SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITUS. Salmacida spolia sine sanguine & sudore.  
Imprinted at London for john hodget's: And are to be sold at his shop in Fleetestreet, at the sign of the Flower de Luce, near Fetter-lane. 1602.   

To the true patroness of all Poetry, CALLIOPE.  
IT is a statute in deep wisdoms lore,  
That for his lines none should a patron choose  
By wealth or poverty, by less or more,  
But who the same is able to peruse;  
Nor ought a man his labours dedicate,  
Without a true and sensible desert,  
To any power of such a mighty state,  
And such a wise Defendresse as thou art.  
Thou great and powerful Muse, then pardon me,  
That I presume thy Mayden-cheeke to stain,  
In dedicating such a work to thee,  
Sprung from the issue of an idle brain.  
I use thee as a woman ought to be:  
I consecreate my idle hours to thee.   

In laudem Authoris.  
LIke to the weak estate of a poor friend,  
To whom sweet fortune hath been ever slow,  
Which daily doth that happy hour attend,  
When his poor state may his affection show:  
So fares my love, not able as the rest,  
To chant thy praises in a lofty vain,  
Yet my poor Muse doth vow to do her best,  
And wanting wings, she'll tread an humble strain.  
I thought at first her homely steps to raise,  
And for some blazing Epithets to look;  
But than I feared, that by such wondrous praise,  
Some men would grow suspicious of thy book:  
For he that doth thy due deserts rehearse,  
Deprives that glory from thy worthy verse.  
W. B.   

To the Author.  
Either the goddess draws her troop of loves  
From Paphos, where she erst was held divine,  
And doth unyoke her tender-necked Doves,  
Placing her seat in this small papry shrine;  
Or the sweet Graces through th'Idalian grove,  
Led the blessed Author in their danced rings;  
Or wanton Nymphs in watery bowers have wove,  
With fine Mylesian threads, the verse he sings;  
Or curious Pallas once again doth strive,  
With proud Arachne for illustrious glory,  
And once again doth loves of gods revive,  
Spinning in silken twists a lasting story:  
If none of these, than Venus chose his sight,  
To lead the steps of her blind son aright.  
I. B.   

To the Author.  

THe matchless Lustre of fair poesy,  
Which erst was buried in old Rome's decays,  
Now begins with height of rising majesty,  
Her dust-wrapt head from rotten tombs to raise,  
And with fresh splendour gilds her 1 crest,  
Rearing her palace in our Poet's breast.   

The wanton Ovid, whose enticing rhymes  
Have with attractive wonder forced attention,  
No more shall be admired at: for these times  
Produce a Poet, whose more moving passion  
Will tear the lovesick myrtle from his brows,  
T'adorn his Temple with deserved bows.   

The strongest Marble fears the smallest rain:  
The rusting Canker eats the purest gold:  
Honours best die dreads envies blackest stain:  
The crimson badge of beauty must wax old.  
But this fair issue of thy fruitful brain,  
Nor dreads age, envy, cankering rust, or rain.   
A. F.   

The Author to the Reader.  
I Sing the fortunes of a luckless pair,  
Whose spotless souls now in one body be:  
For beauty still is Prodromus to care,  
Crossed by the sad stars of nativity;  
And of the strange enchantment of a well  
Gi'n by the gods my sportive Muse doth write,  
Which sweet-lipt Ovid long ago did tell,  
Wherein who baths, straight turns Hermaphrodite.  
I hope my Poem is so lively writ,  
That thou wilt turn half-maid with reading it.   

Salmacis and Hermaphroditus.  
MY wanton lines do treat of amorous love,  
Such as would bow the hearts of gods above:  
Then Venus, thou great Citherean Queen,  
That hourly trip'st on the Idalian green,  
Thou laughing Erycina, deign to see  
The verses wholly consecrate to thee;  
Temper them so within thy Paphian shrine,  
That every lovers eye may melt a line;  
Command the god of Love that little King,  
To give each verse a sleight touch with his wing,  
That as I write, one line may draw the tother,  
And every word skip nimbly o'er another.  
There was a lovely boy the Nymphs had kept,  
That on the Idane mountains oft had slept,  
Begot and borne by powers that dwelled above,  
By learned Mercury of the Queen of love:  
A face he had that show'd his parent's fame,  
And from them both conjoined, he drew his name:  
So wondrous fair he was▪ that (as they say)  
Diana being hunting on a day,  
She saw the boy upon a green bank lay him,  
And there the virgin-huntresse meant to slay him,  
Because no Nymphs did now pursue the chase:  
For all were struck blind with the wantoness face.  
But when that beauteous face Diana saw,  
Her arms were numbed, & she could not draw;  
Yet did she strive to shoot, but all in vain,  
She bent her bow, and loosed it straight again.  
Then she began to chide her wanton eye,  
And fain would shoot, but durst not see him die.  
She turned and shot, and did of purpose miss him,  
She turned again, and did of purpose kiss him.  
Then the boy ran: for (some say) had he stayed,  
Diana had no longer been a maid.  
Phoebus so doted on this roseate face,  
That he hath oft stole closely from his place,  
When he did lie by fair Leucothoes' side,  
To dally with him in the vales of Ide:  
And ever since this lovely boy did die,  
Phoebus each day about the world doth fly,  
And on the earth he seeks him all the day,  
And every night he seeks him in the sea:  
His cheek was sanguine, and his lip as red  
As are the blushing leaves of the Rose spread:  
And I have heard▪ that till this boy was borne,  
Roses grew white upon the virgin thorn,  
Till one day walking to a pleasant spring,  
To hear how cunningly the birds could sing,  
Laying him down upon a flowery bed,  
The Roses blushed and turned themselves to red.  
The Rose that blushed not, for his great offence,  
The gods did punish, and for impudence  
They gave this doom that was agreed by all;  
The smell of the white Rose should be but small.  
His hair was bushy, but it was not long,  
The Nymphs had done his tresses mighty wrong:  
For as it grew, they pulled away his hair,  
And made abiliments of gold to wear.  
His eyes were Cupid's: for until his birth,  
Cupid had eyes, and lived upon the earth,  
Till on a day, when the great Queen of love  
Was by her white doves drawn from heaven above,  
Unto the top of the Idalian hill,  
To see how well the Nymphs their charge fulfil,  
And whether they had done the goddess right,  
In nursing of her sweet Hermaphrodite:  
Whom when she saw, although complete & full,  
Yet she complained, his eyes were somewhat dull:  
And therefore, more the wanton boy to grace,  
She pulled the sparkling eyes from Cupid's face,  
Feigning a cause to take away his sight,  
Because the Ape would sometimes shoot for spite.  
But Venus set those eyes in such a place,  
As graced those clear eyes with a clearer face.  
For his white hand each goddess did him woe:  
For it was whiter than the driven snow:  
His leg was straighter than the thigh of jove:  
And he far fairer than the god of love.  
When first this well-shaped boy, beauties chief king,  
Had seen the labour of the fifteenth spring,  
How curiously it painted all the earth,  
He began to travail from his place of birth,  
Leaving the stately hills where he was nursed,  
And where the Nymphs had brought him up at first:  
He loved to travail to the coasts unknown,  
To see the regions far beyond his own,  
Seeking clear watery springs to bathe him in:  
(For he did love to wash his ivory skin)  
The lovely Nymphs have oft times seen him swim,  
And closely stole his clothes from off the brim,  
Because the wanton wenches would so fain  
See him come naked to ask his clothes again.  
He loved beside to see the Lycian grounds,  
And know the wealthy Carians utmost bounds▪  
Using to travail thus, one day he found  
A crystal brook, that triled along the ground,  
A brook, that in reflection did surpass  
The clear reflection of the clearest glass.  
About the side there grew no foggy reeds,  
Nor was the fount compassed with barren weeds:  
But living turf grew all along the side,  
And grass that ever flourished in his pride.  
Within this brook a beauteous Nymph did dwell,  
Who for her comely feature did excel;  
So fair she was, of such a pleasing grace,  
So strait a body, and so sweet a face,  
So soft a belly, such a lusty thigh,  
So large a forehead, such a crystal eye,  
So soft and moist a hand, so smooth a breast,  
So fair a cheek, so well in all the rest,  
That jupiter would revel in her bower,  
Were he to spend again his golden shower:  
Her teeth were whiter than the morning's milk,  
Her lip was softer than the softest silk,  
Her hair as far surpassed the bourn sht gold,  
As silver doth excel the basest mould:  
jove courted her for her translucent eye,  
And told her, he would place her in the sky,  
Promising her, if she would be his love,  
He would engrave her in the heaven above,  
Telling this lovely Nymph, that if he would,  
He could deceive her in a shower of gold,  
Or like a Swan come to her naked bed,  
And so deceive her of her maidenhead:  
But yet, because he thought that pleasure best,  
Where each consenting joins each loving breast,  
He would put off that all-commanding crown,  
Whose terror struck th'aspiring Giants down,  
That glittering crown, whose radiant sight did toss  
Great Pelion from the top of mighty Osse,  
He would depose from his world-swaying head,  
To taste the amorous pleasures of her bed:  
This added he beside, the more to grace her,  
Like a bright star he would in heavens vault place her.  
By this the proud lascivious Nymph was moved,  
Perceiving by great jove she was beloved,  
And hoping as a star she should ere long  
Be stern or gracious to the Seaman's song,  
(For mortals still are subject to their eye,  
And what it sees, they strive to get as high:)  
She was contented that almighty jove  
Should have the first and best fruits of her love:  
(For women may be likened to the year,  
Whose first fruits still do make the daintiest cheer)  
But yet Astraea first should plight her troth,  
For the performance of Ioues sacred oath.  
(Just times decline, and all good days are dead,  
When heavenly oaths had need be warranted)  
This heard great jupiter and liked it well,  
And hastily he seeks astraea's cell,  
About the massy earth searching her tower:  
But she had long since left this earthly bower,  
And flew to heaven above, loathing to see  
The sinful actions of humanity.  
Which when jove did perceive, he left the earth,  
And flew up to the place of his own birth,  
The burning heavenly throne, where he did spy  
astraea's palace in the glittering sky.  
This stately tower was builded up on high,  
far from the reach of any mortal eye;  
And from the palace side there did distill  
A little water, through a little quill,  
The dew of justice, which did seldom fall,  
And when it dropped, the drops were very small.  
Glad was great jove when he beheld her tower,  
Meaning a while to rest him in her bower;  
And therefore sought to enter at her door:  
But there was such a busy rout before;  
Some serving men, and some promoters be,  
That he could pass no foot without a fee:  
But as he goes, he reaches out his hands,  
And pays each one in order as he stands;  
And still, as he was paying those before,  
Some slipped again betwixt him and the door.  
At length (with much ado) he passed them all,  
And entered strait into a spacious hall,  
Full of dark angles and of hidden ways,  
Crooked mad'st, infinite delays;  
All which delays and entries he must pass,  
Ere he could come where just Astraea was.  
All these being passed by his immortal wit,  
Without her door he saw a porter sit,  
An aged man, that long time there had been,  
Who used to search all those that entered in,  
And still to every one he gave this curse,  
None must see justice but with empty purse.  
This man searched jove for his own private gain,  
To have the money which did yet remain,  
Which was but small: for much was spent before  
On the tumultuous rout that kept the door.  
When he had done, he brought him to the place  
Where he should see divine astraea's face.  
Then the great King of gods and men in went,  
And saw his daughter Venus there lament,  
And crying loud for justice, whom jove found  
Kneeling before Astraea on the ground,  
And still she cried and begged for a just doom  
Against black Vulcan, that unseemly groom,  
Whom she had chosen for her only love,  
Though she was daughter to great thundering jove:  
And though the fairest goddess, yet content  
To marry him, though weak and impotent;  
But for all this they always were at strife:  
For evermore he railed at her his wife,  
Telling her still, Thou art no wife of mine,  
Another's strumpet, Mars his concubine.  
By this Astraea spied almighty jove,  
And bowed her finger to the Queen of love,  
To cease her suit, which she would hear anon,  
When the great King of all the world was gone.  
Then she descended from her stately throne,  
Which seat was builded all of jasper stone,  
And o'er the seat was painted all above,  
The wanton unseen stealths of amorous jove;  
There might a man behold the naked pride  
Of lovely Venus in the vale of Ide,  
When Pallas, and Ioues beauteous wife and she  
strove for the prize of beauty's rarity:  
And there lame Vulcan and his Cyclops strove  
To make the thunderbolts for mighty jove:  
From this same stately throne she down descended,  
And said, The griefs of jove should be amended,  
Ask the King of gods what luckless cause,  
What great contempt of state, what breach of laws  
(For sure she thought, some uncouth cause befell,  
That made him visit poor astraea's cell)  
Troubled his thought: and if she might decide it,  
Who vexed great jove, he dearly should abide it.  
jove only thanked her, and began to show  
His cause of coming (for each one doth know  
The longing words of Lovers are not many,  
If they desire to be enjoyed of any)  
Telling Astraea, It might now befall,  
That she might make him blest, that blesseth all:  
For as he walked upon the flowery earth,  
To which his own hands whilom gave a birth,  
To see how straight he held it and how just  
He rolled this massy ponderous heap of dust,  
He laid him down by a cool river side,  
Whose pleasant water did so gently slide  
With such soft whispering: for the brook was deep,  
That it had lulled him in a heavenly sleep.  
When first he laid him down, there was none near him:  
(For he did call before, but none could hear him)  
But a fair Nymph was bathing when he waked,  
(Here sighed great jove, and after brought forth) naked,  
He seeing loved, the Nymph yet here did rest,  
Where just Astraea might make jove be blest,  
If she would pass her faithful word so far,  
As that great jove should make the maid a star.  
Astraea yielded: at which jove was pleased,  
And all his longing hopes and fears were eased.  
jove took his leave, and parted from her sight,  
Whose thoughts were full of lovers sweet delight,  
And she ascended to her throne above,  
To hear the griefs of the great Queen of love▪  
But she was satisfied, and would no more  
Rail at her husband as she did before:  
But forth she tripped apace, because she strove,  
With her swift feet to overtake great jove;  
She skipped so nimbly as she went to look him,  
That at the palace door she overtook him,  
Which way was plain and broad as they went out,  
And now they could see no tumultuous rout.  
Here Venus fearing, lest the love of jove  
Should make this maid be placed in heaven above,  
Because she thought this Nymph so wondrous bright,  
That she would dazzle her accustomed light:  
And fearing now she should not first be seen  
Of all the glittering stars as she had been,  
But that the wanton Nymph would every night  
Be first that should salute each mortal sight,  
Began to tell great jove, she grieved to see  
The heaven so full of his iniquity,  
Complaining that each strumpet now was graced,  
And with immortal goddesses was placed,  
Entreating him to place in heaven no more  
Each wanton strumpet and lascivious whore.  
jove mad with love, hearkened not what she said,  
His thoughts were so entangled with the maid,  
But furiously he to his Palace leapt,  
Being minded there till morning to have slept:  
For the next morn, as soon as Phoebus' rays  
Should yet shine cool, by reason of the seas,  
And ere the parting tears of Thaetis bed,  
Should be quite shaked from off his glittering head,  
Astraea promised to attend great jove,  
At his own Palace in the heaven above,  
And at that Palace she would set her hand  
To what the lovesick god should her command:  
But to descend to earth she did deny,  
She loathed the sight of any mortal eye;  
And for the compass of the earthly round,  
She would not set one foot upon the ground.  
Therefore jove meant to rise but with the sun,  
Yet thought it long until the night was done.  
In the mean space Venus was drawn along  
By her white Doves unto the sweeting throng  
Of hammering Black-smithes, at the lofty hill  
Of stately Aetna, whose top burneth still▪  
(For at that burning mountains glittering top,  
Her cripple husband Vulcan kept his shop)  
To him she went, and so collogues that night  
With the best strains of pleasures sweet delight,  
That ere they parted, she made Vulcan swear  
By dreadful Styx, an oath the gods do fear,  
If jove would make the mortal maid a star,  
Himself should frame his instruments of war,  
And took his oath by black cocytus' Lake,  
He never more a thunderbolt would make:  
For Venus so this night his senses pleased,  
That now he thought his former griefs were eased.  
She with her hands the blacksmiths body bound,  
And with her Iu'ry arms she twined him round,  
And still the fair Queen with a pretty grace,  
Dispersed her sweet breath o'er his swarthy face:  
Her snowy arms so well she did display,  
That Vulcan thought they melted as they lay.  
Until the morn in this delight they lay:  
Then up they got, and hasted fast away  
In the white Chariot of the Queen of love,  
Towards the Palace of great thundering jove,  
Where they did see divine Astraea stand,  
To pass her word for what jove should command.  
In limpt the blacksmith, after stepped his Queen,  
Whose light arrayment was of lovely green.  
When they were in Vulcan began to swear  
By oaths that jupiter himself doth fear,  
If any whore in heavens bright vault were seen,  
To dim the shining of his beauteous Queen,  
Each mortal man should the great gods disgrace,  
And mock almighty jove unto his face,  
And Giants should enforce bright heaven to fall,  
Ere he would frame one thunderbolt at all.  
jove did entreat him that he would forbear.  
The more he spoke, the more did Vulcan swear.  
jove heard his words, and began to make his moan,  
That mortal men would pluck him from his throne,  
Or else he must incur this plague, he said,  
Quite to forego the pleasure of the maid:  
And once he thought, rather than lose her blisses,  
Her heavenly sweets, her most delicious kisses,  
Her soft embraces, and the amorous nights,  
That he should often spend in her delights,  
He would be quite thrown down by mortal hands,  
From the blessed place where his bright palace stands.  
But afterwards he saw with better sight,  
He should be scorned by every mortal wight,  
If he should want his thunderbolts, to beat  
Aspiring mortals from his glittering seat:  
Therefore the god no more did woe or prove her,  
But left to seek her love, though not to love her.  
Yet he forgot not that he wooed the lass,  
But made her twice as beauteous as she was,  
Because his wont love he needs would show.  
This have I heard, but yet scarce thought it true.  
And whether her clear beauty was so bright,  
That it could dazzle the immortal sight  
Of gods, and make them for her love despair,  
I do not know, but sure the maid was fair.  
Yet the fair Nymph was never seen resort  
Unto the savage and the bloody sport  
Of chaste Diana, nor was ever wont  
To bend a bow, nor ever did she hunt,  
Nor did she ever strive with pretty cunning,  
To overgo her fellow Nymphs in running:  
For she was the fair water-Nymph alone,  
That unto chaste Diana was unknown.  
It is reported, that her fellows used  
To bid her (though the beauteous Nymph refused)  
To take, or painted quivers or a dart,  
And put her lazy idleness apart.  
Nor took she painted quivers, nor a dart,  
Nor put her lazy idleness apart,  
But in her crystal fountain oft she swims,  
And oft she washes o'er her snowy limbs:  
Sometimes she combed her soft dishevelled hair,  
Which with a fillet tide she oft did wear:  
But sometimes lose she did it hang behind,  
When she was pleased to grace the Eastern wind:  
For up and down it would her tresses hurl,  
And as she went, it made her loose hair curl:  
Oft in the water did she look her face,  
And oft she used to practise what acquaint grace  
Might well become her, and what comely feature  
Might be best fitting so divine a creature.  
Her skin was with a thin vail overthrown,  
Through which her naked beauty clearly shone.  
She used in this light raiment as she was,  
To spread her body on the dewy grass▪  
Sometimes by her own fountain as she walks,  
She nips the flowers from off the fertile stalks,  
And with a garland of the sweeting vine,  
Sometimes she doth her beauteous front in-twine:  
But she was gathering flowers with her white hand,  
When she beheld Hermaphroditus stand  
By her clear fountain, wondering at the sight,  
That there was any brook could be so bright:  
For this was the bright river where the boy  
Did die himself, that he could not enjoy  
Himself in pleasure, nor could taste the blisses  
Of his own melting and delicious kisses.  
Here did she see him, and by Venus' law,  
She did desire to have him as she saw:  
But the fair Nymph had never seen the place,  
Where the boy was, nor his enchanting face,  
But by an uncouth accident of love  
Betwixt great Phoebus and the son of jove,  
Lightheaded Bacchus: for upon a day,  
As the boy-god was keeping on his way●  
Bearing his Vine leaves and his ivy bands,  
To Nax●s, where his house and temple stands,  
He saw the Nymph; and seeing, he did stay,  
And threw his leaves and ivy bands away,  
Thinking at first she was of heavenly birth,  
Some goddess that did live upon the earth,  
Virgin Diana that so lively shone,  
When she did court her sweet Endymion:  
But he a god, at last did plainly see,  
She had no mark of immortality.  
Unto the Nymph went the young god of wine,  
Whose head was chafed so with the bleeding vine,  
That now, or fear or terror had he none,  
But began to court her as she sat alone:  
Fairer then fairest (thus began his speech)  
Would but your radiant eye please to enrich  
My eye with looking, or one glance to give,  
Whereby my other parts might feed and live,  
Or with one sight my senses to inspire,  
Far livelier than the stole Promethean fire;  
Then might I live, then by the sunny light  
That should proceed from thy thrise-radiant sight,  
I might survive to ages; but that missing,  
(At that same word he would have fain been kissing)  
I pine, fair Nymph: O never let me die  
For one poor glance from thy translucent eye,  
far more transparent than the clearest brook.  
The Nymph was taken with his golden hook:  
Yet she turned back, and would have tripped away;  
But Bacchus forced the lovely maid to stay,  
Ask her why she struggled to be gone,  
Why such a Nymph should wish to be alone?  
Heaven never made her fair, that she should vaunt  
She kept all beauty, it would never grant  
She should be borne so beauteous from her mother,  
But to reflect her beauty on another:  
Then with a sweet kiss cast thy beams on me,  
And I'll reflect them back again on thee.  
At Naxos stands my Temple and my Shrine,  
Where I do press the lusty swelling Vine,  
There with green ivy shall thy head be bound,  
And with the red Grape be encircled round;  
There shall Silenus sing unto thy praise,  
His drunken reeling songs and tickling lays.  
Come hither, gentle Nymph. Here blushed the maid,  
And fain she would have gone, but yet she stayed.  
Bacchus perceived he had o'ercome the lass,  
And down he throws her in the dewy grass,  
And kissed the helpless Nymph upon the ground,  
And would have strayed beyond that lawful bound.  
This saw bright Phoebus: for his glittering eye  
Sees all that lies below the starry sky;  
And for an old affection that he bore  
Unto this lovely Nymph long time before,  
(For he would ofttimes in his circle stand,  
To sport himself upon her snowy hand)  
He kept her from the sweets of Bacchus' bed,  
And against her will he saved her maidenhead.  
Bacchus' perceiving this, apace did high  
Unto the Palace of swift Mercury:  
But he did find him far below his birth,  
Drinking with thieves and catchpoles on the earth;  
And they were drinking what they stole to day,  
In consultation for to morrows prey.  
To him went youthful Bacchus, and begun  
To show his cause of grief against the Sun,  
How he bereft him of his heavenly blisses,  
His sweet delights, his Nectar-flowing kisses,  
And other sweeter sweets that he had won,  
But for the malice of the bright-faced Sun,  
Entreating Mercury by all the love,  
That had been borne amongst the sons of jove,  
Of which they two were part, to stand his friend,  
Against the god that did him so offend:  
The quaint-tongued issue of great Atlas' race,  
Swift Mercury, that with delightful grace,  
And pleasing accents of his feigned tongue,  
Hath oft reformed a rude uncivil throng  
Of mortals; that great messenger of jove,  
And all the meaner gods that dwell above:  
He whose acute wit was so quick and sharp  
In the invention of the crooked Harp:  
He that's so cunning with his jesting slights,  
To steal from heavenly gods or earthly wights,  
Bearing a great hate in his grieved breast,  
Against that great commander of the West,  
Bright-faced Apollo: for upon a day,  
Young Mercury did steal his beasts away:  
Which the great god perceiving, straight did show  
The piercing arrows and the fearful bow  
That killed great Python, & with that did threat him,  
To bring his beasts again, or he would beat him.  
Which Mercury perceiving, unespide,  
Did closely steal his arrows from his side.  
For this old grudge, he was the easilier won  
To help young Bacchus against the fiery Sun.  
And now the Sun was in the middle way,  
And had o'ercome the one half of the day,  
Scorching so hot upon the reeking sand,  
That lies upon the near Egyptian land,  
That the hot people burnt e'en from their birth,  
Do creep again into their mother earth,  
When Mercury did take his powerful wand,  
His charming Cadusaeus in his hand,  
And a thick ●euer which he used to wear,  
When aught from jove he to the Sun did bear,  
That did protect him from the piercing light,  
Which did proceed from Phoebus' glittering sight.  
Clad in these powerful ornaments he flies,  
With outstretched wings up to the azure skies:  
Where seeing Phoebus in his orient shrine,  
He did so well revenge the god of wine,  
That whilst the Sun wonders his Chariot reels,  
The crafty god had stole away his wheels.  
Which when he did perceive, he down did slide,  
(Laying his glittering Coronet aside)  
From the bright spangled firmament above,  
To seek the Nymph that Bacchus so did jove,  
And found her looking in her watery glass,  
To see how clear her radiant beauty was:  
And, for he had but little time to stay,  
Because he meant to finish out his day,  
At the first sight he'gan to make his moan,  
Telling her how his fiery wheels were gone;  
Promising her, if she would but obtain  
The wheels, that Mercury had stolen, again,  
That he might end his day, she should enjoy  
The heavenly sight of the most beauteous boy  
That ever was. The Nymph was pleased with this,  
Hoping to reap some unaccustomed bliss  
By the sweet pleasure that she should enjoy,  
In the blessed sight of such a melting boy.  
Therefore at his request she did obtain  
The burning wheels, that he had lost, again:  
Which when he had received, he left the land,  
And brought them thither where his Coach did stand,  
And there he set them on: for all this space,  
The horses had not stirred from out their place.  
Which when he saw, he wept and began to say,  
Would Mercury had stole my wheels away,  
When Phaeton my harebrained issue tried,  
What a laborious thing it was to guide  
My burning chariot, them he might have pleased me,  
And of one father's grief he might have eased me:  
For then the Steeds would have obeyed his will,  
Or else at least they would have rested still.  
When he had done, he took his whip of steel,  
Whose bitter smart he made his horses feel:  
For he did lash so hard, to end the day,  
That he was quickly at the Western sea,  
And there with Thaetis did he rest a space:  
For he did never rest in any place  
Before that time: but ever since his wheels  
Were stole away, his burning chariot reels  
Towards the declining of the parting day:  
Therefore he lights and mends them in the sea.  
And though the Poets feign, that jove did make  
A treble night for fair Alcmena's sake,  
That he might sleep securely with his love;  
Yet sure the long night was unknown to jove:  
But the suns wheels one day disordered more,  
Were thrice as long amending as before.  
Now was the Sun environed with the Sea,  
Cooling his watery tresses as he lay,  
And in dread Neptune's kingdom while he sleeps,  
Fair Thaetis eclipse him in the watery deeps,  
The Mayre-maids and the Tritons of the West,  
Straining their voices, to make Titan rest.  
And while the black night with her pitchy hand,  
took just possession of the swarthy land:  
He spent the darksome hours in this delight,  
Giving his power up to the gladsome night:  
For ne'er before he was so truly blest,  
To take an hour or one poor minutes rest.  
But now the burning god this pleasure feels,  
By reason of his newly crazed wheels,  
There must he stay until lame Vulcan send  
The fiery wheels which he had took to mend.  
Now all the night the Smith so hard had wrought,  
That ere the Sun could wake, his wheels were brought.  
Titan being pleased with rest, and not to rise,  
And loath to open yet his slumbering eyes:  
And yet perceiving how the longing sight  
Of mortals waited for his glittering light,  
He sent Aurora from him to the sky,  
To give a glimpsing to each mortal eye.  
Aurora much ashamed of that same place  
That great Apollo's light was wont to grace,  
Finding no place to hide her shameful head,  
Painted her chaste cheeks with a blushing red,  
Which ever since remained upon her face,  
In token of her new received disgrace:  
Therefore she not so white as she had been,  
Loathing of every mortal to be seen,  
No sooner can the rosy fingered morn  
Kiss every flower that by her dew is borne,  
But from her golden window she doth peep,  
When the most part of earthly creatures sleep.  
By this, bright Titan opened had his eyes,  
And began to jerk his horses through the skies,  
And taking in his hand his fiery whip,  
He made AEous and swift AEthon skip  
So fast, that strait he dazzled had the sight  
Of fair Aurora, glad to see his light.  
And now the Sun in all his fiery haste,  
Did call to mind his promise lately passed,  
And all the vows and oaths that he did pass  
Unto fair Salmacis, the beauteous lass:  
For he had promised her she should enjoy  
So lovely fair, and such a well shaped boy,  
As ne'er before his own allseeing eye  
Saw from his bright seat in the starry sky:  
Remembering this, he sent the boy that way,  
Where the clear fountain of the fair Nymph lay.  
There was he comen to seek some pleasing brook.  
No sooner came he, but the Nymph was struck:  
And though she hasted to embrace the boy,  
Yet did the Nymph awhile defer her joy,  
Till she had bound up her loose fl●gging hair,  
And ordered well the garments she did wear,  
Feigning her countenance with a lovers care,  
And did deserve to be accounted fair.  
And thus much spoke she while the boy abode:  
O boy, most worthy to be thought a god,  
Thou mayst inhabit in the glorious place  
Of gods, or mayst proceed from human race:  
Thou mayst be Cupid, or the god of wine,  
That lately wooed me with the swelling vine:  
But whosoe'er thou art, O happy he,  
That was so blest, to be a sire to thee;  
Thy happy mother is most blessed of many,  
Blessed thy sisters, if her womb bore any,  
Both fortunate, and O thrice happy she,  
Whose too much blessed breasts gave suck to thee:  
If any wife with thy sweet bed be blest,  
O, she is far more happy than the rest;  
If thou hast any, let my sport be sto'ne,  
Or else let me be she, if thou hast none.  
Here did she pause awhile, and then she said,  
Be not obdurate to a silly maid.  
A flinty heart within a snowy breast,  
Is like base mould locked in a golden chest:  
They say the eye's the Index of the heart,  
And shows th'affection of each inward part:  
There love plays lively, there the little god  
Hath a clear crystal Palace of abode.  
O bar him not from playing in thy heart,  
That sports himself upon each outward part.  
Thus much she spoke, & then her tongue was hushed.  
At her loose speech Hermaphroditus blushed:  
He knew not what love was, yet love did shame him,  
Making him blush, and yet his blush became him:  
Then might a man his shamefast colour see,  
Like the ripe apple on the sunny tree,  
Or ivory died o'er with a pleasing red,  
Or like the pale Moon being shadowed.  
By this, the Nymph recovered had her tongue,  
That to her thinking lay in silence long,  
And said, Thy cheek is mild, O be thou so,  
Thy cheek, saith I, then do not answer no,  
Thy cheek doth shame, then do thou shame, she said,  
It is a man's shame to deny a maid.  
Thou look'st to sport with Venus in her tower,  
And be beloved of every heavenly power.  
Men are but mortals, so are women too,  
Why should your thoughts aspire more than ours do?  
For sure they do aspire: Else could a youth,  
Whose countenance is so full of spotless truth,  
Be so relentless to a virgin's tongue?  
Let me be wooed by thee but half so long,  
With half those terms do but my love require,  
And I will easily grant thee thy desire.  
Ages are bad, when men become so slow,  
That poor unskilful maids are forced to woe.  
Her radiant beauty and her subtle art  
So deeply struck Hermaphroditus heart,  
That she had won his love, but that the light  
Of her translucent eyes did shine too bright:  
For long he looked upon the lovely maid,  
And at the last Hermaphroditus said,  
How should I love thee, when I do espy  
A far more beauteous Nymph hid in thy eye?  
When thou dost love, let not that Nymph be nigh thee;  
Nor when thou wooest, let that same Nymph be by thee:  
Or quite obscure her from thy lovers face,  
Or hide her beauty in a darker place.  
By this, the Nymph perceived he did espy  
None but himself reflected in her eye,  
And, for himself no more she meant to show him,  
She shut her eyes & blindfold thus did woe him:  
Fair boy, think not thy beauty can dispense  
With any pain due to a bad offence;  
Remember how the gods punished that boy  
That scorned to let a beauteous Nymph enjoy  
Her long wished pleasure; for the peevish elf,  
Loved of all others, needs would love himself.  
So mayst thou love, perhaps thou mayst be blest,  
By granting to a luckless Nymphs request:  
Then rest awhile with me amid these weeds.  
The Sun that sees all, sees not lovers deeds;  
Phoebus is blind when love-sports are begun,  
And never sees until their sports be done:  
Believe me, boy, thy blood is very stayed,  
That art so loath to kiss a youthful maid.  
Wert thou a maid, and I a man, I'll show thee,  
With what a manly boldness I could woe thee:  
Fairer then loves Queen, thus I would begin,  
Might not my overboldness be a sin,  
I would entreat this favour, if I could,  
Thy roseate cheek a little to behold:  
Then would I beg a touch, and then a kiss,  
And then a lower; yet a higher bliss:  
Then would I ask what jove and Leda did,  
When like a Swan the crafty god was hid?  
What came he for? why did he there abide?  
Surely I think he did not come to chide:  
He came to see her face, to talk, and chat,  
To touch, to kiss: came he for nought but that?  
Yes, something else: what was it he would have?  
That which all men of maidens ought to crave.  
This said, her eyelids wide she did display:  
But in this space the boy was run away:  
The wanton speeches of the lovely lass  
Forced him for shame to hide him in the grass.  
When she perceived she could not see him near her,  
When she had called, and yet he could not hear her,  
Look how when Autumn comes, a little space  
Paleth the red blush of the Summer's face,  
Tearing the leaves the Summer's covering,  
Three months in weaving by the curious spring,  
Making the grass his green locks go to wrack,  
Tearing each ornament from off his back;  
So did she spoil the garments she did wear,  
Tearing whole ounces of her golden hair:  
She thus deluded of her longed bliss,  
With much ado at last she uttered this:  
Why wert thou bashful, boy? Thou hast no part  
Shows thee to be of such a female heart.  
His eye is grey, so is the morning's eye,  
That blusheth always when the day is nigh.  
Then his grey eye's the cause: that cannot be:  
The gray-eyed morn is far more bold than he:  
For with a gentle dew from heavens bright tower,  
It gets the maidenhead of every flower.  
I would to God, he were the roseate morn,  
And I a flower from out the earth new borne!  
His face was smooth; Narcissus face was so,  
And he was careless of a sad Nymphs woe.  
Then that's the cause; and yet that cannot be:  
Youthful Narcissus was more bold than he,  
Because he died for love, though of his shade:  
This boy nor loves himself, nor yet a maid.  
Besides, his glorious eye is wondrous bright:  
So is the fiery and allseeing light  
Of Phoebus, who at every morning's birth  
Blusheth for shame upon the sullen earth.  
Then that's the cause; and yet that cannot be:  
The fiery Sun is far more bold than he;  
He nightly kisseth Thaetis in the sea:  
All know the story of Leucothoe.  
His cheek is red; so is the fragrant Rose,  
Whose ruddy cheek with over-blushing gloes:  
Then that's the cause; and yet that cannot be:  
Each blushing Rose is far more bold than he,  
Whose boldness may be plainly seen in this,  
The ruddy Rose is not ashamed to kiss;  
For always when the day is new begun,  
The spreading Rose will kiss the morning Sun.  
This said, hid in the grass she did espy him,  
And stumbling with her will, she fell down by him,  
And with her wanton talk, because he wooed not,  
Begged that, which he poor novice understood not:  
And, for she could not get a greater bliss,  
She did entreat at least a sister's kiss;  
But still the more she did the boy beseech,  
The more he pouted at her wanton speech.  
At last the Nymph began to touch his skin,  
Whiter than mountain snow hath ever been,  
And did in pureness that clear spring surpass,  
Wherein Actaeon saw th'Arcadian lass.  
Thus did she dally long, till at the last,  
In her moist palm she locked his white hand fast:  
Then in her hand his wrist she began to close,  
When through his pulses straight the warm blood gloes,  
Whose youthful music fanning Cupid's fire,  
In her warm breast kindled a fresh desire.  
Then did she lift her hand unto his breast,  
A part as white and youthful as the rest,  
Where, as his flowery breath still comes and goes,  
She felt his gentle heart pant through his clothes.  
At last she took her hand from off that part,  
And said, It panted like another's heart.  
Why should it be more feeble, and less bold?  
Why should the blood about it be more cold?  
Nay sure, that yields, only thy tongue denies,  
And the true fancy of thy heart belies.  
Then did she lift her hand unto his chin,  
And praised the pretty dimpling of his skin:  
But strait his chin she began to overslip,  
When she beheld the redness of his lip;  
And said, thy lips are soft, press them to mine,  
And thou shalt see they are as soft as thine.  
Then would she fain have gone unto his eye,  
But still his ruddy lip standing so nigh,  
Drew her hand back, therefore his eye she missed,  
‛ beginning to clasp his neck, and would have kissed;  
But then the boy did struggle to be gone,  
Vowing to leave her and that place alone.  
But then bright Salmacis began to fear,  
And said, Fair stranger, I will leave thee here  
Amid these pleasant places all alone.  
So turning back, she feigned to be gone;  
But from his sight she had no power to pass,  
Therefore she turned, and hid her in the grass,  
When to the ground bending her snow-white knee,  
The glad earth gave new coats to every tree.  
He then supposing he was all alone,  
(Like a young boy that is espied of none)  
Runs here, and there, then on the banks doth look,  
Then on the crystal current of the brook,  
Then with his foot he touched the silver streams,  
Whose drowsy waves made music in their dreams,  
And, for he was not wholly in, did weep,  
Talking aloud and babbling in their sleep:  
Whose pleasant coolness when the boy did feel,  
He thrust his foot down lower to the heel:  
O'ercome with whose sweet noise, he did begin  
To strip his soft clothes from his tender skin,  
When straight the scorching Sun wept tears of brine,  
Because he durst not touch him with his shine,  
For fear of spoiling that same Iu'ry skin,  
Whose whiteness he so much delighted in;  
And then the Moon, mother of mortal ease,  
Would fain have come from the Antipodes,  
To have beheld him naked as he stood,  
Ready to leap into the silver flood;  
But might not: for the laws of heaven deny,  
To show men's secrets to a woman's eye:  
And therefore was her sad and gloomy light  
Confined unto the secret-keeping night.  
When beauteous Salmacis awhile had gazed  
Upon his naked corpse, she stood amazed,  
And both her sparkling eyes burnt in her face,  
Like the bright Sun reflected in a glass:  
Scarce can she stay from running to the boy,  
Scarce can she now defer her hoped joy;  
So fast her youthful blood plays in her veins,  
That almost mad, she scarce herself contains.  
When young Hermaphroditus as he stands,  
Clapping his white side with his hollow hands,  
Leapt lively from the land, whereon he stood,  
Into the main part of the crystal flood.  
Like Iu'ry than his snowy body was,  
Or a white Lily in a crystal glass.  
Then rose the water-Nymph from where she lay,  
As having won the glory of the day,  
And her light garments cast from off her skin.  
he's mine, she cried▪ and so leapt sprightly in.  
The flattering ivy who did ever see  
Inclaspe the huge trunk of an aged tree,  
Let him behold the young boy as he stands,  
Inclaspt in wanton Salmacis' hands,  
Betwixt those Iu'ry arms she locked him fast,  
Striving to get away, till at the last,  
Fondling, she said, why strivest thou to be gone?  
Why shouldst thou so desire to be alone?  
Thy cheek is never fair, when none is by:  
For what is red and white, but to the eye?  
And for that cause the heavens are dark at night,  
Because all creatures close their weary sight;  
For there's no mortal can so early rise,  
But still the morning waits upon his eyes.  
The earely-rising and soone-singing Lark  
Can never chant her sweet notes in the dark;  
For sleep she ne'er so little or so long,  
Yet still the morning will attend her song.  
All creatures that beneath bright Cynthia be,  
Have appetite unto society;  
The overflowing waves would have a bound  
Within the confines of the spacious ground,  
And all their shady currents would be placed  
In hollow of the solitary vast,  
But that they loath to let their soft streams sing,  
Where none can hear their gentle murmuring.  
Yet still the boy regardless what she said,  
Struggled apace to overswimme the maid.  
Which when the Nymph perceived, she began to say,  
Struggle thou mayst, but never get away.  
So grant, just gods, that never day may see  
The separation twixt this boy and me.  
The gods did hear her prayer and feel her woe;  
And in one body they began to grow.  
She felt his youthful blood in every vain;  
And he felt hers warm his cold breast again.  
And ever since was woman's love so blest,  
That it will draw blood from the strongest breast.  
Nor man nor maid now could they be esteemed:  
Neither, and either, might they well be deemed,  
When the young boy Hermaphroditus said,  
With the set voice of neither man nor maid,  
Swift Mercury, thou author of my life,  
And thou my mother Vulcan's lovely wife,  
Let your poor offsprings latest breath be blest,  
In but obtaining this his last request,  
Grant that who e'er heated by Phoebus' beams,  
Shall come to cool him in these silver streams,  
May nevermore a manly shape retain,  
But half a virgin may return again.  
His parents hark'ned to his last request,  
And with that great power they the fountain blest.  
And since that time who in that fountain swims,  
A maiden smoothness seizeth half his limbs.  
FINIS.