But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; He in the worst sense construes their denial. The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, He takes for accidental things of trial; Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, Who with a ling’ring stay his course doth let, Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 

 “So, so,” quoth he, “these lets attend the time, Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, To add a more rejoicing to the prime, And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. Pain pays the income of each precious thing: Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.” 

 Now is he come unto the chamber door That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, Hath barred him from the blessed thing he sought. So from himself impiety hath wrought, That for his prey to pray he doth begin, As if the heavens should countenance his sin. 

 But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, Having solicited th’ eternal power That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, And they would stand auspicious to the hour, Even there he starts. Quoth he, “I must deflower. The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, How can they then assist me in the act? 

 “Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide! My will is backed with resolution. Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried; The blackest sin is cleared with absolution. Against love’s fire fear’s frost hath dissolution. The eye of heaven is out, and misty night Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.” 

 This said, his guilty hand plucked up the latch, And with his knee the door he opens wide. The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch; Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside; But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 

 Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. The curtains being close, about he walks, Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head. By their high treason is his heart misled, Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 

 Look as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight; Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun To wink, being blinded with a greater light. Whether it is that she reflects so bright, That dazzleth them, or 

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