For maids take more delights, when they prepare, And think of wives' states, than when wives they are. Beneath all these she wrought a fisherman,
Drawing his nets from forth that ocean;
Who 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 nought 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.
All 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 sat and sung,
And tufts of waving † reeds about her sprung;
Where lurk'd 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 suffer'd spoil’d*, 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 forced 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 eyass thoughts with industry:
That their plied wits in number'd silks might sing Passion's huge conquest, and their needles leading Affection prisoner through their own built cities, Pinion'd with stories and Arachnean ditties.
Proceed we now with Hero's sacrifice;
She odours burn'd, and from their smoke did rise
Unsavoury fumes, that air with plagues inspir'd,
And then the consecrated sticks she fir'd.
On whose pale flame an angry spirit flew,
And beat it down still as it upward grew.
The virgin tapers that on th' altar stood,
When she inflamed them burned as blood*:
All sad ostents of that too near successt,
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 look'd,
Search'd her soft bosom, and from thence she pluck'd
His lovely picture: which when she had view'd,
Her beauties were with all Love's joys renew'd;
The odours sweeten'd, and the fires burn'd clear,
Leander's form left no ill object there.
Such was his beauty, that the force of light,
Whose knowledge teacheth numbers infinite,
The strength of number and proportion,
Nature had plac'd in it to make it known.
Art was her daughter, and what human wits
For study lost, intomb'd 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,
When she inflam'd them, then they burn'd as blood,' edit. 1637. ti. e. succeeding event.
To fair Leander's picture sacrifice:
And they were persons of especial price,
That were allow'd it, as an ornament
T'enrich their houses; for the continent
Of the strange virtues all approv'd it held:
For even the very look of it repell'd
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 conceits 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 ease * 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 sprung Leandrian 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.
* end, edit. 1637.
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 bear them out, though th' acts be ne'er so ill.
|