That they appeare through Lillies plenteous store,

Like a Brydes Chamber flore:

Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two Garlands bound, Of freshest Flowres which in that Mead they found,

The which presenting all in trim Array,

Their snowie Foreheads therewithall they crownd,
Whil'st one did sing this Lay,

Prepar'd against that Day,

Against their Brydale day, which was not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly till I end my Song.

Ye gentle Birdes, the worlds faire ornament,
And heavens glorie, whom this happie hower
Doth leade unto your lovers blisfull bower,
Joy may you have and gentle hearts content
Of your loves couplement:

And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love,
With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile,
Whose smile they say, hath vertue to remove
All Loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile
For ever to assoile.

Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord,
And blessed Plentie wait upon your bord,
And let your bed with pleasures chast abound,
That fruitful issue may to you afford,
Which may your foes confound,

And make your joyes redound,

Upon your Brydale day, which is not long:

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Sweete Themmes runne softlie, till I end my Song.

So ended she; and all the rest around
To her redoubled that her undersong,

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Which said, their bridale daye should not be long.
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground,
Their accents did resound.

So forth, those joyous Birdes did passe along,
Adowne the Lee, that to them murmurde low,
As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong
Yet did by signes his glad affection show,
Making his streame run slow.

And all the foule which in his flood did dwell
Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell
The rest, so far, as Cynthia doth shend
The lesser starres. So they enranged well,
Did on those two attend,

And their best service lend,

Against their wedding day, which was not long:
Sweete Themmes run softly, till I end my song.

At length they all to mery London came,
To mery London, my most kyndly Nurse,
That to me gave this Lifes first native sourse:

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Though from another place I take my name,
An house of auncient fame.

There when they came, whereas those bricky towres,
The which on Themmes brode aged backe doe ryde,
Where now the studious Lawyers have their bowers,
There whylome wont the Templer Knights to byde,
Till they decayd through pride:

Next whereunto there standes a stately place,
Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace

Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell,
Whose want too well now feeles my freendles case:
But Ah here fits not well

Olde woes, but joyes, to tell

Against the bridale daye, which is not long:

Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer,

Great Englands glory and the Worlds wide wonder,

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Whose dreadfull name, late through all Spaine did thunder, And Hercules two pillors standing neere,

Did make to quake and feare:

Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie,

That fillest England with thy triumphes fame

Joy have thou of thy noble victorie,

And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name
That promiseth the same:

That through thy prowesse and victorious armes,

Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes :
And great Elisaes glorious name may ring

Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide Alarmes,
Which some brave muse may sing

To ages following,

Upon the Brydale day, which is not long :

Sweete Themmes runne softly till I end my Song.

From those high Towers this noble Lord issuing,
Like Radiant Hesper when his golden hayre
In th' Ocean billowes he hath bathed fayre,
Descended to the Rivers open vewing,
With a great traine ensuing.

Above the rest were goodly to bee seene

Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature
Beseeming well the bower of anie Queene,
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature,
Fit for so goodly stature:

That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight,

Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heavens bright.
They two forth pacing to the Rivers side,

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Received those two faire Brides, their Loves delight,
Which at th' appointed tyde,

Each one did make his Bryde,

Against their Brydale day, which is not long :

Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

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CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

HERO AND LEANDER

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL, SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM, KNIGHT.

Sir, wee thinke not our selves discharged of the dutie wee owe to our friend, when wee have brought the breathlesse bodie to the earth: for albeit the eye there taketh his ever farwell of that beloved object, yet the impression of the man, that hath beene deare unto us, living an after life in our memory, there putteth us in mind of farther obsequies due unto the deceased. And namely of the performance of whatsoever we may judge shal make to his living credit, and to the effecting of his determinations prevented by the stroke of death. By these meditations (as by an intellectuall will) I suppose my selfe executor to the unhappily deceased author of this Poem, upon whom knowing that in his life time you bestowed many kind favors, entertaining the parts of reckoning and woorth which you found in him, with good countenance and liberall affection: I cannot but see so far into the will of him dead, that whatsoever issue of his brain should chance to come abroad, that the first breath it should take might be the gentle aire of your liking : for since his selfe had been accustomed therunto, it would proove more agreeable and thriving to his right children, than any other foster countenance whatsoever. At this time seeing that this unfinished Tragedy happens under 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 favourable allowance, offring my utmost selfe now and ever to bee readie, At your Worships disposing:

EDWARD BLUNT.

THE ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST SESTYAD

Heros description and her Loves,

The Phane of Venus; where he moves
His worthie Love-suite, and attaines;
Whose blisse the wrath of Fates restraines,
For Cupids grace to Mercurie,

Which tale the Author doth implie.

ON Hellespont guiltie of True loves blood,
In view and opposit two citties stood,
Seaborderers, disjoin'd by Neptunes might :
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos, Hero dwelt; Hero the faire,
Whom young Apollo courted for her haire,
And offred as a dower his burning throne,
Where she should sit for men to gaze upon.
The outside of her garments were of lawne,
The lining, purple silke, with guilt starres drawne,

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Her wide sleeves greene, and bordered with a grove,
Where Venus in her naked glory strove,

To please the carelesse and disdainfull eies,

Of proud Adonis that before her lies.

Her kirtle blew, whereon was many a staine,

Made with the blood of wretched Lovers slaine.

Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath,

From whence her vaile reacht to the ground beneath.
Her vaile was artificiall flowers and leaves,
Whose workmanship both man and beast deceaves.
Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,
When t'was the odour which her breath foorth cast,
And there for honie, bees have sought in vaine,
And beat from thence, have lighted there againe.
About her necke hung chaines of peble stone,
Which lightned by her necke, like Diamonds shone.
She ware no gloves, for neither sunne nor wind
Would burne or parch her hands, but to her mind
Or warme or coole them, for they tooke delite
To play upon those hands, they were so white.
Buskins of shels all silvered, used she,
And brancht with blushing corall to the knee;
Where sparrowes pearcht, of hollow pearle and gold,
Such as the world would woonder to behold:
Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fils,
Which as shee went would cherupe through the bils.
Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pyn'd,

And looking in her face, was strooken blind.
But this is true, so like was one the other,

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As he imagyn'd Hero was his mother;
And oftentimes into her bosome flew,

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About her naked necke his bare armes threw ;

And laid his childish head upon her brest,

And with still panting rockt, there tooke his rest.
So lovely faire was Hero, Venus Nun,

As nature wept, thinking she was undone;

Because she tooke more from her than she left,

And of such wondrous beautie her bereft :

Therefore in signe her treasure suffred wracke,

Since Heroes time, hath halfe the world beene blacke.
Amorous Leander, beautifull and yoong,

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(Whose tragedie divine Musaeus soong)

Dwelt at Abydos; since him, dwelt there none,
For whom succeeding times make greater mone.
His dangling tresses that were never shorne,
Had they beene cut, and unto Colchos borne,
Would have allur'd the vent'rous youth of Greece,
To hazard more, than for the golden Fleece.
Faire Cynthia wisht, his armes might be her spheare,
Greefe makes her pale, because she mooves not there,

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His bodie was as straight as Circes wand,
Jove might have sipt out Nectar from his hand.
Even as delicious meat is to the tast,

So was his necke in touching, and surpast
The white of Pelops shoulder, I could tell ye,

How smooth his brest was, and how white his bellie,
And whose immortall fingars did imprint,

That heavenly path, with many a curious dint,
That runs along his backe, but my rude pen,
Can hardly blazon foorth the loves of men,
Much lesse of powerfull gods, let it suffise,
That my slacke muse, sings of Leanders eies.
Those orient cheekes and lippes, exceeding his
That leapt into the water for a kis

Of his owne shadow, and despising many,
Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.
Had wilde Hippolytus Leander seene,
Enamoured of his beautie had he beene,

His presence made the rudest paisant melt,

That in the vast uplandish countrie dwelt,

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The barbarous Thracian soldier moov'd with nought,

Was moov'd with him, and for his favour sought.

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Some swore he was a maid in mans attire,

For in his lookes were all that men desire,
A pleasant smiling cheeke, a speaking eye,
A brow for love to banquet roiallye,
And such as knew he was a man would say,
Leander, thou art made for amorous play:
Why art thou not in love, and lov'd of all?
Though thou be faire, yet be not thine owne thrall.
The men of wealthie Sestos, everie yeare,
(For his sake whom their goddesse held so deare,
Rose-cheekt Adonis) kept a solemne feast,
Thither resorted many a wandring guest,

To meet their loves; such as had none at all,

Came lovers home from this great festivall.

For everie street like to a Firmament

Glistered with breathing stars, who where they went,
Frighted the melancholie earth, which deem'd,

Eternall heaven to burne, for so it seem'd,

As if another Phaethon had got

The guidance of the sunnes rich chariot.
But far above the loveliest, Hero shin'd,
And stole away th'inchaunted gazers mind,
For like Sea-nimphs inveigling harmony,
So was her beautie to the standers by.
Nor that night-wandring pale and watrie starre,
(When_yawning dragons draw her thirling carre,
From Latmus mount up to the glomie skie,
Where crown'd with blazing light and majestie,

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