The Works of Christopher Marlowe, Vol. 3 | Page 3

wrack,
Since Hero's
time hath half the world been black. 50 Amorous Leander, beautiful
and young
(Whose tragedy divine Musæus sung),
Dwelt at Abydos;
since him dwelt there none
For whom succeeding times make[5]
greater moan.
His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,
Had they
been cut, and unto Colchos borne,
Would have allur'd the venturous
youth of Greece
To hazard more than for the golden fleece.
Fair
Cynthia wished his arms might be her Sphere;

Grief makes her pale,
because she moves not there. 60 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 tast,
So was his neck in touching, and surpast

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, 70 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; 80 The barbarous Thracian soldier, mov'd
with nought,
Was mov'd 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." 90 The men of wealthy Sestos every year,
For his sake whom
their goddess held so dear,
Rose-cheek'd[6] 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, 100 As if another Phaëton
had got
The guidance of the sun's rich chariot.
But, far above the
loveliest, Hero shin'd,
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[7] star

(When yawning dragons draw her thirling[8] car

From Latmus'
mount up to the gloomy sky,
Where, crown'd with blazing light and
majesty, 110 She proudly sits) more over-rules 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,
Incens'd
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, 120 Poor soldiers stand
with fear of death dead-strooken,
So at her presence all surpris'd and
tooken,
Await the sentence of her scornful eyes;
He whom she
favours lives; the other dies:
There might you see one sigh; another
rage;
And some, their violent passions to assuage,
Compile sharp
satires; but, alas, too late!
For faithful love will never turn to hate;

And many, seeing great princes were denied,
Pin'd as they went, and
thinking on her died. 130 On this feast-day--O cursèd day and hour!--

Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her tower
To Venus' temple,
where unhappily,
As after chanc'd, they did each other spy.
So fair
a church as this had Venus none:
The walls were of discolour'd[9]
jasper-stone,
Wherein was Proteus carved; and over-head
A lively
vine of green sea-agate spread,
Where by one hand light-headed
Bacchus hung,
And with the other wine from grapes out-wrung. 140
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, incests, rapes;
For know, that underneath
this radiant flour[10]
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; 150 Blood-quaffing Mars heaving the iron net

Which limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set;
Love kindling fire, to
burn such towns as Troy;
Silvanus weeping for the lovely boy
That
now is turned 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,
Vailed[11] to the ground, veiling her eyelids
close;
And modestly they opened as she rose: 160 Thence flew Love's
arrow with the golden head;
And thus Leander was enamourèd.

Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gaz'd,
Till with the fire, that
from his countenance blaz'd,
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 over-rul'd by fate.
When two
are stript long ere the