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

hath it any place of residence,

      Nor is't of earth or mould celestial,

      Or capable of any form at all.

      Of that which hath no being, do not boast;

      Things that are not at all, are never lost.

      Men foolishly do call it virtuous:

      What virtue is it, that is born with us?

      Much less can honour be ascrib'd thereto:

      Honour is purchas'd by the deeds we do;

      Believe me, Hero, honour is not won,

      Until some honourable deed be done.

      Seek you, for chastity, immortal fame,

      And know that some have wrong'd Diana's name?

      Whose name is it, if she be false or not,

      So she be fair, but some vile tongues will blot?

      But you are fair, ay me! so wondrous fair,

      So young, so gentle, and so debonair.

      As Greece will think, if thus you live alone,

      Some one or other keeps you as his own.

      Then, Hero, hate me not, nor from me fly,

      To follow swiftly-blasting infamy.

      Perhaps thy sacred priesthood makes thee loath:

      Tell me to whom mad'st thou that heedless oath?"

      "To Venus," answer'd she; and, as she spake,

      Forth from those two tralucent cisterns brake

      A stream of liquid pearl, which down her face

      Made milk-white paths, whereon the gods might trace

      To Jove's high court. He thus replied: "The rites

      In which Love's beauteous empress most delights,

      Are banquets, Doric music, midnight revel,

      Plays, masks, and all that stern age counteth evil.

      Thee as a holy idiot doth she scorn;

      For thou, in vowing chastity, hast sworn

      To rob her name and honour, and thereby

      Committ'st a sin far worse than perjury,

      Even sacrilege against her deity,

      Through regular and formal purity.

      To expiate which sin, kiss and shake hands:

      Such sacrifice as this Venus demands."

      Thereat she smil'd, and did deny him so,

      As put18 thereby, yet might he hope for mo;

      Which makes him quickly reinforce his speech,

      And her in humble manner thus beseech:

      "Though neither gods nor men may thee deserve,

      Yet for her sake, whom you have vow'd to serve,

      Abandon fruitless cold virginity,

      The gentle queen of Love's sole enemy.

      Then shall you most resemble Venus' nun,

      When Venus' sweet rites are performed and done.

      Flint-breasted Pallas joys in single life;

      But Pallas and your mistress are at strife.

      Love, Hero, then, and be not tyrannous;

      But heal the heart that thou hast wounded thus;

      Nor stain thy youthful years with avarice:

      Fair fools delight to be accounted nice.

      The richest19 corn dies, if it be not reapt;

      Beauty alone is lost, too warily kept."

      These arguments he us'd, and many more;

      Wherewith she yielded, that was won before.

      Hero's looks yielded, but her words made war:

      Women are won when they begin to jar.

      Thus, having swallow'd Cupid's golden hook,

      The more she striv'd, the deeper was she strook:

      Yet, evilly feigning anger, strove she still,

      And would be thought to grant against her will.

      So having paus'd a while, at last she said,

      "Who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid?

      Ay me! such words as these should I abhor,

      And yet I like them for the orator."

      With that, Leander stooped to have embrac'd her,

      But from his spreading arms away she cast her,

      And thus bespake him: "Gentle youth, forbear

      To touch the sacred garments which I wear.

      Upon a rock, and underneath a hill,

      Far from the town (where all is whist20 and still,

      Save that the sea, playing on yellow sand,

      Sends forth a rattling murmur to the land,

      Whose sound allures the golden Morpheus

      In silence of the night to visit us),

      My turret stands; and there, God knows, I play

      With Venus' swans and sparrows all the day.

      A21 dwarfish beldam bears me company,

      That hops about the chamber where I lie,

      And spends the night, that might be better spent,

      In vain discourse and apish merriment:—

      Come thither." As she spake this, her tongue tripp'd,

      For unawares "Come thither" from her slipp'd;

      And suddenly her former colour chang'd,

      And here and there her eyes through anger rang'd;

      And, like a planet moving several ways

      At one self instant, she, poor soul, assays,

      Loving, not to love at all, and every part

      Strove to resist the motions of her heart:

      And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, such

      As might have made Heaven stoop to have a touch,

      Did she uphold to Venus, and again

      Vow'd spotless chastity; but all in vain;

      Cupid beats down her prayers with his wings;

      Her vows above22 the empty air he flings:

      All deep enrag'd, his sinewy bow he bent,

      And shot a shaft that burning from him went;

      Wherewith she strooken, look'd so dolefully,

      As made Love sigh to see his tyranny;

      And, as she wept, her tears to pearl he turn'd,

      And wound them on his arm, and for her mourn'd.

      Then towards the palace of the Destinies,

      Laden with languishment and grief, he flies,

      And to those stern nymphs humbly made request,

      Both might enjoy each other, and be blest.

      But with a ghastly dreadful countenance,

      Threatening a thousand deaths at every glance,

      They answer'd Love, nor would vouchsafe so much

      As one poor word, their hate to him was such:

      Hearken awhile, and I will tell you why.

      Heaven's

18

Cf. Second Sestiad, l. 73—

"She with a kind of granting put him by it."

19

This line is quoted in England's Parnassus with the reading "ripest."

20

Hushed.

21

"To the 'beldam nurse' there occurs the following allusion in Drayton's Heroical Epistle from Queen Mary to Charles Brandon:—

'There is no beldam nurse to powt nor lowerWhen wantoning we revell in my tower,Nor need I top my turret with a light,To guide thee to me as thou swim'st by night.'"—Broughton.

22

So the old eds.—Dyce reads "about."