First Sestiad

On Hellespont, guilty of true-love’s blood,In view and opposite two cities stood,Sea-borderers, disjoined 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 offered as a dower his burning throne,Where she should sit for men to gaze upon.The outside of her garments were of lawn,The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with a grove,Where Venus in her naked glory stroveTo please the careless and disdainful eyesOf 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 reached to the ground beneath.Her veil was artificial flowers and leavesWhose workmanship both man and beast deceives.Many would praise the sweet smell as she passed,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 pebblestone,Which, lightened by her neck, like diamonds shone.She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor windWould burn or parch her hands, but to her mind,Or warm or cool them, for they took delightTo play upon those hands, they were so white.Buskins of shells, all silvered used she,And branched with blushing coral to the knee;Where sparrows perched 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 chirrup through the bills.Some say for her the fairest Cupid pinedAnd looking in her face was strooken blind.But this is true: so like was one the other,As he imagined Hero was his mother.And oftentimes into her bosom flew,About her naked neck his bare arms threw,And laid his childish head upon her breast,And, with still panting rocked, there took his rest.So lovely fair was Hero, Venus’ nun,As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,Because she took more from her than she left,And of such wondrous beauty her bereft.Therefore, in sign her treasure suffered wrack,Since Hero’s time hath half the world been black.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young,(whose tragedy divine Musaeus sung,)Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there noneFor whom succeeding times make greater moan.His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne,Would have allured the vent’rous youth of GreeceTo hazard more than for the golden fleece.Fair Cynthia wished his arms might be her sphere;Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there.His body was as straight as Circe’s wand;Jove might have sipped out nectar from his hand.Even as delicious meat is to the taste,So was his neck in touching, and surpassedThe white of Pelop’s shoulder. I could tell yeHow smooth his breast was and how white his belly;And whose immortal fingers did imprintThat heavenly path with many a curious dintThat runs along his back, but my rude penCan hardly blazon forth the loves of men,Much less of powerful gods. Let it sufficeThat my slack Muse sings of Leander’s eyes,Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding hisThat leaped into the water for a kissOf his own shadow and, despising many,Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.Had wild Hippolytus Leander seenEnamoured of his beauty had he been.His presence made the rudest peasant meltThat in the vast uplandish country dwelt.The barbarous Thracian soldier, moved with nought,Was moved with him and for his favour sought.Some swore he was a maid in man’s attire,For in his looks were all that men desire,A pleasant smiling cheek, a speaking eye,A brow for love to banquet royally;And such as knew he was a man, would say,“Leander, thou art made for amorous play.Why art thou not in love, and loved of all?Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall.”

The men of wealthy Sestos every year,(For his sake whom their goddess held so dear,Rose-cheeked Adonis) kept a solemn feast.Thither resorted many a wandering guestTo meet their loves. Such as had none at all,Came lovers home from this great festival.For every street like to a firmamentGlistered with breathing stars who, where they went,Frighted the melancholy earth which deemedEternal heaven to burn, for so it seemed,As if another Phaeton had gotThe guidance of the sun’s rich chariot.But far above the loveliest Hero shinedAnd stole away th’ enchanted gazer’s mind,For like sea nymphs’ enveigling Harmony,So was her beauty to the standers by.Nor that night-wandering, pale, and wat’ry star(When yawning dragons draw her thirling carFrom Latmus’ mount up to the gloomy skyWhere, crowned with blazing light and majesty,She proudly sits) more overrules the floodThan she the hearts of those that near her stood.Even as, when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase,Wretched Ixion’s shaggy footed race,Incensed with savage heat, gallop amainFrom steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain.So ran the people forth to gaze upon her,And all that viewed her were enamoured on her.And as in fury of a dreadful fight,Their fellows being slain or put to flight,Poor soldiers stand with fear of death dead strooken,So at her presence all surprised and tooken,Await the sentence of her scornful eyes.He whom she favours lives, the other dies.There might you see one sigh, another rage;And some, (their violent passions to assuage)Compile sharp satires, but alas too late,For faithful love will never turn to hate.And many seeing great princes were deniedPin’d as they went, and thinking on her died.On this feast day, O cursed day and hour,Went Hero thorough Sestos from her towerTo Venus’ temple, where unhappilyAs after chanced, they did each other spy.

So fair a church as this had Venus none.The walls were of discoloured jasper stoneWherein was Proteus carved, and o’erheadA lively vine of green sea agate spread,Where by one hand lightheaded Bacchus hung,And, with the other, wine from grapes out wrung.Of crystal shining fair the pavement was.The town of Sestos called it Venus’ glass.There might you see the gods in sundry shapesCommitting heady riots, incest, rapes.For know, that underneath this radiant floorWas Danae’s statue in a brazen tower,Jove slyly stealing from his sister’s bed,To dally with Idalian Ganymede,And for his love Europa bellowing loud,And tumbling with the Rainbow in a cloud;Blood quaffing Mars heaving the iron netWhich limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set;Love kindling fire to burn such towns as Troy;Sylvanus weeping for the lovely boyThat now is turned into a cypress tree,Under whose shade the wood gods love to be.And in the midst a silver altar stood.There Hero, sacrificing turtle’s blood,Vailed to the ground, vailing her eyelids close,And modestly they opened as she rose.Thence flew Love’s arrow with the golden head,And thus Leander was enamoured.Stone still he stood, and evermore he gazedTill with the fire that from his countenance blazedRelenting Hero’s gentle heart was strook.Such force and virtue hath an amorous look.

It lies not in our power to love or hate,For will in us is overruled by fate.When two are stripped, long ere the course beginWe wish that one should lose, the other win.And one especially do we affectOf two gold ingots like in each respect.The reason no man knows; let it sufficeWhat we behold is censured by our eyes.Where both deliberate, the love is slight:Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

He kneeled, but unto her devoutly prayed.Chaste Hero to herself thus softly said,“Were I the saint he worships, I would hear him;”And, as she spake those words, came somewhat near him.He started up, she blushed as one ashamed,Wherewith Leander much more was inflamed.He touched her hand; in touching it she trembled.Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled.These lovers parleyed by the touch of hands;True love is mute, and oft amazed stands.Thus while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled,The air with sparks of living fire was spangled,And night, deep drenched in misty Acheron,Heaved up her head, and half the world uponBreathed darkness forth (dark night is Cupid’s day).And now begins Leander to displayLove’s holy fire, with words, with sighs, and tears,Which like sweet music entered Hero’s ears,And yet at every word she turned aside,And always cut him off as he replied.At last, like to a bold sharp sophister,With cheerful hope thus he accosted her.“Fair creature, let me speak without offence.I would my rude words had the influenceTo lead thy thoughts as thy fair looks do mine,Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine.Be not unkind and fair; misshapen stuffAre of behaviour boisterous and rough.O shun me not, but hear me ere you go.God knows I cannot force love as you do.My words shall be as spotless as my youth,Full of simplicity and naked truth.This sacrifice, (whose sweet perfume descendingFrom Venus’ altar, to your footsteps bending)Doth testify that you exceed her far,To whom you offer, and whose nun you are.Why should you worship her? Her you surpassAs much as sparkling diamonds flaring glass.A diamond set in lead his worth retains;A heavenly nymph, beloved of human swains,Receives no blemish, but ofttimes more grace;Which makes me hope, although I am but base:Base in respect of thee, divine and pure,Dutiful service may thy love procure.And I in duty will excel all other,As thou in beauty dost exceed Love’s mother.Nor heaven, nor thou, were made to gaze upon,As heaven preserves all things, so save thou one.A stately builded ship, well rigged and tall,The ocean maketh more majestical.Why vowest thou then to live in Sestos hereWho on Love’s seas more glorious wouldst appear?Like untuned golden strings all women are,Which long time lie untouched, will harshly jar.Vessels of brass, oft handled, brightly shine.What difference betwixt the richest mineAnd basest mould, but use? For both, not used,Are of like worth. Then treasure is abusedWhen misers keep it; being put to loan,In time it will return us two for one.Rich robes themselves and others do adorn;Neither themselves nor others, if not worn.Who builds a palace and rams up the gateShall see it ruinous and desolate.Ah, simple Hero, learn thyself to cherish.Lone women like to empty houses perish.Less sins the poor rich man that starves himselfIn heaping up a mass of drossy pelf,Than such as you. His golden earth remainsWhich, after his decease, some other gains.But this fair gem, sweet in the loss alone,When you fleet hence, can be bequeathed to none.Or, if it could, down from th’enameled skyAll heaven would come to claim this legacy,And with intestine broils the world destroy,And quite confound nature’s sweet harmony.Well therefore by the gods decreed it isWe human creatures should enjoy that bliss.One is no number; maids are nothing thenWithout the sweet society of men.Wilt thou live single still? One shalt thou be,Though never singling Hymen couple thee.Wild savages, that drink of running springs,Think water far excels all earthly things,But they that daily taste neat wine despise it.Virginity, albeit some highly prize it,Compared with marriage, had you tried them both,Differs as much as wine and water doth.Base bullion for the stamp’s sake we allow;Even so for men’s impression do we you,By which alone, our reverend fathers say,Women receive perfection every way.This idol which you term virginityIs neither essence subject to the eyeNo, nor to any one exterior sense,Nor hath it any place of residence,Nor is’t of earth or mould celestial,Or capable of any form at all.Of that which hath no being do not boast;Things that are not at all are never lost.Men foolishly do call it virtuous;What virtue is it that is born with us?Much less can honour be ascribed thereto;Honour is purchased by the deeds we do.Believe me, Hero, honour is not wonUntil some honourable deed be done.Seek you for chastity, immortal fame,And know that some have wronged Diana’s name?Whose name is it, if she be false or notSo she be fair, but some vile tongues will blot?But you are fair, (ay me) so wondrous fair,So young, so gentle, and so debonair,As Greece will think if thus you live aloneSome one or other keeps you as his own.To follow swiftly blasting infamy.Perhaps thy sacred priesthood makes thee loath.Tell me, to whom mad’st thou that heedless oath?”

“To Venus,” answered she and, as she spake,Forth from those two tralucent cisterns brakeA stream of liquid pearl, which down her faceMade milk-white paths, whereon the gods might traceTo Jove’s high court. He thus replied: “The ritesIn which love’s beauteous empress most delightsAre banquets, Doric music, midnight revel,Plays, masks, and all that stern age counteth evil.Thee as a holy idiot doth she scornFor thou in vowing chastity hast swornTo rob her name and honour, and therebyCommitt’st a sin far worse than perjury,Even sacrilege against her deity,Through regular and formal purity.To expiate which sin, kiss and shake hands.Such sacrifice as this Venus demands.”

Thereat she smiled and did deny him so,As put thereby, yet might he hope for moe.Which makes him quickly re-enforce his speech,And her in humble manner thus beseech.“Though neither gods nor men may thee deserve,Yet for her sake, whom you have vowed to serve,Abandon fruitless cold virginity,The gentle queen of love’s sole enemy.Then shall you most resemble Venus’ nun,When Venus’ sweet rites are performed and done.Flint-breasted Pallas joys in single life,But Pallas and your mistress are at strife.But heal the heart that thou hast wounded thus,Nor stain thy youthful years with avarice.Fair fools delight to be accounted nice.The richest corn dies, if it be not reaped;Beauty alone is lost, too warily kept.”

These arguments he used, and many more,Wherewith she yielded, that was won before.Hero’s looks yielded but her words made war.Women are won when they begin to jar.Thus, having swallowed Cupid’s golden hook,The more she strived, the deeper was she strook.Yet, evilly feigning anger, strove she stillAnd would be thought to grant against her will.So having paused a while at last she said,“Who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid?Ay me, such words as these should I abhorAnd yet I like them for the orator.”

With that Leander stooped to have embraced herBut from his spreading arms away she cast her,And thus bespake him: “Gentle youth, forbearTo touch the sacred garments which I wear.Upon a rock and underneath a hillFar from the town (where all is whist and still,Save that the sea, playing on yellow sand,Sends forth a rattling murmur to the land,Whose sound allures the golden MorpheusIn silence of the night to visit us)My turret stands and there, God knows, I play,With Venus’ swans and sparrows all the day.A dwarfish beldam bears me company,That hops about the chamber where I lie,And spends the night (that might be better spent)In vain discourse and apish merriment.Come thither.” As she spake this, her tongue tripped,For unawares “come thither” from her slipped.And suddenly her former colour changed,And here and there her eyes through anger ranged.And like a planet, moving several ways,At one self instant she, poor soul, assays,Loving, not to love at all, and every partStrove to resist the motions of her heart.And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, suchAs might have made heaven stoop to have a touch,Did she uphold to Venus, and againVowed spotless chastity, but all in vain.Cupid beats down her prayers with his wings,Her vows above the empty air he flings,All deep enraged, his sinewy bow he bent,And shot a shaft that burning from him went,Wherewith she strooken, looked so dolefully,As made love sigh to see his tyranny.And as she wept her tears to pearl he turned,And wound them on his arm and for her mourned.Then towards the palace of the destiniesLaden with languishment and grief he flies,And to those stern nymphs humbly made requestBoth might enjoy each other, and be blest.But with a ghastly dreadful countenance,Threatening a thousand deaths at every glance,They answered Love, nor would vouchsafe so muchAs one poor word, their hate to him was such.Hearken a while and I will tell you why.Heaven’s winged herald, Jove-borne Mercury,The selfsame day that he asleep had laidEnchanted Argus, spied a country maidWhose careless hair instead of pearl t’adorn itGlistered with dew, as one that seemed to scorn it;Her breath as fragrant as the morning rose,Her mind pure, and her tongue untaught to gloze.Yet proud she was (for lofty pride that dwellsIn towered courts is oft in shepherds’ cells.)And too too well the fair vermilion knew,And silver tincture of her cheeks, that drewThe love of every swain. On her this godEnamoured was, and with his snaky rodDid charm her nimble feet, and made her stay,The while upon a hillock down he layAnd sweetly on his pipe began to play,And with smooth speech her fancy to assay,Till in his twining arms he locked her fastAnd then he wooed with kisses; and at last,As shepherds do, her on the ground he laidAnd, tumbling in the grass, he often strayedBeyond the bounds of shame, in being boldTo eye those parts which no eye should behold.And, like an insolent commanding loverBoasting his parentage, would needs discoverThe way to new Elysium, but she,Whose only dower was her chastity,Having striv’n in vain was now about to cryAnd crave the help of shepherds that were nigh.Herewith he stayed his fury, and beganTo give her leave to rise. Away she ran;After went Mercury who used such cunningAs she, to hear his tale, left off her running.Maids are not won by brutish force and might,But speeches full of pleasure, and delight.And, knowing Hermes courted her, was gladThat she such loveliness and beauty hadAs could provoke his liking, yet was muteAnd neither would deny nor grant his suit.Still vowed he love. She, wanting no excuseTo feed him with delays, as women use,Or thirsting after immortality, -All women are ambitious naturally -Imposed upon her lover such a taskAs he ought not perform nor yet she ask.A draught of flowing nectar she requested,Wherewith the king of gods and men is feasted.He, ready to accomplish what she willed,Stole some from Hebe (Hebe Jove’s cup filled)And gave it to his simple rustic love.Which being known (as what is hid from Jove?)He inly stormed and waxed more furiousThan for the fire filched by Prometheus,And thrusts him down from heaven. He, wandering here,In mournful terms, with sad and heavy cheer,Complained to Cupid. Cupid for his sake,To be revenged on Jove did undertake.And those on whom heaven, earth, and hell relies,I mean the adamantine Destinies,He wounds with love, and forced them equallyTo dote upon deceitful Mercury.They offered him the deadly fatal knifeThat shears the slender threads of human life.At his fair feathered feet the engines laidWhich th’ earth from ugly Chaos’ den upweighed.These he regarded not but did entreatThat Jove, usurper of his father’s seat,Might presently be banished into hell,And aged Saturn in Olympus dwell.They granted what he craved, and once againSaturn and Ops began their golden reign.Murder, rape, war, lust, and treachery,Were with Jove closed in Stygian empery.But long this blessed time continued not.As soon as he his wished purpose gotHe reckless of his promise did despiseThe love of th’ everlasting Destinies.They seeing it both love and him abhorredAnd Jupiter unto his place restored.And but that Learning in despite of FateWill mount aloft and enter heaven gateAnd to the seat of Jove itself advance,Hermes had slept in hell with Ignorance.Yet as a punishment they added this,That he and Poverty should always kiss.And to this day is every scholar poor;Gross gold from them runs headlong to the boor.Likewise the angry Sisters thus deluded,To venge themselves on Hermes, have concludedThat Midas’ brood shall sit in honour’s chair,To which the Muses’ sons are only heir;And fruitful wits, that in aspiring are,Shall discontent run into regions far;And few great lords in virtuous deeds shall joyBut be surprised with every garish toy,And still enrich the lofty servile clown,Who with encroaching guile keeps learning down.Then Muse not Cupid’s suit no better sped,Seeing in their loves the Fates were injured.