On the Picture of Lucretia Stabbing Her Self

LVcrece inflam'd with Anger, Grief and Shame,
Despising Life, yet careful of her Fame,
Wounds her fair Breast, thô arm'd with Innocence
Could suffer Death, but could not the Offence.

Her Steel was sharp, her End with Glory Crown'd,
She sought Revenge, and valu'd not the Wound;
This so appeas'd her rage, that being Dead,
She look'd like one reveng'd, not injured.

'Twas Beauty sinn'd, said she, then let it dye,
That forc'd me to this last extremity;
Were't not for Beauty I had guiltless been,
For it was that made lustful Tarquin sin.

So I to Violence a Prey was made,
No Tears avail'd when Vertue was betray'd.
Haughty he was, my Beauty proud as he,
They made me Slave, but thus my self I free.