Hero and Leander E-Book

Christopher Marlowe

• Herausgeber: Charles River Editors
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 97

Beschreibung

Christopher Marlowe was one of the most famous playwrights in all of literature.  Marlowe's tragic plays, noted for their blank verse and unique protagonists, were a great influence on the legendary William Shakespeare. Some of Marlowe's classics include Doctor Faustus, Edward II, and Tamburlaine the Great.

Hero and Leander is an epic poem based off the Greek myth of two lovers and their tragic fate. A table of contents is included.

Leseprobe

HERO AND LEANDER

..................

Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman

KYPROS PRESS

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Copyright © 2016 by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman

Interior design by Pronoun

Distribution by Pronoun

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Hero and Leander

To the Right Worshipful Sir Thomas Walsingham, Knight.

The First Sestiad

The Second Sestiad

The Third Sestiad

The Fourth Sestiad

The Fifth Sestiad

The Sixth Sestiad

HERO AND LEANDER

..................

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM, KNIGHT.

..................

SIR, WE THINK NOT OURSELVES discharged of the duty we owe to our friend when we have brought the breathless body to the earth; for, albeit the eye there taketh his ever-farewell of that beloved object, yet the impression of the man that hath been dear unto us, living an after-life in our memory, there putteth us in mind of farther obsequies due unto the deceased; and namely of the performance of whatsoever we may judge shall make to his living credit and to the effecting of his determinations prevented by the stroke of death. By these meditations (as by an intellectual will) I suppose myself executor to the unhappily deceased author of this poem; upon whom knowing that in his lifetime you bestowed many kind favours, entertaining the parts of reckoning and worth which you found in him with good countenance and liberal affection, I cannot but see so far into the will of him dead, that whatsoever issue of his brain should chance to come abroad, that the first breath it should take might be the gentle air of your liking; for, since his self had been accustomed thereunto, it would prove more agreeable and thriving to his right children than any other foster countenance whatsoever. At this time seeing that this unfinished tragedy happens under my hands to be imprinted, of a double duty, the one to yourself, the other to the deceased, I present the same to your most favourable allowance, offering my utmost self now and ever to be ready at your worship’s disposing.

Edward Blunt.

Note: The first two Sestiads were written by Marlowe; the last four by Chapman, who supplied also the Arguments for the six Sestiads.

THE FIRST SESTIAD

..................

The Argument of the first Sestiad

Hero’s description and her love’s;

The fane of Venus where he moves

His worthy love-suit, and attains;

Whose bliss the wrath of Fates restrains

For Cupid’s grace to Mercury:

Which tale the author doth imply.

On Hellespont, guilty of true love’s blood,

In view and opposite two cities stood,

Sea-borderers, disjoin’d 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 offer’d 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 border’d 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 reach’d 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 past,

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 pebble-stone,

Which, lighten’d 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 shell, all silver’d, used she,

And branch’d with blushing coral to the knee;

Where sparrows perch’d, 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 cherup through the bills.

Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pin’d,

And, looking in her face, was strooken blind.

But this is true; so like was one the other,

As he imagin’d Hero was his mother;

And oftentimes into her bosom flew,

About her naked neck his bare arms threw,

And laid his childish head upon her breast,

And, with still panting rock, there took his rest.

So lovely-fair was Hero, Venus’ nun,

As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,

Because she took more from her than she left,

And of such wondrous beauty her bereft:

Therefore, in sign her treasure suffer’d wrack,

Since Hero’s time hath half the world been black.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young,

(Whose tragedy divine Musæus 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 allur’d the venturous youth of Greece

To hazard more than for the golden fleece.

Fair Cynthia wish’d 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 sipt out nectar from his hand.

Even as delicious meat is to the tast,

So was his neck in touching, and surpast

The white of Pelops’ 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 leapt into the water for a kiss

Of his own shadow, and, despising many,

Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.

Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen,

Enamour’d of his beauty had he been:

His presence made the rudest peasant melt,

That in the vast uplandish country dwelt;

The barbarous Thracian soldier, mov’d with nought,

Was mov’d 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 lov’d 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-cheek’d 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,

Glister’d with breathing stars, who, where they went,

Frighted the melancholy earth, which deem’d

Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seem’d,

As if another Phaëton had got

The guidance of the sun’s rich chariot.

But, far above the loveliest, Hero shin’d,

And stole away th’ enchanted gazer’s mind;

For like sea nymphs’ inveigling harmony,

So was her beauty to the standers by;

Nor that night-wandering, pale, and watery star

(When yawning dragons draw her thirling car

From Latmus’ mount up to the gloomy sky,

Where, crown’d with blazing light and majesty,

She proudly sits) more over-rules the flood

Than she the hearts of those that near her stood.

Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase,

Wretched Ixion’s shaggy-footed race,

Incens’d 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 view’d her were enamour’d 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 surpris’d 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 chanc’d, they did each other spy.

So fair a church as this had Venus none:

The walls were of discolour’d jasper-stone,

Wherein was Proteus carv’d; and over-head

A lively vine of green sea-agate spread,

Where by one hand light-headed Bacchus hung,

And with the other wine from grapes out-wrung.

Of crystal shining fair the pavement was;

The town of Sestos call’d it Venus’ glass:

There might you see the gods, in sundry shapes,

Committing heady riots, incest, rapes;

For know, that underneath this radiant flour

Was Danäe’s statue in a brazen tower;

Jove slily stealing from his sister’s bed,

To dally with Idalian Ganymed,

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;

Silvanus weeping for the lovely boy

That now is turn’d 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,

Vail’d to the ground, veiling her eyelids close;

And modestly they open’d as she rose:

Thence flew Love’s arrow with the golden head;

And thus Leander was enamoured.

Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gaz’d,

Till with the fire, that from his countenance blaz’d,

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 over-rul’d by fate.

When two are stript 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 censur’d by our eyes.

Where both deliberate, the love is slight:

Who ever lov’d, that lov’d not at first sight?

He kneel’d; but unto her devoutly pray’d:

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 blush’d as one asham’d;

Wherewith Leander much more was inflam’d.

He touch’d her hand; in touching it she trembled:

Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled.

These lovers parled by the touch of hands:

True love is mute, and oft amazed stands.

Thus while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled,

The air with sparks of living fire was spangled;

And Night, deep-drench’d in misty Acheron,

Heav’d up her head, and half the world upon

Breath’d 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, enter’d Hero’s ears;