Hero And Leander: The First Sestiad
On
Hellespont,
guilty
of
true-love's
blood,
In
view
and
opposite
two
cities
stood,
Sea-borderers,
disjoined
by
Neptune's
might;
The
one
Abydos,
the
other
Sestos
hight.
At
Sestos
Hero
dwelt;
Hero
the
fair,
Whom
young
Apollo
courted
for
her
hair,
And
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
kirtle
blue,
whereon
was
many
a
stain,
Made
with
the
blood
of
wretched
lovers
slain.
Upon
her
head
she
ware
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
there
for
honey
bees
have
sought
in
vain,
And,
beat
from
thence,
have
lighted
there
again.
About
her
neck
hung
chains
of
pebblestone,
Which,
lightened
by
her
neck,
like
diamonds
shone.
She
ware
no
gloves;
for
neither
sun
nor
wind
Would
burn
or
parch
her
hands,
but
to
her
mind,
Or
warm
or
cool
them,
for
they
took
delight
To
play
upon
those
hands,
they
were
so
white.
Buskins
of
shells,
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.
Those
with
sweet
water
oft
her
handmaid
fills,
Which,
as
she
went,
would
chirrup
through
the
bills.
Some
say
for
her
the
fairest
Cupid
pined
And
looking
in
her
face
was
strooken
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
rocked,
there
took
his
rest.
So
lovely
fair
was
Hero,
Venus'
nun,
As
Nature
wept,
thinking
she
was
undone,
Because
she
took
more
from
her
than
she
left,
And
of
such
wondrous
beauty
her
bereft.
Therefore,
in
sign
her
treasure
suffered
wrack,
Since
Hero's
time
hath
half
the
world
been
black.
Amorous
Leander,
beautiful
and
young,
(whose
tragedy
divine
Musaeus
sung,)
Dwelt
at
Abydos;
since
him
dwelt
there
none
For
whom
succeeding
times
make
greater
moan.
His
dangling
tresses,
that
were
never
shorn,
Had
they
been
cut,
and
unto
Colchos
borne,
Would
have
allured
the
vent'rous
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
Pelop'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
blazon
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
leaped
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
Enamoured
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
nought,
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
Sestos
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
th'
enchanted
gazer's
mind,
For
like
sea
nymphs'
enveigling
Harmony,
So
was
her
beauty
to
the
standers
by.
Nor
that
night-wandering,
pale,
and
wat'ry
star
(When
yawning
dragons
draw
her
thirling
car
From
Latmus'
mount
up
to
the
gloomy
sky
Where,
crowned
with
blazing
light
and
majesty,
She
proudly
sits)
more
overrules
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
enamoured
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
strooken,
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)
Compile
sharp
satires,
but
alas
too
late,
For
faithful
love
will
never
turn
to
hate.
And
many
seeing
great
princes
were
denied
Pin'd
as
they
went,
and
thinking
on
her
died.
On
this
feast
day,
O
cursed
day
and
hour,
Went
Hero
thorough
Sestos
from
her
tower
To
Venus'
temple,
where
unhappily
As
after
chanced,
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
o'erhead
A
lively
vine
of
green
sea
agate
spread,
Where
by
one
hand
lightheaded
Bacchus
hung,
And,
with
the
other,
wine
from
grapes
out
wrung.
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
Danae's
statue
in
a
brazen
tower,
Jove
slyly
stealing
from
his
sister's
bed,
To
dally
with
Idalian
Ganymede,
And
for
his
love
Europa
bellowing
loud,
And
tumbling
with
the
Rainbow
in
a
cloud;
Blood
quaffing
Mars
heaving
the
iron
net
Which
limping
Vulcan
and
his
Cyclops
set;
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
gods
love
to
be.
And
in
the
midst
a
silver
altar
stood.
There
Hero,
sacrificing
turtle's
blood,
Vailed
to
the
ground,
vailing
her
eyelids
close,
And
modestly
they
opened
as
she
rose.
Thence
flew
Love's
arrow
with
the
golden
head,
And
thus
Leander
was
enamoured.
Stone
still
he
stood,
and
evermore
he
gazed
Till
with
the
fire
that
from
his
countenance
blazed
Relenting
Hero's
gentle
heart
was
strook.
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:
Who
ever
loved,
that
loved
not
at
first
sight?
He
kneeled,
but
unto
her
devoutly
prayed.
Chaste
Hero
to
herself
thus
softly
said,
"Were
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
parleyed
by
the
touch
of
hands;
True
love
is
mute,
and
oft
amazed
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
thy
thoughts
as
thy
fair
looks
do
mine,
Then
shouldst
thou
be
his
prisoner,
who
is
thine.
Be
not
unkind
and
fair;
misshapen
stuff
Are
of
behaviour
boisterous
and
rough.
O
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
nun
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
ofttimes
more
grace;
Which
makes
me
hope,
although
I
am
but
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
builded
ship,
well
rigged
and
tall,
The
ocean
maketh
more
majestical.
Why
vowest
thou
then
to
live
in
Sestos
here
Who
on
Love's
seas
more
glorious
wouldst
appear?
Like
untuned
golden
strings
all
women
are,
Which
long
time
lie
untouched,
will
harshly
jar.
Vessels
of
brass,
oft
handled,
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
misers
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
rams
up
the
gate
Shall
see
it
ruinous
and
desolate.
Ah,
simple
Hero,
learn
thyself
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
gem,
sweet
in
the
loss
alone,
When
you
fleet
hence,
can
be
bequeathed
to
none.
Or,
if
it
could,
down
from
th'enameled
sky
All
heaven
would
come
to
claim
this
legacy,
And
with
intestine
broils
the
world
destroy,
And
quite
confound
nature's
sweet
harmony.
Well
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.
Wild
savages,
that
drink
of
running
springs,
Think
water
far
excels
all
earthly
things,
But
they
that
daily
taste
neat
wine
despise
it.
Virginity,
albeit
some
highly
prize
it,
Compared
with
marriage,
had
you
tried
them
both,
Differs
as
much
as
wine
and
water
doth.
Base
bullion
for
the
stamp's
sake
we
allow;
Even
so
for
men's
impression
do
we
you,
By
which
alone,
our
reverend
fathers
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
is't
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
thereto;
Honour
is
purchased
by
the
deeds
we
do.
Believe
me,
Hero,
honour
is
not
won
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
Some
one
or
other
keeps
you
as
his
own.
Then,
Hero,
hate
me
not
nor
from
me
fly
To
follow
swiftly
blasting
infamy.
Perhaps
thy
sacred
priesthood
makes
thee
loath.
Tell
me,
to
whom
mad'st
thou
that
heedless
oath?"
"To
Venus,"
answered
she
and,
as
she
spake,
Forth
from
those
two
tralucent
cisterns
brake
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.
Thee
as
a
holy
idiot
doth
she
scorn
For
thou
in
vowing
chastity
hast
sworn
To
rob
her
name
and
honour,
and
thereby
Committ'st
a
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
might
he
hope
for
moe.
Which
makes
him
quickly
re-enforce
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
sole
enemy.
Then
shall
you
most
resemble
Venus'
nun,
When
Venus'
sweet
rites
are
performed
and
done.
Flint-breasted
Pallas
joys
in
single
life,
But
Pallas
and
your
mistress
are
at
strife.
Love,
Hero,
then,
and
be
not
tyrannous,
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
won
before.
Hero's
looks
yielded
but
her
words
made
war.
Women
are
won
when
they
begin
to
jar.
Thus,
having
swallowed
Cupid's
golden
hook,
The
more
she
strived,
the
deeper
was
she
strook.
Yet,
evilly
feigning
anger,
strove
she
still
And
would
be
thought
to
grant
against
her
will.
So
having
paused
a
while
at
last
she
said,
"Who
taught
thee
rhetoric
to
deceive
a
maid?
Ay
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
sand,
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
beldam
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
slipped.
And
suddenly
her
former
colour
changed,
And
here
and
there
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
above
the
empty
air
he
flings,
All
deep
enraged,
his
sinewy
bow
he
bent,
And
shot
a
shaft
that
burning
from
him
went,
Wherewith
she
strooken,
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
blest.
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.
Hearken
a
while
and
I
will
tell
you
why.
Heaven's
winged
herald,
Jove-borne
Mercury,
The
selfsame
day
that
he
asleep
had
laid
Enchanted
Argus,
spied
a
country
maid
Whose
careless
hair
instead
of
pearl
t'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
untaught
to
gloze.
Yet
proud
she
was
(for
lofty
pride
that
dwells
In
towered
courts
is
oft
in
shepherds'
cells.)
And
too
too
well
the
fair
vermilion
knew,
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
striv'n
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
tale,
left
off
her
running.
Maids
are
not
won
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
Jove?)
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
th'
earth
from
ugly
Chaos'
den
upweighed.
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,
lust,
and
treachery,
Were
with
Jove
closed
in
Stygian
empery.
But
long
this
blessed
time
continued
not.
As
soon
as
he
his
wished
purpose
got
He
reckless
of
his
promise
did
despise
The
love
of
th'
everlasting
Destinies.
They
seeing
it
both
love
and
him
abhorred
And
Jupiter
unto
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
in
aspiring
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,
Who
with
encroaching
guile
keeps
learning
down.
Then
Muse
not
Cupid's
suit
no
better
sped,
Seeing
in
their
loves
the
Fates
were
injured.
