With her broke vow, her goddess' wrath, her fame,
All tools that ingenious despair could frame :
Which made her strow the floor with her torn hair,
And spread her mantle piece-meal in the air.
Like Jove's son's club, strong passion struck her down,
And with a piteous shriek inforc'd her swoon:
Her shriek made with another shriek ascend
The frighted matron that on her did tend :
And as with her own cry her sense was slain,
So with the other it was call'd again.
She rose and to her bed made forced way,
And laid her down e'en where Leander lay:
And all this while the red sea of her blood
Ebb'd with Leander: but now turn'd the flood,
And all her fleet of spirits came swelling in
With crowd of sail, and did hot fight begin,
With those severe conceits, she too much mark'd,
And here Leander's beauties were imbark`d.
He came in swimming, painted all with joys,
Such as might sweeten hell: his thought destroys
All her destroying thoughts: she thought she felt
His heart in hers: with her contentions melt,
And chid her soul that it could so much err,
To check the true joys he deserv'd in her.
Her fresh heat blood cast figures in her eyes,
And she suppos'd she saw in Neptune's skies
How her star wandred, wash'd in smarting brine
For her love's sake, that with immortal wine
Should be embath'd, and swim in more heart's ease,
Than there was water in the Sestian seas.
Then said her Cupid-prompted spirit, Shall I
Sigh moans to such delightsome harmony?
Shall slick-tongued fame patch'd up with voices rude, The drunken bastard of the multitude,
Begot when father judgment is away,
And gossip-like, says because others say,
Takes news as if it were too hot to eat,
And spits it slavering forth for dog-fees meat,
Make me for forging a phantastic vow,
Presume to bear what makes grave matrons bow?
Good vows are never broken with good deeds,
For then good deeds were bad: vows are but seeds,
And good deeds fruits; even those good deeds that grow
From other stocks than from th' observed vow.
That is a good deed that prevents a bad :
Had I not yielded, slain myself I had.
Hero Leander is, Leander Hero:
Such virtue love hath to make one of two.
If then Leander did my maidenhead get,
Leander being myself, I still retain it:
We break chaste vows when we live loosely ever,
But bound as we are, we live loosely never.
Two constant lovers being join'd in one,
Yielding to one another, yield to none.
We know not how to vow, till love unblind us,
And vows made ignorantly never bind us;
Too true it is, that when 'tis gone men hate
The joys as vain they took in love's estate :
But that's, since they have lost, the heavenly light
Should shew them way to judge of all things right.
When life is gone, death must implant his terror,
As death is foe to life, so love to error.
Before we love, how range we through this sphere,
Searching the sundry fancies hunted here:
Now with desire of wealth transported quite
Beyond our free humanity's delight:
Now with ambition climbing falling towers,
Whose hope to scale, our fear to fall devours:
Now rapt with pastimes, pomp, all joys impure;
In things without us no delight is sure.
But love with all joys crown'd, within doth sit;
O Goddess, pity love, and pardon it.
This spake he weeping: but her Goddess ear
Burn'd with too stern a heat, and would not hear.
Aye me! bath heaven's straight fingers no more graces,
For such a Hero, than for homeliest faces?
Yet she hop'd well, and in her sweet conceit
Weighing her arguments, she thought them weight:
And that the logick of Leander's beauty,
And them together, would bring proofs of duty.
And if her soul, that was a skilful glance
Of heaven's great essence, found such imperance
In her love's beauties; she had confidence.
Jove lov'd him too, and pardon'd her offence.
Beauty in heaven and earth this grace doth win,
It supples rigor, and it lessens sin.
Thus, her sharp wit, her love, her secrecy,
Trooping together, made her wonder why
She should not leave her bed, and to the temple!
Her health said she must live; her sex dissemble.
She view'd Leander's place, and wished he were
Turn'd to his place, so his place were Leander.
Aye me, said she, that Love's sweet life and sense
Should do it harm! my love had not got hence,
Had he been like his place. O blessed place!
Image of constancy! Thus my love's grace
Parts no where but it leaves some thing behind
Worth observation: he renowns his kind.
His motion is like heaven's orbicular:
For where he once is, he is ever there.
This place was mine; Leander, now 'tis thine;
Thou being myself, then it is double mine:
Mine, and Leander's mine, Leander's mine.
O, see what wealth it yields me, nay, yields him :
For I am in it, he for me doth swim.
Rich, fruitful love, that doubling self estates
Elixir like contracts, though separates.
Dear place, I kiss thee, and do welcome thee,
As from Leander ever sent to me."
The end of the third Sestyad.
ARE the Readers of RESTITUTA tired of this Love-Tale? The Editor presumes to think that it possesses, and especially Marlow's part, very extraordinary poetical merit. It exhibits in almost every line proofs of that high character ascribed to Marlow both by Phillips (or rather his uncle Milton) and by Drayton; of that glowing sentiment, that fervency of language, that copiousness of natural and beautiful imagery, which breathe the soul of the genuine child of the Muse, bathed in the living waters of the Pierian spring, and animated with a fancy that throws more vivid colours on all the charms of creation.
It is impossible for any one who has taste and feeling, to confound this with those cotemporary productions, that are only valuable as curiosities, to which time has given an adventitious interest. Here are all the marks of the real bard!
Thoughts that breathe and words that burn."
And after all the multitudinous criticisms and discussions of what is true poetical genius, does not this short line comprehend the whole secret?
The Argument of the Fourth Sestyad.
"Hero, in sacred habit deckt,
Doth private sacrifice effect.
Her scarf's description wrought by fate,
Ostents, that threaten her estate.
The strange, yet physical events,
Leander's counterfeit presents.
In thunder, Ciprides descends,
Presaging both the lovers' ends.
Ecte, the Goddess of Remorse,
With vocal and articulate force
Inspires Leucote, Venus' swan,
T excuse the beauteous Sestian.
Venus, to wreak her rites' abuses,
Creates the monster Eronusis;
Enflaming Hero's sacrifice,
With lightning darted from her
And thereof springs the painted beast,
That ever since taints every breast.
Now from Leander's place she arose, and found Her hair and rent robe scatter'd on the ground: Which taking up, she every piece did lay
Upon the altar; where in youth of day
She us'd t' exhibit private sacrifice :
Those would she offer to the deities
Of her fair Goddess, and her powerful son,
As relics of her late-felt passion:
And in that holy sort she vow'd to end them, In hope her violent fancies, that did rend them,
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