The Works of Christopher Marlowe, Vol. 3 (of 3). Christopher MarloweЧитать онлайн книгу.

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drew so hard, ye might discover well

      The toughen'd sinews in his neck did swell:

      His inward strains drave out his blood-shot eyes,

      And springs of sweat did in his forehead rise;

      Yet was of naught but of a serpent sped,

      That in his bosom flew and stung him dead:

      And this by Fate into her mind was sent,

      Not wrought by mere instinct of her intent.

      At the scarf's other end her hand did frame,

      Near the fork'd point of the divided flame,

      A country virgin keeping of a vine,

      Who did of hollow bulrushes combine

      Snares for the stubble-loving grasshopper,

      And by her lay her scrip that nourish'd her.

      Within a myrtle shade she sate and sung;

      And tufts of waving reeds above her sprung,

      Where lurked two foxes, that, while she applied

      Her trifling snares, their thieveries did divide,

      One to the vine, another to her scrip,

      That she did negligently overslip;

      By which her fruitful vine and wholesome fare

      She suffered spoiled to make a childish snare.

      These ominous fancies did her soul express,

      And every finger made a prophetess,

      To show what death was hid in love's disguise,

      And make her judgment conquer Destinies.

      O, what sweet forms fair ladies' souls do shroud,

      Were they made seen and forcèd through their blood;

      If through their beauties, like rich work through lawn,

      They would set forth their minds with virtues drawn,

      In letting graces from their fingers fly,

      To still their eyas74 thoughts with industry;

      That their plied wits in numbered silks might sing

      Passion's huge conquest, and their needles75 leading

      Affection prisoner through their own-built cities,

      Pinioned with stones and Arachnean ditties.

      Proceed we now with Hero's sacrifice:

      She odours burned, and from their smoke did rise

      Unsavoury fumes, that air with plagues inspired;

      And then the consecrated sticks she fired.

      On whose pale flames an angry spirit flew,

      And beat it down still as it upward grew;

      The virgin tapers that on th' altar stood,

      When she inflam'd them, burned as red as blood;76

      All sad ostents of that too near success,77

      That made such moving beauties motionless.

      Then Hero wept; but her affrighted eyes

      She quickly wrested from the sacrifice,

      Shut them, and inwards for Leander looked,

      Search'd her soft bosom, and from thence she plucked

      His lovely picture; which when she had viewed,

      Her beauties were with all love's joys renewed;

      The odours sweeten'd, and the fires burned clear,

      Leander's form left no ill object there:

      Such was his beauty, that the force of light,

      Whose knowledge teacheth wonders infinite,

      The strength of number and proportion,

      Nature had placed in it to make it known,

      Art was her daughter, and what human wits

      For study lost, entombed in drossy spirits.

      After this accident (which for her glory

      Hero could not but make a history),

      Th' inhabitants of Sestos and Abydos

      Did every year, with feasts propitious,

      To fair Leander's picture sacrifice:

      And they were persons of especial price

      That were allowed it, as an ornament

      T' enrich their houses, for the continent

      Of the strange virtues all approved it held;

      For even the very look of it repelled

      All blastings, witchcrafts, and the strifes of nature

      In those diseases that no herbs could cure;

      The wolfy sting of avarice it would pull,

      And make the rankest miser bountiful;

      It kill'd the fear of thunder and of death;

      The discords that conceit engendereth

      'Twixt man and wife, it for the time would cease;

      The flames of love it quench'd, and would increase;

      Held in a prince's hand, it would put out

      The dreadful'st comet; it would ease78 all doubt

      Of threaten'd mischiefs; it would bring asleep

      Such as were mad; it would enforce to weep

      Most barbarous eyes; and many more effects

      This picture wrought, and sprung79 Leandrian80 sects;

      Of which was Hero first; for he whose form,

      Held in her hand, clear'd such a fatal storm,

      From hell she thought his person would defend her,

      Which night and Hellespont would quickly send her.

      With this confirm'd, she vow'd to banish quite

      All thought of any check to her delight;

      And, in contempt of silly bashfulness,

      She would the faith of her desires profess,

      Where her religion should be policy,

      To follow love with zeal her piety;

      Her chamber her cathedral-church should be,

      And her Leander her chief deity;

      For in her love these did the gods forego;

      And though her knowledge did not teach her so,

      Yet did it teach her this, that what her heart

      Did greatest hold in her self-greatest part,

      That she did make her god; and 'twas less naught

      To leave gods in profession and in thought,

      Than in her love and life; for therein lies

      Most of her duties and their dignities;

      And, rail the brain-bald world at what it will,

      That's the grand atheism that reigns in it still.

      Yet singularity she would use no more,

      For she was singular too much before;

      But she would please the world with fair pretext:

      Love would not leave her conscience perplext:

      Great men that will have less do for them, still

      Must

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