>>5741440>>5741412>>5741416>>5741301All of literature and art is rape. In a similar manner to the odes to diversity and inclusion today, the panegyric of ages past extolled the tales of Philomel and Sabines. The Rape Of Lucrece by Shakespeare is a metaphor regarding the overthrow of tyrants by the powerless. There is also a strange section in the poem where Shakespeare (channelling Lucrece grief) compares his own writing to the rape of words from ancient authors that preceded him
From the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathèd Tarquin leaves the Roman host
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine’s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.
(...)
His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly,
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Which must be lodestar to his lustful eye,
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly:
‘As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.’
(...)
What win I if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week,
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
(...)
Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud,
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows’ nests,
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud,
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts,
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?
But no perfection is so absolute
That some impurity doth not pollute.
(...)
Quoth he, ‘I must deflower.
The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact;
How can they then assist me in the act?
Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,
And gazeth on her yet-unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head.
(...)
This said, he sets his foot upon the light;
For light and lust are deadly enemies.
Shame folded up in blind concealing night
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannise.
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries,
Till with her own white fleece her voice controlled
Entombs her outcry in her lips’ sweet fold.
(...)
