And her torn robe, which on the altar lay, 220 And only for religion's fire did stay, She heard a thunder by the Cyclops beaten, In such a volley as the world did threaten, Given Venus as she parted th' airy sphere, Descending now to chide with Hero here: When suddenly the goddess' waggoners, The swans and turtles that, in coupled pheres,[82] Through all worlds' bosoms draw her influence, Lighted in Hero's window, and from thence To her fair shoulders flew the gentle doves,-- 230 Graceful _∆done_[83] that sweet pleasure loves, And ruff-foot Chreste[84] with the tufted crown; Both which did kiss her, though their goddess frown. The swans did in the solid flood, her glass, Proin[85] their fair plumes; of which the fairest was Jove-lov'd Leucote,[86] that pure brightness is; The other bounty-loving Dapsilis.[87] All were in heaven, now they with Hero were: But Venus' looks brought wrath, and urgËd fear. Her robe was scarlet; black her head's attire: 240 And through her naked breast shin'd streams of fire, As when the rarifiËd air is driven In flashing streams, and opes the darken'd heaven. In her white hand a wreath of yew she bore; And, breaking th' icy wreath sweet Hero wore, She forc'd about her brows her wreath of yew, And said, "Now, minion, to thy fate be true, Though not to me; endure what this portends: Begin where lightness will, in shame it ends. Love makes thee cunning; thou art current now, 250 By being counterfeit: thy broken vow Deceit with her pied garters must rejoin, And with her stamp thou countenances must coin; Coyness, and pure[88] deceits, for purities, And still a maid wilt seem in cozen'd eyes, And have an antic face to laugh within, While thy smooth looks make men digest thy sin. But since thy lips (least thought forsworn) forswore, Be never virgin's vow worth trusting more!" When Beauty's dearest did her goddess hear 260 Breathe such rebukes 'gainst that she could not clear, Dumb sorrow spake aloud in tears and blood, That from her grief-burst veins, in piteous flood, From the sweet conduits of her favour fell. The gentle turtles did with moans make swell Their shining gorges; the while black-ey'd swans Did sing as woful epicedians, As they would straightways die: when Pity's queen, The goddess Ecte,[89] that had ever been Hid in a watery cloud near Hero's cries, 270 Since the first instant of her broken eyes, Gave bright Leucote voice, and made her speak, To ease her anguish, whose swoln breast did break With anger at her goddess, that did touch Hero so near for that she us'd so much; And, thrusting her white neck at Venus, said: "Why may not amorous Hero seem a maid,