;
And nightly the proud sun doth answer his call,
For nightly the rich sun doth answer his calls.
‘So by their foul sport I might give life to thee,
And live another’s life to you:
Or let these foul usurper thieves live,
And die in their prime, and yet still have life to give:
And live another’s death by their crime.’
“Then do not despair on me; let those I govern
As myself in this neglect;
The worse is for me then that which is best,
For I am well advised to shun ill,
That is to say I like better, which is worse
By the owner than the ill-purchased one.
But those eyes which once on his visage
Have played the leading, and youth is play’s show,
His noble crest doth still stand proudly,
And that is to say, he is so esteemed,
By his blood, his fancy, his sense, and his skill.
O that blood may cure ill, but not cure well
Till love cures ill, love cures ill,
He that loves so, is himself himself cured.
And therefore ’tis not I that call my friend dead,
‘Twixt the worlds I hate and admire:
My pity is warm and my respect is mild;
No man that hath not the power of speech can say
How unkind he is, that touches me so gladly.
And every tongue that hears me speaks ill of him.
‘”I besiege thee with many a most black night,
Who would lend me arms, but thou wast none;
And never did I wish to possess thee,
For I in thy arms, in thy will, am sought.
What dost thou seek that thou canst not use?
In vain I say, thou know’st not all that I know,
And I would not be so false to lend thee so.”
‘That thou mayst have thy will, as thou art in need,
To have me subject to enforced chastity,
Which may be cruel, but not death-threatening;
So may thy body be subdued, to make thy will more gentle,
And in that spirit, with gentle patience,
I will unfold to thee my sorrow;
And when thou hast sung, that thou hast expressed,
My sorrow with thy soft words can sound,
Though my soft words with thee are bare:
For I have no excuse in thinking of thee,
But as my heart’s owner, why dost thou not say
That I am thy slave, and must not be gone?
This said, he takes his stand and straightens up,
Like a strong-bon’d swan, that with a leap takes
Holds down a steep hillock.
Here we meet the ugly-fac’d queen,
Who with a deadly bash she doth maim,
Who, in a violent rage, with murderous pale,
Whose red cheek and gore are allayed,
With swift-footed flight, and bloodless speed,
Whilst in her forward flight reeleth,
like a herd of cattle


======== CHECKPOINT 097 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Pond, he’s mine; he mine is not.
‘Well, if he shall come and hunt me, thou wilt have thy will;
Kill him first, and then kill him again before I know thee.
‘Will,’ quoth he, ‘be a kind favour to him:
Hast thou thy servant kill him first?
Be kind; I’ll kill him first, kill him again if I have thy will,
Then kill him first, kill him again if thou have thy will.’
‘Poor child,’ quoth he, ‘why dost thou not call me’son’?
Himself made son by thy father, to bequeath to thee,
By that which thou dost feed and breatheth:
My will, to feed, to breatheth life in another.
Thus do I question his good will, and ask him for help.
‘Why dost thou leave me here and be idle?
Why hast thou gone, and I no more find
No comfort but torment and wretched looks from afar,
Showing me thou art not so kind as thou seem’st,
For through all his torment I can hear thee speak.
“Poor thing,” quoth he, “look how my wound was done,
When she had no means to remove her mark,
Her wound was sharpened, and then her blood
Hath flowed in her wound, and it had not kill’d her;
She fell, and her wound was stopp’d;
That word was sweet, ’tis better than ’tis,
The injurious injurious: she cries, ‘O stay, stay,
But for my sake, I’ll keep my tongue,
As fast as I can to your place.
O patience, dear boy, keep still,
And then thou dost stay, and I dost stay,
And then patience gives in, and relenteth
All in vain, till thou be fed, then feedest, and stayeth.
‘Poor fool, why dost thou pine at so late a day?
Thy eye hath begun to read the morning’s decrepit,
With heavy eyelids she doth glance through her glass,
And in them she can see the sad-tun’d hour,
Which she cannot see but at night despising,
With grim night and weary day marking each other.
Her brows, like sluices on a grained knife,
Whose twisted sides she cannot see but fearfully smother’d;
Her eyes, like fire, that burneth with burning desire,
Are like smokeless blushes when they see the fire;
That burning smoke may be a good aid to digestion;
So then, that sweet smell that she bears to allureth,
she, like a virtuous wife, doth despise
And in the hope of gaining her husband’s heart.
‘”O, my boy,” quoth she, “if you would give my love another chance,
you will not fear me, and for that you alone will bear,
For I am with you now, and you beside;
For why? the foe never will catch him,
Nor wits nor fears not the spear he leaves unswayed.
What is worse, then, than sleeping ill with sickness,
With death being your last wish, or being made old,
With sickness becoming your cure, you die young.
‘”That was my husband, and he is no more;
Nor ever his affections were so kind,
As mine own in deeds of love, so mine own in hate;
So am I now for this sad accident revenged,
And all my former happiness as a glimmer
Doth now become an after-example;
For thou art my old love, and I thy old love,
When I am dead, am love nothing to me.
But thou (my love) mayst still be remembered,
The day was wasted, and thou (my old love)
Were a more worthy monument to life.
And for the memory of that day thou must cherish,
And for this I must ne’er cherish for the time being.
No man in his right hand his throne can take,
But on that famous tressesome margent his chin lies;
And when he calls on his eyes to behold,
All armed, every eye obeys;
Each cheek a shining star, each ear a shining grype:
With his broad ridges his crest lies,
And high his short tail his pectorails hurls:
His long hindquarters are stop’d in his broad crest,
And high his short tail his pouches ensconc’d:
For standing in the way of his horse,
A coward he is, but a brave man’s coward.
The worst that can come to a man’s life
Is death, that by


======== CHECKPOINT 097 OUTPUT # 005 ========

Pod, the world’s greatest painter, and best learned in many respects.
‘Poor creature,’ quoth he, ‘in my hand a small painting,
Throng it like to a sacred engraven scroll,
With engravings imprinted on it, with curious skill,
And then my heart and mind being double-tongued,
In quick action render the engraving,
For the engraving to me appears,
And then in quick succession doth engraven,
Which in a cool sweat now cools my heart’s delight,
Which from my sight is blushing like the sun.
Look, all these trophies that I in posterity hold,
Have writ in marble, with boldness and worth,
How they to themselves, have writ in little.
If I had lost them all, was it not enough
To give them up again, and die in my hand?
Thy self, thy self, thy monument are hide!
How would I be buried in thy monument,
Who in thy name I should bring forth another?
Himself, by thy beauty so recre’d
Doth the dead bury me, and thou by thy beauty
Die with me in a thousand ways.
Thy beauty is dead and still doth live,
My beauty is not dead, my beauty is still,
And I in thee, am still alive.
‘”O, let me not call upon your foul wrath,
Who sometime doth in your power steal my light,
Or your flattering fire, to burn my poor earth with ill?
O but thy fire being strong, yet in my fair shade,
Till too much smoke with too much aloes me.
If my sun, that fires so hot in my fair,
Else I shall yet be panthe’d in your fair show.
Thus far hath she gone, yet not done her jot;
Her lips are pale, her eyes dolour;
She hisses and hurls, hisses, hisses, her eyes roll round.
She says she must stay, and that she will stay,
That he may not go, that he must stay;
If he do, the day will end and he rise again,
She quoth, “That night he doth complain of mine.”
This word, which Lucrece makes herself ill,
Sets him as he prepares to utter it:
‘What is thy cause?’ quoth she. ‘My cause is thy duty,
To rid my country of the bastard boy,
That bred by thy sex a bastard whelm’st thou grow.
The first-born shall inherit all;
The second shall inherit all but whelm’st thou have:
The last shall be free, and thou hast thy right:
The first thy father shall not deprive thee,
The second thy mother, and thou wast not thy mother.”
In�But lo! the cloud of night she wears out her light;
When in his fair temple her glorious sight,
Her fair parts are dimpled, the heat of his eyes distracted:
She throws herself at him, but his cheek is sore troubled;
She smothers him, and so the shamefully red stain
Is broken from his red cheeks and all the world’s blood.
He bids her kiss her forehead, and she writ on her tongue,
‘Why, when thy beauty did blot my cheeks,
My cheeks were fresh again, though they were new again dyed:
So I swear that when thou lovest my beauty,
When thou lovest mine, mine is thy whole beauty.
Let me not then be boastful of my worth,
For I have not figured it in thy heart,
but thou with deeds hast brought it to light,
That I can use it for my own sake,
I will be a zealous widow, and thou shalt see
My love’s growing strength strong in a compact little band,
For when thou livest, thy love shall not be tired;
O thou our lord and patron, will thou give thine own,
And give thy love all to lend a thousand livings,
And live thine own with thine own living example,
A thousand means of distraction not to stop the horse,
For thou shouldst not know better why I am so fond.
But in that thou hast done all for my sake,
I will be a thousand proud lies, a thousand sorrows still:
A thousand sorrows, a thousand tears, a thousand hateful groans;
A thousand joys, a thousand cold stol’n eyes,
And a thousand blemishes and darks,—all ten times worse than before.
Let me not then be boastful of my worth,
For I have done all that I have to lend thee,
A thousand boons, a thousand l


======== CHECKPOINT 098 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Apply, he had power to charm;
To enchant him, he had no such skill.
‘But, poor fool, when thou shalt see them practis’d,
To shun their ill-advised tricks, I’ll lend them my power,
And make them their lord, and use their might;
And if thou wilt, my lords, by my untimely haste,
My gentle love will not betray
My vow, nor his fair gift to keep:
For since thou art such a gracious god,
Till my absence bring thee dread doom,
And to my foes, thy strength’s annex’d.
‘Why should a man be master of a woman?
The better mighter mighter he might be,
Servile to his master, as the slave to him.
‘But let them think, for my love, they might say,
That I am their slave, and shall not do them wrong;
Even thus, as the credulous, they rail at my deeds.
The rich mightier mightier he himself be;
The lame mightier mightier being he be,
His might himself be imprisoned in a prison;
in that the fault may be absolved,
That is to blame for his fall.
I hate not love, but hate it in spite,
To leave it untainted, till sometime I wish it were remembered,
For sorrow may be nice but then it doth not weep,
And then ’tis so as not to be weep’d:
My sorrow being kind, but my sorrow not being kind,
My sorrow doth turn sour, my sorrow sour,
‘Tis he, by nature’s will, that she doth approve.
“The sun doth always with a cloud cover
Crawls the sweet morning sky, the wet and cold night,
And yet heaven forbid, earth-shaking Tantalus
Would in his shady car park, sit by, and wait,
Looking for his prey, unaware they are;
Their scent is too strong, their smell too weak,
They foul odours too strong, they too strong:
They like to see a helpless helpless babe,
Where she would be nursed for want of appetite.
‘So with these words she gives in his ear
His all-too-timeless skill,
To make subtle sounds and to stroke his wit;
To make simple rhyme and common sense
Weak to verbal abuse, and to make false chafing
The learned, to wit and truth both.
So then his faults with my offences with yours are spent,
Yours for me, yours for me doth divide.
‘To my self thou art all I care for,
Mine own desire keeps mine eyes glued to mine ear,
Mine own self is my physician,
Mine own grief is my own end,
My own self’s physician, my own slave doth keep.
‘Tis th’ interim that this separation makes,
In the worst case there is no separation:
And where this separation falls the worst is in this,
All compounded griefs, or combined sums
Doth make one sad sad, another happy.
So then my suffering and my groans are
As one sigh being three times three times three echoes,
Which makes my body laugh, my heart shake, my heart bleed.
‘So then,’ quoth she, ‘if all were devised
With foul and ridiculous methods,
How could a living beauty live or die?
Or was he the painter, or both?
Or were they both the same, or both the same?
I think both, and nothing of them both.
‘Now let him go, and let him borrow some more;
he will lend her no more than he owes her,
And if he borrow a little more she will lend him,
And he she will lend him but a little more.
‘Well, that’s true,’ quoth he; ‘I’ll lend thee a little more;
A thousand dolour touches the earth’s soft touch,
Which, feeling it distills, converts it into light,
And by this light it cleaves the green chill of the valley.
Thou art as swift as winds to the aid,
And I such love that hate to appear so,
As if from lack of thee I should be gone,
All is well, my love, and Tarquin is dead.
‘”Then say I not the lips of men, that do perjury keep,
Nor speak to me in private my grief,
When I have some, but none mine, but many mine,
To tell my case is to lose all respect.
‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
To bear it so brief a view,
And with your help bring it to a


======== CHECKPOINT 098 OUTPUT # 002 ========

1981
That thou couldst not be dead,
And yet I vow it will never be forgot.
For heaven’s sake, do not boast that I have,
My life is eternal and never hath end;
If I had lived, you must be gone,
Since I am no more alive then my name is.”
But Collatine, quoth he, “if thou mean to kill me,
Thy body will hold thee up for trial,
But if thou must bequeath thy life to life,
If thou survive, be my vassal, to life’s end.”
She says she did not mean to kill him;
The knife is quick and painless; the gentlest knife
Knives like lightning to death, though it be blunt.
‘Now, this is thy old acquaintance;
To be your acquaintance the world will see
The sad spectacle of your fading age,
As being from the world to this distant date lost.
By this she may conclude that I am
Into a closet, without vent,
And that no other means may get rid of me.
‘”Bid me return tomorrow and let me know
Who you are, and where you came from,
What you left behind, what you’ll do next,
What you must do now, if you do come again:
If you will, come tomorrow with me to supper,
And take me to my room to lay,
In velvet and inlaid round some kind of heavy bed.
I have many, many children, but none to love,
When love is as old, and never dies,
Thou art all but dead. ‘Tis true, though I am old,
And yet, as thou hast lived, yet I know not how.
This said, his cheek began to glow,
Like incandescent light from a shining fire,
Cooling the fire to make it more livable,
Wherein it might better suit his cold case.
I have no love, though love make thee some,
Nor do I hold your picture dear dear,
Even where it serves to make you some wonder;
But though I hold it dear, how lovingly should I say it,
For you I never was so green,
As now I am red, now I black:
Let my shame in remembrance hold true,
That never could be the worse wert thou a swart,
To say that I love thee lovest, though thou lovest none.
‘”Why do you look upon me in such dreadful looks,
When I in your fair show have trodden upon thee,
And done some fair homage to thee?
Thy fair cheeks, fair lips, fair face seem’d to bear thee sorrow;
O yes, I see them sad, but their purpose is just.
thou with thy good office hast done me wrong,
Since then I have the power to make them woe,
I’ll lend them thine own, and thee will live.
Thy self thou unasked betrayer gave thy wits,
That thou in them doth make a fool of them.
O then thy high treason should bear an end,
Which in thee thy high treason must bear an end,
If not now and then by succeeding time.
But thou, being treble-doting, will not be so fair,
Thou in me shall be a tyrant, a beggar’s hand,
And when in me thou shalt reign thou shalt reign not.
‘The horse that didst lend me his will,
Will, like a proud lion, now in a rider’s grip,
Holds the first impression of fear;
The rider being charmed, turns his head to give chase.
This horse, like a proud lion, will not be so:
But when the thought of many a worthless thing come
Would make his pride throng the valley where he was bred,
Whose owner the thought did be mute, and all dumb.
“What had I done wrong?” quoth he. “I should have been gone;”
And away he would catch; but he did not catch,
Like to a dying wretch, whose wound hath cost his life;
So now he mourns for her, and then her grief renews:
O father, what a sorrow that must be!
My poor wife, my mistress’ and my dear friend,
They must their own terms do them disgrace,
So that their fame can live in the world’s eyes,
Unless we have such a state of things as you invent:
For with all these talents you lack,
And with your talents have many talents lacked,
That you should much prefer some of your own,
That with greater numbers of talents should your fame,
Find an office in the field of knowledge,
That should your fame excel


======== CHECKPOINT 098 OUTPUT # 003 ========

ensuring is there such a blot,
That I cannot blot so true a thing as this?
O pardon me then, I did not know thou art so!
No, I knew thy face was ugly,
O, it was but the youth’s, and youth’s better:
O yes, I knew thy complexion was sluttish,
O no, that sluttishness was not my mind,
It was the young man’s in it.
“O shame!” quoth he, “you did take my heart
That you owed me in vain;
Look, the heart that bears you pain,
Is not enough to love, to bear you double pain.
‘But this heart that bears me still is full of shame,
That every poor thing that touches thee,
Grows double shame, and every thing that touches me much:
This soul that nurseth me now,
By it confounds, and kills my soul.”
“How sad then we are,” quoth she, “if thou go,
You will not fear me again till you have gone;
Let us make our bed together, if ever thou dost wish;
Or if not, why not in the name of love?
And let it not be belied that you thrive,
Not in your power to make us live your fond spite,
For fear of harms that in your sight do find.
‘For thy sake,’ quoth she, ‘I must confess that I am beset,
By circumstance, and my own infirmities;
The truth, as the gouty gazer scapes his way,
My best friend’s eye spies the boar’s cunning twain;
She finds a man in the bushes, and bids him leap;
She sees his lust in his lust’s strength:
She knows he intends to kill her, though he stay.
‘”O pardon me! I hear some rustling there;
It must have been some kind of theft that struck me;
Poor creature, thou suspect’st, thou suspect’st not.
My poor wife, in the midst of so boll
With swelling fits, cries out, ‘O help me, help me! I have thee,
And thou hast my life, and I thy foe;
And if thou wilt take my life, my foe
Who in thy arms hath no gentle right,
Whose strength thou lose’st, thou must I forfeit;
Let him be king by force of law,
To ransom me, and ransom me of Troy.
I hate to lose, but never lose again,
And never lose again unless thou my life be free.
That’s all, then; for my sake do not be so cruel;
Thou hast left me, and I will pay the rest.
‘Why shouldst thou my life be ruined when thou livest,
When death, oppression, oppression, and poverty
Are all the same? Let it not be, my friend,
The death of some one, the loss of all,
Or at the least some one’s life, shall I live to be.
“Fie, fie,” she says, “this night I’ll make thee mine;
Make some fresh bed for me, some fresh cloth,
To wipe the bloody face off the earth, and blot the face
With mud and filth from thence.
‘In that, which was before, now is dead.
And I say, if thou wilt kill me, that is thy end;
If not, then strike me dead first, in that thou shalt kill:
“Oh kill me, thou hast no reason to hunt;
If ever, thou art willing, kill me now;
The sooner, the more quickly the better.”
‘For thy sake’ he says,’my sake I must kill;
And, lo, there I met a pack of raven hounds;
Till, lo, they had fled, and gone in a hound’s light.
“Now I return,” quoth she, “and with the plague
Resurrects my spirits in my sight,
By supplicant suppositions strong and cold.
For from their bedside they fly, and fearfully
Like falcon to the black, which nests in her breast,
From a height of height that must not be missed;
They, like little birds, do sing and dance,
And all but in mute terror stand on either side;
As they do this, the wat’ry birds sing;
And in their busy schedules do tend
To watch the schedules of their creatures;
At random their restless hours doth make some stand;
In busy schedules their leaves are blown
By wind and rain, whose force disperses:
To make their sick rest by dint of good,
Till sickly Lucrece’


======== CHECKPOINT 098 OUTPUT # 004 ========

searches of hearts, and eyes that are not deaf;
Their eyes in every part are as willing,
As willing offenders to put on the outward show.
“Show me your breast,” quoth she, “and look in my hand:
What kind of wound do you say I have here?
Let my tears fill up the flood-gates:
My hand, my hand that touches you,
That touches your face, touches your face.
For where the storm is’t raining, my tears may drop,
In spots where they belong, but where they are:
Let me excuse thy show, but thou art so kind:
let the flood-gates be dry,
And never the gentle waves find their lily pads,
And thou hast no wish to wade through the water.
But as the birds and the waves have begun
To sing, the flood-gates close,
And never the gentle birds can hear them.
‘”O false Adonis! what a dame! what a wretch!
Not a tear in her eye did rain down;
Her cheeks, like saucy plum, had but one tear;
And if there be none, then fall not into her face;
Her lips were pursed in kisses, and tears would not show.
Poor creature, what kind of prey desires thine eye?
When in her sleep thou wilt beheld
The desperate scene of such dire need,
What helpless despair is thou supposed to behold!
She throws herself upon her prone bed,
And then quenches the wind that blows from the sky.
“Now wake, and rest thou in Lucrece’ bed,
For thy Lucrece must see this; then wake up again,
And sleep till waking to complain how much worse
My woes have grown, and now my woes seem
Extremely great.
To see these sad figures in thy head
With trembling Lucrece’ sad face makes me mad,
And makes me fear to behold strange things;
But when my eyes behold them, my fear is tame,
And often is my heart so much troubled with ill.
‘In him I have no sin, but in him so full blame,
That I do behold such wondrous things:
And oft sees the deep scar on his brow,
A scar which in a linen puddle still
May stain the blood, and in it will remain:
Yet not my fault, nor his trespass,
In doing me wrong. O me! wilt thou thy son vow,
That thou mine own self shalt never kill?
O swear against me, thou mine own image shalt be slain!
O swear against my life, thou my self thy foe:
The thing thou canst not vouchsafe to possess,
For me, my self thou shalt not covet,
For my image in thee is all captive.
thou shalt not steal what thou sell’st, nor lend
What thou steal’st thou receiv’st to my unrecieved.
‘But if thou lose the lease, why dost thou not steal more,
And in return shall I return, free of debt?
O if I die, what can my love do for me,
That I my life can’t defend but suffer from my foe?
But wert thou the first wretch who calls me,
For his beauty, his ruth, his ruth’s strength,
In me the fault is thy loss, and his gain
But mine is his beauty’s and that of all his friends:
Let those blenches in his bright array,
That bleed and die, as congested by desire.
‘”Hadst thou prophesied, my son mightst live,
The plague upon the Greeks would be severe.
Hadst thou foresworn, and foretold the coming plague,
then Lucrece’ woes are short and plain.
‘The boy that calls upon his father’s aid,
Shall plead, and plead with him that I am his,
To be his physician when he is sick;
Then may I pray, and pray, and plead with him still,
That he may his physician have him find,
That he may require from him a physician,
Which shall in physician’s fee be better;
Then with medicine’s help may he thrive
The better part of his worth may be tasted;
And if he thrive so may the patient gain
That he may by physician give more.”
Thou mayst forbade me be anatomiz’d,
I must not love, nor swear not of loving thee;
But if thou lov’st me, thy loyal love,
Withal shall my love be strong enough to fight thee,
And thou my loyal love be dumb enough not to kiss thee;
Though to say so I may be guilty of treason,


======== CHECKPOINT 098 OUTPUT # 005 ========

294, which now exceeds twenty hundred furlong’d miles:
Yet I have this feeling pity for you,
Since I have never seen a man so kind,
As I did when thou art dead.
If the lines of Collatinus
Appear before my eyes, do not I then extend
The grief to thy part,
And make use of the parallels to show me
Your beauty, your majesty, thy pain.
The sun, whose fresh bounty in summer doth peep,
Whose masked lust by nature bids not peep,
May bathe the face with thy beauty’s radiance,
Whose masked lust by nature bids not peep,
Thy shame, thy shame doth exceed all.
If my picture be too dear, how can my verse be?
Himself a man I was once, and yet am a woman;
For I am as thy picture is now,
The same likeness in all respects.
That the world may cipher some of thy beauty,
Though all men steal thy face, yet my art
Of beauty’s self thy self I praise be.
‘Myself a poet and true, and true a dame
To this purpose, to publish a work of my fame:
Himself a dyer and true and true dame
to this purpose did I write this book,
And now you see it is done. The night, lo here I lie,
The sun outhustles the sky, and all round amazes
The earth, in quest of breath, reneweth his heat.
Her cheeks, like sourest green plum, on his head quake:
The sun doth turn white, the moon a bit red.
‘Had I known you were of my blood,
I should have sworn I saw you smiling;
But now I know you are ugly and ugly;
I have no grievance with your looks;
My pride in spite of what others have done,
Is no grievance with my self’s seeing.
‘Tis tempting to think that thou lov’st me,
And that thou didst betray me to decease;
And to think that I should betray thee,
Since thou art such a loving wife, wouldst thou betray
thy kind and true character so.
But then she cries, ‘O false Sinon, slanderous tale,
make no record of this abomination:
No matter but what thy true character affords,
Whence then is it lawful that thou shouldst be moved?
Then can I not leave out a good thing that thou hast done,
That thou didst give thy self, thy whole,
To use in the conquest of some poor widow?
Thou art the one, and all forces of nature,
Are in motion to crush me alive.
For thou art not all, and all forces are
Fair, and I am a true woman of thine,
When truth be told, thou art all the better part.
Look how thy beauty is subdued,
And how thy sweet form, so dignified,
Shows it hath all, in full accord, with thy parts,
And in thy face, and in all his power,
In all things but his own image stands in doubt.
O be not so! thy beauty was thy part,
And in my whole was all that I could show.
In that I could show thee, thou art all I can tell,
But in my self, I do lack thy part.
This said, he bends his knee to her breast;
She kneels before him and supposeth:
“Now hear me,” quoth he, “once more, as I praise thee,
When that I have said, you must hear it again;
O yes, I’ll do it again, and then you hear me;
As one that spent his life in war, now spends his youth in peace;
O yes, I’ll do it still, and then you see;
When my time is done, let the time come again
And that my time should count toward yours.
Thus begins the nightly prayer;
Hearts biding his time, with tears in his eyes,
But minutes are spent in pleading and pleading.
O no! thou art all, and all that is
Of mine that thou art, and all that dost feed on me,
Is all mine that needs feeding, but my poor unkindness:
For that which thou hast done will feed all that is left
In feeding that is not thy self, which then doth feed
On nothing else.
This he begins, as though he knew it was a dream,
To curse the night, and then exclaim
“O night, thou poor thief!”
The wolf replies, and runs away,
For fear of his pursuers, as fear of his pursuers
Is


======== CHECKPOINT 099 OUTPUT # 001 ========

rot and he in his affections did change.
To this session a reverend nun came,
Lascivious and modest,
With a credulous mind still doth fight and die,
Who says she is old and dead, and yet not old enough?
She answers thus, as if it were her wish,
And bids them bow their heads at her answer,
To the holiest of altars:
The one that ever holds this blessed rite,
The other doth teach the young, and young do sing.
She says she is old, and yet she hath not borne:
And yet, still, I dare not be old to boast of thee,
For I did vow to serve thee, and thou hast given
Hate of my life, and hate of my love,
I have wip’d from my thought all my light,
And thou art as yet another thief,
who for fear of this sin in me still
Reserv’d me that my wit might never die.
Then in the pale margent he lay,
A scarlet casket partially concealing his face,
Whereat he gazed up at her lust-shrouded face,
And through the lattice of her bright eyes drew
The dreadful night-wanderer’s eye, who for want of courage
doth shake his head to behold her trembling face.
‘If my love, which from thee works decease,
Sorrow on this cruel crime can make a tear ache,
The loss of thy sweet self, thy beauty’s cost?
If so, then I must thy love abide,
That I may still strive for thee, and bring thee back.
But thou art not thy father’s beseechers,
The more I admire thy unkindness,
That despite of all, still thy beauty still doth thrive.
When my love, thy sweet self, despite of all,
I do reckon upon thee as one fading,
The day’s outward appearance is dulled with age.
O let my love remain true to thee,
The outward shame of such shamefulness,
And never be compared with that which thou art
of such truth, beauty, and truth so richly dyed!
Thus did I forswore Adonis,
And forswore Ilion, and forswore Tarquin,
Forswore Phrygian, and forswore Tarquin,
for thee to be remembered with so fair a deed.
As from a dream I heard a pale-fac’d child stand,
And in her arms she held up her head,
That her bright eye might peep in the bright night.
‘So be it! the truth hath no teeth, and no hardiness;
But the beauty of a truth so hard must wear,
That will seldom stand and pine for a look,
Or learn to play by heart’s commands.
For in him the task is to please, and in his
obedience a reverend majesty lies:
Yet he is a true king and true lord to me,
That doth the audit of this audit ask,
So thou mayst return again and tell my tale.
Let them take physic, and be dumb,
Like as they were sick of physic when they fought,
Dost thou weep for Lucrece, or for Tarquin?
For they did not wish thee so, but doted
With their own reason the ill effects of their dame.’
“And lo! the fowl have pow’r to hear their owners;
Who, lo! they have no owner but their flock;
And lo! they have no owner but their flock:
Now, in the course of a moment’s moment’s look,
Or every minute since, this very hour,
From this very moment shall our fowl learn
To dance in the brook, with their leader gone.
She prays she may catch the thief in her haste,
And with the swift onset catch him where he may lie;
When, lo, the swiftness of her might,
Sings to her a sad note, which she doth strain,
To give the false note more force.
‘O Fortune! thou nursest our dead at last!
How canst thou then bewitch the blind,
As to false thieves stealing from thy sight,
And being so wary, thus steals his sweet time?
O, do not despise that I praise thee;
Since thou art such a kind of praise, let me leave
The praise of such a thing, and hast no praise
For that I praise thee in thy name:
For that I praise thee in thee, and in thy name,
I say ‘this,’ and ‘this’ twice:
O let those who hold this truth hold it true,
And mine own thought on other’s false doth extend,
Both truth


======== CHECKPOINT 099 OUTPUT # 002 ========

σ is she that we call her.
To thee be glory, to me it is my duty:
To thee this all well I can devise,
For in thee all defects are masked.
What was thy office, what did thy heart
Feeling commend’d to do, now it is dishonour’d?
What right did thy soul in abusing me,
Charging me with trespass of thy absence?
Whilst I in his rank absence did him seek,
Thy eyes, his heart’s revenues were spent;
Yet I in his wealth still did his will take,
To keep what he had not sought, pay what rent he owed.
O, if she could not have devised such a life,
With her eyes such a show of beauty,
By thy side she would have been slain!
By her side his blood, all the better might have been,
For Collatine in her pride so proud.
‘”Now all these hearts that mine dependents wore,
Mine own thoughts and my own worth were done,
From me their verdict did proceed,
And from them their verdict came truth and justice,
Whilst the guilty both were condemned:
Either true or false, either true or false.
This said, he holds his spongy spear in his head,
Whereon she will grin, and frown, and neigh,
When in her smiling motion shall be found.
‘Look, thou art at the very moment when this storm
Wings down a fickle tide, breaking all bounds;
And what is thy hand that touches the water?
What is thy other hand that touches the moe?
What is thy other hand that touches the rose,
Whose mouth and lips both are at a river running,
As soon as the banks seem red,
His hand, which is in the river running, doth stop and return
To the bank where it was lodged.
So she prepares to throw, when in his strength she fears,
That fear in her might be broken, so her strength strong.
‘Father, I beseech thee with all my might:
As tempting as straw, why hide thy face
In mud and rotten smoke? Or take refuge in a brook,
That burn not thy face with tar, though thou be poisoned?
Or worse still, embraceless sin, dare not speak?
Or worse still, wilt thou say, “My lips are red, my flesh is bare?”
For why have mine own lips red as mine own,
Mine own is white, mine own is black?
Thyself thy self art all and all things else are black.
The sun doth yet not set, nor heaven nor earth,
Nor earth nor heaven hath hept on him,
But ne’er looks him straight in the face.
‘Yet with my woes shall my fame be made weak
With my offences my fame be made strong.
So long as mine soul lives, mine fame is lame;
And all my fame is lame with mine fame lame.
“The old, the rich, and of the poor none
Will not kiss the present, nor the worst of them.
When thou wilt review this decree,
My soul dies, and all is well in me.
But now come to my praise, I praise thee:
The rose I give thee, thou shalt not possess it;
The stalk which thy finger pricked, thou shalt not cut:
And the thorn which thy hand pricked, thou shalt not love:
Then kill me then, and I will kill thee first.
‘”In him a tall, lean man, lean and leaner than a horse,
With short, straight, and short in length,
He wore on his head some simple garment,
That underneath it were concealed;
He in it were bulk and aspect checked,
And when his chin were slackened it seemed to pass
Through clouds, to pass through parching rain.
She wip’d his cheek, that on it she had stain’d.
‘O that you shall see thy self in Tarquin!
The sun is set, and the clouds are short,
And you in the world of Time seem not to know
Time’s lasting course in you and me.
What is this that we see but in shadows,
And nothing in you appears? what is your nature?
You are the sun and the moon, and in them
All together like a great unity stand;
Let there be peace, and there none so dread,
That in our midst war not often shall break.
The world would weep, as one deep in a river cries;
And the weak dumb wretch would not weep with him;
But at the same time would he leap from his horse,
And fall and be cast away from thence.
‘Thus much for modesty’s sake


======== CHECKPOINT 099 OUTPUT # 003 ========

follow as a child he was proud, and now he as proud of fame.
‘Now then, O lovely boy, I must confess that
There was some feasting on thy beauty’s young:
The better part of that feast was gone;
Then Collatine with Lucrece did extenuate
The matter so frowardly, and with her death fled.
‘O, my sweet, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the bosom of two women so chaste!
How many a minute’s sorrow doth lie,
In thy self, thy other, thy self being done.
Yet thou art so beloved of me,
That if that false flame should one day come to light,
By my untimely death I know thy soul.
If it should survive, thou wilt not so forbid
Those fair imperfections that live in thee.
‘Thou art the fairest in this, and thine is thy lot,
Where none could hide thy beauty, thy true self still should hide,
Who, flatter’d with thoughts and false alarms, would not wake,
Till he would weep, and cry: ‘O, my sweet, my sorrow,
Kill my love and kill me all alone!
In vain I pray thee these arriv’d days,
With thoughts of discontent I never could well express,
Till in dreams, as my poor soul doth fight,
A desperate plea hath him to pause, and him to jump,
To jump in fear, or else fear him so.
So now he leaps, and strikes her in the eye;
she hisses, with her back to him being turned,
Another cry resounds, and him again turning;
More than one, and his quivering hand being gone.
“If I may,” quoth he, “if my muse have any,
To rehearse a certain lark’s rhyme,
With a certain retiring man, and that same,
Knocks on the doors of many a lively house:
And every one there hears the lark’s ragged tale,
Till he replies by insulting his fair name.
“Now let us turn our sorrows to subject
Of that sad-bemoaned storm, which hath done thee wrong,
And turn our sorrows, with our woes, to a more just end:
The painter would have us no such strife,
But sorrow by itself was not enough;
For sorrow in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in itself was not enough;
For grief in


======== CHECKPOINT 099 OUTPUT # 004 ========

rap-slow, he goes,
And then he makes another chase,
And again the giddy copter is gone.
‘But if there be none, be not afraid;
Her cheeks are bright with pride, her eyes with rage,
Her lips red and bloody, her eyes sad;
Her face plain and mov’d, her voice flat,
Like her voice actor in a song.
To be blunt she answers the sullen maid
with a grim and grim look, and then to the fire,
At which she sets fire to smithereens’ eyes,
And bids them pine for her rash words;
They pine for her with looks, and look for what they find,
Like fire from a fume-black-burning fire,
So softly did she cry, and so softly did she bow:
He kissed her, and yet she hiss and hefted;
Then kissing and hefted, he seizeth her still;
She writ on the ground, and in his blood lies
a river running from a hill,
Which when it touches the earth it doth turn,
And every where it enters water turns back again.
‘O father, what a sight it was!
And why dost thou pine for it with me,
O, that thou hast such a dwelling,
For dwelling where thou art buried, or at least
Where thou art found to dwell.
In me thou art as dwelling, and more,
Lies that do injustice their master intend,
Who by his foul imposition doth abuse his gain.
Look here what a tyrant is, not tyrannous,
But kind, kindler, kinder than tyrant is.
He treads with her a river that is so soft,
That deep she cannot bear to touch it again:
Then beauteous Philomela leaps
To that sweet bank, where her beloved Lucrece lies;
He dashes thence, but her reckes no pace;
And then she falls, and hears a soft moan.
“O let him go,” she cry; “not in my name;
Mine eyes were fair, and he were tame;
But now he’s master, mine eyes are wild;
His tongue is harsh, mine eyes good;
Mine eye hath power to curse, mine ear the good;
Mine ear a thousand faults hath hurt;
Mine heart an eye hath hate, mine eye a thousand joy;
Mine eye hath perjured himself, mine heart a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his shadow, mine heart a thousand fears;
Mine eye hath seiz’d my fear, mine eye a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his majesty, mine eye a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his pride, mine eye a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his pride in mine eyes, mine eyes a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his pride in mine eyes, mine eyes a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his pride in mine eyes, mine eyes a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his pride in mine eyes, mine eyes a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his pride in mine eyes, mine eyes a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his pride in mine eyes, mine eyes a thousand fears;
My heart hath seiz’d his pride in mine eyes, mine eyes a thousand fears.
‘”O help me, my sweet, what excuse canst thou bear
From that unprovident knife that hath done thee wrong?
Thy father forbade my mother’s untimely death,
And her virtuous husband to keep the peace
In their false desire of mine becoming true.’
Then do she hurls his arms about her head,
Whose fair sides their lusty hue doth confound;
And to her protestations cries: ‘O false tears, these eyes are glass;
These angry eyes that in my blood
Show guilty guilt even to hell’s gate.
‘Look how the sun that set upon his sun
Feasteth by the same celestial sun,
Which on him hath cast this abomination,
His blood thus tainted is lent to new dispensation:
The one pure, the other to all other.
Now is he the sun that shines from heaven,
Whose heavenly heat is to blame for that blameless fire;
O, that unfair fire that from hence travels cold,
With scorching hot desire doth burn the poor poor flower.
‘Well, then,’ quoth she, ‘I have this sad-tun’d dream,
When I shall wake, and see my shadow lie asleep.
‘O! what dost thou mean by that,
In that thou thy servant’s face
Can do so great a wrong to me?
My body, thy mother’s breast, thy life’s strength
Against all that


======== CHECKPOINT 099 OUTPUT # 005 ========

hardened, yet never lose sight of what they stand before.
For that which we preach, we preach for your sake;
Then why not our verse be so?
Love is true and holy and you a devil,
Because he is not. ‘Tis true and holy that I have lived
That which thou wilt convert to my style.
‘O father, how canst thou bear to witness
The heinous act that I have committed?
If thou bear’st this evil to end my fame,
Thy self in thee dost lie, and yet no such thing
As slanderous slander is.
Thy body art thy shield, thy soul thy body defends;
For if the sun doth defil it is defil’d
By Tarquin’s cruel sun, and all the hail it hath.
O, if the sun in thy self were slain,
With his gentle motion would this hail cease:
Now that defilement is mov’d, so it proceeds
With greater fury than before:
O, have I felt that the lips of men
Are red, the hair pale, and the eye the change,
For this refigured stain hath stain’d so white a face.
‘And in the midst of all that blackness,
What is the matter with thee, O, what is not?
let not suspicion of thy self impair
Thy outward course, till thou, my sweet, with outward grace,
Be of thy self made a saint and make my flesh a devil.
For wherein was this false Sinon born
That hath made thee a saint of Sinon’s blood,
Till now thy self be Sinon’s child, a son and a daughter,
And of thy self in all controversy reigns.
If thou wilt (being dead) fulfill my vow,
And in that my life I live by the sword,
My life by death being short, my life by life.
I might yet be alive, if thou wouldst give it me.
O but she was not dead, yet lo in her face,
Her visage now appears so bright!
Her hair, that doth cover her pale cheek,
The fresh colour now appears as if it had once been dyed.
‘When thou wilt leave the league, ere long,
Him meet me at the door of my house,
And tell me how I did betray thee,
To lend thee this false hand, that murd’rous deed,
To lend my life to those fair who praise thee?
What part of thee that thinks I did deserve
More than thou (my self) possess’d, than thou (I) possess’d?
My self was but a living image,
And that image thou shouldst place in thy face
Where thy living life should live and in thine age.
O that thou shouldst live, what part of me
O that thou shouldst be dead, what part of me
Thy living memory should bear,
What part of me that would not be buried be:
And then would my memory live, as thy living place.
‘Tis not enough, O truant Muse, to be a muse,
To give a moving show, a moving show of grace,
And then a moving show of woe, a moving show of woe.
For every motion a moving picture,
Calls to mind the place where it is, and shows where it will go.
But wherefore art thou such a moving outrage,
As when Opportunity once saw the fair moon rise?
The sun that shines from heaven shines so,
And now Opportunity is out for revenge.
His silver-crowned bed he lies on,
The sun glides by, and now his mantle and hat
Doth cover the sore sore face of his loathsome foe.
‘Thence I do dismount, and hasten to take my way,
In search of something new to do, not to spend so long.
My life with all my strength procured is ending,
And my life without all is ending with this strife.
I have no glass of that glass which will give me
The rarest moment of truth or reason’s vanishing,
When one of them shows to me thy true face,
The other shows thy worst-gazing self with his beard.
I must confess I have no self-trust to trust,
But thou, my self, hast thy self deceived.
Thus am I reconciled to my self,
Which is my self to suffer what I do abhor;
And thou, my self to endure thy defame,
What remains to me but to enjoy thy doom.
So do I in the course of my time find,
Thy own heinous and hideous crime,
To know thy former self before thy present self arise.
‘O comfort me


======== CHECKPOINT 100 OUTPUT # 001 ========

Fay-green and coral, of rich-green, and violet, and of beaded violet, and of beaded, and of beaded violet, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of beaded, and of be


======== CHECKPOINT 100 OUTPUT # 002 ========

Game that he doth undertake,
In pursuit of his aim, and of his lust.
But if he pursue him, he still striveth on thee,
And thou shalt be his sire’s end.
‘”Lo, I have been a stranger unto the sight,
And in the pride of youth shunned so,
That every instant observed
The thing I see, the thing I note,
Then I am as one minute out of place,
When all the world is moving towards you,
And each moving stone moving thing,
From edge to edge shifts place.
No, let me say more; I have sworn,
That I have seen the same thing;
And yet I do swear it hath not been
The same, because my eye hath not seen it.
O what a hell of witchcraft was that craft!
That thou mightst show the world thy face,
And tell the world my face was make of stone.
O how thy image might the world see!
What proud pride and proud dignity
To be a tomb seemed none worthy of thee,
Save in thy heart and in thy thought.
“Now come, young master, to thy chamber door
Are still asleep, and look where I stole my dear book,
To-morrow would tell my story to your lordship:
And tomorrow would tell me of the night that I dar’d,
To fright my dear friend, who in his good will,
Would dare to kill himself to disgrace his self,
Being such a king of fear that he hath been.
Then, lo! behold, I in his chamber did
Seize upon a small jewel which he laid,
And on it was placed the tenor of lamentation;
In other words, there it held the painter’s image,
With the clear violet that is in his glass,
To show how clear the picture seems when view is blind.
For why should I then my eyes behold the change?
But as they behold the change, I do my worst to look
On those present, as when I perceive them afterwards.
Now to my sweet love, my love is quite gone.
So I return again to my chamber,
And take counsel with the lady I met,
Of other properties my sorrow bear:
No ill effects thence may befall me,
Since I am dead, and my picture live in thee.
And therefore have I thought it best to make my excuse
To leave my dear, adored wife alone,
And live in that pure mansion where thou art,
And live in such a spite of all wrong,
That even in the least of all my annoyings,
(Though I mistake my looks for words)
This wish, this spite of my love,
Hath cost me dearly, and done my husband no end.
“Look!” quoth she, “your picture did lend a lie
To some untimely mishap, that cost me life.
What would you have me tell if I had been dead?
‘”Look, Adonis,” quoth he, “this ill-fathered boar
Came along on a proud hind foot, and with a horn,
Whose worser neck upon his spear-tongued neigh would not let go,
He rouseth now to dig in; where’s he to get the boar?
So her cries are broken, and she forth with him;
Then answer’d, “My dear,” and he replies,
That she was in love with him so long,
As they both by and by drew a sad valley.
‘In thy face did thy picture hide,’ quoth she,
My thoughts on thee have not brought forth fire,
But worms, that burn thy liver with their smoke.
‘So be it; but in thy heart’s function
I’ll wittily ensnare thy face with my tears;
As the fair queen of wits, the false queen
Which gives not the fair a tongue, but the fair a tongue,
To kiss and adore me when I reign in thee.
“Now that she hath told, my heart hath begun to sweat;
My hand, quick in trembling, being move’d,
Shall lend my other hand another salve;
An infantile motion will soon ensue,
And then I will pause, and then straight will
Stand, and do my duty;
In a moment wouldst thou behold my face,
And being full I would swear it was me.
And when Adonis saw it, blushing,
He held it in his hand, and in her breast,
Like jewels from a sacred temple,
That they in their polished shape should stand.
But when she saw the ruby in his eye,
Her trembling eye seized up his beholding,
And she thus began: “Lo, this image of mine


======== CHECKPOINT 100 OUTPUT # 003 ========

BUR, the lord of Rome;
O’er whom he flies, loathed and despised,
Is fond fear, and hates not relief;
A thousand ways his rudeness hath troubled,
From that discordant tongue to his ire
That he hath been deaf and dumb.
She sigh’d, and kissed him; and for his sake,
The others ran on, as if they heard her say,
“O, sweet Lucrece, how nice a time this to be
A man’s tomb, with his wife’s body,
To be buried with his posterity.
I’ll kiss your lips, and then kiss them all,
And then thou shalt never say, ‘I love thee,’
Nor never tongue-tied, nor peerless,
’tis I, the father, thy son, thy wife,
that we shall see this night the fowl die.
“Poor, useless night,” quoth she, “my sorrow is so great,
The thought of a life without a wife,
Or life without a husband, or a father,
Or even a mother, or a child,
Or only a friend, or only a dear one,
Or even a beloved thing left behind,
May think it strange that you should live,
Even to the grave, where you belong.
“To see your self in the grave is
As to feel your deceased friend’s pain,
And you by a third your peer be brought
from the dead, and no longer can breathe:
The sick, afflicted, and beggars so,
Demand the physician’s help, and there,
With bleeding breast, he doth stop his dial and hie:
With gentle pleading holds Collatine
in the wound where his bleeding falls;
Her face, in bleeding shame, with pale blood
Doth her protestation seem; yet her eyes are red,
And tears in her eyes likewise are shed.
She looks pale and faint and dully,
Her cheeks are lean, her chin in rage,
Her eyes are wild, her eyes like madmen’s:
She cannot breathe, no more shall cry, ‘O no more,’
Till she must with greater rage prove me false:
‘I will not curse thee for my slandered tongue;
But thou shalt curse the very least,
The very least is enough to make my bleeding bleed.’
‘I never saw a devil so fair
As she in her youth did display her ill,
And now she in her forlorn youth
Doth display her ill and in her rage show:
Her dark circles, like sickle-like globes,
In either’s place make her woe seem plain:
And in either’s place do they seem naked,
Like lifeless statues or figurines put in grave,
That their sinews seem to swallow up the grave,
Who, blushing with grief, do place the face
in the general direction whence she is going.
But now she hears the horse neigh,
And that his neigh is boisterous makes her fear;
And that his neigh is loud makes her woe join.
‘It shall be a sore and weary watch,
With direful echoes it shall be:
The worst it shall be, the best is better.
O, that your neglect of duty might have done,
I have sworn thee a flatterer,
A thief of truth, a flatterer of truth’s tale,
Thy heart’s treason, a thief of fair justice.’
Now that he hath sworn it, he doth swear it is true,
And if it be false, the text must be broke,
And Tarquin a mourner’s scythe struck dead.
‘Hadst thou the day’s help, hadst thou not my father slain,
You would have been ere then your father’s heir.
So now I must excuse thee:—
“Lo, it is withal that I mourn my loss;
In sorrow, I feel a certain doom;
And then my grief doth exceed my help;
Even so, deep in the grief, my help seems slain.
“Hadst thou not, the tiger would have slain me;
Hadst thou not, the lion would have slain me;
Had I not, the leopard would have slain me;
But, in his pride and in the coward coward’s rage,
The lion would have slain me, while the tiger would have slain me.
The thought of this thought haunted my mind,
To think the boar, as it were a prey, slaughter’d;
Then would my thoughts fly forth mad from my thoughts,
To the base fear and trembling terror of his tail.
‘And when I have thought on these, how dare I go so far
As I did Tarquin in pursuit of thee.
Thy beauty d


======== CHECKPOINT 100 OUTPUT # 004 ========

Wag, she did not so much as touch his lips;
And yet his lips, though moist and plump, did their silken parcels
Plead through his soft lips, and leave his soft groin.
‘O,’ quoth he, ‘let me see who’s prettier—
To see the lips that her husband stamps,
Who, true to his word, looks pretty on her in disdain.
‘What’s the matter?’ quoth she. ‘I have been prophesied of doom
A bastard child of lust, of murder, and of theft;
A maiden bearing a child, and being murd’rous:
And now this, quoth he, she intends to tell.
When I have writ this, she is afraid to speak;
She doth not fear her own decease;
‘Gentle,’ quoth she, ‘you make me swear I see
That your sweet name lives and never dies;
That your sweet name is alive and never dies,
If you must destroy me, leave me here alone.’
This said, he throws his spear through the smokeless gate,
T’assail that lets forth vapours from his bright eye.
‘”If thy name be Muse, why art thou so young,
Whose beauty I so much covet, and yet so much disdain,
That I have no remembrance of thee in thine,
But thine to desire, of lust’s decay I mean,
Who in thine image is slain, that it cannot die.
‘Why should I not be moved by thy beauty
Wherein I must my heart detain for thy sake,
But wherein I must be moved by thy deeds?
I am sick, and then you my physician,
Do come and visit me; but do not tell me,
Unless you like, I’ll kill myself in a moment.
‘Yet was she young and yet he was old,
She was grey, had brownish-pink in her cheeks,
Shed all with rage, yet red and full of rage;
When men did change their forms, so did she his.
What of thee old then, how much of that
I do question? I have not lived to tell.
For thou art the only son and only daughter of heaven,
That on thy life I still mourn, and on thy death,
To see thee that thy life may live in scorn!
My love, thy love, I pray thee be still.
And yet thou on thy death do live with me:
Then was it not thy fault thou that didst stain me;
for to thy sorrow I receiv’st such offence,
That, poor wretch, I had receiv’d but one tear,
from a vale that in this steep sheath’d valley green
painted with black and painted gold:
When her beauty with blood so mingled
Upon this, all quench’d, and her eye did burn.
The cloud that her visage doth cover
With this pure veil doth hide the truth.
The gaudy puddle drowns in the clear water,
Who, cold and wet, do overlook the saint,
And look for thyself in every bush;
Even so the puddle that our lord’s picture doth stand
Hath stood but as a shadow in the sea of green,
Whose white froth did give the whole a blushing shine.
This blushing puddle in his smooth out-bragg’d face did stand,
When his visage in the clear water did stain.
, ere the hour is near, leave the sport
To ride up to the hills whose steeple is upon the grass.
But thou alone in this world canst not ride,
Nor can I in the world to whom I most appeal;
So take thy love, and be my love,
If thou return again to take me all,
If not return, then be my friend, and then be gone.
‘For shame doth he flatter, and yet again she prays,
She prays her he’s lost, the boy doth flatter,
Even so his voice is ringing still, and his eyes blaze,
So shall our discontent be, if we do break,
Then shall Collatinus be king; and this said,
‘The Collatine’ came and sat by her,
And, with a cool regard, did ask for him;
Some say she wore a dame’s dress, some say she wore a queen;
For in her fair bosom Collatinus lay,
For Collatinus’ eyes did enchant the mind;
For Collatinus’ eyes, like shining sapphires, glowed bright.
‘And yet, as he in his motion doth behold,
The boar within his bounc’d out


======== CHECKPOINT 100 OUTPUT # 005 ========

printing.
‘Yet,’ quoth she, ‘this is a doubtful hour;—
For I have prophesied Tarquin will appear
At twilight and soon to my beck;
So shall Tarquin appear before my unlooked-back night
To steal my life, and in it my life’s decay.’
“Ay me,” quoth he, “this night I prophesy of your coming;
And here I do intend to inflict
The shame of sin’s cross, and the disgrace of death;
And yet you, that done, shall yet in my thought
Save death, and life, and all other sins.
So your unworthy death to me was your due.
‘O peace! a bloodless and unripe day!
With a burning desire drew my bright mind away;
A burning desire kept my cold eye awake.
Ah now, I hate, yet I love to hate,
But that hate I did have must do with mine own pain.
To this session I may add,
To this meditation might I entertain another,
Which shall be better for me than all my other tunes.
‘Nor be it lawful that any one sit beside thee,
The other to stand in thy way,
Who, all swerving from their wills, do force sit
With thee, and do thy will in a desperate haste;
But if thou wilt, do so at thy self’s death.
“For lo, in the ambush of the bloody fiend
Who would have slain me, had I not died,
With my life or my life’s reproach,
The former was restored, the latter no threat,
And death, for that mortal sin, could not banish
His stain upon my life, nor my honour,
Nor my reputation with peers in this vale.
“Ay me,” quoth she, “this night I prophesy of your coming;
And here I do intend to inflict
The shame of your loathsome crime,
And in my thought, your image do cross,
A hell of sorrow and damn’d sins,
That every cheek a cloud hath hath hath now descended.
She puts on the brim the mantle of majesty,
And, commanding her high-pitch’d majesty,
A warble mantle of posied majesty moves;
What care she then, that she hath no skill to do?
The warble mantle obeys, and the shining visage,
With all her might, all nimble speed obey,
Where every part of her body, being done,
Doth register her still, and her part cheers.
‘And thus she begins:—”My body, this is thy office,
That thou hast within this sealed chamber made,
I’ll inflict it upon the most heinous of thieves,
When thou shalt charge and repay them straight.
I will not, though armed with your art, stop thy hand
From beating at my heart with my blunt knife,
Whilst thou upon the ground beat with my blunt foot,
with these words Adonis, like a swine,
With the guilty youth of his day,
Or like the proud-fac’d vulture of his time,
Doth sit and frown as on high-pitch,
Doth question the shape and scale of this commotion;
His nostrils fill up the manifold with his stream,
Each several foot in his way disperseth;
Even so the verdict is, ‘This man is mad; let him die in his place.’
“Fie, fie, please, please,” quoth she, “if thou desire, come back again.”
Her lips are pale, and her voice heavy,
And yet their silken parcels do unbend,
Their white is slackening, and every vein weaketh:
Then is he come back again, yet she with trembling lips,
Resembling maid balm, but trembling master.
To make him wait, as the clock is about to end,
I force him to wait; and so I ne’er relent;
If I could, the time would be mine own and not expire,
And yet he is gone. —No, no, no, no, no!
If you will excuse me, my friend, let me know,
That your oblations are in vain;
In them you have but one true end;
In me you have three true ends:—I, your oblations,
My unfiltered love, your hidden treasure.
“Fie, fie,” she cries, “you have heard my story,
And seen in my lips a bloodless face make:
I swear it was the fickle-dated flower,
That beguiled thy sorrow-beholding husband;
For to thy loving husband’s mocking look,
His fair face with thy fair eye, thy fair lips, thy

======== TRAINING SESSION THE END ========