Leander striv’d, the waves about him wound,
And puld him to the bottome, where the ground
Was strewd with pearle, and in low corrall groves,
Sweet singing Meremaids, sported with their loves
On heapes of heavie gold, and tooke great pleasure,
To spurne in carelesse sort, the shipwracke treasure.
For here the stately azure pallace stood,
Where kingly Neptune and his traine abode.
The lustie god imbrast him, cald him love,
And swore he never should returne to Jove.
But when he knew it was not Ganimed,
For under water he was almost dead,
He heav’d him up, and looking on his face,
Beat downe the bold waves with his triple mace,
Which mounted up, intending to have kist him,
And fell in drops like teares, because they mist him.
Leander being up, began to swim,
And looking backe, saw Neptune follow him.
Whereat agast, the poore soule gan to crie,
O let mee visite Hero ere I die.
The god put Helles bracelet on his arme,
And swore the sea should never doe him harme.
He clapt his plumpe cheekes, with his tresses playd,
And smiling wantonly, his love bewrayd.
He watcht his armes, and as they opend wide,
At every stroke, betwixt them would he slide,
And steale a kisse, and then run out and daunce,
And as he turnd, cast many a lustfull glaunce,
And throw him gawdie toies to please his eie,
And dive into the water, and there prie
Upon his brest, his thighs, and everie lim,
And up againe, and close beside him swim,
And talke of love: Leander made replie,
You are deceav’d, I am no woman I.
Thereat smilde Neptune, and then told a tale,
How that a sheapheard sitting in a vale,
Playd with a boy so faire and so kind,
As for his love, both earth and heaven pyn’d;
That of the cooling river durst not drinke,
Least water-nymphs should pull him from the brinke.
And when hee sported in the fragrant lawnes,
Gote-footed Satyrs, and up-staring Fawnes,
Would steale him thence. Ere halfe this tale was done,
Aye me, Leander cryde, th’enamoured sunne,
That now should shine on Thetis glassie bower,
Descends upon my radiant Heroes tower.
O that these tardie armes of mine were wings,
And as he spake, upon the waves he springs.
Neptune was angrie that hee gave no eare,
And in his heart revenging malice bare:
He flung at him his mace, but as it went,
He cald it in, for love made him repent.
The mace returning backe, his owne hand hit,
As meaning to be veng’d for darting it.
When this fresh bleeding wound Leander viewd,
His colour went and came, as if he rewd
The greefe which Neptune felt. In gentle brests,
Relenting thoughts, remorse and pittie rests.
And who have hard hearts, and obdurat minds,
But vicious, harebraind, and illit’rat hinds?
The god seeing him with pittie to be moved,
Thereon concluded that he was beloved.
(Love is too full of faith, too credulous,
With follie and false hope deluding us.)
Wherefore Leanders fancie to surprize,
To the rich Ocean for gifts he flies.
’Tis wisedome to give much, a gift prevailes,
When deepe perswading Oratorie failes.
By this Leander being nere the land,
Cast downe his wearie feet, and felt the sand.
Breathlesse albeit he were, he rested not,
Till to the solitarie tower he got.
And knockt and cald, at which celestiall noise,
The longing heart of Hero much more joies
Then nymphs and sheapheards, when the timbrell rings,
Or crooked Dolphin when the sailer sings;
She stayd not for her robes, but straight arose,
And drunke with gladnesse, to the dore she goes.
Where seeing a naked man, she scriecht for feare,
Such sights as this, to tender maids are rare.
And ran into the darke her selfe to hide,
Rich jewels in the darke are soonest spide.
Unto her was he led, or rather drawne,
By those white limmes, which sparckled through the lawne.
The neerer that he came, the more she fled,
And seeking refuge, slipt into her bed.
Whereon Leander sitting, thus began,
Through numming cold, all feeble, faint and wan:
If not for love, yet love for pittie sake,
Me in thy bed and maiden bosome take,
At least vouchsafe these armes some little roome,
Who hoping to imbrace thee, cherely swome.
This head was beat with manie a churlish billow,
And therefore let it rest upon thy pillow.
Herewith afrighted Hero shrunke away,
And in her luke-warme place Leander lay.
Whose lively heat like fire from heaven fet,
Would animate grosse clay, and higher set
The drooping thoughts of base declining soules,
Then drerie Mars, carowsing Nectar boules.
His hands he cast upon her like a snare,
She overcome with shame and sallow feare,
Like chast Diana, when Acteon spyde her,
Being sodainly betraide, dyv’d downe to hide her.
And as her silver body downeward went,
With both her hands she made the bed a tent,
And in her owne mind thought her selfe secure,
O’recast with dim and darksome coverture.
And now she lets him whisper in her eare,
Flatter, intreat, promise, protest and sweare,
Yet ever as he greedily assayd
To touch those dainties, she the Harpey playd,
And every lim did as a soldier stout,
Defend the fort, and keep the foe-man out.
For though the rising yv’rie mount he scal’d,
Which is with azure circling lines empal’d,
Much like a globe, (a globe may I tearme this,
By which love sailes to regions full of blis,)
Yet there with Sysiphus he toyld in vaine,
Till gentle parlie did the truce obtaine.
Wherein Leander on her quivering brest,
Breathlesse spoke some thing, and sigh’d out the rest;
Which so prevail’d, as he with small ado,
Inclos’d her in his armes and kist her to.
And everie kisse to her was as a charme,
And to Leander as a fresh alarme.
So that the truce was broke, and she alas,
(Poore sillie maiden) at his mercie was.
Love is not ful of pittie (as men say)
But deaffe and cruell, where he meanes to pray.
Even as a bird, which in our hands we wring,
Foorth plungeth, and oft flutters with her wing,
She trembling strove, this strife of hers (like that
Which made the world) another world begat,
Of unknowne joy. Treason was in her thought,
And cunningly to yeeld her selfe she sought.
Seeming not woon, yet woon she was at length,
In such warres women use but halfe their strength.
Leander now like Theban Hercules,
Entred the orchard of Th’esperides,
Whose fruit none rightly can describe, but hee
That puls or shakes it from the golden tree:
And now she wisht t
his night were never done,
And sigh’d to thinke upon th’approching sunne,
For much it greev’d her that the bright day-light,
Should know the pleasure of this blessed night,
And them like Mars and Ericine displayd,
Both in each others armes chaind as they layd.
Againe she knew not how to frame her looke,
Or speake to him who in a moment tooke,
That which so long so charily she kept,
And fame by stealth away she would have crept,
And to some corner secretly have gone,
Leaving Leander in the bed alone.
But as her naked feet were whipping out,
He on the suddaine cling’d her so about,
That Meremaid-like unto the floore she slid,
One halfe appear’d, the other halfe was hid.
Thus neere the bed she blushing stood upright,
And from her countenance behold ye might,
A kind of twilight breake, which through the heare,
As from an orient cloud, glymse here and there.
And round about the chamber this false morne,
Brought foorth the day before the day was borne.
So Heroes ruddie cheeke, Hero betrayd,
And her all naked to his sight displayd.
Whence his admiring eyes more pleasure tooke,
Than Dis, on heapes of gold fixing his looke.
By this Apollos golden harpe began,
To sound foorth musicke to the Ocean,
Which watchfull Hesperus no sooner heard,
But he the days bright-bearing Car prepar’d.
And ran before, as Harbenger of light,
And with his flaring beames mockt ougly night,
Till she o’recome with anguish, shame, and rage,
Dang’d downe to hell her loathsome carriage.
Desunt nonnulla.
TO MY BEST ESTEEMED AND WORTHELY HONORED LADY, THE LADY WALSINGHAM
one of the Ladies of her Majesties Bed-chamber.
I present your Ladiship with the last affections of the first two Lovers that ever Muse shrinde in the Temple of Memorie; being drawne by strange instigation to employ some of my serious time inso trifeling a subject, which yet made the first Author, divine Musaeus, eternall. And were it not that wee must subject our accounts of these common received conceits to servile custome; it goes much against my hand to signe that for a trifling subject, on which more worthines of soule hath been shewed, and weight of divine wit, than can vouchsafe residence in the leaden gravitie of any Mony-Monger; in whose profession all serious subjects are concluded. But he that shuns trifles must shun the world; out of whose reverend heapes of substance and austeritie, I can, and will, ere long, single, or tumble out as brainles and passionate fooleries, as ever panted in the bosome of the most ridiculous Lover. Accept it therfore (good Madam) though as a trifle, yet as a serious argument of my affection: for to bee thought thankefull for all free and honourable favours, is a great summe of that riches my whole thrift intendeth.
Such uncourtly and sillie dispositions as mine, whose contentment hath other objects than profit or glorie; are as glad, simply for the naked merit of vertue, to honour such as advance her, as others that are hired to commend with deepeliest politique bountie.
It hath therefore adjoynde much contentment to my desire of your true honour to heare men of desert in Court, adde to mine owne know- ledge of your noble disposition, how glady you doe your best to preferre their desires; and have as absolute respect to their meere good parts, as if they came perfumed and charmed with golden incitements. And this most sweet inclination, that flowes from the truth and eternitie of Nobles; assure your Ladiship doth more suite your other Ornaments, and makes more to the advancement of your Name, and happines of your proceedings, then if(like others) you displaied Ensignes of state and sowrenes in your forehead; made smooth with nothing but sensualitie and presents.
This poore Dedication (in figure of the other unitie betwixt Sir Thomasand your selfe) hath rejoynd you with him, my honoured best friend, whose continuance of ancient kindnes to my still-obscured estate, though it cannot encrease my love to him, which hath ever been entirely circulare; yet shall it encourage my deserts to their utmost requitall, and make my hartie gratitude speake; to which the unhappines of my life hath hetherto been uncomfortable and painfull dumbnes.
By your Ladiships vowd in
most wished service:
George Chapman.
THE ARGUMENT OF THE THIRD SESTYAD
Leander to the envious light
Resignes his night-sports with the night,
And swims the Hellespont againe;
Thesme the Deitie soveraigne
Of Customes and religious rites
Appeares, improving his delites
Since Nuptiall honors he neglected;
Which straight he vowes shall be effected.
Faire Hero left Devirginate
Waies, and with furie wailes her state:
But with her love and womans wit
She argues, and approveth it.
New light gives new directions, Fortunes new
To fashion our indevours that ensue,
More harsh (at lest more hard) more grave and hie
Our subject runs, and our sterne Muse must flie.
Loves edge is taken off, and that light flame,
Those thoughts, joyes, longings, that before became
High unexperienst blood, and maids sharpe plights,
Must now grow staid, and censure the delights,
That being enjoyd aske judgement; now we praise,
As having parted: Evenings crowne the daies.
And now ye wanton loves, and yong desires,
Pied vanitie, the mint of strange Attires;
Ye lisping Flatteries, and obsequious Glances,
Relentfull Musicks, and attractive Dances,
And you detested Charmes constraining love,
Shun loves stolne sports by that these Lovers prove.
By this the Soveraigne of Heavens golden fires,
And yong Leander, Lord of his desires,
Together from their lovers armes arose:
Leander into Hellespontus throwes
His Hero-handled bodie, whose delight
Made him disdaine each other Epethite.
And as amidst the enamourd waves he swims,
The God of gold of purpose guilt his lims,
That this word guilt, including double sence,
The double guilt of his Incontinence,
Might be exprest, that had no stay t’employ
The treasure which the Love-god let him joy
In his deare Hero, with such sacred thrift,
As had beseemd so sanctified a gift:
But like a greedie vulgar Prodigall
Would on the stock dispend, and rudely fall
Before his time, to that unblessed blessing,
Which for lusts plague doth perish with possessing.
“Joy graven in sence, like snow in water wasts;”
“Without preserve of vertue, nothing lasts.”
What man is he that with a welthie eie,
Enjoyes a beautie richer than the skie,
Through whose white skin, softer then soundest sleep,
With damaske eyes, the rubie blood doth peep,
And runs in branches through her azure vaines,
Whose mixture and first fire, his love attaines;
Whose both hands limit both Loves deities,
And sweeten humane thoughts like Paradise;
Whose disposition silken is and kinde,
Directed with an earth-exempted minde;
Who thinks not heaven with such a love is given?
And who like earth would spend that dower of heaven,
With ranke desire to joy it all at first?
What simply kils our hunger, quencheth thirst,
Clothes but our nakednes, and makes us
live,
Praise doth not any of her favours give:
But what doth plentifully minister
Beautious apparell and delicious cheere,
So orderd that it still excites desire,
And still gives pleasure freenes to aspire,
The palme of Bountie, ever moyst preserving:
To loves sweet life this is the courtly carving.
Thus Time, and all-states-ordering Ceremonie
Had banisht all offence: Times golden Thie
Upholds the flowne bodie of the earth
In sacred harmonie, and every birth
Of men, and actions makes legitimate,
Being usde aright; “The use of time is Fate.”
Yet did the gentle flood transfer once more,
This prize of Love home to his fathers shore;
Where he unlades himselfe of that false welth
That makes few rich; treasures composde by stelth;
And to his sister kinde Hermione,
(Who on the shore kneeld, praying to the sea
For his returne) he all Loves goods did show
In Hero seasde for him, in him for Hero.
His most kinde sister all his secrets knew,
And to her singing like a shower he flew,
Sprinkling the earth, that to their tombs tooke in
Streames dead for love to leave his ivorie skin,
Which yet a snowie fome did leave above,
As soule to the dead water that did love;
And from thence did the first white Roses spring,
(For love is sweet and faire in every thing)
And all the sweetned shore as he did goe,
Was crownd with odrous roses white as snow.
Love-blest Leander was with love so filled,
That love to all that toucht him he instilled.
And as the colours of all things we see,
To our sights powers communicated bee:
So to all objects that in compasse came
of any sence he had, his sences flame
Flowd from his parts, with force so virtuall,
It fir’d with sence things meere insensuall.
Now (with warme baths and odours comforted)
When he lay downe he kindly kist his bed,
As consecrating it to Heros right,
And vowd thereafter that what ever sight
Put him in minde of Hero, or her blisse,
Should be her Altar to prefer a kisse.
Then laid he forth his late inriched armes,
In whose white circle Love writ all his charmes,
And made his characters sweet Heros lims,
When on his breasts warme sea she sideling swims.
And as those armes (held up in circle) met,
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 13