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Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain, Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.

Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath, From whence her veil reach'd to the ground beneath.

Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves, Whose workmanship both man and beast

deceives.

Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,

When 'twas the odour which her breath forth cast;

And there for honey bees have sought in vain,

And, beat from thence, have lighted there again.

About her neck hung chains of pebble stone,

Which, lighten'd by her neck, like diamonds shone.

She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind

Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind,

Or warm or cool them, for they took delight

To play upon those hands, they were so white.

Buskins of shells, all silver'd, used she, And branch'd with blushing coral to the knee ;

Where sparrows perch'd, of hollow pearl and gold,

Such as the world would wonder to behold:

Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,

Which, as she went, would chirup through the bills.

Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pined, And, looking in her face, was strooken blind.

But this is true; so like was one the other,

As he imagined Hero was his mother;
And oftentimes into her bosom flew,
About her naked neck his bare arms
threw,

And laid his childish head upon her breast,

And, with still panting rock, there took his

rest.

So lovely fair was Hero, Venus' nun, As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,

Because she took more from her than she left,

And of such wondrous beauty her bereft :

Therefore, in sign her treasure suffer'd wrack,

Since Hero's time hath half the world been black.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young (Whose tragedy divine Musæus sung), Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there

none

For whom succeeding times make greater

moan.

His dangling tresses, that were never shorn, Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne, Would have allured the venturous youth of Greece

To hazard more than for the golden fleece. Fair Cynthia wish'd his arms might be her sphere;

Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there.

His body was as straight as Circe's wand; Jove might have sipt out nectar from his

hand.

Even as delicious meat is to the taste,
So was his neck in touching, and surpass'd
The white of Pelops' shoulder: I could
tell ye,

How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly;

And whose immortal fingers did imprint That heavenly path with many a curious dint,

That runs along his back; but my rude pen
Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men,
Much less of powerful gods: let it suffice
That my slack Muse sings of Leander's
eyes;

Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his
That leapt into the water for a kiss
Of his own shadow, and, despising many,
Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.
Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen,
Enamour'd of his beauty had he been :
His presence made the rudest peasant melt,
That in the vast uplandish country dwelt;
The barbarous Thracian soldier, moved

with nought,

Was moved with him, and for his favour sought.

Some swore he was a maid in man's attire,
For in his looks were all that men desire;
A pleasant-smiling cheek, a speaking eye,
A brow for love to banquet royally;
And such as knew he was a man, would
say,

"Leander, thou art made for amorous play:

Why art thou not in love, and loved of all? Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall."

The men of wealthy Sestos every year, For his sake whom their goddess held so dear,

Rose-cheek'd Adonis, kept a solemn feast; Thither resorted many a wandering guest To meet their loves: such as had none at all,

Came lovers home from this great festival; For every street, like to a firmament, Glister'd with breathing stars, who, where they went,

Frighted the melancholy earth, which deem'd

Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seem'd,
As if another Phaëton had got
The guidance of the sun's rich chariot.
But, far above the loveliest, Hero shined,
And stole away th' enchanted gazer's mind;
For like sea-nymphs' inveigling harmony,
So was her beauty to the standers-by;
Nor that night-wandering, pale, and watery

star

(When yawning dragons draw her thirling

car

From Latmus' mount up to the gloomy sky, Where, crown'd with blazing light and majesty,

She proudly sits) more overrules the flood Than she the hearts of those that near her stood.

Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase,

Wretched Ixion's shaggy-footed race, Incensed with savage heat, gallop amain From steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain,

So ran the people forth to gaze upon her, And all that view'd her were enamour'd on her:

And as in fury of a dreadful fight,

Their fellows being slain or put to flight, Poor soldiers stand with fear of death deadstrooken,

So at her presence all surprised and tooken, Await the sentence of her scornful eyes; He whom she favours lives, the other

dies :

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To Venus' temple, where unhappily, As after chanced, they did each other spy.

So fair a church as this had Venus none : The wails were of discolour'd jasper-stone, Wherein was Proteus carved; and overhead

A lively vine of green sea-agate spread, Where by one hand light-headed Bacchus hung,

And with the other wine from grapes outwrung.

Of crystal shining fair the pavement was ; The town of Sestos call'd it Venus' glass : There might you see the gods, in sundry shapes,

Committing heady riots, incest, rapes;
For know, that underneath this radiant
floor

Was Danäe's statue in a brazen tower;
Jove slily stealing from his sister's bed,
To dally with Idalian Ganymed,
And for his love Europa bellowing loud,
And tumbling with the rainbow in a
cloud;

Blood-quaffing Mars heaving the iron net Which limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set;

Love kindling fire, to burn such towns as
Troy ;

Sylvanus weeping for the lovely boy
That now is turn'd into a cypress-tree,
Under whose shade the wood-gods love to
be.

And in the midst a silver altar stood :
There Hero, sacrificing turtles' blood,
Vail'd to the ground, veiling her eyelids
close;

And modestly they open'd as she rose: Thence flew Love's arrow with the golden

head;

And thus Leander was enamoured. Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gazed,

Till with the fire, that from his countenance blazed,

Relenting Hero's gentle heart was strook; Such force and virtue hath an amorous look.

It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overruled by fate. When two are stript, long ere the course begin,

We wish that one should lose, the other win:

And one especially do we affect

Of two gold ingots, like in each respect : The reason no man knows; let it suffice, What we behold is censured by our eyes.

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Where both deliberate, the love is slight; Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight ?*

He kneel'd; but unto her devoutly pray'd: Chaste Hero to herself thus softly said, "Were I the saint he worships, I would hear him ;"

And, as she spake those words, came somewhat near him.

He started up; she blush'd as one ashamed; Wherewith Leander much more was inflamed.

He touch'd her hand; in touching it she trembled:

Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled:

These lovers parled by the touch of hands: True love is mute, and oft amazed stands. Thus while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled,

A periphrasis

The air with sparks of living fire was spangled ;

of night. And night, deep-drench'd in misty Acheron,

Heaved up her head, and half the world upon Breathed darkness forth (dark night is Cupid's day):

And now begins Leander to display Love's holy fire, with words, with sighs,

and tears;

Which, like sweet music, enter'd Hero's ears; And yet at every word she turn'd aside, And always cut him off, as he replied. At last, like to a bold sharp sophister, With cheerful hope thus he accosted her :† "Fair creature, let me speak without offence:

I would my rude words had the influence To lead thy thoughts, as thy fair looks do mine,

Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine.

* Shakspeare has quoted this line :"Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might:

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?" As You Like It, iii. 5. See also Chapman's Blind Beggar of Alexandria, 1598 (vol. i. p. 20). The story of Hero and Leander is alluded to by one of the characters in this comedy, p. 5.

+ See Ben Jonson's Every Man in his Humour, iv. 2, where Master Mathew quotes a portion of the following speech, and is reproved by Knowell for filching from the dead. The comedy was produced in 1598, the same year in which Hero and Leander was first published. Master Mathew does not cite the lines accurately, but that, perhaps, may have been intentional.-ED.

Be not unkind and fair; mis-shapen stuff
Are of behaviour boisterous and rough.
O shun me not, but hear me ere you go,
God knows, I cannot force love as you do:
My words shall be as spotless as my youth,
Full of simplicity and naked truth.
This sacrifice, whose sweet perfume des-
cending

From Venus' altar, to your footsteps bending,

Doth testify that you exceed her far,
To whom you offer, and whose nun you are,
Why should you worship her? her you

surpass

As much as sparkling diamonds flaring glass.

A diamond set in lead his worth retains ; A heavenly nymph, beloved of human swains,

Receives no blemish, but ofttimes more grace;

Which makes me hope, although I am but base,

Base in respect of thee divine and pure,
Dutiful service may thy love procure;
And I in duty will excel all other,
As thou in beauty dost exceed Love's
mother.

Nor heaven nor thou were made to gaze upon :

As heaven preserves all things, so save thou

one.

A stately-builded ship, well-rigg'd and tall,
The ocean maketh more majestical :
Why vow'st thou, then, to live in Sestos
here,

Who on Love's seas more glorious wouldst appear?

Like untuned golden strings all women are, Which long time lie untouch'd, will harshly jar.

Vessels of brass, oft handled, brightly shine :

What difference betwixt the richest mine And basest mould, but use? for both, not used,

Are of like worth. Then treasure is abused,
When misers keep it: being put to loan,
In time it will return us two for one.
Rich robes themselves and others do adorn ;
Neither themselves nor others, if not worn.
Who builds a palace, and rams up the
gate,

Shall see it ruinous and desolate :
Ah, simple Hero, learn thyself to cherish!
Lone women, like to empty houses, perish.
Less sins the poor rich man, that starves

himself

In heaping up a mass of drossy pelf,

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