Here Marlowe's work ends. The rest of the poem is by Chapman. THE THIRD SESTIAD THE ARGUMENT OF THE THIRD SESTIAD Leander to the envious light Resigns his night-sports with the night, And swims the Hellespont again. Thesme, the deity sovereign Of customs and religious rites, Appears, reproving his delights, Since nuptial honours he neglected; Which straight he vows shall be effected. Fair Hero, left devirginate, Weighs, and with fury wails her state: But with her love and woman's wit She argues and approveth it. New light gives new directions, fortunes new To fashion our endeavours that ensue. More harsh, at least more hard, more grave and high Our subject runs, and our stern Muse must fly. Love's edge is taken off, and that light flame, Those thoughts, joys, longings, that before became High unexperienc'd blood, and maids' sharp plights, Must now grow staid, and censure the delights, That, being enjoy'd, ask judgment; now we praise, As having parted: evenings crown the days. And now, ye wanton Loves, and young Desires, Pied Vanity, the mint of strange attires, Ye lisping Flatteries, and obsequious Glances, Relentful Musics, and attractive Dances, And you detested Charms constraining love! Shun love's stoln sports by that these lovers prove. By this, the sovereign of heaven's golden fires, And young Leander, lord of his desires, Together from their lover's arms arose: Leander into Hellespontus throws His Hero-handled body, whose delight Made him disdain each other epithite. And so amidst th' enamour'd waves he swims, The god of gold of purpose gilt his limbs, That, this word _gilt_ including double sense, The double guilt of his incontinence Might be express'd, that had no stay t' employ The tresure which the love-god let him joy In his dear Hero, with such sacred thrift As had beseem'd so sanctified a gift; But, like a greedy vulgar prodigal, Would on the stock dispend, and rudely fall, Before his time, to that unblessed blessing Which, for lust's plague, doth perish with possessing: Joy graven in sense, like snow in water, wasts; Without preserve of virtue, nothing lasts. What man is he, that with a wealthy eye Enjoys a beauty richer than the sky, Through whose white skin, softer than soundest sleep, With damask eyes the ruby blood doth peep, And runs in branches through her azure veins, Whose mixture and first fire his love attains; Whose both hands limit both love's deities, And sweeten human thoughts like paradise; Whose disposition silken and is kind, Directed with an earth-exempted mind;-- Who thinks not heaven with such a love is given? And who, like earth, would spend that dower of heaven, With rank desire to joy it all at first? What simply kills our hunger, quencheth thirst, Clothes but our nakedness, and makes us live, Praise doth not any of her favours give: But what doth plentifully minister Beauteous apparel and delicious cheer, So order'd that it still excites desire,