DOOR.

Yet not alone of this, her crag Chinaean abiding

Under, a watch-tower set warily, Brixia tells,

Brixia, trails whereby his waters Mella the golden,

Mother of her, mine own city, Verona the fair.

Add Postumius yet, Cornelius also, a twice-told

Folly, with whom our light mistress adultery knew.

Asks some questioner here "What? a door, yet privy to lewdness?

You, from your owner's gate never a minute away?

Strange to the talk o' the town? since here, stout timber above you,

Hung to the beam, you shut mutely or open again."

Many a shameful time I heard her stealthy profession,

While to the maids her guilt softly she hinted alone.

Spoke unabash'd her amours and named them singly, opining

Haply an ear to record fail'd me, a voice to reveal.

There was another; enough; his name I gladly dissemble;

Lest his lifted brows blush a disorderly rage.

Sir, 'twas a long lean suitor; a process huge had assail'd him;

'Twas for a pregnant womb falsely declar'd to be true.