THE Second Part of HERO and LEANDER. Containing their further Fortunes. By Henry Petowe.  
Sat citò, si sit bene.  
LONDON, Printed by Thomas Purfoot, for Andrew Harris, and are to be sold at his shop, under the Pope's head next to the Royal Exchange. 1598.   

¶ To the Right worshipful sir Henry Guildford Knight, H. P. wisheth all increase of worship, and endless Felicity.  
RIght Worshipful, although presumption merit penance in dedicating such rude and unpollished lines, to the protection of so worthy a parsonage: yet I hope your wont favour and clemency will privilege me from blame, and accept of the giver, as one who would hazard life to move your Wor: the least jot of content. If it be thought a point of wisdom in that impoverished soul, that by taking sanctuary, doth free himself from many dangers: then impute no blame unto myself, that seek for safeguard, being round beset with many enemies. No sooner had report made known my harmless Muses first progress, how she intended to make trial of her unfledged plumes; but (my self being present where that babbling dame was prating) I heard injurious Envy, reply to this effect, 
Dares she presume to fly, that cannot go?  
We'll cut her plumes said they, it shall be so.  Then with a snarl or two, these ever meddling Carpers betook them to their cabins. At the next rousing; I expect no other favour, then Envies extremest fury, which to withstand, if I may purchase your Wor: safe protection, no better guard will my fearful soul desire. To make the cause manifest unto your worthine, why Envy thus barketh at me, I entreat your wisdom to consider the sequel. This History of Hero and Leander, penned by that admired Poet Marlow: but not finished (being prevented by sudden death:) and the same (though not abruptly, yet contrary to all men's expectation) resting like a head separated from the body, with this harsh sentence, De sunt nonnulla. I being enriched by a Gentleman a friend of mine, with the true Italian discourse, of those lovers further Fortunes, have presumed to finish the History, though not so well as divers riper wits doubtless would have done: but as it is rude and not praise worthy: so neither do I expect praise nor commendations. This therefore is the cause of their sudden enmity, that I being but a fly dare presume to soar with the Eagle. But however they dislike it, may your wothines but grace this my first labour with your kind acceptance, my heart shall enjoy the depth of his desire: And your Wor: shall continually bind me in all serviceable duty to rest unto your worship always devoted.  
Your worspips' most humbly to command. Henry Petowe.   

To the quick-sighted Reader.  
Kind Gentlemen, what I would I cannot, but what I could with that little skill I had, I have presumed to present to your favourable views: I am not ashamed to beg your kind favours, because I find myself altogether insufficient to perform that which my good will hath taken in hand: Yet with my soul I wish my labours may merit your kind favours. If not for the toil herein taken, which I confess have no way deserved the least jot of favour: yet for the subjects sake, for Hero and Leander's sake. If neither of these purchase favour, the frowning brows of sad discontent, will banish my poor harmless Muse, into the vast wide wilderness of eternal oblivion. I am assured Gentlemen, you will marvel what folly or rather fury enforced me to undertake such a weighty matter, I being but a slender Atlas to uphold or undergo such a massy burden: yet I hope you will rather assist, and further me with the wings of your sweet favours, then to hinder my forward endeavours with your dislikings: esteeming it as the first fruits of an unripe wit, done at certain vacant hours: In which hope I rest captivated till I be freed by your liberal and kind Censures.  
Yours still, if mine ever. Henry Petowe.   

HERO and LEANDER'S further Fortunes.  
WHen young Apollo heavens sacred beauty,  
'Gan on his silver harp with reverent duty,  
To blazen forth the fair of Tellus wonder,  
Whose fair, all other fairs brought subject under:  
Heaven 'gan to frown at earths fragility,  
Made proud with such adored Majesty.  
Hero the fair, so do I name this fair,  
With whom immortal fairs might not compare,  
Such was her beauty framed in heavens scorn,  
Her spotless fair caused other fairs to mourn:  
Heaven frowned, Earth shamed, that none so fair as she,  
Base borne of earth in heaven might equal be▪  
Fallen moody Venus' pale with fr●tting ire,  
Ay me (quoth she) for want of her desire,  
earths basest mould, framed of the base dust,  
Strumpet to filth, bawd to loathed lust:  
Worse than Maedea's charms, are thy enticements,  
Worse than the mermaids songs, are thy allurements.  
Worse than the snaky hag Tysip●one,  
To mortal souls is thy inveigling beauty:  
Thus, she exclaims 'gainst harmless. Hero's fair,  
And would the God's consent, her dangling hair,  
Wherewith the busy air doth often play,  
(As wanton birds upon a Sunshine day▪)  
Should be transformed to snakes all ugly black,  
To be a means of her eternal wrack.  
But wanton jove sweet beauty's favourite,  
Demands of beauty beauties worthy merit:  
If beauty's guerdon merit pain (quoth he,)  
Your fair deserves no less as fair as she,  
Then moody juno frowning 'gan reply,  
I'll want my will, but strumpet she shall die.  
juno (quoth he) we ought not tyrannize,  
On such (said she) as you do wantonnize.  
But since our continent the scope of Heaven,  
Contains her not, unless from earth beryven,  
I'll make a transformation of her hue,  
And force the haughty Mother earth to rue:  
That her base womb dare yield such bastard fairs,  
That jove must seek on earth immortal heirs.  
I'll cause a second desperate Phaaeton,  
To rule the fiery Chariot of the Sun:  
That topsy-turvy Heaven and Earth may turn,  
That Heaven, Earth, Sea, and Hell may endless burn.  
Stay head-strong-goddesse jove to juno said,  
Can you do this without your husband's aid?  
With that she 'gan entreat it might be so,  
But jove would not sweet beauty overthrow:  
But this he granted juno, that Apollo  
Should never more extol the fair of Hero.  
His censure past the ireful Queen doth high,  
To set a period to his harmony.  
From forth his yielding arms she soon bereaves  
Apollo's Lute, whom comfortless she leaves,  
Making a Thousand parts of two gould-stringes,  
Into oblivions Cell the same she flings.  
Quick sighted spirits, this supposed Apollo,  
Conceit no other, but th'admired Marlo:  
Marlo admired, whose honey flowing vain,  
No English writer can as yet attain.  
Whose name in Fame's immortal treasury,  
Truth shall record to endless memory,  
Marlo late mortal, now framed all divine,  
What soul more: happy, than that soul of thine?  
Live still in heaven thy soul, thy fame on earth,  
(Thou dead) of Marlo's Hero finds a dearth.  
Weep aged Tellus, all earth on earth complain,  
Thy chief borne fair, hath lost her fair again:  
Her fair in this is lost, that Marlo's want,  
Enforceth Hero's fair be wondrous scant.  
Oh had that King of poets breathed longer,  
Then had fair beauties sort been much more stronger:  
His golden pen had 〈◊〉 her so about,  
No bastard Aeglets quill the world throughout,  
Had been of force to mar what he had made,  
For why they were not expert in that trade:  
What mortal soul with Marlo might contend,  
That could 'gainst reason force him stoop or bend?  
Whose silver charming tongue, moved such delight,  
That men would shun their sleep in still dark night.  
To meditate upon his golden lines,  
His rare conceits and sweet according rhymes.  
But Marlo still admired Marlo's gone,  
To live with beauty in Elysium,  
Immortal beauty, who desires to hear,  
His sacred Poesy's sweet in every ear:  
Marlo must frame to Orpheus' melody,  
Hymns all divine to make heaven harmony.  
There ever live the Prince of Poetry,  
Live with the living in eternity.  
Apollo's Lute bereau●d of silver string,  
Fond Mercury doth harshly gi'en to sing.  
A counterfeit unto his honey note,  
But I do fear he●le cha●ter it by ●●te:  
Yet if his ill according voice be such,  
That (hearing part) you think you hear too much.  
Bear with his rashness and he will amend,  
His folly blame, but his good will commend.  
Yet rather discommend what I entreat,  
For if you like it, some will storm and fret.  
And then insulting Aegle soaring high,  
Will pray upon the silly harmless fly▪  
(Nil refert) for I'll pawn my better part,  
Ere sweet faced beauty lose her due desert.  
Avaunt base Steel where shrill tongued silver rings,  
The chattering Pie may range when black-birdes sings:  
Birds black as jet with sweet according voices,  
Like to Elyziums' Saints with heavenly noises.  
Why should harsh Mercury recount again,  
What sweet Apollo (living) did maintain?  
Which was of Hero her, all pleasing fair,  
Her pretty brows, her lip, her amber hair,  
Her roseate cheek, her lily fingers white,  
Her sparkling eyes that lend the day his light:  
What should I say, her all in all he praised,  
Wherewith the spacious world was much amazed.  
Leander's love, and lovers sweetest pleasure,  
He wrought a full discourse of beauty's treasure:  
And left me nothing pleasing to recite,  
But of unconstant chance, and fortune's spite.  
Then in this glass view beauty's frailty,  
Fair Hero, and Leander's misery.  

THE virgin Princess of the western I'll,  
Fair Cambarina of the golden soil,  
And yet not fair, but of a swarthy hue,  
For by her gold, her beauty did renew:  
Renew as thus, that having gold to spare,  
Men held it duty to protest and swear,  
Her fair was such, as all the world admired it,  
Her blushing beauty such, all men desired it.  
The scornful Queen made proud with feigned praises▪  
Her black-framed soul, to a higher rate she raises:  
That men bewitched with her gold, not beauty,  
A Thousand Knights as homage proffer duty,  
If such a base deformed lump of clay,  
In whom no sweet content had any stay,  
No pleasure residence, no sweet delight,  
Shelter from heat of day, or cold of night:  
If such a she so many suitors had,  
Hero whose angry frowns made heaven sad:  
Hero whose gaze gracing dark Pluto's cell,  
Pluto would deem Phoebus came there to dwell.  
Hero whose eyes heavens fiery tapors stain,  
Hero whose beauty makes night day again,  
How much more love merits so sweet a Queen,  
Whose like no outworn world hath ever seen.  
Of sweet Leander's love, to Hero's beauty,  
Heaven, Earth, and Hell, and all the world is guilty,  
Of Hero's kindness, to her trusty Fere,  
By lost Apollo's tale it doth appear,  
Recorded in the Register of Fame,  
The works of Marlo do express the same.  
But ere he 'gan of fickle chance to tell,  
How bad chance 'gainst the Better did rebel:  
When love in loves sweet garden newly planted,  
Remorseful Hero to Leander granted,  
Free liberty, to yield the world increase,  
Unconstant Fortune foe to harmless peace:  
Played such unruly pranks in loves despite,  
That love was forced from his true-love's sight.  
Duke Archilaus cruel, void of pity,  
Where Hero dwelled was regent of that City:  
Woe worth that town where bloody homicides,  
And Tyrants are elected cities guides.  
Woe worth that country where unlawful lust,  
Sits in a Regal throne, of force it must  
Down to the low laid bowels of the earth,  
Like to a still borne Child's untimely birth:  
Duke Archilaus loved; but whom loved he?  
He courted Hero, but it would not be.  
Why should he plant where other Knights have sown,  
The land is his, therefore the fruit his own,  
●ust it be thus, alas it is not so,  
L●st may not force true-lovers overthrow.  
Lust hath no limits, lust will have his will,  
Like to a ravening wolf that's bend to kill,  
The Duke affecting her that was beloved,  
(Hero whose firm fixed love Leander proved,)  
Gave onset to the still resisting fort,  
But fearful hate set period to his sport.  
Lust egged him on to further his desire,  
But fell disdain enforced him to retire.  
When Archilaus saw that thundering threats  
Can not prevail, he mildly then entreats.  
But all in vain, the Doo had choose her make,  
And whom she took, she never would forsake,  
The Does sweet Deer, this hunter seeks to chase,  
Harmless Leander whose all smiling face  
Graced with unspotted fair to all men's sight,  
Would force the hounds retire, and not to bite:  
Which when the Duke perceived, an other cur,  
Was forced from his den, that made much stir,  
And treason he was named, which held so fast,  
That fears swift wings did lend some aid at last.  
For force perforce Leander must departed  
From Sestos, yet behind he left his heart.  
His heart in Hero's breast, Leander left,  
Leander's absence, Hero's joys bereft:  
Leander's want, the cruel Duke thought sure  
Some ease to discontent would soon procure.  
Leander having heard his woeful doom,  
Towards his weeping Lady he doth come,  
Dewing her cheeks with his distilling tears,  
Which Hero drieth with her dangling hairs:  
They weeping greet each other with sweet kisses,  
(Kindly embracing) thus they 'gan their wishes.  
Oh that these folding arms might near undo;  
As she desired: so wished Leander too:  
Then with her hand, she touched his sacred breast,  
Where in his bosom she desires to rest.  
Like to a snake she clung unto him fast,  
And wound about him, which snatcht-up in haste,  
By the Prince of birds, borne lightly up aloft,  
Doth writhe herself about his neck, and oft  
About his wings displayed in the wind,  
Or like as ivy on trees cling 'bout the rind:  
Or as the Crab-fish having caught in seas  
His enemies, doth clasp him with his cleas.  
So joined in one, these two together stood,  
Even as Hermophrodi●us in the flood:  
Until the Duke did banish him away,  
Then 'gan Leander to his Hero say.  
(Let me go where the Sun doth parch the green,  
In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen:  
Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice,  
In presence priest, of people mad or wise.  
Set me in high, or else in low degree,  
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest Bee,  
In longest night, or in the shortest day,  
In lusty youth, or when my hairs be grey:  
Go I to heaven, to earth, or else to hell,  
Thrall or at large, alive where so I dwell,  
On hill or dale, or on the foaming flood,  
Sick or in health, in evil fame or good:  
Thine will I be, and only with this thought,  
Content thyself: although my chance be nought.)  
Thus parted these two lovers full of woes,  
She stays behind, on pilgrimage he goes.  
Leave we a while, Leander wandering Knight,  
To Delphos taking his all speedy flight,  
That by the Oracle of Apollo,  
His further Fortunes he may truly know.  
True-love quite banished, lust began to plead,  
To Hero like a scholar deeply read:  
The flaming sighs, that boil within my breast,  
Fair love (quoth he) are cause of my unrest.  
Unrest I entertain for thy sweet sake,  
And in my tent choose sorrow for my make.  
Why dost thou frown (quoth he) and then she turned  
Oh cool the fainting soul, that flaming burned:  
Forced by desire, to touch thy matchless beauty,  
To whom thy servant vows all reverent duty.  
With that her ireful brows clouded with frowns,  
His soul already drenched, in woes sea drowns.  
But floating on the waves thus he 'gan say,  
Flint hearted Lady canst thou be so coy?  
Can pity take no place, is kind remorse  
Quite banished, quite fled? then 'gan he to be horse,  
Unable to exclaim, against her longer,  
Whose woe lament made Hero's heart more stronger.  
Hero that gave no ear to her commander,  
But ever weeps for her exiled Leander:  
And weeping sore amongst her liquid tears,  
These words she spoke, wherewith her sorrow wears.  
(The pillar perished is, whereto I lent,  
To my unhap, for lust away hath sent,  
Of all my joy, the very bark and rind,  
The strongest stay of my unquiet mind:  
And I alas am forced without consent,  
Daily to mourn, till death do it relent.)  
Oh my Leander he is banished,  
From his sweet Hero's sight he is exiled.  
Oh ye just heavens, if that heaven be just,  
Rain the unbridled head, of haughty lust,  
Make him to stoop, that forceth others bend,  
Bereave his joys, that rest me of my friend.  
I want myself, for Hero wants her love,  
And where Leander is, myself doth move.  
What can I more, but have a woeful heart,  
My mind in woe, my body full of smart,  
And I myself, myself always to hate,  
Till dreadful death do ease my doleful state.  
The angry Duke lay listening to her words,  
And till she ends no speech at all affords,  
Until at length; exclaiming 'gainst her kind,  
Thus he breathed forth the venom of his mind.  
(Oh timorous taunters that delights in toys,  
jangling jesters, deprivers of sweet joys,  
Tumbling cockboats tottering too and fro,  
Growned of the graft, whence all my grief doth grow:  
Sullen Serpents environed with despite,  
That ill for good at all times doth requite.  
As Cypress tree that rent is by the root,  
As well sown seed, for drought that cannot sprout.  
As branch or slip bitter from whence it grows,  
As gaping ground that raineles cannot close:  
As fish on land to whom no water flows,  
As flowers do fade when Phoebus' rarest shows,  
As Salamandra repulsed from the fire,  
Wanting my wish, I die for my desire.)  
Speaking those words death seized him for his own,  
Wherewith she thought her woes were overthrown:  
Hero so thought, but yet she thought amiss,  
Before she was beloved: now finds no bliss.  
Duke Archilaus being sudden dead,  
Young Euristippus ruled in his stead:  
The next succeeding heir to what was his,  
Then Hero's woes increased, and fled all bliss.  
Look how the silly harmless bleating lamb,  
Bereft from his kind make the gentle dam,  
Left as a pray to Butcher's cruelty,  
In whom she finds not any drop of mercy.  
Or like a warrior whom his Soldiers flies,  
At his shrill echo of his foes dread cries.  
He all unable to withstand so many,  
Not having wherewith to combat, nor any  
Assured friend that dares to comfort him,  
Not any way for fear dares secure him.  
But as a pray he yields to him he would not,  
If he had help, but (helpless) strive he could not.  
So fared it with the meek distressed Hero,  
That sweet Leander, banished her fro.  
She had no Hercules, to defend her cause,  
She had no Brandamore disdaining laws,  
To combat for her safety; this sweet Io,  
Had no kind jove to keep her from her foe.  
This Psyche's had no Cupid, love was banished,  
And love from love exiled, love needs must famish.  
Wood Euristippus for his brother's death,  
Like as a toiled huntsman wanting breath,  
Stormeth that bad chance in the games pursuit,  
Should cause him panting, rest as dead and mute.  
Or like sad Orphey for Euridi●e,  
Whom Cerberus bereft so hastily,  
Like to the thundering threats of Hercules,  
The worlds admired Prince the great Alcides,  
When Nessus got the height of his desire;  
By ravishing his fairest Deianeira.  
Such was his ire, ●●d more if more may be,  
Which he 'gainst Hero breathed spitefully:  
Thou damned hag: thus 'gan he to exclaim,  
Thou base borne Strumpet one of Circe's train.  
Durst thou presume, poor silly simple fly,  
With Venums force, to force an Eagle die?  
What though my brother Leander banished,  
Must he by thee therefore be poisoned?  
Die cursed wretch, with that he cast her from him,  
And would not suffer her to look upon him.  
The still amazed Lady musing stood,  
Admiring why the Duke should be so wood.  
Humbly she prostrates her at Angers feet,  
And with down dropping tears, like liquid sleet,  
She watereth the Summer thirsty ground,  
Weeping so long, she fell into a sound.  
Again revived by the standers by,  
She doth entreat them to resolve her why,  
Duke Euristippus wrongeth her so much,  
As to dishonour her with such a touch.  
Well know the Gods my guiltless soul (quoth she,)  
Was Archilaus poisoned by me,  
If so? Just heavens and immortal powers,  
Rain vengeance down in all consuming showers:  
And cause that Hero, that was counted fair,  
Like a mad hellish fury to despair.  
The more she weeps, the more the heavens smile,  
Scorning that beauty should take any soil,  
juno commanded Argos to defend her,  
But jupiter would not so much befriend her.  
Argos stark dead; sweet Hero might not live,  
For of her life the Duke will her deprive.  
Her doom was thus, ere three months date took end,  
If she found none, that would her cause defend:  
Untimely death should seize her as a pray,  
And unresisting life, should death obey.  
Mean time within a rocke-framed castle strong,  
She was imprisoned traitors vile among:  
Where (discontented) when she should have rested,  
Her food bad fare, with sighs and tears she feasted.  
And when the breathless horses of the Sun,  
Had made their stay, and Luna had begun,  
With cheerful smile brows to grace dark night,  
Clad in black sable weeds, for want of light.  
This all alone sad Lady 'gan to play,  
Framing sweet music to her welladay:  
The'ffect whereof this Sonnet plainly shows,  
The fountain whence springs Hero's heavy woes.   

Hero's lamentation in Prison.  
Night's mourning black and misty veiling hue,  
Shadows the blessed comfort of the Sun:  
At whose bright gaze I wont to renew  
My lifeless life, when life was almost done.  
Done is my life, and all my pleasure done,  
For he is gone, in whom my life begun:  
Unhappy I poor I, and none as I,  
But pilgrim he, poor he, that should be by.  
MY love exiled, and I in prison fast,  
Out streaming tears break into weeping rain,  
He too soon banished, I in dungeon-cast,  
He for me mourneth, I for him complain.  
He's banished, yet lives at liberty,  
And I exiled, yet live in misery:  
He weeps for me far off, I for him here,  
I would I were with him, and he more near.   

But this imprisoning cave, this woeful cell,  
This house of sorrow and increasing woe,  
Griefs teary chamber where sad care doth dwell,  
Where liquid tears, like top filled Seas do flow:  
Beating their waves 'gainst still relentless stone,  
Still still they smile on me, and I still moan;  
I weep to stone, and stone of stone I find,  
Cold stone, cold comfort yields (oh most unkind.)   

OFt have I read that stone relents at rain,  
And I impleat their barren womb with store,  
Tears streaming down, they wet and wet again,  
Yet pitiless they harden more and more.  
And when my longing soul looks they should sunder,  
I touch the flinty stone, and they seem stronger,  
They strong, I weak: alas what hope have I?  
Hero wants comfort, Hero needs must die.  
WHen the melodious shrill tongued Nightingale,  
With heavy cheer had warbled this sad tale:  
Nights drowsy God an ivory canopy,  
Curtains before the windows of fair beauty.  
Drowned thus in sleep, she spent the weary night,  
There leave I Hero in a heavy plight.  
Now to the woeful Pilgrim I return,  
Whose passions force the gentle birds to mourn.  
The see Leander weep, with heavy note  
They faintly sing, as when they sing by rote:  
While he 'gan descant on his misery,  
The pretty fowls do make him melody.   

Leander's complaint of his restless estate.  

BRight Heavens immortal moving Spheres,  
and Phoebus all divine,  
Rue on low Earth's unfeigned tears:  
that issue from Earth's eyen.  
Eyes, were these no eyes, whilst eyes eyesight lasted,  
but these dark eyes clear sight, sad sorrow wasted.   

WHat creature living lives in grief,  
that breathes on Tellus soil?  
But heavens pity with relief,  
save me, a slave to spoil.  
Spoil do his worst, spoil cannot spoil me more,  
Spoil never spoiled, so true a Love before.    

THe strike Deer stands not in awe  
of black grim ireful Death,  
For he finds herbs that can withdraw  
the shaft, to save his breath.  
The chased Deer hath soil to cool his heat,  
The toiled Steed is up in stable set.   

THe silly Owls lurk in the leaves,  
shine Sun or night's Queen whether:  
The sparrow shrouds her in the eaves,  
from storms of huffing weather.  
Fowls comfort find, Leander finds no friend,  
Then (comfortless) Leander's life must end.   

BY this it pleased the smiling brows of Heaven,  
Whose deadly frowns, him erst of joy beryven:  
To set a period to Leander's toil,  
Having enjoyed that long desired soil.  
When he had viewed the stately territories,  
And Delphos sacred hie erected towers,  
Unto Apollo's Oracle he goes,  
In hope to find relief for many woes;  
He craves long lookt-for rest, or else to die,  
To whom the Oracle 'gan thus reply.  The Oracle. 
He loveth thine that loves not thee,  
His love to thine shall fatal be.  
Upon suspect she shallbe slain,  
Unless thou do return again.   

THese harsh according rhymes to much pain,  
Did but renew Leander's woes again:  
Yet as he might, with Fortune's sweet consent,  
He 'gins return all dangers to prevent.  
Within short time at Sestos he arriveth,  
On loves light wings, desire Leander driveth,  
Desire that longs to view a blessed end,  
Of Love and Fortune that so long contend.  
This back retired Pilgrim lived secure,  
And in unknown disguise, he did endure,  
Full two months space until the time drew nigh,  
To free fair Hero, or enforce her die:  
The date outworn of the prefixed day,  
When combatants their valour should display.  
(All things prepared) as blazing fame reported,  
'Twere wonder to behold how men resorted.  
Knights neighbouring by, and Ladies all divine,  
Darting days splendour from their sun-like eyen:  
Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectantur ut ipsae,  
But wanting fair, they come to gaze on beauty,  
Beauty fair heavens beauty, world's wonder,  
Hero whose beauty keeps all beauty under.  
This fair faced beauty, from a fowl faced cell,  
A loath-some dungeon like to nights dark hell,  
At the fell Duke's command in open view,  
Was sent for, on whose never spotted hue,  
Earth's mortal souls do feed and gaze upon her,  
So long they gaze, that they do surfeit on her.  
For when this earths admired immortal Sun,  
To peep from under sable hold begun.  
Like as the piercing eye of cloudy Heaven,  
Whose sight the black thick clouds have quite beriven.  
But by the huffing winds being overblown,  
And all their black expelled and overthrown.  
The day doth gin, be jocund secure playing,  
The fair of Heaven, his beauty so displaying:  
So when the fairest Hero did begin,  
(Whilom clad in darkness black tan'● skin.  
To pass the noisome portal of the prison,  
Like to the gorgeous Phoebus newly risen,  
She doth illuminate the morning day,  
Clad in a sable Mantle of black Say.  
Which Hero's eyes transformed to fair white,  
Making the lowring-morne dark, pure light.  
As many mortal eyes beheld her eyes,  
As there are fiery Tapors in the skies:  
As many eyes gazed on fair Hero's beauty,  
As there be eyes that offer Heaven duty:  
As many servitors attended on her,  
As Venus, servants had to wait upon her.  
Though by the stern Duke she was dishonoured,  
Yet of the people she was honoured:  
'Mongst whom exiled Leander all unseen,  
And all unknown attended on his Queen.  
When to the neere-adjoining palace gate,  
The place appointed for the Princely combat,  
They did approach; there might all eyes behold,  
The Duke in armour of pure beaten gold,  
Mounted upon a Steed as white as snow,  
The proud Duke Euristippus Hero's foe.  
Hero being seated in rich Majesty,  
A servile handmaid to Captivity.  
From whence she might behold that gentle Knight,  
That for her sake durst hazard life in fight.  
For this was all the comfort Hero had,  
So many eyes shed tears to see her sad.  
Her handmaid hope, persuaded her some one,  
Undaunted Knight would be her Champion.  
Yet since her Lord Leander was not nigh,  
She was resolved either to live or die;  
But her Leander careful of his love,  
Intending loves firm constancy to prove:  
(If to his lot the honour did befall,)  
Withdrew himself into the Palace hall,  
Where he was armed to his soul's content,  
And privily conducted to a tent,  
From whence he issued forth at trumpets sound,  
Who at the first encounter, on the ground,  
Forced the mazed Duke sore panting lie,  
Drowned in the river of sad ecstasy.  
At length reviving, he doth mount again,  
Whom young Leander in short time had slain.  
The Duke quite dead, this all unknown young Knight,  
Was forthwith made the heir of Sestos right.  
The Princess Hero set at liberty,  
Kept by the late dead Duke in misery:  
Whose constancy Leander 'gan to prove,  
And now anew gins to court his love.  
To walk on ground where danger is unseen,  
Doth make men doubt, where they have never been.  
As blind men fear what footing they shall find:  
So doth the wise mistrust the strangers mind.  
I strange to you, and you unknown to me,  
Yet may not love twixt us two grafted be?  
What I have done, for Hero's love was done,  
Say then you love, and end as I begun.  
I hazard life, to free thy beauties fair,  
From Tyrant's force and hellish soul despair:  
Then sacred Fair balance my good desert,  
Enrich my soul with thy affecting heart.  
Hero replied: (to rue on all false tears,  
And forged tales, wherein craft oft appears,  
To trust each feigned face, and forcing charm,  
Betrays the simple soul that thinks no harm.)  
(Not every tear doth argue inward pain,  
Not every sigh warrants, men do not feign,  
Not every smoke doth prove a present fire,  
Not all that glisters, golden souls desire,  
Not every word is drawn out of the deep,  
For oft men smile, when they do seem to weep:  
Oft malice makes the mind to power forth brine,  
And envy leaks the conduits of the eyen.  
Craft oft doth cause men make a seeming show,  
Of heavy woes where grief did never grow.  
Then blame not those that wisely can beware,  
To shun dissimulations dreadful snare.  
Blame not the stopped ears 'gainst Siren's song,  
Blame not the mind not moved with falsehood tongue.)  
But rest content and satisfied with this,  
Whilst true Leander lives, true Hero's his.  
And thy Leander lives sweet soul said he,  
Praising thy all admired chastity.  
Though thus disguised, I am that banished Knight,  
That for affecting thee was put to flight.  
Hero, I am Leander thy true fere,  
As true to thee, as life to me is dear.  
When Hero all amazed 'gan revive,  
And she that then seemed dead, was now alive:  
With kind embracements kissing at each strain,  
She welcomes him, and kisses him again.  
By thee, my joys have shaken of despair,  
All storms be past, and weather waxeth fair,  
By thy return Hero receives more joy,  
Then Paris did when Helen was in Troy.  
By thee my heavy doubts and thoughts are fled,  
And now my wits with pleasant thoughts are fed.  
Feed sacred Saint on Nectar all divine,  
While these my eyes (quoth he) gaze on thy eyen.  
And ever after may these eyes beware,  
That they on stranger's beauty never stare:  
(My wits I charm henceforth they take such heed,  
They frame no toys, my fancies new to feed.  
Deaf be my ears to hear another voice,  
To force me smile, or make my soul rejoice,  
Lame be my feet when they presume to move,  
To force Leander seek another love.)  
And when thy fair (sweet fair) I gi'en disgrace,  
Heaven to my soul afford no resting place.  
What he to her, she vowed the like to him,  
(All sorrows fled) their joys anew begin.  
Full many years those lovers lived in fame,  
That all the world did much admire the same.  
Their lives spent date, and unresisted death,  
At hand to set a period to their breath,  
They were transformed by all divine decrees,  
Into the form, and shape of two Pine trees.  
Whose Natures such, the Faemale pine will die,  
Unless the Male be ever planted by:  
A map for all succeeding times to come,  
To view true-love, which in their loves begun.  
FINIS.  Qualis vita, finis ita.