And after, with a virgin firmament,
The Godhead-proving Bride, attended went
Before them all; she lookt in her command,
As if forme-giving Cyprias silver hand
Gripte all their beauties, and crusht out one flame;
She blusht to see how beautie overcame
The thoughts of all men. Next before her went
Five lovely children deckt with ornament
Of her sweet colours, bearing Torches by,
For light was held a happie Augurie
Of generation, whose efficient right
Is nothing else but to produce to light.
The od disparent number they did chuse,
To shew the union married loves should use,
Since in two equall parts it will not sever,
But the midst holds one to rejoyne it ever,
As common to both parts: men therfore deeme,
That equall number Gods does not esteeme,
Being authors of sweet peace and unitie,
But pleasing to th’infernall Emperie,
Under whose ensignes Wars and Discords fight,
Since an even number you may disunite
In two parts equall, nought in middle left,
To reunite each part from other reft:
And five they hold in most especiall prise,
Since t’is the first od number that doth rise
From the two formost numbers unitie
That od and even are; which are two, and three,
For one no number is: but thence doth flow
The powerfull race of number. Next did go
A noble Matron that did spinning beare
A huswifes rock and spindle, and did weare
A Weathers skin, with all the snowy fleece,
To intimate that even the daintiest peece,
And noblest borne dame should industrious bee:
That which does good disgraceth no degree.
And now to Junos Temple they are come,
Where her grave Priest stood in the mariage rome.
On his right arme did hang a skarlet vaile,
And from his shoulders to the ground did traile,
On either side, Ribands of white and blew;
With the red vaile he hid the bashfull hew
Of the chast Bride, to shew the modest shame,
In coupling with a man should grace a dame.
Then tooke he the disparent Silks, and tide
The Lovers by the wasts, and side to side,
In token that thereafter they must binde
In one selfe sacred knot each others minde.
Before them on an Altar he presented
Both fire and water: which was first invented,
Since to ingenerate every humane creature,
And every other birth produ’st by Nature,
Moysture and heate must mixe: so man and wife
For humane race must joyne in Nuptiall life.
Then one of Junos Birds, the painted Jay,
He sacrifisde, and tooke the gall away.
All which he did behinde the Altar throw,
In signe no bitternes of hate should grow
Twixt maried loves, nor any least disdaine.
Nothing they spake, for twas esteemd too plaine
For the most silken mudnes of a maid,
To let a publique audience heare it said
She boldly tooke the man: and so respected
Was bashfulnes in Athens: it erected
To chast Agneja, which is Shamefastnesse,
A sacred Temple, holding her a Goddesse.
And now to Feasts, Masks, and triumphant showes,
The shining troupes returnd, even till earths throwes
Brought forth with joy the thickest part of night,
When the sweet Nuptiall song that usde to cite
All to their rest, was by Phemonoe sung:
First Delphian Prophetesse, whose graces sprung
Out of the Muses well, she sung before
The Bride into her chamber: at which dore
A Matron and a Torch-bearer did stand;
A painted box of Confits in her hand
The Matron held, and so did other some
That compast round the honourd Nuptiall rome.
The custome was that every maid did weare,
During her maidenhead, a silken Sphere
About her waste, above her inmost weede,
Knit with Minervas knot, and that was freede
By the faire Bridegrome on the manage night,
With many ceremonies of delight:
And yet eternisde Hymens tender Bride,
To suffer it dissolv’d so sweetly cride,
The maids that heard, so lov’d, and did adore her,
They wisht with all their hearts to suffer for her.
So had the Matrons, that with Confits stood
About the chamber, such affectionate blood,
And so true feeling of her harmeles paines,
That every one a showre of Confits raines.
For which the Brideyouths scrambling on the ground,
In noyse of that sweet haile her cryes were drownd.
And thus blest Hymen joyde his gracious Bride,
And for his joy was after deifide.
The Saffron mirror by which Phoebus love,
Greene Tellus decks her, now he held above
The dowdy mountaines: and the noble maide,
Sharp-visag’d Adolesche, that was straide
Out of her way, in hasting with her newes,
Not till this houre th’Athenian turrets viewes:
And now brought home by guides, she heard by all
That her long kept occurrents would be stale,
And how faire Hymens honors did excell
For those rare newes, which she came short to tell.
To heare her deare tongue robd of such a joy,
Made the well-spoken Nymph take such a toy,
That downe she sunke: when lightning from above,
Shrunk her leane body, and for meere free love,
Turnd her into the pied-plum’d Psittacus,
That now the Parrat is surnam’d by us,
Who still with counterfeit confusion prates,
Nought but newes common to the commonst mates.
This tolde, strange Teras toucht her Lute and sung
This dittie, that the Torchie evening sprung.
Epithalamion Teratos.
Come come deare night, Loves Mart of kisses,
Sweet close of his ambitious line,
The fruitfull summer of his blisses,
Loves glorie doth in darknes shine.
O come soft rest of Cares, come night,
Come naked vertues only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light,
Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.
Love cals to warre,
Sighs his Alarmes,
Lips his swords are,
The field his Armes.
Come Night and lay thy velvet hand
On glorious Dayes outfacing face;
And all thy crouned flames command,
For Torches to our Nuptiall grace.
Love cals to warre,
Sighs his Alarmes,
Lips his swords are,
The field his Armes.
No neede have we of factious Day,
To cast in envie of thy peace,
Her bals of Discord in thy way:
Here beauties day doth never cease,
Day is abstracted here,
And varied in a triple sphere.
Hero, Alcmane, Mya, so outshine thee,
Ere thou come here let Thetis thrice refine thee.
Love cals to warre,
Sighs his Alarmes,
Lips his swords are,
The field his Armes.
The Evening starre I see:
Rise youths, the Evening starre
Helps Love to summon warre,
Both now imbracing bee.
Rise youths, Loves right claims more then banquets, rise.
Now the bright Marygolds that deck the skies,
Phoebus celestiall flowrs, that (contrarie
To his flowers here) ope when he shuts his eie,
And shut when he doth open, crowne your sports:
Now love in night, and night in love exhorts
Courtship and Dances: All your parts employ,
And suite nights rich expansure with your joy,
Love paints his longings in sweet virgins eyes:
Rise youths, Loves right claims more then banquets, rise.
Rise virgins, let fayre Nuptiall loves enfolde
Your fruitles breasts: the maidenheads ye holde
Are not your owne alone, but parted are;
Part in disposing them your Parents share,
And that a third part is: so must ye save
Your loves a third, and you your thirds must have.
Love paints his longings in sweet virgins eyes:
Rise youths, Loves right claims more then banquets, rise.
Herewith the amorous spirit that was so kinde
To Teras haire, and combd it downe with winde,
Still as it Comet-like brake from her braine,
Would needes have Teras gone, and did refraine
To blow it downe: which staring up, dismaid
The timorous feast, and she no longer staid:
But bowing to the Bridegrome and the Bride,
Did like a shooting exhalation glide
Out of their sights: the turning of her back
Made them all shrieke, it lookt so ghastly black.
O haples Hero, that most haples clowde,
Thy soone-succeeding Tragedie foreshowde.
Thus all the Nuptiall crew to joyes depart,
But much-wrongd Hero stood Hels blackest dart:
Whose wound because I grieve so to display,
I use digressions thus t’encrease the day.
The end of the fift Sestyad.
THE ARGUMENT OF THE SIXT SESTYAD.
Leucote flyes to all the windes,
And from the fates their outrage bindes,
That Hero and her love may meete.
Leander (with Loves compleate Fleete
Mand in himselfe) puts forth to Seas,
When straight the ruthles Destinies,
With Ate stirre the windes to warre
Upon the Hellespont: Their jarre
Drownes poore Leander. Heros eyes
Wet witnesses of his surprise,
Her Torch blowne out. Griefe casts her downe
Upon her love, and both doth drowne.
In whose just ruth the God of Seas
Transformes them to th’Acanthides.
No longer could the day nor Destinies
Delay the night, who now did frowning rise
Into her Throne; and at her humorous brests,
Visions and Dreames lay sucking: all mens rests
Fell like the mists of death upon their eyes,
Dayes too long darts so kild their faculties.
The windes yet, like the flowrs to cease began:
For bright Leucote, Venus whitest Swan,
That held sweet Hero deare, spread her fayre wings,
Like to a field of snow, and message brings
From Venus to the Fates, t’entreate them lay
Their charge upon the windes their rage to stay,
That the sterne battaile of the Seas might cease,
And guard Leander to his love in peace.
The Fates consent, (aye me dissembling Fates)
They shewd their favours to conceale their hates,
And draw Leander on, least Seas too hie
Should stay his too obsequious destinie:
Who like a fleering slavish Parasite,
In warping profit or a traiterous sleight,
Hoopes round his rotten bodie with devotes,
And pricks his descant face full of false notes,
Praysing with open throte (and othes as fowle
As his false heart) the beautie of an Owle,
Kissing his skipping hand with charmed skips,
That cannot leave, but leapes upon his lips
Like a cock-sparrow, or a shameles queane
Sharpe at a red-lipt youth, and nought doth meane
Of all his antick shewes, but doth repayre
More tender fawnes, and takes a scattred hayre
From his tame subjects shoulder; whips, and cals
For every thing he lacks; creepes gainst the wals
With backward humblesse, to give needles way:
Thus his false fate did with Leander play.
First to black Eurus flies the white Leucote,
Borne mongst the Negros in the Levant Sea,
On whose curld head the glowing Sun doth rise,
And shewes the soveraigne will of Destinies,
To have him cease his blasts, and downe he lies.
Next, to the fennie Notus, course she holds,
And found him leaning with his armes in folds
Upon a rock, his white hayre full of showres,
And him she chargeth by the fatall powres,
To hold in his wet cheekes his clowdie voyce.
To Zephire then that doth in flowres rejoyce.
To snake-foote Boreas next she did remove,
And found him tossing of his ravisht love,
To heate his frostie bosome hid in snow,
Who with Leucotes sight did cease to blow.
Thus all were still to Heros harts desire,
Who with all speede did consecrate a fire
Of flaming Gummes, and comfortable Spice,
To light her Torch, which in such curious price
She held, being object to Leanders sight,
That nought but fires perfilm’d must give it light.
She lov’d it so, she griev’d to see it burne,
Since it would waste and soone to ashes turne:
Yet if it burnd not, twere not worth her eyes,
What made it nothing, gave it all the prize.
Sweet Torch, true Glasse of our societie;
What man does good, but he consumes thereby?
But thou wert lov’d for good, held high, given show:
Poore vertue loth’d for good, obscur’d, held low.
Doe good, be pinde; be deedles good, disgrast:
Unles we feede on men, we let them fast.
Yet Hero with these thoughts her Torch did spend.
When Bees makes waxe, Nature doth not intend
It shall be made a Torch: but we that know
The proper vertue of it make it so,
And when t’is made we light it: nor did Nature
Propose one life to maids, but each such creature
Makes by her soule the best of her free state,
Which without love is rude, disconsolate,
And wants Loves fire to make it milde and bright,
Till when, maids are but Torches wanting light.
Thus gainst our griefe, not cause of griefe we fight,
The right of nought is gleande, but the delight.
Up went she, but to tell how she descended,
Would God she were not dead, or my verse ended.
She was the rule of wishes, summe and end
For all the parts that did on love depend:
Yet cast the Torch his brightues further forth;
But what shines neerest best, holds truest worth.
Leander did not through such tempests swim
To kisse the Torch, although it lighted him:
But all his powres in her desires awaked,
Her love and vertues cloth’d him richly naked.
Men kisse but fire that only shewes pursue,
Her Torch and Hero, figure shew, and vertue.
Now at opposde Abydus nought was heard,
But bleating flocks, and many a b
ellowing herd,
Slaine for the Nuptials, cracks of falling woods,
Blowes of broad axes, powrings out of floods.
The guiltie Hellespont was mixt and stainde
With bloodie Torrents, that the shambles raind;
Not arguments of feast, but shewes that bled,
Foretelling that red night that followed.
More blood was spilt, more honors were addrest,
Then could have graced any happie feast.
Rich banquets, triumphs, every pomp employes
His sumptuous hand: no misers nuptiall joyes.
Ayre felt continuall thunder with the noyse,
Made in the generall manage violence.
And no man knew the cause of this expence,
But the two haples Lords, Leanders Sire,
And poore Leander, poorest where the fire
Of credulous love made him most rich surmisde.
As short was he of that himselfe he prisde,
As is an emptie Gallant full of forme,
That thinks each looke an act, each drop a storme,
That fals from his brave breathings; most brought up
In our Metropolis, and hath his cup
Brought after him to feasts; and much Palme beares,
For his rare judgement in th’attire he weares;
Hath seene the hot Low Countries, not their heat,
Observes their rampires and their buildings yet.
And for your sweet discourse with mouthes is heard
Giving instructions with his very beard.
Hath gone with an Ambassadour, and been
A great mans mate in travailing, even to Rhene,
And then puts all his worth in such a face,
As he saw brave men make, and strives for grace
To get his newes forth; as when you descrie
A ship with all her sayle contends to flie
Out of the narrow Thames with windes unapt,
Now crosseth here, then there, then this way rapt,
And then hath one point reacht; then alters all,
And to another crooked reach doth fall
Of halfe a burdbolts shoote; keeping more coyle,
Then if she danst upon the Oceans toyle:
So serious is his trifling companie,
In all his swelling ship of vacantrie.
And so short of himselfe in his high thought,
Was our Leander in his fortunes brought,
And in his fort of love that he thought won.
But otherwise he skornes comparison.
O sweet Leander, thy large worth I hide
In a short grave; ill favourd stormes must chide
Thy sacred favour; I, in floods of inck
Must drowne thy graces, which white papers drink,
Even as thy beauties did the foule black Seas:
I must describe the hell of thy disease,
That heaven did merit: yet I needes must see
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 17