And poore Leander, poorest where the fire
Of credulous loue made him most rich surmisde.
As short was he of that himselfe he prisde,
As is an emptie Gallant full of forme,
That thinks each looke an act, each drop a storme,
That fals from his braue breathings; most brought vp
In our Metropolis, and hath his cup
Brought after him to feasts; and much Palme beares,
For his rare iudgement in th'attire he weares,
Hath seene the hot Low Countries, not their heat,
Obserues their rampires and their buildings yet.
And for your sweet discourse with mouthes is heard,
Giuing instructions with his very beard.
Hath gone with an Ambassadour, and been
A great mans mate in trauailing, euen to Rhene,
And then puts all his worth in such a face,
As he saw braue men make, and striues for grace
To get his newes forth; as when you descrie
A ship with all her sayle contends to flie
Out of the narrow Thames with windes vnapt,
Now crosseth here, then there, then this way rapt,
And then hath one point reacht; then alters all,
And to another crooked reach doth fall
Of halfe a burdbolts shoote; keeping more coyle,
Then if she danst vpon the Oceans toyle :
So serious is his trifling companie,
In all his swelling ship of vacantrie.
And so short of himselfe in his high thought.
Was our Leander in his fortunes brought
And in his fort of loue that he thought won,
But otherwise he skornes comparison.
O sweet Leander, thy large worth I hide
In a short graue; il fauourd stormes must chide
Thy sacred fauour; I in floods of inck
Must drowne thy graces, which white papers drink,
Euen as thy beauties did the foule black Seas:
I must describe the hell of thy disease,
That heauen did merit: yet I needes must see
Our painted fooles and cockhorse Pessantrie
Still still vsurp, with long liues, loues, and lust,
The seates of vertue, cutting short as dust
Her deare bought issue; ill to worse conuerts,
And tramples in the blood of all deserts.
Night close and silent now goes fast before
The Captaines and their souldiers to the shore,
On whom attended the appointed Fleete
At Sestus Bay, that should Leander meete,
Who fainde he in another ship would passe:
Which must not be, for no one meane there was
To get his loue home, but the course he tooke.
Forth did his beautie for his beautie looke,
His guide by Sea: and sayd: Oft haue you viewd
In one heauen many starres, but neuer yet
In one starre many heauens till now were met.
See louely sister, see, now Hero shines
And saw her through her Torch, as you beholde
Sometimes within the Sunne a face of golde,
Form'd in strong thoughts, by that traditions force,
That saies a God sits there and guides his course.
His sister was with him, to whom he shewd
No heauen but her appeares: each star repines,
And all are clad in clowdes, as if they mournd,
To be by influence of Earth out-burnd.
Yet doth she shine, and teacheth vertues traine,
Still to be constant in Hels blackest raigne,
Though euen the gods themselues do so entreat them
As they did hate, and Earth as she would eate them.
Off went his silken robe, and in he leapt ;
Whom the kinde waues so licorously cleapt,
Thickning for haste one in another so,
To kisse his skin, that he might almost go
To Heros Towre, had that kind minuit lasted.
But now the cruell fates with Ate hasted
To all the windes, and made them battaile fight
Vpon the Hellespont, for eithers right
Pretended to the windie monarchie.
And forth they brake, the Seas mixt with the skie,
And tost distrest Leander, being in hell,
As high as heauen; Blisse not in height doth dwell.
The Destinies sate dancing on the waues,
To see the glorious windes with mutuall braues
Consume each other: O true glasse to see,
How ruinous ambitious Statists bee
To their owne glories! Poore Leander cried
For help to Sea-borne Venus; she denied:
To Boreas, that for his Atthæas sake,
He would some pittie on his Hero take,
And for his owne loues sake, on his desires :
But Glorie neuer blowes cold Pitties fires.
Then calde he Neptune, who through all the noise
Knew with affright his wrackt Leanders voice :
And vp he rose, for haste his forehead hit
Gainst heauens hard Christall; his proud waues he smit With his forkt scepter, that could not obay,
Much greater powers then Neptunes gaue them sway.
They lou'd Leander so, in groanes they brake
When they came neere him; and such space did take
Twixt one another, loth to issue on,
That in their shallow furrov.es earth was shone,
And the poore louer tooke a little breath:
But the curst Fates sate spinning of his death
On euery waue, and with the seruile windes
Tumbled them on him: And now Hero findes
By that she felt her deare Leanders state.
She wept and prayed for him to euery fate,
And euery winde that whipt her with her haire
About the face she kist and spake it faire,
Kneeld to it, gaue it drinke out of her eyes
To quench his thirst: but still their cruelties
Euen her poore Torch enuied, and rudely beate
The bating flame from that deare foode it eate:
Deare, for it nourisht her Leanders life,
Which with her robe she rescude from their strife:
But silke too soft was, such hard hearts to breake,
And she deare soule, euen as her silke, faint, weake
Could not preserue it out, O out it went.
Leander still cald Neptune, that now rent
His brackish curles, and tore his wrinckled face
Where teares in billowes did each other chace,
And (burst with ruth) he hurld his marble Mace)
At the sterne Fates: it wounded Lachesis
That drew Leanders thread, and could not misse
The thread it selfe, as it her hand did hit,
But smote it full and quite did sunder it.
The more kinde Neptune rag'd, the more he raste
His loues liues fort, and kild as he embraste.
Anger doth still his owne mishap encrease;
If any comfort liue, it is in peace.
O theeuish Fates, to let Blood, Flesh, and Sence
Build two fayre Temples for their Excellence,
To rob it with a poysoned influence.
Though soules gifts starue, the bodies are held dear
In vgliest things; Sence-sport preserues a Beare.
But here nought serues our turnes; O heauen & earth,
How most most wretched is our humane birth?
And now did all the tyrannous crew depart,
Knowing there was a storme in Heros hart,
Greater then they could make, & skornd their smart.
She bowd her selfe so low out of her Towre,
That wonder twas she fell not ere her howre,
With searching the lamenting waues for him;
Like a poore Snayle, her gentle supple lim
Hung on her Turrets top so most downe right,
As she would diue beneath the darknes quite,
To finde her Iewell; Icwell, her Leander,
A name of all earths Iewels pleasde not her,
Like his deare name: Leander, still my choice,
Come nought but my Leander; O my voice
Turne to Leander: hence-forth be all sounds,
Accents, and phrases that shew all griefes wounds,
Analisde in Leander. O black change!
Trumpets doe you with thunder of your clange,
Driue out this changes horror, my voyce faints :
Where all ioy was, now shrieke out all complaints.
Thus cryed she, for her mixed soule could tell
Her loue was dead: And when the morning fell
Prostrate vpon the weeping earth for woe,
Blushes that bled out of her cheekes did show
Leander brought by Neptune, brusde and torne
With Citties ruines he to Rocks had worne,
To filthie vsering Rocks that would haue blood,
Though they could get of him no other good.
She saw him, and the sight was much much more,
Then might haue seru'd to kill her; should her store
Of giant sorrowes speake? Burst, dye, bleede,
And leaue poore plaints to vs that shall succeede.
She fell on her loues bosome, hugg'd it fast,
And with Leanders name she breath'd her last.
Neptune for pittie in his armes did take them,
Flung them into the ayre, and did awake them.
Like two sweet birds surnam'd th' Acanthides,
Which we call Thistle-warps, that neere no Seas
Dare euer come, but still in couples flie,
And feede on Thistle tops, to testifie
The hardnes of their first life in their last :
The first in thornes of loue, and sorrowes past,
And so most beautifull their colours show,
As none (so little) like them: her sad brow
A sable veluet feather couers quite,
Euen like the forehead cloths that in the night,
Or when they sorrow, Ladies vse to weare:
Their wings blew, red and yellow mixt appeare,
Colours, that as we construe colours paint
Their states to life; the yellow shewes their saint,
The deuil Venus, left them; blew their truth,
The red and black, ensignes of death and ruth.
And this true honor from their loue-deaths sprung,
They were the first that euer Poet sung.
APART from the translation of Ovid's Elegies, the only lyric poems which can reasonably be attributed to Marlowe are the two here printed. It is not unlikely that others may have perished or may still exist in some of the anonymous miscellanies of the Elizabethan age.
The famous song of The passionate Shepherd to his love' has come down to us in four different versions, none of which seems to be entirely accurate. I follow that given in the popular anthology, England's Helicon (1600), but print, of course, all the variant readings in the notes. The text of the recently discovered Thornborough Commonplace Book (MS.) is very interesting and probably corrects the printed versions in one or two particulars, though it was almost certainly written down from memory. There is no evidence for the date of this poem, except that it would seem to be older than the parody of it in The Jew of Malta.2
The fragment printed on page 552 occurs on p. 480 f. of England's Parnassus. Nothing further is known of it. Mr. Charles Crawford has evolved the theory that Marlowe wrote a long poem in imitation of 'Come live with me', of which this fragment is the only extant portion, and that the poem so written was later drawn upon for descriptive material in Dido and other plays. The fragment begins one of the divisions in which the editor of England's Parnassus (1600) groups his selections, and the heading' Description of Seas, Waters, Riuers, &c.' refers naturally to the entire group and not to the individual poem.
1 Signatures (A a 1') and A a 2.
$ Cf. Collectanea, First Series, 1906, pp. 1-16.
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