The Works of Christopher Marlowe, Vol. 3 (of 3). Christopher Marlowe

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with rude hands enforc'd their shining spoil,

      Far from the darkened city, tired with toil:

      And when the yellow issue of the sky

      Came trooping forth, jealous of cruelty

      To their bright fellows of this under-heaven,

      Into a double night they saw them driven,—

      A horrid cave, the thieves' black mansion;

      Where, weary of the journey they had gone,

      Their last night's watch, and drunk with their sweet gains,

      Dull Morpheus enter'd, laden with silken chains,

      Stronger than iron, and bound the swelling veins

      And tirèd senses of these lawless swains.

      But when the virgin lights thus dimly burn'd,

      O, what a hell was heaven in! how they mourn'd

      And wrung their hands, and wound their gentle forms

      Into the shapes of sorrow! golden storms

      Fell from their eyes; as when the sun appears,

      And yet it rains, so show'd their eyes their tears:

      And, as when funeral dames watch a dead corse,

      Weeping about it, telling with remorse

      What pains he felt, how long in pain he lay,

      How little food he ate, what he would say;

      And then mix mournful tales of other's deaths,

      Smothering themselves in clouds of their own breaths;

      At length, one cheering other, call for wine;

      The golden bowl drinks tears out of their eyne,

      As they drink wine from it; and round it goes,

      Each helping other to relieve their woes;

      So cast these virgins' beauties mutual rays,

      One lights another, face the face displays;

      Lips by reflection kissed, and hands hands shook,

      Even by the whiteness each of other took.

      But Hymen now used friendly Morpheus' aid,

      Slew every thief, and rescued every maid:

      And now did his enamour'd passion take

      Heart from his hearty deed, whose worth did make

      His hope of bounteous Eucharis more strong;

      And now came Love with Proteus, who had long

      Juggled the little god with prayers and gifts,

      Ran through all shapes and varied all his shifts,

      To win Love's stay with him, and make him love him.

      And when he saw no strength of sleight could move him,

      To make him love or stay, he nimbly turned

      Into Love's self, he so extremely burned.

      And thus came Love, with Proteus and his power,

      T' encounter Eucharis: first, like the flower

      That Juno's milk did spring,97 the silver lily,

      He fell on Hymen's hand, who straight did spy

      The bounteous godhead, and with wondrous joy

      Offer'd it Eucharis. She, wonderous coy,

      Drew back her hand: the subtle flower did woo it,

      And, drawing it near, mixed so you could not know it:

      As two clear tapers mix in one their light,

      So did the lily and the hand their white.

      She viewed it; and her view the form bestows

      Amongst her spirits; for, as colour flows

      From superficies of each thing we see,

      Even so with colours forms emitted be;

      And where Love's form is, Love is; Love is form:

      He entered at the eye; his sacred storm

      Rose from the hand, Love's sweetest instrument:

      It stirred her blood's sea so, that high it went,

      And beat in bashful waves 'gainst the white shore

      Of her divided cheeks; it raged the more,

      Because the tide went 'gainst the haughty wind

      Of her estate and birth: and, as we find,

      In fainting ebbs, the flowery Zephyr hurls

      The green-haired Hellespont, broke in silver curls,

      'Gainst Hero's tower; but in his blast's retreat,

      The waves obeying him, they after beat,

      Leaving the chalky shore a great way pale,

      Then moist it freshly with another gale;

      So ebbed and flowed the blood98 in Eucharis' face,

      Coyness and Love strived which had greatest grace;

      Virginity did fight on Coyness' side,

      Fear of her parent's frowns and female pride

      Loathing the lower place, more than it loves

      The high contents desert and virtue moves.

      With Love fought Hymen's beauty and his valure,99

      Which scarce could so much favour yet allure

      To come to strike, but fameless idle stood:

      Action is fiery valour's sovereign good.

      But Love, once entered, wished no greater aid

      Than he could find within; thought thought betray'd;

      The bribed, but incorrupted, garrison

      Sung "Io Hymen;" there those songs begun,

      And Love was grown so rich with such a gain,

      And wanton with the ease of his free reign,

      That he would turn into her roughest frowns

      To turn them out; and thus he Hymen crowns

      King of his thoughts, man's greatest empery:

      This was his first brave step to deity.

      Home to the mourning city they repair,

      With news as wholesome as the morning air,

      To the sad parents of each savèd maid:

      But Hymen and his Eucharis had laid

      This plat100 to make the flame of their delight

      Round as the moon at full, and full as bright.

      Because the parents of chaste Eucharis

      Exceeding Hymen's so, might cross their bliss;

      And as the world rewards deserts, that law

      Cannot assist with force; so when they saw

      Their daughter safe, take vantage of their own,

      Praise Hymen's valour much, nothing bestown;

      Hymen must leave the virgins in a grove

      Far off from Athens, and go first to prove,

      If to restore them all with fame and life,

      He should enjoy his dearest as his wife.

      This told to all the maids, the most agree:

      The riper sort, knowing what 'tis to be

      The first mouth of a news so far derived,

      And that to hear and bear news brave folks lived.

      As

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