Hero and Leander. Christopher Marlowe

that viewed her were enamoured 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 dead strooken,

      So at her presence all surprised 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.

      On this feast day, O cursed day and hour,

      Went Hero thorough Sestos from her tower

      To Venus' temple, where unhappily

      As after chanced, they did each other spy.

      So fair a church as this had Venus none.

      The walls were of discoloured jasper stone

      Wherein was Proteus carved, and o'erhead

      A lively vine of green sea agate spread,

      Where by one hand lightheaded Bacchus hung,

      And, with the other, wine from grapes out wrung.

      Of crystal shining fair the pavement was.

      The town of Sestos called 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 Danae's statue in a brazen tower,

      Jove slyly stealing from his sister's bed,

      To dally with Idalian Ganymede,

      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 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 turtle's blood,

      Vailed to the ground, vailing her eyelids close,

      And modestly they opened 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 stripped, 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.

      Where both deliberate, the love is slight:

      Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

      He kneeled, but unto her devoutly prayed.

      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 blushed as one ashamed,

      Wherewith Leander much more was inflamed.

      He touched her hand; in touching it she trembled.

      Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled.

      These lovers parleyed by the touch of hands;

      True love is mute, and oft amazed stands.

      Thus while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled,

      The air with sparks of living fire was spangled,

      And night, deep drenched 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 entered Hero's ears,

      And yet at every word she turned 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.

      Be not unkind and fair; misshapen stuff

      Are of behaviour boisterous and rough.