with good countenance and liberall affection: I cannot but see so far into the will of him dead, that whatsoever issue of his braine should chance to come abroad, that the first breath it should take might be the gentle air of your liking: for since his selfe had been accustomed thereunto, it would proue more agreeable and thriuing to his right children, than any other foster countenance whatsoeuer. At this time seeing that this unfinished Tragedy happens vnder my hands to be imprinted; of a double duty, the one to your selfe, the other to the deceased, I present the same to your most fauourable

allowance, offering my

vtmost selfe now and

euer to be readie,

at your Worships
disposing

E. B.*

* This dedication is prefixed to the first edition of Marlowe's part of the poem " Printed by Adam Islip, for Edward Blunt, 1598." It was reprinted with Chapman's continuation, "for John Flasket, 1600." Some copies of this edition have the first book of Lucan, in blank verse, appended to them. The whole poem was printed again in 1606 and 1657.

HERO AND LEANDER.

FIRST SESTYAD.

The Argument of the First Sestyad.

Hero's description, and her loves;
The Fane of Venus, where he moves

His worthy love-suit, and attains ;

Whose bliss the wrath of Fates restrains,

For Cupid's grace to Mercury:

Which tale the author doth imply.

HERO AND LEANDER.

THE FIRST SESTYAD.

ON Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoin'd by Neptune's might:
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos HERO dwelt; HERO the fair,
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair;
And offer'd as a dower his burning throne,
Where she should sit for men to gaze upon.
The outside of her garments was of lawn,
The lining, purple silk, with gilt stars drawn,
Her wide sleeves green, and border'd with a grove,
Where Venus in her naked glory strove

To please the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies;

Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain,

Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.
Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath,

From whence her veil reach'd to the ground beneath.
Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,

Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives.
Many would praise the sweet smell as she pass'd,
When 'twas the odour which her breath forth cast.
And there for honey bees have sought in vain,
And beat from thence, have lighted there again.
About her neck hung chains of pebble stone,
Which, light'ned by her neck, like diamonds shone.
She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind
Would burn or parch her hands, but to her mind,
Or warm or cool them, for they took delight
To play upon those hands, they were so white.
Buskins of shells, all silver'd, used she;
And branch'd with blushing coral to the knee;
Where sparrows perch'd, of hollow pearl and gold,
Such as the world would wonder to behold:

Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,
Which, as she went, would cherup through the bills.
Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pin'd,

And looking in her face was stricken blind.