Wrapp'd in unshapeful folds, 'twas death to see; Her knee stay'd that, and that her falling face; Each limb help'd other to put on disgrace: 300 No form was seen, where form held all her sight; But like an embryon that saw never light, Or like a scorchËd statue made a coal With three-wing'd lightning, or a wretched soul Muffled with endless darkness, she did sit: The night had never such a heavy spirit. Yet might a penetrating[63] eye well see How fast her clear tears melted on her knee Through her black veil, and turn'd as black as it, Mourning to be her tears. Then wrought her wit 310 With her broke vow, her goddess' wrath, her fame,-- All tools that enginous[64] despair could frame: Which made her strew the floor with her torn hair, And spread her mantle piece-meal in the air. Like Jove's son's club, strong passion struck her down, And with a piteous shriek enforc'd her swoun: Her shriek made with another shriek ascend The frighted matron that on her did tend; And as with her own cry her sense was slain, So with the other it was called again. 320 She rose, and to her bed made forcËd way, And laid her down even where Leander lay; And all this while the red sea of her blood Ebb'd with Leander: but now turn'd the flood, And all her fleet of spirits came swelling in, With child[65] of sail, and did hot fight begin With those severe conceits she too much marked: And here Leander's beauties were embarked. He came in swimming, painted all with joys, Such as might sweeten hell: his thought destroys 330 All her destroying thoughts; she thought she felt His heart in hers, with her contentions melt, And chide her soul that it could so much err, To check the true joys he deserved in her. Her fresh-heat blood cast figures in her eyes, And she suppos'd she saw in Neptune's skies How her star wander'd, wash'd in smarting brine, For her love's sake, that with immortal wine Should be embath'd, and swim in more heart's-ease Than there was water in the Sestian seas. 340 Then said her Cupid-prompted spirit, "Shall I Sing moans to such delightsome harmony? Shall slick-tongu'd Fame, patch'd up with voices rude, The drunken bastard of the multitude (Begot when father Judgment is away, And, gossip-like, says because others say, Takes news as if it were too hot to eat, And spits it slavering forth for dog-fees meat), Make me, for forging a fantastic vow, Presume to bear what makes grave matrons bow? 350 Good vows are never broken with good deeds, For then good deeds were bad: vows are but seeds, And good deeds fruits; even those good deeds that grow From other stocks than from th' observËd vow.