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

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Название The Works of Christopher Marlowe, Vol. 3 (of 3)
Автор произведения Christopher Marlowe
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she stay'd,

      And would have turn'd again, but was afraid,

      In offering parley, to be counted light:

      So on she goes, and, in her idle flight,

      Her painted fan of curled plumes let fall,

      Thinking to train Leander therewithal.

      He, being a novice, knew not what she meant,

      But stay'd, and after her a letter sent;

      Which joyful Hero answer'd in such sort,

      As he had hope to scale the beauteous fort

      Wherein the liberal Graces locked their wealth;

      And therefore to her tower he got by stealth.

      Wide open stood the door; he need not climb;

      And she herself, before the pointed time,

      Had spread the board, with roses strew'd the room,

      And oft looked out, and mused he did not come.

      At last he came: O, who can tell the greeting

      These greedy lovers had at their first meeting?

      He asked; she gave; and nothing was denied;

      Both to each other quickly were affied:

      Look how their hands, so were their hearts united,

      And what he did, she willingly requited.

      (Sweet are the kisses, the embracements sweet,

      When like desires and like27 affections meet;

      For from the earth to heaven is Cupid raised,

      Where fancy is in equal balance paised.28)

      Yet she this rashness suddenly repented,

      And turn'd aside, and to herself lamented,

      As if her name and honour had been wronged

      By being possessed of him for whom she longed;

      I, and she wished, albeit not from her heart,

      That he would leave her turret and depart.

      The mirthful god of amorous pleasure smiled

      To see how he this captive nymph beguiled;

      For hitherto he did but fan the fire,

      And kept it down, that it might mount the higher.

      Now wax'd she jealous lest his love abated,

      Fearing her own thoughts made her to be hated.

      Therefore unto him hastily she goes,

      And, like light Salmacis, her body throws

      Upon his bosom, where with yielding eyes

      She offers up herself a sacrifice

      To slake her anger, if he were displeased:

      O, what god would not therewith be appeased?

      Like Æsop's cock, this jewel he enjoyed,

      And as a brother with his sister toyed,

      Supposing nothing else was to be done,

      Now he her favour and goodwill had won.

      But know you not that creatures wanting sense,

      By nature have a mutual appetence,

      And, wanting organs to advance a step,

      Mov'd by love's force, unto each other lep?

      Much more in subjects having intellect

      Some hidden influence breeds like effect.

      Albeit Leander, rude in love and raw,

      Long dallying with Hero, nothing saw

      That might delight him more, yet he suspected

      Some amorous rites or other were neglected.

      Therefore unto his body hers he clung:

      She, fearing on the rushes29 to be flung,

      Strived with redoubled strength; the more she strived,

      The more a gentle pleasing heat revived,

      Which taught him all that elder lovers know;

      And now the same gan so to scorch and glow,

      As in plain terms, yet cunningly, he'd crave30 it:

      Love always makes those eloquent that have it.

      She, with a kind of granting, put him by it,

      And ever, as he thought himself most nigh it,

      Like to the tree of Tantalus, she fled,

      And, seeming lavish, saved her maidenhead.

      Ne'er king more sought to keep his diadem,

      Than Hero this inestimable gem:

      Above our life we love a steadfast friend;

      Yet when a token of great worth we send,

      We often kiss it, often look thereon,

      And stay the messenger that would be gone;

      No marvel, then, though Hero would not yield

      So soon to part from that she dearly held:

      Jewels being lost are found again; this never;

      'Tis lost but once, and once lost, lost for ever.

      Now had the Morn espied her lover's steeds;

      Whereat she starts, puts on her purple weeds,

      And, red for anger that he stayed so long,

      All headlong throws herself the clouds among.

      And now Leander, fearing to be missed,

      Embraced her suddenly, took leave, and kissed:

      Long was he taking leave, and loath to go,

      And kissed again, as lovers use to do.

      Sad Hero wrung him by the hand, and wept,

      Saying, "Let your vows and promises be kept:"

      Then standing at the door, she turned about,

      As loath to see Leander going out.

      And now the sun, that through th' horizon peeps,

      As pitying these lovers, downward creeps;

      So that in silence of the cloudy night,

      Though it was morning, did he take his flight.

      But what the secret trusty night concealed,

      Leander's amorous habit soon revealed:

      With Cupid's myrtle was his bonnet crowned,

      About his arms the purple riband wound,

      Wherewith she wreath'd her largely-spreading hair;

      Nor could the youth abstain, but he must wear

      The sacred ring wherewith she was endowed,

      When first religious chastity she vowed;

      Which made his love through Sestos to be known,

      And thence unto Abydos sooner blown

      Than he could sail; for incorporeal Fame,

      Whose weight consists in nothing but her name,

      Is swifter than the wind, whose tardy plumes

      Are reeking water and dull earthly fumes.

      Home when he came, he seemed not to be there,

      But, like exilèd air thrust from his sphere,

      Set in a foreign place; and straight from thence,

      Alcides-like, by mighty violence,

      He would have chas'd away the swelling main,

      That



<p>27</p>

Omitted in eds. 1600, 1606, 1613, and 1637.

<p>28</p>

Peised, weighed.

<p>29</p>

Rooms were strewed with rushes before the introduction of carpets. Shakespeare, like Marlowe, attributed the customs of his own day to ancient times. Cf. Cymb. ii. 2—

"Our Tarquin thusDid softly press the rushes ere he wakenedThe chastity he wounded."
<p>30</p>

Old eds. "crau'd."