Vp to the chin in the Pyerean flood,
And drunke to me halfe this Musean storie,
Inscribing it to deathles Memorie :
Confer with it, and make my pledge as deepe,
That neithers draught be consecrate to sleepe.
Tell it how much his late desires I tender,
(If yet it know not) and to light surrender
My soules darke ofspring, willing it should die
To loues, to passions, and societie.
Sweet Hero left vpon her bed alone,
Her maidenhead, her vowes, Leander
And nothing with her but a violent crew
Of new come thoughts that yet she neuer knew,
Euen to her selfe a stranger; was much like
Th' Iberian citie that wars hand did strike
By English force in princely Essex guide,
When peace assur'd her towres had fortifide;
And golden-fingred India had bestowd
Such wealth on her, that strength and Empire flowd
Into her Turrets; and her virgin waste
The wealthie girdle of the Sea embraste :
Till our Leander that made Mars his Cupid,
For soft loue-sutes, with iron thunders chid:
Swum to her Towers, dissolu'd her virgin zone ;
Lead in his power, and made Confusion
Run through her streets amazd, that she supposde
She had not been in her owne walls inclosde,
But rapt by wonder to some forraine State,
Seeing all her issue so disconsolate:
And all her peacefull mansions possest
With wars iust spoyle, and many a forraine guest
From euery corner driuing an enioyer,
Supplying it with power of a destroyer.
So far'd fayre Hero in th'expugned fort
Of her chast bosome, and of euery sort
Strange thoughts possest her, ransacking her brest
For that that was not there, her wonted rest.
She was a mother straight and bore with paine,
Thoughts that spake straight and wisht their mother
She hates their liues, & they their own & hers: (slaine;
Such strife still growes where sin the race prefers.
Loue is a golden bubble full of dreames,
That waking breakes, and fils vs with extreames.
She mus'd how she could looke vpon her Sire,
And not shew that without, that was intire.
For as a glasse is an inanimate eie,
And outward formes imbraceth inwardlie:
So is the eye an animate glasse that showes
In-formes without vs. And as Phabus throwes
His beames abroad, though he in clowdes be closde,
Still glancing by them till he finde opposde
A loose and rorid vapour that is fit
T'euent his searching beames, and vseth it
To forme a tender twentie-coloured eie,
Cast in a circle round about the skie.
So when our firie soule, our bodies starre,
(That euer is in motion circulare)
Conceiues a forme; in seeking to display it
Through all our clowdie parts, it doth conuey it
Forth at the eye, as the most pregnant place,
And that reflects it round about the face
And this euent vncourtly Hero thought
Her inward guilt would in her lookes haue wrought: the worlds stale cunning she resisted
To beare foule thoughts, yet forge what lookes she liAnd held it for a very sillie sleight,
To make a perfect mettall counterfeit :
Glad to disclaime her selfe, proud of an Art,
That makes the face a Pandar to the hart.
Those be the painted Moones, whose lights prophane Beauties true Heauen, at full still in their wane. Those be the Lapwing faces that still crie,
Here tis, when that they vow is nothing nie.
Base fooles, when euery moorish fowle can teach
That which men thinke the height of humane reach.
But custome that the Apoplexie is
Of beddred nature and liues led amis,
And takes
away all feeling of offence,
Yet brazde not Heros brow with impudence;
And this she thought most hard to bring to pas,
To seeme in countnance other then she was,
As if she had two soules; one for the face,
One for the hart; and that they shifted place
As either list to vtter, or conceale
What they conceiu'd: or as one soule did deale
With both affayres at once, keeps and eiects
Both at an instant contrarie effects:
Retention and eiection in her powrs
Being acts alike: for this one vice of ours,
That forms the thought, and swaies the countenance, Rules both our motion and our vtterance.
These and more graue conceits toyld Heros spirits : For though the light of her discoursiue wits Perhaps might finde some little hole to pas Through all these worldly cinctures; yet (alas) There was a heauenly flame incompast her; Her Goddesse, in whose Phane she did prefer Her virgin vowes; from whose impulsiue sight She knew the black shield of the darkest night Could not defend her, nor wits subtilst art: This was the point pierst Hero to the hart. Who heauie to the death, with a deep sigh And hand that languisht, tooke a robe was nigh, Exceeding large, and of black Cypres made,
In which she sate, hid from the day in shade,
Euen ouer head and face downe to her feete;
Her left hand made it at her bosome meete;
Her right hand leand on her hart-bowing knee,
Wrapt in vnshapefull foulds: twas death to see:
Her knee stayd that, and that her falling face
Each limme helpt other to put on disgrace.
No forme was seene, where forme held all her sight:
But like an Embrion that saw neuer light :
Or like a scorched statue made a cole
With three-wingd lightning: or a wretched soule
Muffled with endles darknes, she did sit:
The night had neuer such a heauie spirit.
Yet might an imitating eye well see,
How fast her cleere teares melted on her knee
Through her black vaile, and turnd as black as it,
Mourning to be her teares: then wrought her wit
With her broke vow, her Goddesse wrath, her fame,
All tooles that enginous despayre could frame :
Which made her strow the floore with her torne haire,
And spread her mantle peece-meale in the aire.
Like Joues sons club, strong passion strook her downe,
And with a piteous shrieke inforst her swoune:
Her shrieke, made with another shrieke ascend
The frighted Matron that on her did tend :
And as with her owne crie her sence was slaine,
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