APPENDIX 
237 
“ Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, 
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 
The Destinies well curse thee for this stroke; 
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower : 
Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled, 
And not death’s ebon dart, to strike him dead.” 
L. 943. 
Whose wonted lily white 
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench’d ; 
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, 
But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed. 
L. 1053. 
Would bring him mulberries, and ripe-red cherries ; 
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 
L. 1103. 
By this, the boy that by her side lay kill’d 
Was melted like a vapour from her sight, 
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d, 
A purple flower sprung up, checquer’d with white, 
Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood 
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 
L. 1165. 
LUCRECE. 
Their silent war of lilies and of roses, 
Which Tarquin viewed in her fair face’s field. 
L. 71. 
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ? 
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, 
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down ? 
L. 215. 
O how her fear did make her colour rise ! 
First red as roses that on lawn we lay, 
Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 
L. 257. 
As corn o’ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 
Is almost chok’d by unresisted lust. 
Away he steals with open listening ear, 
Full of fell hope and full of fond mistrust; 
Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 
So cross him with their opposite persuasion, 
That now he vows a league, and now invasion. 
L. 281. 
