Hymen, that now is god of nuptial rites, And crowns with honour Love and his delights, Of Athens was a youth, so sweet a face, That many thought him of the female race; Such quickening brightness did his clear eyes dart, Warm went their beams to his beholder's heart, In such pure leagues his beauties were combin'd, That there your nuptial contracts first were sign'd; For as proportion, white and crimson, meet In beauty's mixture, all right clear and sweet, The eye responsible, the golden hair, And none is held, without the other, fair; All spring together, all together fade; Such intermix'd affections should invade Two perfect lovers; which being yet unseen, Their virtues and their comforts copied been In beauty's concord, subject to the eye; And that, in Hymen, pleas'd so matchlessly, That lovers were esteem'd in their full grace, Like form and colour mix'd in Hymen's face; And such sweet concord was thought worthy then Of torches, music, feasts, and greatest men: So Hymen look'd, that even the chastest mind He mov'd to join in joys of sacred kind; For only now his chin's first down consorted His head's rich fleece, in golden curls contorted; And as he was so lov'd, he lov'd so too: So should best beauties, bound by nuptials, do. Bright Eucharis, who was by all men said The noblest, fairest, and the richest maid Of all th' Athenian damsels, Hymen lov'd With such transmission, that his heart remov'd From his white breast to hers: but her estate, In passing his, was so interminate For wealth and honour, that his love durst feed On naught but sight and hearing, nor could breed Hope of requital, the grand prize of love; Nor could he hear or see, but he must prove How his rare beauty's music would agree With maids in consort; therefore robbed he His chin of those same few first fruits it bore, And, clad in such attire as virgins wore, He kept them company; and might right well, For he did all but Eucharis excel In all the fair of beauty: yet he wanted Virtue to make his own desires implanted In his dear Eucharis; for women never Love beauty in their sex, but envy ever. His judgment yet, that durst not suit address, Nor, past due means, presume of due success, Reason gat Fortune in the end to speed To his best prayers: but strange it seem'd, indeed, That Fortune should a chaste affection bless: Preferment seldom graceth bashfulness. Nor grac'd it Hymen yet; but many a dart, And many an amorous thought, enthrill'd his heart, Ere he obtain'd her; and he sick became, Forc'd to abstain her sight; and then the flame Rag'd in his bosom. O, what grief did fill him! Sight made him sick, and want of sight did kill him. The virgins wonder'd where Diaetia stay'd, For so did Hymen term himself, a maid. At length with sickly looks he greeted them: 'Tis strange to see 'gainst what an extreme stream A lover strives; poor Hymen look'd so ill, That as in merit he increased still By suffering much, so he in grace decreas'd: