 Printers' Dedication of Hero and Leander. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Printers' Dedication. To the right worshipful Sir Thomas Walsingham Knight. Sir, we think not ourselves discharged of the duty we owe to our friend, when we have brought the breathless body to the earth. For, albeit the eyes there taketh his ever farewell of that beloved object, yet the impression of the man that hath been dear unto us, living an afterlife in our memory, there puteth us in mind of father obsequies due unto the deceased. And, namely, of the performance of whatsoever we may judge, shall make to his living credit, and to the effecting of his determinations prevented by the stroke of death. By these meditations, as by an intellectual will, I suppose myself executor to the unhappily deceased author of this poem, upon whom, knowing that in his lifetime you bestowed many kind favours, entertaining the parts of reckoning and worth which you found in him with good countenance and liberal affection. I cannot but see so far into the will of him dead that whatsoever issue of his brain should chance to come abroad, that the first breath it should take might be the gentle air of your liking. For, since his self had been accustomed there unto, it would prove more agreeable and thriving to his right children than any other foster countenance whatsoever. At this time seeing that this unfinished tragedy happens under my hands to be imprinted of a double duty, the one to yourself, the other to the deceased, I present the same to your most favourable allowance, offering my utmost self, now and ever, to be ready at your worship's disposing. domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Hero and Leander. By Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 1. The First Cestiad. Part 1. The Argument. Hero's description and her loves. The feign of Venus, where he moves his worthy lovesuit and attains, whose bliss the wrath of fates restrains for Cupid's grace to Mercury, which tale the author doth imply. On Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood, in view and opposite, two cities stood, sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune's might. The one Abidos, the other Cestos height. At Cestos, Hero dwelt. Hero the fair, whom young Apollo courted for her hair, and offered as a dower his burning throne, where she should sit for men to gaze upon. The outside of her garments, where of lawn, the lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn. Her wide sleeves, green, and bordered with a grove, where Venus, in her naked glory, strove to please the careless and disdainful eyes of proud Adonis, that before her lies. Her curtain blew, whereon was many a stain, made with the blood of wretched lover Slane. Upon her head she wear a myrtle wreath, from whence her veil reached to the ground beneath. Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves, whose workmanship, both man and beast, deceives. Many would praise the sweet smell as she passed, when was the odour which her breath forth cast, and there for honeybees have sought in vain, and beet from thence have lighted there again. About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone, which lightened by her neck, like diamonds shown. She wear no gloves, for neither sun nor wind would burn or patch her hands, but to her mind, or warm or cool them, for they took delight to play upon those hands. They were so white. Buskins of shell, all silvered, used she, and branched with blushing coral to the knee, where sparrows perched of hollow pearl and gold, such as the world would wonder to be hold, those with sweet water off her handmade fills, which, as she went, would cherub through the bills. Some say for her the fairest cupid pined, and looking in her face was struck and blind. But this is true. So like was one the other, as he imagined Hero was his mother. And often times into her bosom flew, about her naked neck his bare arms threw, and laid his childish head upon her breast, and with still panting rock there took his rest. So lovely fair was Hero, Venus none, as nature wept, thinking she was undone, because she took more from her than she left, and of such wondrous beauty her bereft. Therefore, in sign her treasure suffered rack, since Hero's time hath half the world been black. Amorous Leander, beautiful and young, whose tragedy divine Museus sung, dwelt at a bidos, since him dwelt there none, for whom succeeding times make greater moan. His dangling tresses, that were never shorn, had they been cut, and unto Kolkos borne, would have lured 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. His body was as straight as Cersei's wand. Jove might have sipped out nectar from his hand. Even as delicious meat is to the taste, so was his neck in touching, and surpassed the white of Pilop's 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 blazen forth the loves of men, 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, enamored of his beauty had he been. His presence made the rudest peasant melt, that in the vast, uplandish country dwelt. The barbarous Thracian soldier, moved with Nort, was moved with him, and for his favours 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. The men of wealthy Cestos every year, for his sake, whom their goddess held so dear, rose cheeked 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 affirmament, glistered with breathing stars, who, where they went, frighted the melancholy earth, which deemed eternal heaven to burn, for so it seemed, as if another fireton had got the guidance of the sun's rich chariot. But far above the loveliest hero shined, and stole away the enchanted gazer's mind. For like sea-nymphs in vagaling harmony, so was her beauty to the standers by. Nor that night-wandering pale and watery star, when yawning dragons draw her thirling car from Latmos Mount up to the gloomy sky, where, crowned with blazing light and majesty, 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 icsions shaggy-footed race, incensed with savage heat, gallop humane, from steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain, so ran the people forth to gaze upon her, and all 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-strucken. So at her presence, all surprised and taken, 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 a swage compile sharp satires, but alas too late, for faithful love will never turn to hate, and many seeing great princes were denied, pined as they went, and thinking on her died. On this feast-day, oh cursed day and hour, went Hieros the Recestos, 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 overhead a lovely vine of green sea-agate spread, where by one hand light-headed Bacchus hung, and with the other wine from grapes outrung. Of crystal shining fair the pavement was. The town of Cestos 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 Danai's statue in a brazen tower, Jove slyly stealing from his sister's bed, to Dali with Idalian Ganymet, and for his love Europa bellowing loud, and tumbling with a 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. Their hero, sacrificing turtle's blood, failed to the ground, veiling 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 struck. 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 effect 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. Whoever loved that loved not at first sight. End of Section 1. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Section 2 of Hero and Leander. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 2. The First Sestiad. Part 2. He kneeled, but unto her devoutly prayed. Chased Hero to herself thus softly said, Where 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, where with Leander much more was inflamed. He touched her hand. In touching it she trembled. Love deeply grounded, hardly as dissembled. These lovers parloured 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 my thoughts as thy fair looks to mine. Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine? Be not unkind and fair! Miss shape and stuff are of behaviour boisterous and rough. Oh, shun me not, but hear me ere you go. God knows I cannot force love as you do. My words shall be as spotless as my youth, full of simplicity and naked truth. This sacrifice, whose sweet perfume descending from Venus altar to your footsteps bending, doth testify that you exceed her far, to whom you offer, and whose none you are. Why should you worship her? Her you surpass as much as sparkling diamonds, flaring glass. A diamond set in lead is worth retains. A heavenly nymph, beloved of human swains, receives no blemish, but oft times more grace. Which makes me hope, although I am but base, base in respect of thee divine and pure. Beautiful service may thy love procure, and I in duty will excel all other, as thou in beauty dost exceed love's mother. Nor heaven nor thou were made to gaze upon. As heaven preserves all things, so save thou one. A stately-builded ship, well-rigged and tall, the ocean maketh more majestical. Why vows'd thou then to live incestos here, who on love's seas more glorious wouldst appear? Like untuned golden strings all women are, which long time lie untouched, will harshly jar. Vessels of brass oft-handed brightly shine. What difference betwixt the richest mine and basest mould but use? For both not used are of like worth. Then treasure is abused when misers keep it. Being put to loan in time, it will return us two for one. Rich robes themselves and others do adorn, neither themselves nor others, if not worn. Who builds a palace and rums up the gate, shall see it ruinous and desolate? Oh, simple hero, learn thyself to cherish. Loon women like to empty houses perish. Less sins the poor rich man that starves himself in heaping up a mass of drossy pelf than such as you. His golden earth remains, which after his decease some other gains. But this fair gem, sweet in the loss alone, when you fleet hence, can be bequeathed to none. Or, if it could, down from the enummeled sky all heaven would come to claim this legacy, and within testine-broils the world destroy and quite confound nature's sweet harmony. Well, therefore, by the gods decreed it is, we human creatures should enjoy that bliss. One is no number. Mades are nothing then, without the sweet society of men. Wilt thou live single still? One shouts thou be, though never singling hymen coupled thee. Wild savages that drink of running springs, think water far excels all earthly things. But they that daily taste neat wine, despise it. Virginity, albeit some highly prize it, compared with marriage, had you tried them both, differs as much as wine and water doth. Base bullion, for the stamps' sake we allow. Even so for men's impression do we you. By which alone our reverent fathers say, women receive perfection every way. This idol, which you term virginity, is neither essence subject to the eye, nor to any one exterior sense, nor hath it any place of residence, nor isst 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 ascribed there too. Honour is purchased by the deeds we do. Believe me, hero, honour is not one until some honourable deed be done. Seek you for chastity, immortal fame, and know that some have wronged 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. I me so wondrous fair, so young, so gentle, and so debonair, as Greece will think, if thus you live alone. Someone or other keeps you as his own. Then hero, hate me not, nor from me fly, to follow swiftly blasting in for me. Perhaps that sacred priesthood makes thee loath. Tell me, to whom madest thou that heedless oath? To Venus, answered she, and as she spake forth from those two trelucent cisterns break at 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, dodic 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, has sworn to rob her name and honor, and thereby commits to sin far worse than perjury, even sacrilege against her deity, through regular and formal purity. To expiate which sin, kiss and shake hands, such sacrifices this Venus demands. Thereat she smiled, and did deny him so, as put thereby yet mighty hope for more, 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 vowed to serve, abandon fruitless, cold virginity, the gentle queen of love's soul enemy, then shall you most resemble Venus none, when Venus's sweet rites are performed and done. Flint-breasted palace joins in single life, but palace 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 richest corn dies, if it be not reaped. Beauty alone is lost, too wearily kept. These arguments he used, and many more, wherewith she yielded that was one before. Heroes' looks yielded, but her words made war. Women are one when they begin to jar. Thus having swallowed Cupid's golden hook, the more she strived, the deeper was she struck. Yet, evilly feigning anger, strove she still, and would be thought to grant against her will. So, having paused awhile at length, she said, Who taught the rhetoric to deceive a maid? I me, such words as these should I abhor, and yet I like them for the orator. With that, Leander stooped to have embraced 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 whist 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 venous swans and sparrows all the day. A dwarfish bell-dam 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 tripped, for unawares, come, thither, from her slipped. And suddenly her former colour changed, and here and there her eyes through anger ranged, 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 hand so pure, so innocent, nay, such as might have made heaven stoop to have a touch, did she uphold to venous, and again vowed spotless chastity. But all in vain, cupid beats down her prayers with his wings, her vows about the empty air he flings, all deep enraged, his sinewy bow he bent, and shot a shaft that burning from him went, wherewith she strucken looked so dolefully, as made love sigh to see his tyranny, and as she wept her tears to pearl he turned, and wound them on his arm, and for her mourned. 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 blessed. But with a ghastly dreadful countenance, threatening a thousand deaths at every glance, they answered love, nor would vouchsafe so much as one poor word, their hate to him was such. Harken a while, and I will tell you why. End of Section 2 Section 3 of Hero and Leander This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman Section 3 1st Sestiad, Part 3 Heaven's winged herald, jove-born Mercury, the self-same day that he asleep had laid enchanted Argus, spied a country maid, whose careless hair, instead of pearl to adorn it, blistered with dew, as one that seemed to scorn it. Her breath as fragrant as the morning rose, her mind pure, and her tongue untaught to glows. Yet proud she was, for lofty pride that dwells in towered courts, is oft in shepherd's cells, and too, too well the fair vermillion new and silver tincture of her cheeks, that drew the love of every swain. On her this god enamored was, and with his sneaky rod did charm her nimble feet, and made her stay. The while upon a hillock down he lay, and sweetly on his pipe began to play, and with smooth speech her fancy to assay, till in his twining arms he locked her fast, and then he wooed with kisses. And at last, as shepherds do, her on the ground he laid, and tumbling in the grass, he often strayed beyond the bounds of shame, in being bold to eye those parts which no eye should behold, and like an insolent commanding lover boasting his parentage would needs discover the way to new Elysium. But she, whose only dower was her chastity, having striven in vain, was now about to cry, and crave the help of shepherds that were nigh. Herewith he stayed his fury, and began to give her leave to rise. Away she ran! After went Mercury, who used such cunning as she to hear his tail left off her running. Maids are not one by brutish force and might, but speeches full of pleasure and delight. And knowing Hermes courted her, was glad that she such loveliness and beauty had as could provoke his liking. Yet was mute, and neither would deny nor grant his suit. Still vowed he love. She, wanting no excuse to feed him with delays, as women use, or thirsting after immortality. All women are ambitious naturally, imposed upon her lover such a task as he ought not perform, nor yet she ask. A draft of flowing nectar she requested, wherewith the king of gods and men is feasted. He, ready to accomplish what she willed, stole some from Hebe. Hebe jove's cup filled, and gave it to his simple rustic love. Which being known as what is hid from jove, he inly stormed, and waxed more furious than for the fire filched by Prometheus, and thrusts him down from heaven. He, wandering here, in mournful terms, with sad and heavy cheer, complained to Cupid. Cupid, for his sake, to be revenged on jove, did undertake. And those on whom heaven, earth, and hell relies, I mean the adamantine destinies. He wounds with love, and forced them equally to dot upon deceitful mercury. They offered him the deadly fatal knife that shears the slender threads of human life. At his fair feathered feet the engines laid, which the earth from ugly chaos den upweighed. These he regarded not, but did entreat that jove, usurper of his father's seat, might presently be banished into hell, and aged Saturn in Olympus dwell. They granted what he craved, and once again Saturn and Ops began their golden reign. Murder, rape, war, and lust, and treachery, wherewith jove closed in Stygian Empire. But long this blessed time continued not. As soon as he, his wish at purpose, got, he reckless of his promise, did despise the love of the everlasting destinies. They, seeing it, both love and him abhorred, and Jupiter unto his place restored. And but that learning, in despite of fate, will mount aloft, and enter heaven gate, and to the seat of jove itself advance, Hermes had slept in hell with ignorance. Yet as a punishment they added this, that he and poverty should always kiss. And to this day is every scholar poor. Gross gold from them runs headlong to the boar. Likewise the angry sisters, thus deluded, to venge themselves on Hermes, have concluded that Midas Brood shall sit in honor's chair, to which the muses' sons are only heir. And fruitful wits, that in aspiring are, shall discontent run into regions far. And few great lords in virtuous deeds shall joy, but be surprised with every garish toy. And still enrich the lofty servile clown, the with encroaching guile keeps learning down. Then muse not cupid suit no better spared. Seeing in their loves the fates were injured. End of Section 3. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmayer Surrey. Section 4 of Hero and Leander. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 4. The Second Cestiad. Part 1. The Argument. Hero of love takes deeper sense, and doth her love more recompense. Their first night's meeting, where sweet kisses are the only crowns of both their blisses. He swims to a bidos and returns. Cold Neptune with his beauty burns, whose suit he shuns, and doth aspire Hero's fair tower and his desire. By this sad Hero, with love unacquainted, viewing Leander's face, fell down and fainted. He kissed her and breathed life into her lips, wherewith, as one displeased, away she trips. Yet as she went, full often looked behind, and many poor excuses did she find to linger by the way, and once she stayed, and would have turned again, but was afraid in offering Pali 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 stayed, and after her a letter sent, which joyful Hero answered in such sort, as he had hoped to scale the beautyous 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 strewed the room, and oft looked out, and mused he did not come. At last he came. Oh, 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 a fight. Look how their hands so wear their hearts united, and what he did she willingly required it. Sweet are the kisses, the embracements sweet, when like desires and like affections meet, for from the earth to heaven is cupid raised, where fancy is in equal balance paced. Yet she this rashness suddenly repented, and turned 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 waxed she jealous, lest his love abated, fearing her own thoughts made her to be hated. Therefore unto him hastily she goes, and like light Salmakis her body throws upon his bosom, where with yielding eyes she offers up herself a sacrifice to slake his anger if he were displeased. O what God would not therewith be appeased! Like Esop'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 good will had won. But know you not that creatures wanting sense by nature have a mutual appetence, and wanting organs to advance a step, moved 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 rushes 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 gans so to scorch and glow, as in plain terms, yet cunningly, he crave 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 maiden head. N'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, dislost but once, and once lost, lost forever. Now had the mourn espide her lover's steeds, where at she starts puts on her purple weeds, and read 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 used to do. Sad hero rung 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 the 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 ribboned wound, wherewith she wreathed 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 Cestos to be known, and thence unto a Bidos 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 exiled air thrust from his sphere, set in a foreign place, and straight from thence, alcides like, by mighty violence, he would have chased away the swelling mane that him from her unjustly did detain. Like as the sun in a diameter fires and in flames objects remove it far, and heateth kindly shining laterally, so beauty sweetly quickens whence is nigh, but being separated and removed burns where it cherished, murders where it loved. Therefore, even as an index to a book, so to his mind was young Leander's look. Oh, none but gods have power their love to hide. Affection by the countenance is described. The light of hidden fire itself discovers, and love that is concealed betrays poor lovers. His secret flame apparently was seen. Leander's father knew where he had been, and for the same mildly rebuked his son, thinking to quench the sparkle's new begun. But love resisted once, grows passionate, and nothing more than counsel lovers hate. For as a hot, proud horse highly disdains to have his head controlled, but breaks the reins, spits forth the wringled bit, and with his hooves checks the submissive ground. So he that loves, the more he is restrained, the worse he fares. What is it now but mad Leander dares? Oh, hero, hero! Thus he cried full off, and then he got him to a rock, a loft, where having spied her tower, long stared he on, and prayed the narrow toiling helespont to part in twain, that he might come and go. But still the rising billows answered, No! With that he stripped him to the ivory skin, and crying, Love, I come, leaped lively in. Whereat the sapphire-visaged god grew proud, and made his capering triton sound allowed, imagining that Ganymede displeased had left the heavens. Therefore on him he seized. Leander strived, the waves about him wound, and pulled him to the bottom, where the ground was strewed with pearl, and in low coddle groves, sweet-singing mermaids sported with their loves on heaps of heavy gold, and took great pleasure to spurn in careless sort the shipwreck treasure. For here the stately azure palace stood, where kingly Neptune and his train abode. The lusty god embraced him, called him Love, and swore he never should return to Jove. But when he knew it was not Ganymede, for underwater he was almost dead. He heaved him up, and looking on his face, beat down the bold waves with his triple mace, which mounted up, intending to have kissed him, and fell in drops like tears because they missed him. Leander, being up, began to swim, and looking back, saw Neptune follow him. Where at, aghast, the poor soul began to cry, Oh, let me visit Hero ere I die! The god put Helly's bracelet on his arm, and swore the sea should never do him harm. He clapped his plump cheeks with his tresses played, and smiling wantonly, his love berayed. He watched his arms, and as they opened wide at every stroke, betwixt them he would slide, and steal a kiss, and then run out and dance. And as he turned, cast many a lustful glance, and throw him gaudy toys to please his eye, and dive into the water, and there pry upon his breast, his thighs, and every limb, and up again, and close beside him swim, and talk of love. Leander made reply, I, you are deceived, I am no woman, I. End of Section 4 Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey Section 5 of Hero and Leander This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman Section 5 The Second Cestillad Part 2 Their rat smiled Neptune, and then told a tale, how that a shepherd sitting in a veil played with a boy so lovely, fair, and kind, as for his love both earth and heaven pined, that of the cooling river, durst not drink, lest water-nymphs should pull him from the brink. And when he sported in the fragrant lawns, goat-footed satters and up-staring thorns would steal him thence. Air half his tail was done, I me, Leander cried, the enamoured sun that now should shine on thetis glassy bower descends upon my radiant hero's tower. Oh, that these tardy arms of mine were wings! And as he spake upon the waves he springs, Neptune was angry that he gave no ear, and in his heart, revenging malice-bear. He flung at him his mace, but as it went he called it in, for love made him repent. The mace returning back, his own hand hit, as meaning to be venged for darting it. When this fresh-bleeding wound Leander viewed, his colour went and came, as if he rude the grief which Neptune felt. In gentle breasts, relenting thoughts, remorse and pity rests, and who have hard hearts and obdurate minds, but vicious hair-brained and illiterate hinds. The god, seeing him with pity to be moved, thereon concluded that he was beloved. Love is too full of faith, too credulous, with folly and false hope deluding us. Wherefore, Leander's fancy to surprise, to the rich ocean for gifts he flies, it is wisdom to give much, a guilt prevails when deep persuading oratory fails. By this Leander, being near the land, cast down his weary feet and felt the sand. Breathless, albeit he were, he rested not till to the solitary tower he got, and knocked and called, at which celestial noise the longing heart of hero much more joys than nymphs and shepherds when the timbral rings or crooked dolphin when the sailor sings. She stayed not for her robes, but straight arose, and drunk with gladness to the door she goes. Where seeing a naked man, she screeched for fear. Such sights as this to tender mates are rare, and ran into the dark herself to hide. Rich jewels in the dark are soonest spied, and to her he was led, or rather drawn by those white limbs which sparkled through the lawn. The nearer that he came, the more she fled, and seeking refuge, slipped into her bed, whereon Leander sitting, thus began, through numbing coat, all feeble faint and won. If not for love, yet love for pity's sake, me in thy bed and maiden bosom take, at least vouch save these arms some little room, who hoping to embrace the cheerly swoom, this head was beat with many a churlish pillow, and therefore let it rest upon thy pillow. Here with a frighted hero shrunk away, and in her lukewarm place Leander lay, whose lively heat, like fire from heaven-fet, would animate gross clay, and higher set the drooping thoughts of base-declining souls than dreary, mars-corousing nectar-bowls. His hands he cast upon her like a snare. She overcome with shame and shallow fear, like chased Diana when Actaeon spied her, being suddenly betrayed, dived down to hide her, and as her silver body downward went, with both her hands she made the bed a tent, and in her own mind thought herself secure. Or cast with dim and dark some cover to her. And now she lets him whisper in her ear, flatter, entreat, promise, protest, and swear. Yet ever as he greedily assayed to touch those dainties, she the harpy played, and every limb did, as a soldier stout, defend the fort, and keep the faux-man out. For though the rising, ivory mount he scaled, which is with Azure circling lines impaled, much like a globe. A globe may I term this by which love sails to regions full of bliss. Yet there with Sisyphus he toiled in vain, till gentle Pali did the truce obtain. Even as a bird which in our hands we ring forth plungeth, and oft flutters with her wing, she trembling strove. This strife of hers, like that which made the world another world begat of unknown joy. Treason was in her thought, and cunningly to yield herself she sought. Seeming not one, yet one she was at length. In such wars women used but half their strength. Leander now, like Theban Hercules, entered the orchard of the Asperides, whose fruit none rightly can describe, but he that pulls or shakes it from the golden tree. Wherein Leander, on her quivering breast, breathless spoke something, and sighed out the rest, which so prevailed as he with smaller due enclosed her in his arms, and kissed her too, and every kiss to her was as a charm, and to Leander as a fresh alarm, so that the truce was broke, and she alas poor silly maiden at his mercy was. Love is not full of pity, as men say, but deaf and cruel where he means to pray. And now she wished this night were never done, and sighed to think upon the approaching sun, for much it grieved her that the bright daylight should know the pleasure of this blessed night, and them, like Mars and Erisene, display both in each other's arms chained as they lay. Again she knew not how to frame her look, or speak to him, who in a moment took that which so long, so cheerily she kept, and feign by stealth a way she would have crept, and to some corner secretly have gone, leaving Leander in the bed alone. But as her naked feet were whipping out, he on the sudden clinged her so about, that mermaid-like unto the floor she slid. One half appeared, the other half was hid. Thus near the bed she plushing stood upright, and from her countenance behold ye might a kind of twilight break, which through the air as from an orient cloud glimpsed here and there, and round about the chamber this false morn brought forth the day before the day was born. So Hero's ruddy cheek, Hero betrayed, and her all naked to his sight displayed, hence his admiring eyes more pleasure took than diss on heaps of gold fixing his look. By this Apollo's golden harp began to sound forth music to the ocean, which watchful Hesperus no sooner heard, but he the bright, day-bearing car prepared, and ran before as harbinger of light, and with his flaring beams mocked ugly night, till she, or come with anguish, shame and rage, danked down to hell her loathsome carriage. Here Marlowe's work ends. The rest of the poem is by Chapman. End of Section 5. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Section 6 of Hero and Leander. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Hero and Leander. By Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 6. The Third Sestiad by George Chapman. The Argument. Leander to the envious light resigns his night sports with the night, and swims the helispont again. Thesme, the deity sovereign of customs and religious rights, appears reproving his delights, since nuptial honours he neglected, which straight he vows shall be effected. Fair Hero left D. Virginette, ways and with fury wails her state, but with her love and woman's wit she argues, and approves it. New light gives new directions, fortunes new to fashion our endeavours that ensue. More harsh, at least more hard, more grave, and high our subject runs, and our stern muse must fly. Love's edge is taken off, and that light flame, those thoughts, joys, longings that before became high unexperienced blood, and made sharp plights, must now grow staid, and censure the delights that being enjoyed ask judgment. Now we praise as having parted, evenings crown the days. And now ye wanton loves and young desires, pied vanity, the mint of stranger tires, ye lisping flatteries and obsequious glances, relentless musics and attractive dances, and you detested charms, constraining love, shun love-stolen sports, by that these lovers prove. By this the sovereign of heaven's golden fires, and young Leander, lord of his desires, together from their lover's arms arose. Leander into helispontus throws his hero-handled body, whose delight made him disdain each other epithet. And so amidst the enamoured waves he swims, the God of gold, of purpose, guilt his limbs, that this word guilt, including double sense, the double guilt of his incontinence might be expressed, that had no stay to employ the treasure which the love-god let him joy in his dear hero, with such sacred thrift, as had be seemed so sanctified a gift. But like a greedy, vulgar prodigal, would on the stock dispend and rudely fall before his time, do that unblessed blessing, which for lusts plague, doth perish with possessing. Joy graven in scents, like snow in water, wastes, without preserve of virtue, nothing lasts. What man is he, that with a wealthy eye enjoys a beauty richer than the sky, through whose white skin softer than soundest sleep, with damask eyes the ruby blood doth peep, and runs in branches through her azure veins, whose mixture and first fire his love attains. Whose both hands limit both love's deities, and sweeten human thoughts like paradise, whose disposition silken is and kind, directed with an earth-exempted mind, who thinks not heaven with such a love is given, and who, like earth, would spend that dour of heaven with rank desire to joy it all at first. What simply kills our hunger quencheth thirst, clothes but our nakedness, and makes us live. Praise doth not any of her favours give, but what doth plentifully minister, beauteous apparel, and delicious cheer, so ordered that it still excites desire, and still gives pleasure freeness to aspire. The palm of bounty ever moist preserving. To love sweet life, this is the courtly carving. Thus time, and all state's ordering ceremony, had banished all offence. Times golden thigh upholds the flowery body of the earth in sacred harmony, and every birth of men and actions makes legitimate. Being used aright, the use of time is fate. Yet did the gentle flood transfer once more this prize of love home to his father's shore, where he unlades himself of that false wealth that makes few rich treasures composed by stealth. And to his sister, kind Hermione, who on the shore kneeled praying to the sea for his return, he all loves goods did show, in hero seized for him, in him for hero. His most kind sister all his secrets knew, and to her singing like a shower he flew, sprinkling the earth, that to their tombs took in streams dead for love, to leave his ivory skin, which yet a snowy foam did leave above, a soul to the dead water that did love. And from thence did the first white roses spring, for love is sweet and fair in everything, and all the sweet and sure as he did go was crowned with odorous roses, whiter snow. Love, blessed Leander, was with love so filled, that love to all that touched him he instilled, and as the colors of all things we see, to our sights, powers communicated be, so to all objects that encompass came of any sense he had, his senses flame flowed from his parts, with force so virtual, it fired with sense, things mere insensual. Now, with warm baths and odours comforted, when he lay down, he kindly kissed his bed, as consecrating it to hero's right, and vowed thereafter, that whatever sight put him in mind of hero or her bliss, should be her altar to prefer a kiss. Then laid he forth his late-enriched arms, in whose white circle love writ all his charms, and made his character's sweet hero's limbs. When, on his breast's warm sea, she sidling swims, and as those arms held up in circle met, he said, See, sister, hero's carcannet, which she had rather wear about her neck than all the jewels that do Juneau deck. But as he shook with passionate desire to put in flame his other secret fire, a music so divine did pierce his ear, as never yet his ravished sense did hear, when suddenly a light of twenty hues break through the roof, and like the rainbow views amazed Leander, in whose beams came down the goddess's ceremony, with a crown of all the stars, and heaven with her descended, her flaming hair to her bright feet extended, by which hung all the bench of deities, and in a chain compact of ears and eyes, she led religion. All her body was clear and transparent as the purest glass, for she was all presented to the sense. Devotion, order, state, and reverence, her shadows were, society, memory, all which her sight made live, her absence die, a rich, disparent, pentacle she wears, drawn full of circles and strange characters. Her face was changeable to every eye, one way looked ill, another graciously. Which, while men viewed, they cheerful were and holy, but looking off, vicious and melancholy. The sneaky paths to each observed law did policy in her broad bosom draw. One hand a mathematic crystal sways, which gathering in one line a thousand rays from her bright eyes, confusion burns to death, and all estates of men distinguishes. By it morality and comeliness themselves in all their sightly figures dress. Her other hand a laurel rod applies to beat back barbarism and avarice, that followed eating earth and excrement and human limbs, and would make proud a scent to seats of gods, where ceremony slain. The hours and graces bore her glorious train, and all the sweets of our society were smeared and treasured in her bountious eye. Thus she appeared, and sharply did reprove Leander's bluntness in his violent love. Told him how poor was substance without rights, like bills unsigned, desires without delights, like meats unseasoned, like rank corn that grows on cottages that none or reaps or sows, not being with civil forms confirmed and bounded, for human dignities and comforts found it, but loose and secret all their glories hide. Fear fills the chamber, darkness decks the bride. She vanished, leaving pierced Leander's heart with sense of his unceremonious part, in which with plain neglect of nuptial rites he close and flatly fell to his delights, and instantly he vowed to celebrate all rights pertaining to his married state. So up he gets, and to his father goes, to whose glad ears he doth his vows disclose. The nuptials are resolved with utmost power, and he at night would swim to Hero's Tower, from whence he meant to Cestos forked bay to bring her covertly, where ships must stay, sent by his father, thoroughly rigged and manned, to waft her safely to Abidos Strand. There leave we him, and with fresh wing pursue a hero whose most wish-ed view I thus long have foreborn, because I left her so out of countenance, and her spirits bereft her. To look on one abashed is impudence, when off slight faults he hath too deep a sense. Her blushing het her chamber. She looked out, and all the air she purpleed round about. And after it a foul black day befell, which ever since a red mourn doth foretell, and still renews our woes for Hero's woe, and foul it proved, because it figured so the next night's horror, which prepare to hear. I fail if it profane your daintiest ear. Then ho, most strangely intellectual fire, that proper to my soul haths'd power to inspire her burning faculties, and with the wings of thy unsphered flame visits to the springs of spirits immortal. Now, as swift as time doth follow motion, find the eternal climb of his free soul, whose living subject stood up to the chin in the Pairian flood, and drunk to me half this museum story, inscribing it to deathless memory. Confer with it, and make my pledge as deep, that neither's draught be consequent to sleep. Tell it how much his late desires I tender, if yet it know not, and to light surrender my soul's dark offspring, willing it should die to loves, to passions, and society. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Hero and Leander, by Christopher Marlowe, and George Chapman. Section 7. The Third Sestiad, Part 2. Sweet Hero, left upon her bed alone, her maiden head, her vows, Leander gone, and nothing with her but a violent crew of new-come thoughts, that yet she never knew, even to herself a stranger, was much like the Iberian city that war's hand did strike by English force in princely Essex guide. When peace assured, her towers had fortified, and golden-fingered India had bestowed such wealth on her, that strength and empire flowed into her turrets, and her virgin waist, the wealthy girdle of the sea embraced. Till our Leander, that made Mars his cupid, for soft love suits, with iron thunders chid, swum to her town, dissolved her virgin zone, led in his power, and made confusion run through her streets amazed, that she supposed she had not been in her own walls enclosed. But wrapped by wonder to some foreign state, seeing all her issue so disconsolate, and all her peaceful mansions possessed with war's just spoil, and many a foreign guest from every corner driving an enjoyer, supplying it with power of a destroyer. So fared fair hero in the expugnate fort of her chaste bosom, and of every sort strange thoughts possessed her, ransacking her breast with that that was not there, her won'ted rest. She was a mother straight, and bore with pain thoughts that spake straight, and wished their mother slain. She hates their lives, and they their own, and hers. Such strife still grows where sin the race prefers. Love is a golden bubble full of dreams, that waking breaks, and fills us with extremes. She mused how she could look upon her sire, and not show that without, that was entire. For as a glass is an inanimate eye, and outward forms embraceth inwardly. So is the eye an animate glass, that shows in forms without us. And as Phoebus throws his beams abroad, though he in clouds be closed, still glancing by them till he find opposed a loose and roaring vapor, that is fit to event his searching beams, and useeth it to form a tender, 20-coloured eye, cast in a circle round about the sky. So when our fiery soul, our body's star, that ever is in motion circular, conceives a form in seeking to display it through all our cloudy parts. It doth convey it forth at the eye, as the most pregnant place, and that reflects it round about the face. And this event, uncaughtly hero thought, her inward guilt would in her looks have wrought. For yet the world's stale cunning, she resisted to bear foul thoughts, yet forge what looks she listed, and held it for a very silly slight, to make a perfect metal counterfeit. Glad to disclaim herself proud of an art that makes the face a panda to the heart. Those be the painted moons whose lights profane beauty's true heaven, at full still in their wane. Those be the lapping faces that still cry, here it is, when that they vow is nothing nigh. Base fools, when every Moorish fool can teach that which men think the height of human reach. But custom, that the apoplexy is of bed rid nature, and lives led amiss, and takes away all feeling of offence, yet braised not hero's brow with impudence. And this she thought most hard to bring to pass, to seem in countenance other than she was, as if she had two souls, one for the face, one for the heart, and that they shifted place as either list to utter or conceal what they conceived, or as one soul did deal with both affairs at once, keeps and ejects both at an instant, contrary effects. Retention and ejection in her powers being acts alike, for this one vice of ours that forms the thought and sways the countenance, rules both our motion and our utterance. These and more grave conceits toiled hero's spirits. For though the light of her discursive wits perhaps might find some little hole to pass through all these worldly sinctures, yet alas there was a heavenly flame encompassed her. Her goddess, in whose feign she did prefer her virgin vows, from whose impulsive sight she knew the black shield of the darkest night could not defend her, nor wits subtlest art. This was the point pierced hero to the heart, who heavy to the death, with a deep sigh, and hand that languished, took a robe was nigh, exceeding large and of black cypress made, in which she said, hid from the day in shade. Even overhead and face, down to her feet, her left hand made it at her bosom meet, her right hand leaned on her heart bowing knee, wrapped in unshapeful folds, it was death to see, her knee stayed that and that her falling face, each limb helped other to put on disgrace. No form was seen where form held all her sight, but like an embryon that saw never light, or like a scorched statue made a coal with three-winged lightning, or a wretched soul muffled with endless darkness, she did sit. The night had never such a heavy spirit, yet might a penetrating eye well see how fast her clear tears melted on her knee through her black veil, and turned as black as it, mourning to be her tears. Then wrought her wit with her broke vow, her goddess wroth, her fame, all tools that ingenious despair could frame, which made her strew the floor with her torn hair, and spread her mantle piecemeal in the air. Like Jove's son's club, strong passion struck her down, and with a piteous shriek enforced her swoon. Her shriek made with another shriek a scent that frighted matron that on her detend, and as with her own cry her sense was slain, so with the other it was called again. She rose, and to her bed made forcid way, and laid her down even where Leander lay, and all this while the red sea of her blood ebbed with Leander. But now turned the flood, and all her fleet of spirits came swelling in with child of sail, and did hot fight begin with those severe conceits she too much marked. And here Leander's beauties were embarked. He came in swimming, painted all with joys, such as might sweeten hell. His thought destroys all her destroying thoughts. She thought she felt his heart in hers, with her contention's melt, and chide her soul that it could so much err to check the true joys he deserved in her. Her fresh heat blood cast figures in her eyes, and she supposed she saw in Neptune's skies how her star wandered, washed in smarting brine, for her love's sake, that with immortal wine should be embath'd, and swim in more hearts' ease than there was water in the Sestian seas. Then said her cupid prompted spirit, shall I sing moans to such delightsome harmony? Shall slick-tongued fame patched up with voices rude, the drunken bastard of the multitude, begot when father judgment is away, and gossip-like says because others say, takes news as if it were too hot to eat, and spits its slavering forth for dog-fee's meat. Make me, for forging a fantastic vow, presume to bear what makes grave matrons bow. Good vows are never broken with good deeds, for then good deeds were bad. Vows are but seeds, and good deeds fruits, even those good deeds that grow from other stocks than from the observed vow. That is a good deed that prevents a bad. Had I not yielded, slain myself I had. Hero Leander is! Leander, hero! Such virtue love hath to make one of two. If then Leander did my maiden-head get, Leander being myself, I still retain it. We break chaste vows when we live loosely ever, but bound as we are we live loosely never. Two constant lovers being joined in one, yielding to one another, yield to none. We know not how to vow till love unblind us, and vows made ignorantly never bind us. Too true it is that when't is gone, men hate the joys as vain they took in love's estate. But that since they have lost, the heavenly light should show them way to judge of all things right. When life is gone, death must implant his terror. As death is foe to life, so love to error. Before we love, how range we through this sphere, searching the sundry fancies hunted here. Now with desire of wealth transported, quite beyond our free humanity's delight. Now with ambition climbing falling towers, whose hope to scale our fear to fall devours. Now wrapped with pastimes pomp all joys impure. In things without us no delight is sure, but love with all joys crowned within doth sit. Oh, goddess, pity love, and pardon it! Thus spake she weeping, but her goddess ear burned with too stern a heat and would not hear. I, me, hath heaven's straight fingers no more graces for such as hero and for homeliest faces. Yet she hoped well, and in her sweet conceit weighing her arguments, she thought them wait, and that the logic of Leander's beauty and them together would bring proofs of duty. And if her soul, that was a skillful glance of heaven's great essence, found such impurance in her love's beauties, she had confidence Jove loved him too, and pardoned her offence. Beauty in heaven and earth this grace doth win, it supples rigor, and it lessens sin. Thus her sharp wit, her love, her secrecy, trooping together, made her wonder why she should not leave her bed and to the temple. Her health said she must live, her sex dissemble. She viewed Leander's place, and wished he were turned to his place, so his place were Leander. I, me, said she, that love's sweet life and sense should do it harm. My love had not gone hence, had he been like his place. Oh, blessed place, image of constancy. Thus my love's grace parts nowhere, but it leaves something behind, worth observation. He renowns his kind. His motion is like heaven's orbicular. For where he once is, he is ever there. This place was mine. Leander nowt is thine. Thou being myself, then it is double mine, mine and Leander's mine. Leander's mine. Oh, see what wealth it yields me! Nay, yields him. For I am in it. He for me doth swim. Rich, fruitful love, that doubling self-estates, elixir-like, contracts, though separates. Dear place, I kiss thee, and do welcome thee, as from Leander ever sent to me.