For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,
That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.
In this stanza, the narrator describes the untimely and unfortunate events that will ultimately lead to Lucrece’s rape and death. While in a tent with his good friend Tarquin, Collatine brags of his wife’s beauty and timid nature. Here, Collatine describes to Tarquin just how happy Lucrece has made him and how she is a wonderful and fulfilling wife. Unbeknownst to him, Collatine’s description of his wife instills in Tarquin an untamable to desire to meet her and claim her as his own. In this stanza, the narrator describes how Collatine’s self-fulfilling joy and public proclamations blind him to the potential danger of Tarquin’s lust.
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own?
Once again, the all-knowing narrator questions why Collatine must be so open and public about his wife’s beauty and temperament. The narrator refers to Lucrece as a jewel which should be kept unknown. Collatine clearly does not realize that his wife’s beauty and purity is precious and should therefore be shielded from the eyes and ears of those who would seek to do her harm. Though Collatine could not possibly predict that such misdeeds would be perpetrated by his very own friend, the narrator curses him in this stanza for giving the evil people around him such ample opportunity to spring upon Lucrece.
Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries;
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.
Here, the narrator paints a stark and unsettling image of the night of Lucrece’s rape. The narrator sets the scene for the night and explains that all the world was fast asleep—just as was the unsuspecting Lucrece. On this particular night—reflective of Tarquin’s dark intentions—not even a star or the moon shed light upon the estate. All the world was sleeping, apart from the forbidding hoots of owls and the cries of wolves. Perhaps the most startling contrasting image is that of the lambs, whose very imagery evokes a sense of innocence. Despite Tarquin’s dark, lustful intentions, the lambs—with their pure thoughts and sinless intentions—sleep peacefully close by.
'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me:
Thyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me:
Myself a weakling; do not then ensnare me:
Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee:
If ever man were moved with woman moans,
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans […]'
In this stanza, Lucrece speaks directly to Tarquin, her attacker. She pleads with him to spare her—if not for her own sake, then for that of her husband. She implores Tarquin to consider his own honor and duty and the honor and duty he holds to his fellow man. Lucrece attempts in vain to tap into Tarquin’s sense of humanity and chivalry. Her attempts, however, will be in vain, for Tarquin is already so consumed with his hateful lust for her that he cannot be reasoned with. This stanza therefore captures Lucrece’s desperation to appeal to his logic and humanity.
