The Works of Christopher Marlowe, Vol. 3 (of 3). Christopher Marlowe

yet eternized Hymen's tender bride,

      To suffer it dissolved so, sweetly cried.

      The maids that heard, so loved and did adore her,

      They wished with all their hearts to suffer for her.

      So had the matrons, that with confits stood

      About the chamber, such affectionate blood,

      And so true feeling of her harmless pains,

      That every one a shower of confits rains;

      For which the bride-youths scrambling on the ground,

      In noise of that sweet hail her107 cries were drown'd.

      And thus blest Hymen joyed his gracious bride,

      And for his joy was after deified.

      The saffron mirror by which Phœbus' love,

      Green Tellus, decks her, now he held above

      The cloudy mountains: and the noble maid,

      Sharp-visaged Adolesche, that was stray'd

      Out of her way, in hasting with her news,

      Not till this108 hour th' Athenian turrets views;

      And now brought home by guides, she heard by all,

      That her long kept occurrents would be stale,

      And how fair Hymen's honours did excel

      For those rare news which she came short to tell.

      To hear her dear tongue robbed of such a joy,

      Made the well-spoken nymph take such a toy,109

      That down she sunk: when lightning from above

      Shrunk her lean body, and, for mere free love,

      Turn'd her into the pied-plum'd Psittacus,

      That now the Parrot is surnam'd by us,

      Who still with counterfeit confusion prates

      Naught but news common to the common'st mates.—

      This told, strange Teras touch'd her lute, and sung

      This ditty, that the torchy evening sprung.

Epithalamion Teratos

      Come, come, dear Night! Love's mart of kisses,

      Sweet close to his ambitious line,

      The fruitful summer of his blisses!

      Love's glory doth in darkness shine.

      O come, soft rest of cares! come, Night!

      Come, naked Virtue's only tire,

      The reapèd harvest of the light,

      Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire!

      Love calls to war;

      Sighs his alarms,

      Lips his swords are,

      The field his arms.

      Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand

      On glorious Day's outfacing face;

      And all thy crownèd flames command,

      For torches to our nuptial grace!

      Love calls to war;

      Sighs his alarms,

      Lips his swords are,

      The field his arms.

      No need have we of factious Day,

      To cast, in envy of thy peace,

      Her balls of discord in thy way:

      Here Beauty's day doth never cease;

      Day is abstracted here,

      And varied in a triple sphere.

      Hero, Alcmane, Mya, so outshine thee,

      Ere thou come here, let Thetis thrice refine thee.

      Love calls to war;

      Sighs his alarms,

      Lips his swords are,

      The field his arms.

      The evening star I see:

      Rise, youths! the evening star

      Helps Love to summon war;

      Both now embracing be.

      Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; rise!

      Now the bright marigolds, that deck the skies,

      Phœbus' celestial flowers, that, contrary

      To his flowers here, ope when he shuts his eye,

      And shuts when he doth open, crown your sports:

      Now Love in Night, and Night in Love exhorts

      Courtship and dances: all your parts employ,

      And suit Night's rich expansure with your joy.

      Love paints his longings in sweet virgins' eyes:

      Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; rise!

      Rise, virgins! let fair nuptial loves enfold

      Your fruitless breasts: the maidenheads110 ye hold

      Are not your own alone, but parted are;

      Part in disposing them your parents share,

      And that a third part is; so must ye save

      Your loves a third, and you your thirds must have.

      Love paints his longings in sweet virgins' eyes:

      Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; rise!

      Herewith the amorous spirit, that was so kind

      To Teras' hair, and comb'd it down with wind,

      Still as it, comet-like, brake from her brain,

      Would needs have Teras gone, and did refrain

      To blow it down: which, staring111 up, dismay'd

      The timorous feast; and she no longer stay'd;

      But, bowing to the bridegroom and the bride,

      Did, like a shooting exhalation, glide

      Out of their sights: the turning of her back

      Made them all shriek, it look'd so ghastly black.

      O hapless Hero! that most hapless cloud

      Thy soon-succeeding tragedy foreshow'd.

      Thus all the nuptial crew to joys depart;

      But much-wronged112 Hero stood Hell's blackest dart:

      Whose wound because I grieve so to display,

      I use digressions thus t' increase the day.

      THE SIXTH SESTIAD

The Argument of the Sixth Sestiad

      Leucote flies to all the Winds,

      And from the Fates their outrage blinds,113

      That Hero and her love may meet.

      Leander, with Love's complete fleet

107

Old eds. "their."

108

Old eds. "his."

109

A sudden pettishness or freak of fancy. Cf. Two Noble Kinsmen:—

"The hot horse hot as fireTook toy at this."

110

Former editors have not noticed that Chapman is here closely imitating Catullus' Carmen Nuptiale—

"Virginitas non tota tua est: ex parte parentum est:Tertia pars patri data, pars data tertia matri,Tertia sola tua est: noli pugnare duobus,Qui genero sua jura simul cum dote dederunt."

111

Some eds. "starting." Cf. Julius Cæsar, iv. 3, ll. 278-9—

"Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?"

112

"Old eds. 'much-rong,' 'much rongd,' and 'much-wrong'd.'"—Dyce (who reads "much-wrung").

113

It should be binds: i.e., "Leucote flies to the several winds, and, commissioned by the Fates, commands them to restrain their violence." Broughton.