The Works of Christopher Marlowe, Vol. 3 | Page 2

finished by
George Chapman. Ut Nectar, Ingenium. London, Printed by A. M. for
Richard Hawkins: and are to bee sold at his Shop in Chancerie-Lane,
neere Serieants Inne. 1629. 4to._
_Hero and Leander: Begun by Christopher Marloe, and finished by
George Chapman. Ut Nectar, Ingenium. London: Printed by N. Okes
for William Leake, and are to be sold at his shop in Chancery-lane
neere the Roules. 1637. 4to._
I have not had an opportunity of seeing the 4tos. of 1598 or the 4to. of
1600. For the text of the Isham copy, I am indebted to the _Works of
George Chapman: Poems and Minor Translations_, 1875. I have
examined the texts of eds. 1606, 1613, 1629, 1637; and my friend Mr.
C. H. Firth has examined for me the Bodleian copy of ed. 1600, in the
margin of which Malone has noted the readings of the first edition.
TO THE
RIGHT-WORSHIPFUL SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM,
KNIGHT.
Sir, we think not ourselves discharged of the duty we owe to our friend
when we have brought the breathless body to the earth; for albeit the
eye there taketh his ever-farewell of that beloved object, yet the
impression of the man that hath been dear 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
shall make to his living credit and to the effecting of his determinations
prevented by the stroke of death. By these meditations (as by an
intellectual will) I suppose myself executor to the unhappily deceased
author of this poem; upon whom knowing that in his lifetime you
bestowed many kind favours, entertaining parts of reckoning and worth

which you found in him with good countenance and liberal 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 air of your liking; for, since his self had been
accustomed thereunto, it would prove 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 yourself, the other to the
deceased, I present the same to your most favourable allowance,
offering my utmost self now and ever to be ready at your worship's
disposing:
EDWARD BLUNT.
HERO AND LEANDER.
THE FIRST SESTIAD.
_The Argument_[1] _of the First Sestiad._
Hero's description and her love's;
The fane of Venus, where he moves

His worthy love-suit, and attains;
Whose bliss the wrath of Fates
restrains
For Cupid's grace to Mercury:
Which tale the author doth
imply.
On Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood,
In view and opposite two
cities stood,
Sea-borderers,[2] disjoin'd 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 offer'd 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; 10 Her wide sleeves green, and border'd with a
grove,
Where Venus in her naked glory strove
To please the
careless and disdainful eyes
Of 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[3] a myrtle wreath,


From whence her veil reach'd to the ground beneath:
Her veil was
artificial flowers and leaves,
Whose workmanship both man and beast
deceives: 20 Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,
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 pebble-stone,
Which, lighten'd by
her neck, like diamonds shone.
She ware no gloves; for neither sun
nor wind
Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind.
Or warm
or cool them, for they took delight
To play upon those hands, they
were so white. 30 Buskins of shells, all silver'd, usèd she,
And
branch'd with blushing coral to the knee;
Where sparrows perch'd 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 cherup through the bills.
Some say, for her the fairest Cupid
pin'd,
And, looking in her face, was strooken blind.
But this is true;
so like was one the other,
As he imagin'd Hero was his mother; 40
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 rock,[4] 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 suffer'd