Classic Audiobook Collection - Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Episode Date: November 10, 2025

Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe audiobook. Genre: poetry In Christopher Marlowe's lush, witty narrative poem Hero and Leander, a familiar classical myth becomes a daring study of desire, persuasion, and the risks lovers take to reach each other. Hero is a celebrated young priestess living in Sestos, pledged to a life of chastity and honored for her beauty and status. Across the narrow but treacherous Hellespont, Leander, a handsome youth of Abydos, sees her at a festival and is struck with an obsession that quickly turns into a campaign to win her heart. Marlowe follows their courtship with sensual detail and gleeful intelligence, blending romance with sharp commentary on vows, reputation, and the gap between public virtue and private longing. As attraction intensifies, geography becomes a real antagonist: water separates them, rules constrain them, and every meeting demands secrecy, courage, and cunning. Rich with classical allusion, comic asides, and soaring imagery, the poem invites listeners into an ancient world where love is both an exquisite pleasure and a perilous test, and where a single choice can set a life on a new and uncertain course. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 00 (00:03:40) Chapter 01 (00:19:19) Chapter 02 (00:37:47) Chapter 03 (00:46:46) Chapter 04 (01:04:21) Chapter 05 (01:17:09) Chapter 06 (01:35:10) Chapter 07 (01:54:34) Chapter 08 (02:14:09) Chapter 09 (02:26:19) Chapter 10 (02:37:35) Chapter 11 (02:50:21) Chapter 12 (02:57:20) Chapter 13 (03:09:50) Chapter 14 (03:24:12) Chapter 15 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

hero and leander by christopher marlowe and george chapman printer's dedication 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 afterlife in our memory, there putt 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 the 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

End of printer's dedication Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey Section 1 of Hero and Leander This Librivox recording is in the public domain Recording by Martin Gieson Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlow and George Chapman. Section 1

The First Sestiad, Part 1 The Argument Hero's description and her loves, the feign of Venus, where he moves his worthy love suit and attains, whose bliss the wrath of fates restrain, 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, disjoined by Neptune's might, the one Abidos, the other Cestos height. At Sestos, Hero dwelt, Hero the fair, whom young Apollo courted for her hair, and offered 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. Her wide sleeves green, and bordered 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 curtle blue, whereon was many a stain, made with the blood of wretched lover slain. Upon her head she wear a myrtle wreath, From whence her veil reached to the ground beneath. Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves, Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives.

Many would praise the sweet smell as she passed, When twas the odour which her breath forth cast, and therefore honeybees have sought in vain, and beat from thence have lighted there again. About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone, which lightened by her neck like diamonds shone. She wear no gloves, for neither sun nor wind would burn or partch her hands, but to her mind, or warm or cool them, for they took delight to play upon those hands. They were so white. Buskins of shell, all silvered, used she, and branched with blushing coral to the knee, where sparrows perched of hollow pearl and gold, such as the world would wonder to behold.

with sweet water offed her handmade fills, which as she went would chirrup through the bills. Some say for her the fairest cupid pined, and looking in her face was struck and blind. But this is true, so like was one the other, as he imagined hero was his mother. 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, there took his rest. So lovely fair was hero, Venus nun, as nature wept, thinking she was un. done, because she took more from her than she left, and of such wondrous beauty her bereft. Therefore, ensign her treasure suffered rack, since hero's time hath half the world been black. Amorous Leander, beautiful and young, whose tragedy divine Museus sung.

dwelt at abydos since him dwelt then none for whom succeeding times make greater moan his dangling tresses that were never shorn had they been cut and unto colchos born would have allured the venturous youth of greece to hazard more than for the golden fleece fair Cynthia wished his arms might be her sphere. Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there. His body was as straight as Circe's wand. Jove might have sipped out nectar from his hand. Even as delicious meat is to the taste, so was his neck in touching,

and surpassed the white of Pee-lop's shoulder. I could tell ye how smooth his breast was, and how white his belly, and whose immortal fingers did imprint that heavenly path, with many a curious dint that runs along his back. But my rude pen can hardly blazen forth. the loves of men, much less of powerful gods. Let it suffice that my slack muse sings of Leander's eyes, those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his that leapt into the water for a kiss of his own shadow, and despising many

Died ere he could enjoy the love of any. Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen, ennambard of his beauty had he been, His presence made the rudest peasant melt that in the vast uplandish country dwelt. The barbarous Thracian soldier, moved with naught, was moved with him. and for his favour sought. Some swore he was a maid in man's attire, for in his looks were all that men desire, a pleasant smiling cheek,

a speaking eye, a brow for love to banquet royally. And such as knew he was a man, would say, Leander, thou art made for amorous play, Why art thou not in love, and loved of all? Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall. The men of wealthy Cestos every year,

For his sake whom their goddess held so dear, Rose-cheeked Adonis, kept a solemn feast. Thither resorted many a wandering guest to meet their loves. Such as had none at all, came lovers home from this great festival. For every street, like to a firmament, glistered with breathing stars,

who, where they went, frighted the melancholy earth, which deemed eternal heaven to burn, for so it seemed, as if another phaeton had got the guidance of the sun's rich chariot. But far above the loveliest hero shined, and stole away the enchanted gazer's mind. For like sea nymphs in vagling harmony,

so was her beauty to the standers-by. Nor that night-wandering, pale and watery star, when yawning dragons draw her thirling car from Lathmus mount up to the gloomy sky, where crowned with blazing light and majesty she proudly sits. More over-rules the flood than she, the hearts of those that near her stood. Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase, wretched Ixion's shaggy-footed race, incensed with savage heat, gallop amain, from steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain, so ran the people forth to gaze upon her, and all that viewed

her, were ennambard on her. And as in fury of a dreadful fight, their fellows being slain or put to flight, poor soldiers stand with fear of death, dead-strewn. So at her presence, all surprised and tooken, await the sentence of her scornful eyes. He whom she favours lives, the other dies. There might you see one sigh, another rage, and some their violent passions to assuage, compiled sharp satires, But alas too late,

For faithful love will never turn to hate, And many, seeing great princes were denied, Pined as they, went, and thinking on her, died. On this feast day, oh, cursed day and hour, went hero Therosesstos, from her tower to Venus temple, where unhappily, as afterchanced, they did each other spy. So fair a church as this had Venus none. The walls were of discoloured jasper stone, wherein was proteus carved, and overhead a lovely vine of green sea-agate spread, where by one hand light-headed bacchus hung, and with the other wine from grapes

outrung. Of crystal, shining fair the pavement was. The town of Sestos called it Venus glass. There might you see the gods in sundry shapes, committing heady riots, incest, rapes. For know that underneath this radiant floor was Danai's statue. you in a brazen tower, Jove slyly stealing from his sister's bed, to dally with Idallian Ganymed, and for his love, Europa bellowing loud, and tumbling with a rainbow in a cloud, blood-quoffing Mars, heaving the iron net, which limping Vulcan and his cyclone, upset love kindling fire to burn such towns as troy sylvanus weeping for the lovely boy that now is turned into a cypress tree under whose shade the wood-god's love to be and in the midst a silver altar stood there hero sacrifice

turtle's blood, veiled to the ground, veiling her eyelids close, and modestly they opened as she rose. Thence flew Love's arrow with the golden head, and thus Leander was enumered. Stone still he stood, and ever more he gazed, till with the fire that from his countenance blazed, Relenting hero's gentle heart was struck. Such force and virtue hath an amorous look. It lies not in our power to love or hate, for will in us is overruled by fate. When two are stripped, long ere the course begin, we wish that one should lose, the other win. And one especially do we affect of two gold ingots,

like in each respect. The reason no man knows. Let it suffice what we behold is censured by our eyes. Where both deliberate, the love is slight. Whoever loved, the love is slight. Whoever loved, the that loved not at first sight. End of Section 1. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Section 2 of Hero and Leander. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson.

Hero and Leander, by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 2 The First Sestiad, Part 2. He kneeled, but unto her devoutly prayed. Chaste Hero to herself, thus softly said,

Where I the saint he worships, I would hear him. And as she spake those words, came somewhat near him. He started up. She blushed as one ashamed, wherewith Leander much more was inflamed. He touched her hand.

In touching it she trembled. Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled. These lovers parled by the touch. of hands. True love is mute, and often amazid stands. Thus, while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled, the air with sparks of living fire was spangled, and night, deep drenched in misty Acheron, heaved up her head, and half the world upon breathed darkness forth. Dark night is Cupid's day, and now begins Leander to display love's holy fire, with words,

with sighs and tears, which like sweet music entered hero's ears, and yet at every word she turned aside, and always cut him off as he replied. At last, like to a bold, sharp sophister, with cheerful hope, thus he accosted her. Fair creature, let me speak without offence, I would my rude words had the influence to lead my thoughts as thy fair looks to mine. Then shouldst thou be his prisoner who is thine? Be not unkind and fair. Mishapen stuff are of behaviour boisterous and rough.

Oh, shun me not, but hear me ere you go. God knows I cannot force love. as you do. My words shall be as spotless as my youth, full of simplicity and naked truth. This sacrifice, whose sweet perfume descending from Venus altar to your footsteps bending, doth testify that you exceed her far, to whom you offer, and whose none you are. why should you worship her her you surpass as much as sparkling diamonds flaring glass a diamond set in lead his worth retains a heavenly nymph beloved of human swains receives no blemish but oft-times more grace which makes me hope although i am but bade base, base in respect of thee divine and pure.

Dutiful service may thy love procure. And I in duty will excel all other, As thou in beauty dost exceed love's mother. Nor heaven nor thou were made to gaze upon. As heaven preserves all things, so save thou one. A stately-builted ship, well-rigged and tall, The ocean maketh more majestical.

Why vouched thou, then, to live in Cestos here, Who on love'st, more glorious wouldst appear? Like untuned golden strings, All women are, which long time lie untouched will harshly jar. Vessels of brass oft-handed brightly shine. What difference betwixt the richest mine and basest mould but use? For both not used are of like worth.

Then treasure is abused when miser's keep it. being put to loan in time it will return us two for one rich robes themselves and others do adorn neither themselves nor others if not worn who builds a palace and rums up the gate shall see it ruin us and desolate ah simple hero learn thyselfthine thyself self to cherish. Lone women, like to empty houses, perish. Less sins the poor rich man that starves himself in heaping up a mass of drossy pelf Than such as you.

His golden earth remains, Which after his decease some other gains. But this fair cherubes sweet in the loss alone when you fleet hence can be bequeathed to none or if it could down from the enummeled sky all heaven would come to claim this legacy and with intestine broils the world destroy and quite confound nature's sweet harmony well then Therefore, by the gods decreed it is, we human creatures should enjoy that bliss. One is no number. Maids are nothing, then, without the sweet society of men.

Wilt thou live single still? One shalt thou be, though never singling hymen couple thee. savages that drink of running springs, think water far excels all earthly things. But they that daily taste neat wine despise it. Vaginity, albeit some highly prize it, compared with marriage, had you tried them both, differs as much as wine and water duff. bullion for the stamp's sake we allow even so for men's impression do we you by which alone our reverend father say women receive perfection every way this idol which you term virginity is neither essence subject to the eye no nor to any one exterior

sense, nor hath it any place of residence, nor isst of earth or mould celestial, or capable of any form at all. Of that which hath no being do not boast. Things that are not at all are never lost. Men foolishly do call it virtuous. What virtue is it that is born? with us. Much less can honour be ascribed there too. Honour is purchased by the deeds we do. Believe me, hero, honour is not one until some honourable deed be done. Seek you for chastity, immortal fame,

and know that some have wronged Diana's name. Whose name is it if she be false or not, so she be fair, but some vile tongues will blot. But you are fair, ay me, so wondrous fair, so young, so gentle, and so debonair, as Greece will think, if thus you live alone, someone or other keeps you as his own. Then hero hate me not, nor from me fly, to follow swiftly blasting in for me. Perhaps that sacred priesthood makes thee loath. Tell me to whom maids thou that heedless oath. To Venus, answered she, and as she spake forth from those two trelucent cisterns,

break a stream of liquid pearl, which down her face made milk-white paths, whereon the gods might trace to Jove's high court. He thus replied, The rites in which love's beauteous empress most delights, are banquets, Doric music, Midnight revel, Plays, masks, And all that stern age Counteth evil.

Thie as a holy idiot Doth she scorn, For thou in vowing chastity Hast sworn to rob her name and honour, And thereby commits to sin far worse than perjury, even sacrilege against her deity, through regular and formal purity. To expiate which sin, kiss and shake hands, such sacrifice as this Venus demands. Thereat she smiled, and did deny him so, as put

thereby, yet mighty hope for Moe, which makes him quickly reinforce his speech, and her in humble manner thus beseech. Though neither gods nor men may thee deserve, yet for her sake whom you have vowed to serve, abandon fruitless, cold virginity, the gentle queen of love's soul enemy. Then shall you most resemble Venus none, When Venus sweet rites are performed and done. Flint-breasted palace joins in single life, But palace and your mistress are at strife. Love, hero then, and be not tyrannus,

but heal the heart that thou hast wounded thus, nor stain thy youthful years with avarice. Fair fools delight to be accounted nice. The richest corn dies if it be not reaped. Beauty alone is lost, too warily kept. These arguments he used, and many more. Wherewith she yielded, that was one before.

Heroes' looks yielded, but her words made war. Women are one when they begin to jar. Thus, having swallowed Cupid's golden hook, the more she strived, the deeper was she struck. Yet evilly feigning anger strove she still, and would be thought to grant against her will. So, having paused a while, at length, she said, Who taught the rhetoric to deceive a maid? I'm me, such words as these should I abhor.

And yet I like them for the orator. With that Leander stooped to have embraced her. But from his spreading arms, away she cast her, and thus bespake him. Gentle youth, forbear to touch the sacred garments which I wear. Upon a rock, and underneath a hill, far from the town, where all is whist and still, save that the sea, playing on yellow sea, sends forth a rattling murmur to the land, whose sound allures the golden Morpheus in silence of the night to visit us. My turret stands, and there, God knows, I play with Venus swans and sparrows all the day.

A dwarfish bell-dam bears me company that hops about the chamber where I lie, and spends the night that might be better spent, in vain discourse, and apish merriment. Come thither. As she spake this, her tongue tripped, for unawares, come thither, from her slip'd. And suddenly her former colour changed, and here and there her unawares, her unawares, her eyes through anger ranged, and like a planet moving several ways at one self-instant, she, poor soul, assays loving, not to love at all, and every part strove to resist the motions of her heart.

And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, such as might have made. Heaven stoop to have a touch? Did she uphold to Venus? And again vowed spotless chastity. But all in vain. Cupid beats down her prayers with his wings, her vows about the empty air he flings. All deep enraged, his sinewy bowes. bow he bent, and shot a shaft that burning from him went, wherewith she struck and looked so dolefully, as made love sigh to see his tyranny. And as she wept, her tears to pearl, he turned, and wound them on his arm, and for her mourned. Then towards the palace of the destinies, laden with languishment and grief, he flies,

And to those stern nymphs, humbly made request, Both might enjoy each other, and be blessed. But with a ghastly dreadful countenance, Threatening a thousand deaths at every glance, they answered love, nor would vouchsafe so much as one poor word. Their hate to him was such. Harken a while, and I will tell you why. End of Section 2. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere Surrey.

Section 3 of Hero and Leander This Libri-Box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. Hero and Leander By Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 3 First Cestiad, Part 3 Heaven's Winged Herald

Jove-born Mercury, the self-same day that he asleep had laid enchanted Argus, spied a country-made, whose careless hair, instead of pearl to adorn it, glistered with dew as one that seemed to scorn it. Her breath as fragrant as the morning rose, her mind pure, and her tongue untought to glows yet proud she was for lofty pride that dwells in towered courts is oft in shepherd's cells and too too well the fair vermilion new and silver tincture of her cheeks that drew the love of every swain on her this god enamoured was, and with his snaky rod did charm her nimble feet, and made her stay. The while upon a hillock down he lay, and sweetly on his pipe began to play, and with smooth speech her fancy to assay, till in his twining arms he locked her fast.

and then he wooed with kisses. And at last, as shepherds do, Her on the ground he laid, And tumbling in the grass, He often strayed beyond the bounds of shame, In being bold to eye those parts Which no eye should behold, And like an insolent, commanding lover,

boasting his parentage would needs discover the way to new elysium but she whose only dower was her chastity having striven in vain was now about to cry and crave the help of shepherds that were nigh Herewith he stayed his fury, and began to give her leave to rise. Away she ran! After went Mercury, who used such cunning as she to hear his tail left off her running. Maids are not one by brutish force and might, but speeches full of pleasure and delight. and knowing hermes courted her was glad that she such loveliness and beauty had as could provoke his liking yet was mute and neither would deny nor grant his suit still vowed he love she wanting no excuse to feed him with delays as women use or thirsting after immortality.

All women are ambitious, naturally, imposed upon her lover such a task as he ought not perform, nor yet she ask. A draught of flowing nectar she requested, wherewith the king of gods and men is feasted. He, ready to accomplish what she willed, stole some from Hebe. Hebe, Jove's cup filled, and gave it to his simple, rustic love. Which being known as what is hid from Job, he inly stormed, and waxed more furious than for the fire filched by Prometheus. and thrusts him down from heaven.

He, wandering here, in mournful terms, with sad and heavy cheer, complained to Cupid. Cupid, for his sake, to be revenged on Jove did undertake. And those on whom heaven, earth, and hell relies, I mean the Adamantine, destinies. He wounds with love, and forced them equally to dote upon deceitful mercury. They offered him the deadly fatal knife that shears the slender threads of human life. At his fair feathered feet the engines laid, which the earth from ugly chaos den upweighed. made. These he regarded not, but did entreat that Jove, usurper of his father's seat, might presently be banished into hell, and aged Saturn in Olympus dwell. They granted what he craved, and once again Saturn and Ops began their golden reign.

Murder, rape, war and lust, and treachery, where with Jove closed in Stygian empery. But long this blessed time continued not. As soon as he his wish had purpose got, he, reckless of his promise, did despise the love of the everlasting destinies. Seeing it, both love and him abhorred, and Jupiter and to his place restored. And but that learning, in despite of fate, will mount aloft and enter heaven-gate, and to the seat of Jove itself advance, Hermes had slept in hell with ignorance. Yet, as a punishment, they added this, that he and poverty should always kiss.

And to this day is every scholar poor. Gross gold from them runs headlong to the boor. Likewise, the angry sisters, thus deluded, to venge themselves on Hermes, have concluded that Midas brood shall sit in honour's chair, to which the Muses' sons are only heir, And fruitful wits that inaspiring are, Shall discontent run into regions far, And few great lords in virtuous deeds shall joy, But be surprised with every garish toy. and still enrich the lofty servile clown, though with encroaching guile keeps learning down. Then muse not cupid suit no better spared,

Seeing in their loves the fates were injurred. End of Section 3. Recording by Martin Gieson, in Hazelmare, Surrey. Section 4 of Hero and Leander. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman.

Section 4. The Second Sestiad, Part 1. the argument hero of love takes deeper sense and doth her love more recompense their first night's meeting where sweet kisses are the only crowns of both their blisses he swims to abydos and returns cold neptune with his beauty burns, whose suit he shuns, and doth aspire hero's fair tower and his desire. By this sad hero, with love unacquainted, viewing Leander's face, fell down and fainted. He kissed her and breathed light. into her lips, wherewith as one displeased, away she trips.

Yet as she went, full off and looked behind, and many poor excuses did she find to linger by the way, and once she stayed, and would have turned again, but was afraid in offering parley to be counted light. So on she goes, and in her idle flight, her painted fan of curled plumes let fall, thinking to train Leander therewithal. He, being a novice, knew not what she meant, but stayed, and after her a letter sent, which joyful hero answered in such sort. as he had hoped to scale the beauteous fort wherein the liberal graces locked their wealth and therefore to her tower he got by stealth wide open stood the door he need not climb and she herself before the pointed time had spread the board with roses strewed the the room, and oft looked out, and mused he did not come.

At last he came. Oh, who can tell the greeting these greedy lovers had at their first meeting? He asked, she gave, and nothing was denied. Both to each other quickly were a fide. how their hands so were their hearts united, and what he did she willingly requited. Sweet are the kisses, the embracements sweet when like desires and like affections meet, for from the earth to heaven is cupid raised, where fancy is in equal balance. paced. Yet she this rashness suddenly repented, and turned aside, and to herself lamented,

as if her name and honour had been wronged, by being possessed of him for whom she longed. I, and she wished, albeit not from her heart, that he would leave her turret, and depart. The mirthful god of amorous pleasure smiled to see how he this captive nymph beguiled. For hitherto he did but fan the fire, and kept it down that it might mount the higher. Now waxed she jealous, lest his love abated, Fearing her own thought, made her to be hated. Therefore unto him hastily she goes, and like light Salmachus her body throws upon his bosom,

where with yielding eyes she offers up herself a sacrifice to slake his anger if he were displeased. Oh, what God would not therewith be appeased? Like Esop's cock, this jewel he enjoyed, and as a brother with his sister toyed, Supposing nothing else was to be done, now he her favour and goodwill had won. But know you not that creatures wanting sense, by nature have a mutual appetence and wanting organs to advance a step moved by love's force unto each other lep much more in subjects having intellect some hidden influence breeds like effect albeit leander rude in love and roar long dallying with hero

nothing saw that might delight him more. Yet he suspected some amorous rites or other were neglected. Therefore unto his body hers he clung. She, fearing on the rushes to be flung, strived with redoubled strength. The more she strived, the more a gentle, pleasing heat revived,

which taught him all that elder lovers know. And now the same gan so to scorch and glow, as in plain terms, yet cunningly he crave it. Love always makes those eloquent that have it. She, with a kind of granting, put him by it, and ever as he thought himself most nigh it, Like to the tree of tantalus, she fled, and seeming lavish, saved her maidenhead. Ne'er king more sought to keep his diadem than hero this inestimable jean-either. Gem!

Above our life we love a steadfast friend. Yet when a token of great worth we send, we often kiss it, often look thereon, and stay the messenger that would be gone. No marvel, then, though Hero would not yield so soon to part from that she dearly held. being lost are found again. This never. It is lost but once, and once lost, lost forever. Now had the morn espied her lover's steeds, whereat she starts, puts on her purple weeds, read for anger that he stayed so long, all headlong throws herself the clouds among. And now Leander, fearing to be missed, embraced her suddenly, took leave and kissed.

Long was he taking leave, had loath to go, and kissed again as lovers used to do. sad hero wrung him by the hand and wept saying let your vows and promises be kept then standing at the door she turned about as loath to see leander going out and now the sun that through the horizon peeps as pitying these lovers downward creeps so that in silence of the cloudy night though it was morning did he take his flight but what the secret trusty knight concealed leander's amorous habit soon revealed with cupid's myrtle was his bonnet crowned about his arms the purple ribbon wound wherewith she wreathed her largely spreading hair nor could the youth abstain but he must wear the sacred ring wherewith she was endowed when first religious chastity she vowed which made his love through cestos to be known and thence unto abydos sooner blown than he could sail for incorporeal fame whose weight consists in nothing but her name is swifter than the wind whose tardy plumes are reeking water and dull earthly fumes home when he came he seemed not to be there but like exiled air thrust from his sphere set in a foreign

place, and straight from thence, Alcides-like, by mighty violence, he would have chased away the swelling mane that him from her unjustly did detain. Like as the sun in a diameter fires and in flames objects remove it far, and heateth kindly, shining laterally, so beauty sweetly quickens when tis nigh, but being separated and removed burns where it cherished, murders where it loved. Therefore even as an index to a book, so to his mind was young Leander's look. oh none but gods have power their love to hide affection by the countenance is descried the light of hidden fire itself discovers and love that is concealed betrays poor lovers his secret flame apparently was seen leander's father knew

where he had been, and for the same mildly rebuked his son, thinking to quench the sparkles new begun. But love resisted once grows passionate, and nothing more than counsel lovers hate, For as a hot, proud horse highly disdains to have his head controlled, but breaks the reins, Spits forth the wringled bit, and with his hooves checks the submissive ground. So he that loves, the more he is restrained, the worse he fares. What is it now but mad Leander dares? o hero hero thus he cried full oft and then he got him to a rock aloft where having spied her tower long stared he on't and prayed the narrow toiling helespont to part in twain that he might come and go but still the rising billows answered

no with that he stripped him to the ivory skin and crying love i come leaped lively in whereat the sapphire visaged god grew proud and made his capering triton sound aloud imagining that ganymede displeased had left the heavens therefore on him he seized leander strived the waves about him wound and pulled him to the bottom where the ground was strewed with pearl and in low coral groves sweet-singing mermaids sported with their loves on heaps of heavy gold and took great pleasure to spurn in careless sort the shipwreck treasure for here the stately azure palace stood where kingly neptune and his train abode the lusty god embraced him called him love and swore he never should return to jove but when he knew it was not Ganymed, for under water he was almost dead. He heaved him up, and looking on his face, beat down the bold waves with his triple mace, which mounted up, intending to have kissed him,

and fell in drops like tears because they missed him. Leander, being up, began to swim, and looking back saw Neptune follow him. Whereat, aghast, the poor soul began to cry, Oh, let me visit here, ere I die. The god put Heli's bracelet on his arm, and swore the sea should never do him harm. He clapped his plump cheeks, with his tresses played, and smiling wantonly his love berate he watched his arms and as they opened wide at every stroke betwixt them he would slide

and steal a kiss and then run out and dance and as he turned cast many a lustful glance and throw him gaudy toys to please his eye and die into the water, and there pry upon his breast, his thighs, and every limb, and up again, and close beside him swim, and talk of love. Leander made reply, You are deceived. I am no woman, I. End of Section 4. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Section 5 of Hero and Leander.

This Libri-Box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 5 the second sestiad part two thereat smiled neptune and then told a tale how that a shepherd sitting in a veil played with a boy so lovely fair and kind as for his love both earth and heaven pined that of the cooling river durst not drink lest water-nymphs should pull him from the brink and when he sported in the fragrant lawns goat-footed satyrs and up-staring fawns would steal him thence ere half his tail was done "'I'm me,' Leander cried.

"'The enamoured sun that now should shine on Thetis glassy bower "'descents upon my radiant hero's tower. "'Oh, that these tardy arms of mine were wings!' "'And as he spake, upon the waves he springs, "'Neptune was angry that he gave no ear, and in his heart revenging malice bear. He flung at him his mace, but as it went he called it in,

for love made him repent. The mace returning back his own hand hit, as meaning to be venged for darting it. When this fresh bleeding wound Leander viewed, His colour went and came, As if he rude the grief which Neptune felt. In gentle breasts, Relenting thoughts, remorse and pity rests,

And who have hard hearts and obdurate minds, But vicious, hair-brained and illiterate hinds? The God, seeing him with pity, to be moved, thereon concluded that he was beloved. Love is too full of faith, too credulous, with folly and false hope deluding us. Wherefore Leander's fancy to surprise, to the rich ocean for gifts he flies, tis wisdom to give much. A guilt prevails when deep persuading oratory fails.

By this, Leander being near the land, cast down his weary feet and felt the sand. Breathless, albeit he were, he rested not till to the solitary tower he got, and knocked and called, at which celestial noise, the longing heart of hero much more joys, the nymphs and shepherds when the timbrel rings, or crooked dolphin when the sailor sings. She stayed not for her robes, but straight arose, and drunk with gladness to the door she goes, Where seeing a naked man, she screeched for fear. Such sights as this to tender maids are rare, and ran into the dark herself to hide. Rich jewels in the dark are soonest spied.

Unto her he was led, or rather drawn by those white limbs which sparkled through the lawn. The nearer that he came, the more she fled, and seeking refuge, slipped into her bed, Whereon Leander sitting, thus began, through numbing cold, all feeble, faint, and won. If not for love, yet love for pity's sake, me in thy bed and made, maiden bosom take. At least vouchsafe these arms some little room, who hoping to embrace the cheerly swoon. This head was beat with many a churlish billow, and therefore let it rest upon thy pillow. Here with affrighted, Hero shrunk away, And in her lukewarm place, Leanne

under lay, whose lively heat, like fire from heaven-fet, would animate gross clay, and higher set the drooping thoughts of base declining souls than dreary mars carousing nectar-bowls. His hands he cast upon her like a snare. She, overcome with shame and sallow fear, like chased Diana when Acteon spied her. Being suddenly betrayed, dived down to hide her. And as her silver body downward went, with both her hands she made the bed a tent, and in her own mind thought herself secure, or cast with her dim and darksome

coverture. And now she lets him whisper in her ear, flatter, entreat, promise, protest and swear. Yet ever, as he greedily assayed

to touch those dainties, she the harpy played, and every limb did as a soldier stout defend the fort, and keep the foeman out. For though the rising ivory mount he scaled,

Which is with azure circling lines impaled, Much like a globe. A globe, may I term this, By which love sails to regions full of bliss. Yet there with Sisyphus he toiled in vain, till gentle parley did the truce obtain. Even as a bird which in our hands we ring, forth plungeth, and oft flutters with her wing,

She trembling strove. This strife of hers, like that which made the world, Another world begat of unknown joy. Treason was in her thought, and cunningly to yield herself she sought. Seeming not one, yet one she was at length. In such wars women use but half their strength. Leander now, like Theban Hercules, entered the orchard of the Esperides. whose fruit none rightly can describe,

but he that pulls or shakes it from the golden tree, wherein Leander, on her quivering breast, breathless spoke something, and sighed out the rest, which so prevailed as he with smaller dew enclosed her, enclosed her in his arms, and kissed her too, and every kiss to her was as a charm, and to Leander as a fresh alarm, so that the truce was broke, and she, alas, poor silly maiden, at his mercy was.

Love is not full of pity, as men say, but deaf and cruel where he means to pray. And now she wished this night were never done, and sighed to think upon the approaching sun, for much it grieved her that the bright daylight should know the pleasure of this blessing night, and them, like Mars and Erycine, display both in each other's arms, chained as they lay. Again she knew not how to frame her look, or speak to him, who in a moment took that which so long, so charyly she kept, and fain by stealth away from. 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 sudden clinged her so about that

mermaid-like and to the floor she slid. One half appeared, the other half was hid. Thus near the bed, she, plushing, stood upright, and from her countenance, behold ye might, a kind of twilight break, which through the air, as from an orient cloud, glimpsed here and there, and round about the chamber, this false morn brought forth the day, before the day was born. So hero's ruddy cheek, hero betrayed, and her all naked to his sight displayed. Hence his admiring eyes more pleasure took than dis on heaps of gold fixing his

look. By this, Apollo's golden harp began to sound forth music to the ocean, which watchful Hesperus no sooner heard, but he the bright day-bearing car prepared, and ran before as harbinger of light, and with his flaring beams mocked ugly night, till she, or comely, with anguish, shame and rage. Danged down to hell, her loathsome carriage. Here Marlowe's work ends. The rest of the poem is by Chapman.

End of Section 5. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Section 6 of Hero and Leander. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 6.

The third Cestiad by George Chapman. The argument. Leander to the envious light resigns his night sports with the night, and swims the helisbont again. Thesmi, the deity sovereign of customs and religious rites, appears reproving his delights, since nuptial honours he neglected, which straight he vows shall be effected. Fair hero left Diverginette, weighs, and with fury wails her state.

But with her love and woman's wit she argues, and approveth it. New light gives new directions, fortunes new to fashion our endeavours that ensue, more harsh, at least more hard, more grave and high our subject runs, and our stern muse must fly. Love's edge is taken off, and that light flame, those thoughts, joys, longings, that before became high, unexperienced blood, and made sharp plights, must now grow staid, and censure the delights that being enjoyed asked judgment. Now we praise as having parted, evenings crown the days. And now ye wanton loves and young desires, Pied vanity, the mint of stranger tires,

Ye lisping flatteries and obsequious glances, Relentful musics and attractive dances, And you detested charms, constraining love, Shun love's stolen sport, by that these lovers prove. By this the sovereign of heaven's golden fires, and young Leander, lord of his desires, together from their lover's arms arose.

Leander into Hellespontus throws his hero-handled body, whose delight made him disdain each other epithet. And so, amidst the enamoured waves he swims, the god of gold, of purpose, guilt his limbs, that this word guilt, including double sense, the double guilt of his incontinence might be expressed, that had no stay to employ the treasure which the love-god let him joy in his dear hero, with such sacred thrift, as had be seemed so sanctified a gift. But like a greedy, vulgar prodigal, would on the stock dispend and rudely fall before his time, to that unblessed blessing,

Which for lust's plague Doth perish with possessing. Joy graven in sense, Like snow in water, Wastes, Without preserve a virtue, Nothing lasts. What man is he

That with a wealthy eye enjoys a beauty richer than the sky, Through whose white skin, softer than soundest sleep, With damask eyes the ruby blood doth peep, And runs in branches through her azure veins, Whose mixture and first fire his love attains, Whose both hands limit both loves deities,

and sweeten human thoughts like paradise whose disposition silken is and kind directed with an earth-exempted mind who thinks not heaven with such a love is given and who like earth would spend that dower of heaven with rank desire to joy it all at first what simply kills our hunger quencheth thirst clothes but our nakedness and makes us live praise does not any of her favours give but what doth plentifully minister beauteous of peril and delicious cheer, so ordered that it still excites desire, and still gives pleasure freeness to aspire, the palm of bounty, ever-moist preserving, to love sweet life, this is the courtly carving. Thus time, and all states ordering ceremony, had banished. all offence. Time's golden thigh upholds the flowery body of the earth in sacred harmony,

and every birth of men and actions makes legitimate. Being used aright, the use of time is fate. Yet did the gentle flood transfer once more this prize of love, home to his father's shore, where he unlades himself of that false wealth that makes few rich, treasures composed by stealth, and to his sister, kind Hermione, who on the shore kneeled, praying to the sea for his return, he all love's goods did show, in hero seized for him, in him for hero. His most kind sister, all his secrets knew, and to her singing like a shower he flew,

sprinkling the earth, that to their tombs took in streams dead for love to leave his ivory skin, which yet a snowy foam did leave above, a soul to the dead water that did love, and from thence did the first white roses spring, for love is sweet and fair in everything, and all the sweet and sure as he did go

was crowned with odorous roses white as snow. Love blessed Leander was with love, so filled, that love to all that touched him he instilled. And as the colours of all things we see, to our sights powers communicated be. So to all objects that encompass came of any sense he had, his senses flame flowed from his parts, with force so virtual, it With with sense, things mere incensual. Now with warm baths and odours comforted,

When he lay down, he kindly kissed his bed, As consecrating it to Hero's right, And vowed thereafter that whatever sight put him in mind of Hero or her bliss should be her altar to prefer a kiss. Then laid he forth his late enriched arms, In whose white circle love writ all his charms, And made his character's sweet hero's limbs. When on his breasts warm sea,

She sidling swims. And as those arms, up in circle met, he said, See, sister, Heroes Carcanet, which she had rather wear about her neck than all the jewels that do Juno-Dec. But as he shook with passionate desire to put in flame his other secret fire, a music so divine did pierce his ear, as never yet his ravished sense did hear, when suddenly a light of twenty hues break through the roof, and like the rainbow views, amazed Leander, in whose beams came down the goddess ceremony,

with a crown of all the stars, and heaven with her descended. Her flaming hair to her bright feet extended, by which hung all the bench of deities, and in a chain compact of ears and eyes she led religion. All her body was clear and transparent as the purest glass, for she was all presented to the sense. devotion, order, state, and reverence her shadows wear. Society, memory. All which her sight made live, her absence, die. A rich, disparant pentacle she wears, drawn full of circles and strange characters.

Her face was changeable to every eye, one way. looked ill, another graciously, which while men viewed they cheerful were and holy, but looking off vicious and melancholy. The snaky paths to each observed law did policy in her broad bosom draw. One hand a mathematical crystal swayes, which, gathering in one line a thousand rays from her bright eyes, confusion burns to death, and all estates of men distinguishes. By it morality and comeliness themselves in all their sightly figures dress.

Her other hand a laurel rod applies to beat back barbarism and avarice that followed eating earth and excrement and human limbs, and would make proud ascend to seats of gods where ceremony slain. The hours and graces bore her glorious train, and all the sweets of our society were speared and treasured in her bounteous eye. Thus she appeared, and sharply did reprove Leander's bluntness in his violent love, told him how poor was substance without rights, like bills unsigned, desires without delights, like meats unseasoned, like rank corn that grows on cottages that none or reaps or sows

or soes, not being with civil forms confirmed and bounded, for human dignities and comforts founded, but loose and secret all their glories hide, fear fills the chamber, darkness decks the bride. She vanished, leaving pierced Leander's heart with sense of his unmas. ceremonious part, in which, with plain neglect of nuptial rites, he close and flatly fell to his delights, and instantly he vowed to celebrate all rights pertaining to his married state. So up he gets, and to his father goes, to whose glad ears he doth his vows disclose, the nuptials are resolved with utmost power and he at night would swim to hero's tower from whence he meant to sestos forked bay to bring her covertly where ships must stay sent by his father throughly rigged and manned to waft her safely to abydos strand

there leave we him and with fresh wing pursue astonished hero whose most wish'd view i thus long have forborne because i left her so out of countenance and her spirits bereft her to look on one abashed is impudence when of slight faults he hath too deep a sense Her blushing Hett her chamber She looked out And all the air She purplied round about And after it

A foul black day Befell Which ever since A red morn doth foretell And still renews Our woes for heroes' Woe And foul it proved

Because it figured so the next night's horror which prepare to hear i fail if it profane your daintiest ear then ho most strangely intellectual fire that proper to my soul hast power to inspire her burning faculties and with the wings of thy unsphered flame visits to the springs of spirit immortal. Now, as swift as time doth follow motion, find the eternal climb of his free soul, whose living subject stood up to the chin in the Paerian flood, and drunk to me half this museum's story, inscribing it to deathless memory. Confer with it, and make my pledge as deep,

That neither's draught be consecrate to sleep. Tell it how much his late desires I tender, If yet it know not, And to light surrender my soul's dark offspring, Willing it should die to loves, to passions, and society. End of Section 6. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey.

Section 7 of Hero and Leander. This Libri-Box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 7 The third Cestiad, part two. Sweet hero, left upon her bed alone, her maidenhead, her vows, Leander, gone, and nothing with her but a violent crew of new-come thoughts, but yet she never knew, even to herself a

stranger, was much like the Iberian city that war's hand did strike by English force in princely Essex guide. When peace assured her towers had fortified, and golden-fingered India had bestowed such wealth on her that strength and empire flowed into her turrets, and her virgin waste, the wealthy girdle of the sea embraced. Till our Leander that made Mars his Cupid, for soft love suits with iron thunders chid, swum to her town, dissolved her virgin zone, led in his power, and made confused.

Rousian run through her streets amazed, that she supposed she had not been in her own walls enclosed, but rapt by wonder to some foreign state, seeing all her issue so disconsolate, and all her peaceful mansions possessed with wars just spoil, and many a foreign guest from every corner driving an enjoyer, supplying it with power of a destroyer. So fared fair hero in the expunid fort of her chaste bosom, and of every sort strange thoughts possessed her, ransacking her breast for that that was not there.

Her wonted rest. She was a mother straight, and bore with pain thoughts that spake straight, and wished their mother slain. She hates their lives, and they their own and hers. Such strife still grows where sin the race prefers. is a golden bubble full of dreams, that waking breaks and fills us with extremes. She mused how she could look upon her sire, and not show that without, that was entire, for as a glass is an inanimate eye, and outward forms embraceth inwardly.

So is the eye an animate glass, that shows in forms without us. And as Phoebus throws his beams abroad, though he in clouds be closed, still glancing by them till he find opposed a loose and roared vapour that is fit to vent his searching beams, useth it to form a tender twenty-coloured eye, cast in a circle round about the sky. So when our fiery soul, our body's star, that ever is in motion circular, conceives a form, in seeking to display it through all our cloudy parts, it doth convey it forth at the eye, the most pregnant place, and that reflects it round about the face. And this event, uncourtly hero thought, her inward guilt would in her looks have wrought,

for yet the world's stale cunning she resisted, to bear foul thoughts, yet forge what looks she listed, and held it for a very silly slight, to make a perfect metal counterfeit, glad to to disclaim herself proud of an art that makes the face a pander to the heart. Those be the painted moons whose lights profane beauties' true heaven, at full still in their wane. Those be the lapwing faces that still cry. Here tis! When that they vow is nothing nigh! Base fools! When every Moorish fool can teach that which men think the height of human reach! But custom that the apoplexy is of bedridden nature, and lives led amidst. and takes away all feeling of offence, yet brazed not hero's brow with impudence.

And this she thought most hard to bring to pass, to seem in countenance other than she was, as if she had two souls, one for the face, one for the heart, and that they shifted places either list to utter or conceal what they conceived, or as one's soul did deal with both affairs at once, keeps and ejects, both at an instant, contrary effects. Retention and ejection, in her powers being acts alike, for this one vice of ours, forms the thought and sways the countenance, rules both our motion and our utterance. These and more grave conceits toiled hero's spirits, For though the light of her discursive wits perhaps might find some little hole

to pass through all these worldly sanctures. Yet, alas, there was a heavenly flame encompassed her. Her goddess, in whose fain she did prefer her virgin vows, from whose impulsive sight she knew the black shield of the darkest night could not defend her, nor wit's subtlest art. This was the point pierced hero to the heart, who heavy to the death, with a deep sigh, and hand that languished, took a robe was nigh, exceeding large and of black cypress made, in which she sate hid from the day in shade. Even over head and face, down to her feet, her left hand made it at her bosom meet. Her right hand leaned on her heart-bowing knee, wrapped in unshapeful folds.

T'was death to see. Her knee stayed that, and that her falling face. Each limb helped other to put on disgrace. No form was seen where form held all her sight. But like an embryon that saw never light, Or like a scorched statue, Made a coal with three-winged lightning, Or a wretched soul muffled with endless darkness,

she did sit. The night had never such a heavy spirit. Yet might a penetrating eye well see how fast her clear tears melted on her knee through her black veil, and turned as black as it, mourning to be her tears. Then wrought her wit with her brook. vow, her goddess wrath, her fame, all tools that enginous despair could frame, which made her strew the floor with her torn hair, and spread her mantle piecemeal in the air. Like Jove's son's club, strong passion struck her down, and with a piteous shriek enforced her swoon her shriek made with another shriek ascend the frighted matron that on her detend and as with her own cry her sense was slain so with the other it was called again she rose and to her bed made forcet way and laid her down even where leander lay

and all this while the red sea of her blood ebbed with leander but now turned the flood and all her fleet of spirits came swelling in with child of sail and did hot fight begin with those severe conceits she too much marked and here leander's beauties were embarked 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 chide her soul that it could so much err to check the true joys he deserved in her. Her fresh heat blood cast figures in her eyes, and she supposed she saw in Neptune's skies how her star wandered, washed in smarting brine, for her love's sake, that with immortal

wine should be embathed. swim in more heart's ease than there was water in the cestian seas then said her cupid prompted spirit shall i sing moans to such delightsome harmony shall slick-tongued fame patched up with voices rude the drunken bastard of the multitude begot when farther judgment is away and gossessing Zip-like says because others say. Takes news as if it were too hot to eat, And spits its slavering forth for dog-fees meat. Make me, for forging a fantastic 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 the 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 joined in one ye 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 since they have lost the heavenly light should show show 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 wrapped with pastimes, pomp all joys impure. In things without us, no delight is sure. But love, with all joys crowned, within doth sit. O goddess, pity, love, and pardon it! Thus spake she weeping, but her goddess ear burned with too stern a heat and would not hear. Ay, me, hath heaven's straight fingers no more graces for such as hero than for homelier

faces. Yet she hoped well, and in her sweet conceit weighing her arguments she thought them wait, and that the logic 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 loved him too, and pardoned her offence. Beauty in heaven and earth this grace doth win. It supples rigour, 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 viewed Leander's place, and wished he were turned to his place, so his place where Leander. "'Aye me,' said she, "'that love's sweet life and sense, should do it harm. My love had not gone hence, had he been like his place. Oh, blessed place, image of constancy. Thus my love's grace parts nowhere, but it leaves something behind worth observation. He renowns his kind. His motion is like heavens or big 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. Oh, see what wealth it yields me, nay, yields him. For I am in it. it, he for me doth swim. Rich, fruitful love

That doubling self-estates, Elyxier-like, contracts, though separates. Dear place, I kiss thee, and do welcome thee, As from Leander ever sent to me. End of Section 7. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Section 8 of Hero and Leander. This Librivox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Martin Geeson. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 8. The fourth Cestiad. The argument. Hero, in sacred habit decked, 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, Cypredes descent, presaging both the lover's ends. Ecti, the goddess of remorse, with vocal and articulate force, inspires Leukote, Venus swan, to excuse the beauteous Cestian. Venus, to wreck her rights abuses, creates the monster Eronusisis, In flaming hero's sacrifice with lightning darted from her eyes, And thereof springs the painted beast that ever since taints every breast. Now from Leander's place she rose, And found her hair and rent robe scattered on the ground,

which, taking up, she every piece did lay upon an altar, where in youth of day she used to exhibit private sacrifice. These she would 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 vowed to end them, In hope her violent fancies that did rend them would as quite fade in her love's holy fire, As they should in the flames she meant to inspire. Then she put on all her religious weeds that decked her in her secret, sacred deeds, A crown of icicles, That sun nor fire could ever. ever melt, and figured chaste desire. A golden star shined in her naked breast, in honour of the

queen-light of the east. In her right hand she held a silver wand, on whose bright top Peristera did stand, who was a nymph, but now transformed a dove, and in her life was dearly. in Venus love. And for her sake, she ever since that time chose doves to draw her coach through heaven's blue climb. Her plenteous hair in curled billows swims on her bright shoulder. Her harmonious limbs sustained no more but a most subtle veil that hung on them, as it durst not not assail their different concord, for the weakest air could raise it swelling from her beauty's fair, nor did it cover but adambrate only her most heart-piercing parts, that a blessed eye might see, as it did shadow fearfully, all that all-love deserving paradise.

it was as blue as the most freezing skies near the seas hue for thence her goddess came on it a scarf she wore of wondrous frame in midst whereof she wrought a virgin's face from whose each cheek a fiery blush did chase two crimson flames that did two ways extend, spreading the ample scarf to either end, which figured the division of her mind, whilst yet she rested bashfully inclined and stood not resolute to wed Leander. This served her white neck for a purple sphere, and cast itself at full breadth down her back. There, since the first breath that begun the rack of her free quiet from Leander's lips, she wrought a sea in one flame full of ships. But that one ship where all her wealth did pass, like simple merchant's goods,

Leander was, for in that sea she naked figured him. Her diving needle taught him how to swim, and to each thread did such resemblance give, for joy to be so like him it did live. Things senseless live by art, and rational die by rude contempt of art and industry. Scarce could she work, but in her strength of thought, She feared she pricked Leander as she wrought, and oft would shriek so, That her guardian frighted, Would, staring, haste, As with some mischief sighted. They double life that dead things grief sustain, They kill that feel not their friends'

Living pain. Sometimes she feared he sought her infamy, and then, as she was working off his eye, she thought to prick it out to quench her ill. But as she pricked it grew more perfect still. Trifling attempts, no serious acts advance, the fire of love is blown by dalliance. In working his fair neck, she so did grace it. She still was working her own arms to embrace it. That and his shoulders and his hands were seen above the stream. And with a pure sea-green she did so quaintly shadow every limb,

all might be seen beneath the waves to swim. In this conceited scarf she wrought beside a moon in change, and shooting stars did glide in number after her with bloody beams, which figured her effects in their extremes, pursuing nature in her Synthian body, And did her thoughts running on change imply? For maids take more delight when they prepare, And think of wives' states than when wives they are.

Beneath all these, she wrought a fisherman, Drawing his nets from forth the ocean, Who drew so hard, ye might discover well the tough and sinews in his neck did swell. His inward strains drave out his bloodshot eyes, And springs of sweat did in his forehead rise. Yet was of naught but of a serpent sped, But in his bosom flew, and stung him dead.

And this by fate into her mind. mind was sent, not wrought by mere instinct of her intent. At the scarf's other end her hand did frame near the forked point of the divided flame, a country virgin keeping of a vine, who did of hollow bulrushes combine snares for the stubble-loving grasshopper, and by her lay her scrip that nourished her. Within a myrtle shade she satan sung, and tufts of waving reeds about her sprung where lurked two foxes, that while she applied her trifling snares, their thieveries did divide, one to divine another to her scrip, that she did negligently oversliss.

by which her fruitful vine and wholesome fare she suffered spoiled to make a childish snare. These ominous fancies did her soul express, and every finger made a prophetess, to show what death was hid in love's disguise, and make her judgment conquer destitute. O what sweet forms fair lady's souls do shroud, where they made seen and force it through their blood, if through their beauties, like rich work through lawn, they would set forth their minds with virtues drawn in letting graces from their fingers fly, to still their Aes-thoucest thoughts. with industry. That their pliard wits in numbered silks might sing Pashion's huge conquest, and their needles leading a faction prisoner through their own built cities, pinioned with stories and arachnian ditties. Proceed we now with hero's sacrifice. She odours burned, and from their smoke did rise unsavoury fumes, that air with plagues

inspired, and then the consecrated sticks she fired, on whose pale frame an angry spirit flew, and beat it down still as it upward grew. The virgin tapers that on the altar stood, when she inflamed them burned as red as blood. All sad or stents of that too near success that made such moving beauties motionless. Then Hero wept. But her affrighted eyes she quickly rested from the sacriended. sacrifice, shut them, and inwards for Leander looked, searched her soft bosom, and from thence she plucked his lovely picture, which when she had viewed her beauties were with all love's

joys renewed, the odours sweetened, and the fires burned clear, Leander's form left no ill object there. Such was his beauty, that the force of light, whose knowledge teacheth wonders infinite, the strength of number and proportion, nature had placed in it to make it known. Art was her daughter, and what human wits for study lost, entombed in drossy, spirit. spirits. After this accident, which for her glory hero could not but make a history, the inhabitants of Sestos and Abydos did every year, with feasts propitious, to fair Leander's picture sacrifice. And they were persons of special price that were allowed it, as an ornament to enrich their houses, for the continent of the strange virtues all approved it held.

For even the very look of it repelled all blastings, witchcrafts, and the strifes of nature in those diseases that no herbs could cure. The wolfy sting of avarice it would pull, and make the rankest miser bountiful. It killed the fear of thunder and of death. The discords that conceit engendereth twixt man and wife, It, for the time, would cease. The flames of love it quenched, and would increase. Held in a prince's hand,

It would put out the dreadfulest common. It would ease all doubt of threatened mischiefs. It would bring asleep such as we're mad. It would enforce to weep most barbarous eyes, and many more effects this picture wrought, and sprung Leandrian sects. Of which was hero first, for he whose form held in her hand. cleared such a fatal storm, from hell she thought his person would defend her, which night and Helispont would quickly send her.

With this confirmed she vowed to banish quite, all thought of any check to her delight, and in contempt of silly bashfulness she would the faith of her desire. profess, where her religion should be policy, to follow love with zeal, her piety. Her chamber, her cathedral church should be, and her Leander, her chief deity. For in her love, these did the gods forego. And though her knowledge did not teach her so, Yet did it teach her this, that what her heart did greatest hold in her self-greatest part, That did she make her God. And twas less nought to leave gods in profession and in thought than in her love and life,

For therein lies most of her duties and their dignities, and rail the brain-bald world at what it will. That's the grand atheism that reigns in it still. Yet singularity she would use no more, for she was singular too much before. But she would please the world with fair pretext. Love would not leave her conscience perplexed. Great men that will have less do for them still must bear them out, though the acts be ne'er so ill. Meanness must pander be to excellence. Pleasure atones falsehood and conscience. Deseembling was the worst, thought hero then, and that was best. Now she must live with men.

O virtuous love that taught her to do best when she did worst, and when she thought it least, Thus would she still proceed in works divine, and in her sacred state of priesthood shine, Handling the holy rites with hands as bold, as if therein she did Jove's thunder-hold, and need fear those menaces of error which she had others through with greatest terror. O lovely hero, nothing is thy sin weighed with those foul faults other priests are in, that having neither faiths nor works nor beauties to engender any excuse for slubbered duties, with as much countenance fill their holy chairs, and sweat denouncements against profane affairs, as if their lives were cut out by their places, and they the only fathers of the graces.

End of Section 8. Recording by Martin Gessen in Hazelmere, Surrey, Section 9 of His, Hero and Leander. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geithen. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 9.

Now, as with settled mind, she did repair her thoughts to sacrifice her ravished hair, and her torn robe which on the altar lay and only for religion's fire did stay she heard a thunder by the cyclops beaten in such a volley as the world did threaten given venus as she parted the airy sphere descending now to chide with hero here when suddenly the goddess waggoners the swans and turtles that encoupled fears through all world's bosoms draw her influence lighted in hero's window and from thence to her fair shoulders flew the gentle doves graceful aydone but sweet pleasure loves and rough-foot creste with the tufted crown both which did kiss her though their goddess frown the swans did in the solid flood her glass proing their fair plough

of which the fairest was jove-loved leucote that pure brightness is the other bounty-loving dapsilis all were in heaven now they with hero were but venus looks brought wrath and urged fear her robe was scarlet black her heads attire And through her naked breast shines streams of fire, As when the rarifired air is driven in flashing streams, And oaps the darkened heaven. In her white hand, a wreath of yew she bore, And breaking the icy wreath, sweet hero wore, forced about her brows her wreath of you, and said, Now Minion, to thy fate be true, though not to me, endure what this portends, Begin where lightness will, in shame it ends. Love makes thee cunning.

Thou art current now by being counterfeit. My broken vow, deceit with her pied garters must rejoin, and with her stamp thou countenances must coin. Coigness and pure deceit for purities, and still a maid wilt seem in cousin'd eyes, and have an antic face to laugh within, while thy smooth looks make men digest thy sin. But since thy lips, least thought foresworn, forswore, Be never virgin's vow worth trusting more. When Beauty's dearest did her goddess hear breathe such rebukes,

Against that she could not clear, Dumb sorrow spake aloud in tears and blood, That from her grief-burst veins, In piteous flood, From the sweet conduits of her favour fell. The gentle turtles did with moans make swell their shining gorges. The white, black-eyed swans did sing as woeful Episidians, as they would straightways die. When Pity's queen, the goddess Ecte, that had ever been hid in a watery cloud near his

Heroes' cries, since the first instant of her broken eyes, gave bright Leukote voice, and made her speak to ease her anguish, whose swollen breast did break with anger at her goddess, that did touch Hero so near, for that she used so much. and thrusting her white neck at Venus said, Why may not amorous hero seem a maid, Though she be none, As well as you suppress in modest cheeks, Your inward wantonness!

How often have we drawn you from above To exchange with mortals, Rights for rights in love? why in your priest then call you that offence that shines in you and is your influence with this the fury stopped leocote's lips enjoined by venus who with rosy whips beat the kind bird fierce lightning from her eyes did set on fire bare his hero's sacrifice, which was her torn robe and in forcet hair. And the bright flame became a maid, most fair for her aspect. Her tresses were of wire, knit like a net, where hearts set all on fire, struggled

in pants, and could not get released. Her arms were all with golden pincers dressed, and twenty fashioned knots, pulleys and brakes, and all her body girt with painted snakes. Her down parts in a scorpion's tail combined, freckled with twenty colours, pied wings shined out of her shoulders. Cloth had never die, nor sweeter colours, never view'd eye, in scorching turkey, caris, tartary, then shined about this spirit notorious, nor was Arachne's web so glorious. Of lightning and of shreds she was begot. more hold in base dissemblers is there not her name was eronusis

venus flew from hero's sight and at her chariot drew this wondrous creature to so steep a height that all the world she might command with slight of her gay wings And then she bade her haste, since Hero had dissembled and disgraced her rights so much. And every breast infect with her deceits, she made her architect of all dissimulation, and since then never was any trust in maids or men. It spited fair Venus heart to see her most delighted, and one she chose for temper of her mind To be the only ruler of her kind, So soon to let her virgin race be ended, Not solely for the fault a wit offended, but that in strife for chastness with the moon, spiteful Diana bade her show but one that was her servant vowed, and lived a maid. And now she thought to answer that upbraid,

Hero had lost her answer. Who knows not Venus would seem as far from any spot, of light demeanour, as the very skin twixt Cynthia's brows. Sin is ashamed of sin. Up Venus flew, and scarce durst up for fear of Phoebe's laughter when she passed her sphere. And so most ugly clouded was the light. That day was hid in day. night came ere night and venus could not through the thick air pierce till the day's king god of undaunted verse because she was so plentiful a theme to such as wore his laurel anademe like to a fiery bullet made descent and from her passage those fat vapours rent that being not thoroughly rarefied to rain melted like pitch as blue as any vein. And scalding tempests made the earth to shrink under their fervour,

and the world did think in every drop a torturing spirit flew. It pierced so deeply, and it burned so. blue. Betwixt all this and hero, Hero held Leander's picture as a Persian shield, and she was free from fear of worst success. The more ill threats us, we suspect the less. As we grow hapless, Violent, subtle grows, dumb, deaf and blind, and comes when no man knows. End of Section 9. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere, Surrey. Section 10 of Hero and Leander.

This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson Hero and Leander By Christopher Marlow and George Chapman Section 10 The fifth Cestiad by George Chapman Part 1 The Argument

Day doubles her accustomed date as loathe the knight incensed by fate Should wreck our lovers Heroes plight Longs for Leander and the knight Which ere her thirsty wish recovers She scents for two betrothed lovers And marries them

That with their crew their sports and ceremonies due she covertly might celebrate with secret joy her own estate. She makes a feast, at which appears the wild nymph, Terrace, that still bears an ivory lute, tells ominous tales, and sings at solemn festivals. Now was bright hero weary of the day, thought an Olympiad in Leander's stay. Sol and the soft foot hours hung on his arms, and would not let him swim for seeing his harms.

That day Aurora double grace obtained of her love Phoebus. She his horses reigned, set on his golden knee, and as she laced she pulled him back and as she pulled she kissed to have him turn to bed he loved her more to see the love leander hero bore examples profit much ten times in one in persons full of note good deeds are done day was so long Men walking fell asleep. The heavy humours that their eyes did steep made them fear mischiefs. The hard streets were beds for covetous churls

and for ambitious heads that spite of nature would their business ply. All thought they had the falling epilepsy. Men grovelled so upon the spirit. smothered ground, and pity did the heart of heaven confound. The gods, the graces, and the muses came down to the destinies, to stay the frame of the true lover's deaths and all world's tears. But death before had stopped their cruel ears.

All the celestials parted mourning. then, pierced with our human miseries more than men. Ah, nothing doth the world with mischief fill, but want of feeling one another's ill. With their descent the day grew something fair, and cast a brighter robe upon the air. Hero, to shorten time with merriment, for young Alkmane and bright Maya sent,

two lovers that had long craved marriage dues at Hero's hands, but she did still refuse. For lovely Maya was her consort vowed in her maid state, and therefore not allowed to amorous nuptials. Yet fair hero now intended to dispense with her cause, cold vow, since hers was broken, and to marry her. The rites would pleasing matter minister to her conceits, and shortened tedious day. They came, sweet music ushered the odorous way, and wanton air in twenty sweet forms danced after her fingers. Beauty and lovely,

love advanced their ensigns in the downless rosy faces of youths and maids, led after by the graces. For all these Hero made a friendly feast, welcomed them kindly, did much love protest, winning their hearts with all the means she might, that when her fault should chance to abide the light, their loves might cover or extenuated, and high in her worst fate, make pity sit. She married them, and in the banquet came, born by the virgins. Hero strived to frame her thoughts to mirth. Ay me, but hard it is to imitate a false and forced bliss. Ill may a sad mind forge a merry face, nor hath constrained laughter any grace.

Then late she whines on cares to make them sink. Who fears the threats of fortune, let him drink. To these quick nuptials entered suddenly, admired terrace with the ebon thigh, a nymph that haunted the green Cestian groves, and would consort soft virgins in their loves, at gaysome triumphs and on solemn days, singing prophetic egregies and lays, and fingering of a silver lute she tied with black,

and purple scarfs by her left side. Apollo gave it, and her skill withal, and she was termed his dwarf, she was so small, yet great in virtue, for his beams enclosed his virtues in her. Never was proposed riddle to her, or orchery, strange or new, but she resolved. it. Never slight tale flew from her charmed lips without important sense, shown in some grave succeeding consequence. This little sylvan, with her songs and tales, gave such estate to feasts and nuptials that though oft times she forewent tragedies, yet for her strangeness, still she pleased their eyes. And for her smallness, they admired her so, they thought her perfect born and could not grow. All eyes were on her. Hero did command an altar decked with sacred

state should stand at the feast's upper end, close by the bride, on which the pretty nymph might sit espied. Then all were silent. Everyone so hears as all their senses climbed into their ears. And first this amorous tale that fitted well fair hero and the nuptials, she did tell. The tale of Terrace! Hyman, that now is God of nuptial rites, and crowns with honour, love, and his delights, of Athens was a youth, so sweet a face that many thought him of the female race. Such quickening brightness did his clear eyes dart, warm went their beams to his beholder's

heart. In such pure leagues his beauties were combined, that there your nuptial contracts first were signed, for as proportion white and crimson meet in beauty's mixture, all right, clear and sweet, the eye responsible, the golden hair, and none is held without the other fair, all spring together, all together fade. Such intermixed affections should invade two perfect love, lovers, which being yet unseen, their virtues and their comforts copied been in beauty's concord, subject to the eye, and that in Hyman pleased so matchlessly, that lovers were esteemed in their full grace, like form and colour mixed in Hyman's face. And such sweet concord was

thought worthy then of torches, music, feasts, and greatest men. So Hyman looked that even the chastest mind he moved to join in joys of sacred kind, for only now his chins first down consorted his head's rich fleece in golden curls contorted. And as he's he was so loved, he loved so too. So should best beauties bound by nuptials do. End of Section 10. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Section 11 of Hero and Leander. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. hero and leander by christopher marlowe and george chapman section eleven the fifth cestiad part two the tale of terrace continued bright eucharis who was by all men said the noblest fairest and the richest made of all the athenian damsels highest made of all the athenian damsels high

and loved with such transmission that his heart removed from his white breast to hers. But her estate, in passing his, was so interminate for wealth and honour, that his love durst feed on naught but sight and hearing, nor could breed hope of requital, the grand prize of love. Nor could he hear or, or sea, but he must prove how his rare beauty's music would agree with maids in consort. Therefore robbed he his chin of those same few first fruits it bore, and clad in such attire as virgins wore. He kept them company, and might right well, for he did all but Eucharis excel in all the fair,

of beauty. Yet he wanted virtue to make his own desires implanted in his dear Eucharis, for women never love beauty in their sex, but envy ever. His judgment yet, that durst not suit a dress, nor past due means presume of due success, reason gat fortune in the end to speed to his best prayers. But strange it seemed indeed That fortune should a chaste affection bless. Prevourment seldom graceseth bashfulness. Nor graced it Hyman yet.

But many a dart, and many an amorless thought enthrilled his heart ere he obtained her. And he sick became, forced to abstain her sight. And then the flame raged in his bosom. Oh, what grief did fill him. Sight made him sick, and want of sight did kill him. The virgins wondered where Diasia stayed, for so did Hyman term himself a maid. at length with sickly looks he greeted them tis strange to see gainst what an extreme stream a lover strives poor hymen looked so ill

that as in merit he increases still by suffering much so he in grace decreased women are most one when men merit least. If merit look not well, love bids stand by. Love's special lesson is to please the eye. And Hyman, soon recovering all he lost, deceiving still these maids, but himself most, his love and he, with many virgin dames, noble by birth, noble by beauty-s, flames, leaving the town with songs and hallowed lights to do great Ceres Eleusina rites of zealous sacrifice, where made a prey to barbarous rovers that in ambush lay, and with rude hands enforced their shining spoil, far from the darkened city, tired with toil. And when the yellow issue of the sky came trooping forth,

jealous of cruelty to their bright fellows of this under heaven, into a double night they saw them driven, a horrid cave, the thief's black mansion, where weary of the journey they had gone, their last night's watch, and drunk with their sweet gains, dull morphius entered laden with silken chains stronger than iron and bound the swelling veins and tired senses of these lawless swains but when the virgin lights thus dimly burned oh what a hell was heaven in how they mourned and wrung their hands and wound their gentle

forms into the shapes of sorrow. Golden storms fell from their eyes. As when sun appears and yet it rains, so showed their eyes their tears. And as when funeral dames watch a dead course, weeping about it, telling with remorse what pains he felt, how long in pain he lay. How little food he ate, what he would say, And then mix mournful tales of others' deaths, Smothering themselves in clouds of their own breaths.

At length, one cheering other call for wine. The golden bowl drinks tears out of their ine, As they drink wine from it, And round it goes, each helping other to release, their woes. So cast these virgins' beauties, mutual rays. One lights another, face the face displays, lips by reflection kissed, and hands, hands shook, even by the whiteness each of other took. But Hyman now used friendly Morpheus aid, Slough every thief and rescued every maid.

And now did his ennoured passion take heart from his hearty deed, whose worth did make his hope of Bounteous Eucharis more strong. And now came love with Proteus, who had long juggled the little God with prayers and gifts, through all shapes and varied all his shifts to win love stay with him and make him love him and when he saw no strength of slight could move him to make him love or stay he nimbly turned into love's self he so extremely burned and thus came love with proteus and his power to encounter eucharis first like the flower that juno's milk did spring the silver lily he fell on hymen's hand who straight did spy the bounteous godhead and with wondrous joy offered it eucharice she wondrous coy drew back her hand the subtle flower did woo it and drawing it near mixed so you could not know it as two clear tapers mix in one their light so did the lily and the hand they're white she viewed it and her view the form bestows among her spirits for as colour flows from superficially from superficially

of each thing we see, even so with colours forms emitted be. And where love's form is, love is, love is form. He entered at the eye, his sacred storm rose from the hand, love's sweetest instrument. It stirred her blood sea so that high it went, and beat in bashful waves against the white shore of her divided cheeks. It raged the more because the tide went against the haughty wind of her estate and birth. And as we find in fainting ebbs, the flowery zephyrls the green-haired helispont, broken silver curls against Hero's Tower,

But in his blasts retreat, the waves obeying him they after beat, Leaving the chalky shore a great way pale, Then moisted freshly with another gale. So ebbed and flowed in Eucharis's face, Coigness and love, strived which had greatest grace. Viginity did fight on coitus, side, fear of her parents frowns, and female pride loathing the lower place, more than it loves the high contents, desert and virtue moves. With love, Fort Hymen's beauty and his valuer, which scarce

could so much favour, yet allure to come to strike, but fameless idle stood. Action is fiery valour's sovereign good. But love once entered wished no greater aid than he could find within. Thought, thought betrayed. The bribed but incorrupted garrison sung. your highman there those songs begun and love was grown so rich with such a gain and wanton with the ease of his free reign that he would turn into her roughest frowns to turn them out and thus he hymen crowns king of his thoughts man's great empiry. This was his first brave step to deity.

Home to the morning city they repair, with news as wholesome as the morning air, to the sad parents of each savoured maid. But Hymen and his Eucharis had laid this plot to make the flame of their delight round as the moon at full and full as bright end of section eleven recording by martin gison in hazelmea surrey section twelve of hero and leander this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin gison Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlow and George Chapman Section 12 The Fifth Cestiad, Part 3 The tale of Terrace continued

Because the parents of chaste Eucharis exceeding hymen's so might cross their bliss and as the world rewards deserts, that law cannot assist with force, so when they saw their daughter safe, take vantage of their own, praise Hymen's valour much, nothing bestone. Hymen must leave the virgins in a grove far off from Athens, and go first to prove, if to restore, them all with fame and life, he should enjoy his dearest as his wife.

This told to all the maids the most agree, the riper sort, knowing what tis to be the first month of a news so far derived, and that to hear and bear news brave folks lived, as being a carriage special heart to bear occurrence. These occurrants being so dear, they did with grace protest. They were content to accost their friends with all their compliment for Hymen's good, but to incur their harm,

there he must pardon them. This wit went warm to Adolesche's brain, A nymph born high made all a voice and fire that upwards fly. Her heart and all her forces nether train climbed to her tongue and thither fell her brain. Since it could go no higher, and it must go. All power she had, even her tongue did so. In spirit and quickness she much to. joy did take, and loved her tongue only for quickness's sake.

And she would haste and tell. The rest all stay. Hyman goes one, the nymph another way. And what became of her I'll tell at last. Yet take her visage now, moist-lipped, long-faced, thin like an iron wedge, so he sharp and tart as twere of purpose made to cleave love's heart well were this lovely beauty rid of her and hymen did at athens now prefer his welcome suit which he with joy aspired a hundred princely youths with him retired to fetch the nymphs chariots and and music went and home they came heaven with applause is rent the nuptials straight proceed whilst all the town fresh in their joys might do the most renown

first gold-locked hymen did to church repair like a quick offering burned in flames of hair and after with a virgin firmament the Godhead-proving bride attended went before them all. She looked in her command as if form-giving Cypria's silver hand gripped all their beauties and crushed out one flame. She blushed to see how beauty overcame the thoughts of all men. Next, before her went five lovely. children decked with ornament of her sweet colours, bearing torches by. For light was held a happy augury of generation, whose efficient right is nothing else but

to produce to light. The odd disparate number they did choose to show the union married loves should use, since in two equal parts it will not sever, but the midst holds one to rejoin it ever, as common to both parts. Men therefore deem that equal number gods do not esteem, being authors of sweet peace and unity, but pleasing to the infernal empire, under whose ensigns wars and discords fight, since an even number you may disunite in two parts equal, not in middle left to reunite each part from other left, and five they hold in most especial prize, since tis the first of the first odd number that doth rise from the two foremost numbers unity that odd and even are which are two and three for one no number is but thence doth flow the powerful race of number next did go a noble matron that did spinning bear a hussif's rock and spindle and did where

a weather's skin with all the snowy fleece to intimate that even the daintiest peace and noblest born dame should industrious be that which does good disgraceth no degree End of Section 12. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Section 13 of Hero and Leander. This Libri-Box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman.

Section 13. The fifth Cestiad, part four. The tale of Terrace concluded. And now to Juno's temple they are come, where her grave priest stood in the marriage room. On his right arm did hang a scarlet veil, and from his shoulders to the ground did trail on either side ribbons of white and blue. With the red veil he hid the bashful hue of the chaste

bride, to show the modest shame in coupling with a man should grace a dame. Then took he the disparate silks and tied the lovers by the wastes, and side by side, in token that hereafter they must bind in one self-sacred not each other's mind. Before them on an altar, he presented both fire and water, which was first invented. Since to engenerate every human creature, and every other birth produced by nature, moisture and heat must mix. So man and wife for human race, must join in nuptial life. Then one of Juno's birds, the painted J he sacrificed,

and took the gall away, all which he did behind the altar throw, in sign no bitterness of hate should grow twixt married loves, nor any least disdain. Nothing they spake, for twas esteemed too plain for the most silken mildness of a maid to let a public audience here it said she boldly took the man and so respected was bashfulness in athens it erected to chaste agnea which is shamefacedness a sacred temple holding her a goddess

And now to feasts, masks, and triumphant shows, the shining troops returned, even till earth's throes brought forth with joy the thickest part of night, when the sweet nuptial song that used to sight all to their rest was by Femonoi sung, first Delphian prophetess, whose grace is sphys' sprung out of the muses well. She sung before the bride into her chamber, at which door a matron and a torch-bearer did stand. A painted box of comfits in her hand the matron held, and so did other some that compassed round the honoured nuptial room. The custom was that every maid did wear, during her maidenhead, a silken sphere about her waist, Above her inmost weed, knit with Minerva's knot. And that was freed by the fair bridegroom on the marriage night, with many ceremonies of delight. And yet eternized Hyman's tender-groom. bride, to suffer it dissolved so sweetly cried. The maids that heard so loved and did adore her, they wished with all their hearts to

suffer for her. So had the matrons that with comfort stood about the chamber, such affectionate blood and so true feeling of her harmless pains, that every one a shower of cup. comfits reigns, for which the bride-youths scrambling on the ground, In noise of that sweet hail, her cries were drowned. And thus blessed Hyman joyed his gracious bride, And for his joy was after deified. The saffron mirror by which Phoebus love green tell us,

her now he held above the cloudy mountains and the noble maid sharp-visaged adolesque but was strayed out of her way in hasting with her news not till this hour the athenian turret's views and now brought home by guides she heard by all that her long-kept occurrence would be stale And how fair Hyman's honours did excel for those rare news which she came short to tell. To hear her dear tongue robbed of such a joy, Made the well-spoken nymph take such a toy that down she sunk. When lightning from above shrunk her lean body, and for mere free love turned her into the pied-plumed psytacus, that now the parrot is surnamed by us,

who still with counterfeit confusion prates naught but news common to the commonest mates. This told, strange terrace touched her lute, and sung this ditty that the torchy evening sprung. Epithalamion Teratos. Come, come, dear knight, Love's mart of kisses, sweet clothes of his ambitious line, The fruitful summer of his blisses, Love's glory doth in darkness shine,

Oh, come soft rest of cares, come night. Come naked virtues only tire, The reaped harvest of the light Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire. Love calls to war, sighs his alarms, Lips his swords are, The field his arms. Come night and lay thy velvet hand on glorious days out-facing face,

And all thy crowned flames command For torches to our nuptial grace. Love calls to war, sighs his alarms, Lips his swords are, The field his arms. need have we of factious day to cast in envy of thy peace her balls of discord in thy way here beauty's day doth never cease day is abstracted here and varied in a triple sphere hero alcmane maya so outshine thee ere thou come here let thine Thrice, thrice, refine thee. Love calls to war, sighs his alarms, lips his swords are, the field his arms. The evening star I see. Rise youths. The evening star helps love to summon war, both now embracing be. Rise, youths. Love's right claims more than banquets. Rise!

Now the bright marigolds that deck the skies, Phoebus celestial flowers, That contrary to his flowers here, Ope when he shuts his eye, And shut when he doth open, crown your sports. Now love in night, and night in love exhort. Love exhorts courtship and dances. All your parts employ and suit nights' rich expansion with your joy.

Love paints his longings in sweet virgin's eyes. Rise, youths. Love's right claims more than banquets. Rise! Rise, virgins! fair nuptial loves enfold your fruitless breasts. The maidenheads ye hold are not your own alone, but part it are, part in disposing them your parents share. And that a third part is, so must he save your loves a third, and you your thirds must

you your thirds must have. Love paints his longings in sweet virgin's eyes. Rise, youths. Love's rights claim more than banquets. Rise! Herewith the amorous spirit that was so kind to terras hair And combed it down with wind, still as it comet-like break from her brain,

Would needs have terrace gone, And did refrain to blow it down, Which, staring up, dismayed the timorous feast, And she no longer stayed, But bowing to the bridegroom and the bride, Did like a shooting exhalation, Glide out of their sights, The turning of her back made them all shriek.

It looked so ghastly black. O hapless hero, That most hapless cloud Thy soon succeeding tragedy foreshowed. Thus all the nuptial crew to joys depart. But much-wrung hero stood hell's blackest dart whose wound because i grieve so to display i use digressions thus to increase the day end of section thirteen Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey.

Section 14 of Hero and Leander. This Libri-Box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. Section 14. The Sixth, Sestiad by George Chapman, Part 1, The Argument. Leukote flies to all the winds, and from the fates their outrage blinds, that Hero and her

love may meet. Leander, with love's complete fleet, mound in himself, puts forth to seize. the ruthless destinies, with Artie, stirs the winds to war upon the hellespont. Their jar drowns, poor Leander. Hero's eyes, wet witnesses of his surprise, her torch blown out, grief casts her down upon her love, and both doth drown. In whose just Ruth the God of Seas transforms them to the Acanthides. No longer could the day nor destinies delay the night, Who now did frowning rise into her throne, And at her humorous breasts, visions and dreams lay sucking.

all men's rests fell like the mists of death upon their eyes days too long darts so killed their faculties the winds yet like the flowers to cease began for bright locote venus whitest swan that held sweet hero dear spread her fair wings like to a field of snow, and message brings from Venus to the Fates, to entreat them lay their charge upon the winds, their rage to stay, that the stern battle of the seas might cease, and guard Leander to his love in peace. The Fates consent, I me, dissembling Fates, they showed their their favours, to conceal their hates, and draw Leander on, lest seas too high should stay his too obsequious destiny, who like a flearing slavish parasite in warping prophet or a traitorous slight

Hoops round his rotten body with devotes, and pricks his descant face, full of false notes, praising with open throat, and oaths as foul as his false heart, the beauty of an owl, kissing his skipping hand with charmed skips that cannot leave, but leaps upon his lips like a cock-sparrow or a shameless queen sharp at a red-lipped youth, and naught doth mean of all his antics shows, but doth repair more tender fawns, and takes a scattered hair from his tame subject's shoulder, whips and calls for everything he lacks creeps against the walls with backward humbless to give needless way thus his false fate did with leander play first to black yuras flies the white leucote born mongst the negroes in the levant sea on whose curled head

the glowing sun doth rise, and shows the sovereign will of destinies to have him cease his blasts, and down he lies. Next to the Fennie notice course she holds, and found him leaning with his arms in folds upon a rock, his white hair full of showers, and him she chargeth by the fate, powers, to hold in his wet cheeks his cloudy voice. To Zephyr, then, that doth in flowers rejoice. To snake-foot Boreas, next she did remove, and found him tossing of his ravished love, to heat his frosty bosom, hidden snow, who with Leocote's sight did cease,

to blow. Thus all were still to hero's heart's desire, who with all speed did consecrate a fire of flaming gums and comfortable spice to light her torch, which in such curious price she held, being object to Leander's sight, that naught but fires perfumed must give it light. She loved it so, she grieved to see it burn, since it would waste, and soon to ashes turn. Yet, if it burned not, twere not worth her eyes. What made it nothing, gave it all the prize. Sweet torch, true glass of our society, what man does good, but he is, he, consumes thereby. But thou wert loved for good, held high, given show. Poor virtue loathed for good, obscured, held low. Do good be pined, be deedless, good, disgraced. Unless we feed on men, we let them fast.

Yet hero with these thoughts her torch did spend. When bees make wax, Nature doth not intend it should be made a torch, But we that know the proper virtue of it make it so, And when tis made, we light it. Nor did nature propose one life to maids, But each such creature makes by her soul the best of her true state, Which without love is rude, disconsolate,

And once loves fire to make it mild and bright, Till when maids are but torches wanting light. Thus against our grief, not cause of grief we fight. The right of naught is gleaned 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, some and end, For all the parts that did on love depend,

yet cast the torch his brightness further forth, but what shines nearest best holds truest worth. Leander did not through such tempest swim to kiss the torch, although it lighted him, but all his powers in her desires awaked. Her love and virtues clothed him richly, naked. Men kiss but fire that only shows pursue. Her torch and hero, figure show and virtue. Now at opposed Abidos, naught was heard but bleating flocks, and many a bellowing herd, slain for the nuptials. Cracks of falling woods, blows of broad axes, pourings out of floods. The guilty hellespont was mixed and stained with bloody torrent that the shambles reigned. Not arguments of feast, but shows that bled, for telling that red knight that follow-ed.

more blood was spilt more honours were addressed than could have grace at any happy feast rich banquets triumphs every pomp employs his sumptuous hand no miser's nuptile joys air felt continual thunder with the noise made in the general marriage violence and now No man knew the cause of this expense, but the two hapless lords, Leander's sire, and poor Leander. Poorest where the fire of credulous love made him most rich surmised. As short was he of that himself so prized, as is an empty gallant full of form, that thinks each look and act, each drop a storm that falls from his brave breathings. Most brought up in our metropolis, and hath his cup brought after him to feasts,

and much palm bears for his rare judgment in the attire he wears. Hath seen the hot, low countries, not their heat, observe their rampires and their buildings yet, And for your sweet discourse with mouths, Is heard giving instructions with his very beard, Hath gone with an ambassador, And been a great man late in travelling, even to reen, And then puts all his worth in such a face

As he saw brave men mean, and strives for grace to get his news forth. As when you descry a ship, with all her sail contends to fly out of the narrow Thames, with winds unapt. Now crosseth here, then there, then his way rapt, and then hath one point reached, then alters all, and to another crooked reach doth fall, of half a bird-bolts shoot keeping more coil than if she danced upon the ocean's toil so serious is his trifling company in all his swelling ship of vacantry and so short of himself in his high thought was our leander in his fortunes brought and in his fort of his fort of love that he thought won. But otherwise he scorns comparison.

O sweet Leander, Thy large worth I hide in a short grave. Ill-favoured storms must chide thy sacred favour. I, in floods of ink must drown thy graces, which white papers drink, even as thy beauties did the foul black seas. I must describe the hell of thy decease, that heaven did merit. Yet I needs must see our painted fools, and cock-horse peasantry, still usurp with long lives loves and lust the seats of virtue cutting short as dust her dear bought issue ill to worse converts and tramples in the blood of all deserts end of section fourteen recording by martin gison in hazelmere surrey section fifteen of hero and leander this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin geesean hero and leander by christopher marlowe and geoffman

section fifteen the sixth cestiad part two night close and silent now goes fast before the captains and the soldiers to the shore on whom attended the appointed fleet at cestos bay that should leander meet who feigned he in another ship would pass, which must not be, for no one mean there was to get his love home, but the course he took. Fourth did his beauty for his beauty look, and saw her through her torch, as you behold sometimes within the sun a face of gold, formed in strong thoughts by that tradition's force that As a God sits there and guides his course. His sister was with him, to whom he showed his guide by sea, and said, oft have you viewed in one heaven many stars, but never yet in one star many heavens

till now were met. See lovely sister, see now hero shines. heaven but her appears. Each star repines, and all are clad in clouds, as if they mourned to be by influence of earth outburned. Yet doth she shine, and teacheth virtues train, still to be constant in hell's blackest rain, though even the gods themselves do so entreat them. as they did hate, and earth as she would eat them.

Off went his silken robe, and in he leapt, whom the kind wave so lichorously clept, thickening for haste, one in another, so to kiss his skin, that he might almost go to to Hero's Tower had that kind minute lasted. But now the cruel fates, with Artie, hasted to all the winds, and made them battle fight upon the hellespont, for either's right pretended to the windy monarchy. And forth they break, the seas mixed with the sky, and tossed distrable. dressed Leander, being in hell as high as heaven. Bliss not in height doth dwell.

The destinies sate dancing on the waves, to see the glorious winds with mutual braves consume each other. O true glass, to see how ruinous, ambitious statists be to their own. glories. Poor Leander cried for help to seaborne Venus. She denied. To Borias, that for his Athea's sake he would some pity on his hero take, and for his own love's sake on his desires. But glory never blows cold pity's fires. Then called he Neptune, who through all the noise knew with a fright his wrecked Leander's voice, and up he rose.

For haste his forehead hit against heaven's hard crystal. His proud waves he smit with his forked sceptre that could not obey. greater powers the Neptunes gave them sway. They loved Leander so in groans they break when they came near him, and such space did take twixt one another, loath to issue on that in their shallow furrows earth was shown, and the poor lover took a little breath. the cursed fates, sate spinning of his death on every wave, and with the servile winds tumbled them on him.

And now hero finds, by that she felt, her dear Leander's state. She wept, and prayed for him to every fate, and every wind that whipped her with her hair about the face. She kissed and spake it fair, kneeled to it, gave it drink out of her eyes to quench his thirst. But still their cruelties, even her poor torch envied, and rudely beat the baiting flame from that dear food it ate. Dear, for it nourished her Leander's life, which with her robe she rescued from their strife, but silk too soft was such hard hearts to break, and she, dear soul, even as her silk, Faint, weak, could not preserve it.

Out, oh, out it went! Leander still called Neptune, that now rent his brackish curls, and tore his wrinkled face, Where tears in billows did each other chase, and burst with Ruth, he hurled his marble mace at the stern fates. It wounded Larchesis that drew Leander's thread, and could not miss the thread itself, as it her hand did hit, but smote it full, and quite did sunder it. The more kind Neptune raged, the more he raised his love's life fought, and killed as he embraced. Anger doth still his own mishap increase. If any comfort live,

it is in peace. O thievish fates, to let blood, flesh and sense, build two fair temples for their excellence to rob it with a poisoned influence. Those souls' gifts starve, The bodies are held dear in ugliest things. Sense sport preserves a bear, But here naught serves our turns. O heaven and earth, how most most wretched is our human birth! And now did all the tyrannous crew depart, knowing there was a storm in hero's heart, greater than they could make, and scorned their smart. She bowed herself so low out of her tower, that wonder twas she fell not ere her hour,

searching the lamenting waves for him. Like a poor snail, her gentle, supple limb hung on her turret's top, so most downright as she would dive beneath the darkness quite to find her jewel. Jewel! jewel, her Leander, a name of all earth's jewels, pleased not her like his dear name. Leander, still my choice, come naught but my Leander. O my voice turn to Leander, henceforth be all sounds, accents and phrases that show all grief's wounds analyzed in Leander. Oh, black change, trumpets do you, with thunder of your clang, drive out this change's horror. My voice faints. Where all joy was, now shriek out all complaints.

Thus cried she, for her mixed soul could tell her love was dead. And when the morning fell prostrate upon the weeping earth for woe, blushes that bled out of her cheeks did show Leander brought by Neptune, bruised and torn with city's ruins he to rocks had worn, to filthy usuring rocks that would have blood, though they could get of him no other good. She saw him, and the sight was much, much more than might have served to kill her. Should her store of giant sorrow speak? burst die bleed and leave poor plait to us that shall succeed

she fell on her love's bosom hugged it fast and with leander's name she breathed her last Neptune, for pity in his arms, did take them, flung them into the air, and did awake them like two sweet birds, surnamed the acanthides, which we call thistle warps, that near no seas dare ever come, but still in couples fly, and feed on thistle tops, to testes'-tops, to testes'er never come, but still in couples fly, and feed on thistle-tops, to testes. testify the hardness of their first life in their last. The first in thorns of love that sorrows past, and so most beautiful their colours show as none, so little, like them. Her sad brow a sable velvet feather covers quite, even like the forehead cloth that in the night, or when they sorrow, ladies use to wear. Their wings, blue, red and yellow, mixed appear.

Colours that, as we construe colours, paint their states to life. The yellow shows their saint, the dainty Venus left them. Blue their truth. the red and black ensigns of death and ruth. And this true honour from their love-death sprung. They were the first that ever poet sung. End of Section 15. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere Surrey.

End of Hero and Leander. by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman.