Made in the general marriage-violence; And no man knew the cause of this expense, But the two hapless lords, Leander's sire, And poor Leander, poorest where the fire Of credulous love made him most rich surmis'd. As short was he of that himself so priz'd, As is an empty gallant full of form, That thinks each look an act, each drop a storm, That falls from his brave breathings; most brought up In our Metropolis, and hath his cup Brought after him to feasts; and much Palm bears For his rare judgment in th' attire he wears; Hath seen the hot Low-Countries, not their heat, Observe their rampires and their buildings yet; And, for your sweet discourse with mouths, is heard Giving instructions with his very beard; Hath gone with an ambassador, and been A great man's mate in travelling, even to Rhene; And then puts all his worth in such a face As he saw brave men make, and strives for grace To get his news forth: as when you descry A ship, with all her sail contend to fly Out of the narrow Thames with winds unapt, Now crosseth here, then there, then this way rapt, And then hath one point reach'd, then alters all, And to another crooked reach doth fall
Of half a bird-bolt's shoot, keeping more coil Than if she danc'd upon the ocean's toil; So serious is his trifling company, In all his swelling ship of vacantry, And so short of himself in his high thought Was our Leander in his fortunes brought, And in his fort of love that he thought won, But otherwise he scorns comparison.
O sweet Leander, thy large worth I hide
In a short grave! ill-favour'd storms must chide Thy sacred favour; I in floods of ink Must drown thy graces, which white papers drink, Even as thy beauties did the foul black seas; I must describe the hell of thy decease, That heaven did merit: yet I needs must see Our painted fools and cockhorse Peasantry Still, still usurp, with long lives, loves, and lust, The seats of Virtue, cutting short as dust Her dear-bought issue; ill to worse converts, And tramples in the blood of all deserts.
Night close and silent now goes fast before The captains and the soldiers to the shore, On whom attended the appointed fleet At Sestos' bay, that should Leander meet, Who feign'd he in another ship would pass: Which must not be, for no one mean there was To get his love home, but the course he took. Forth did his beauty for his beauty look, And saw her through her Torch, as you behold Sometimes within the sun a face of gold, Form'd in strong thoughts, by that tradition's force That says a God sits there and guides his course. His sister was with him; to whom he show'd His guide by sea, and said, "Oft have you view'd In one heaven many stars, but never yet In one star many heavens till now were met. See, lovely sister! see, now Hero shines, No heaven but her appears; each star repines, And all are clad in clouds, as if they mourn'd To be by influence of earth out-burn'd. Yet doth she shine, and teacheth Virtue's train Still to be constant in hell's blackest reign, Though even the gods themselves do so entreat them As they did hate, and earth as she would eat them."
Off went his silken robe, and in he leapt, Whom the kind waves so licorously cleapt, Thickening for haste, one in another, so, To kiss his skin, that he might almost go To Hero's tower, had that kind minute lasted. But now the cruel Fates with Ate hasted To all the Winds, and made them battle fight Upon the Hellespont, for either's right Pretended to the windy monarchy.
And forth they brake, the seas mix'd with the sky, And toss'd distress'd Leander, being in hell, As high as heaven; bliss not in height doth dwell. The Destinies sate dancing on the waves, To see the glorious Winds with mutual braves Consume each other: O, true glass, to see How ruinous ambitious Statists be
To their own glories! Poor Leander cried For help to sea-born Venus she denied; To Boreas, that, for his Atthæa's sake, He would some pity on his Hero take, And for his own love's sake, on his desires; But Glory never blows cold Pity's fires. Then call'd he Neptune, who, through all the noise, Knew with affright his wreck'd Leander's voice, And up he rose; for haste his forehead hit 'Gainst heaven's hard Crystal; his proud waves he smit With his fork'd sceptre, that could not obey; Much greater powers than Neptune's gave them sway. They lov'd Leander so, in groans they brake When they came near him; and such space did take 'Twixt one another, loath to issue on, That in their shallow furrows earth was shown, And the poor lover took a little breath: But the curst Fates sate spinning of his death On every wave, and with the servile Winds
Tumbled them on him. And now Hero finds, By that she felt, her dear Leander's state: She wept, and pray'd for him to every Fate; And every Wind that whipp'd her with her hair About the face, she kiss'd and spake it fair, Kneel'd to it, gave it drink out of her eyes To quench his thirst: but still their cruelties Even her poor Torch envi'd, and rudely beat The baiting flame from that dear food it eat; Dear, for it nourish'd her Leander's life; Which with her robe she rescu'd from their strife: But silk too soft was such hard hearts to break, And she, dear soul, even as her silk, faint, weak, Could not preserve it; out, O, out it went! Leander still call'd Neptune, that now rent His brackish curls, and tore his wrinkled face, Where tears in billows did each other chase, And (burst with ruth) he hurl'd his marble mace At the stern Fates; it wounded Lachesis That drew Leander's thread, and could not miss The thread itself, as it her hand did hit, But smote it full, and quite did sunder it, The more kind Neptune rag'd, the more he raz'd His love's life fort, and kill'd as he embrac'd. Anger doth still his own mishap increase; If any comfort live, it is in peace.
O thievish Fates, to let Blood, Flesh, and Sense, Build two fair Temples for their Excellence, To rob it with a poison'd influence! Though souls' gifts starve, the bodies are held dear In ugliest things; sense-sport preserves a Bear. But here naught serves our turns: O heaven and earth, How most-most wretched is our human birth! And now did all the tyrannous crew depart, Knowing there was a storm in Hero's heart,
Greater than they could make, and scorn'd their smart. She bow'd herself so low out of her tower, That wonder 'twas she fell not ere her hour, With searching the lamenting waves for him; Like a poor snail, her gentle supple limb Hung on her turret's top so most downright, As she would dive beneath the darkness quite, To find her Jewel;-Jewel! her Leander, A name of all earth's jewels pleas'd not her Like his dear name: "Leander, still my choice, Come naught but my Leander! O my voice, Turn to Leander! henceforth be all sounds, Accents, and phrases, that show all griefs' wounds, Analys'd in Leander! O black change! Trumpets, do you, with thunder of your clange, Drive out this change's horror! My voice faints: Where all joy was, now shriek out all complaints!" Thus cried she; for her mixed soul could tell Her love was dead: and when the Morning fell Prostrate upon the weeping earth for woe, Blushes, that bled out of her cheeks, did show Leander brought by Neptune, bruis'd and torn With cities' ruins he to rocks had worn, To filthy usuring rocks, that would have blood, Though they could get of him no other good. She saw him, and the sight was much much more Than might have serv'd to kill her; should her store Of giant sorrows speak?-Burst, die, bleed, And leave poor plaints to us that shall succeed. She fell on her love's bosom, hugg'd it fast, And with Leander's name she breath'd her last.
Neptune for pity in his arms did take them, Flung them into the air, and did awake them Like two sweet birds, surnam'd th' Acanthides, Which we call Thistle-warps, that near no seas
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