Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand On glorious Day's outfacing face; 440 And all thy crownËd flames command, For torches to our nuptial grace! Love calls to war; Sighs his alarms, Lips his swords are, The field his arms. No need have we of factious Day, To cast, in envy of thy peace, Her balls of discord in thy way: Here Beauty's day doth never cease; 450 Day is abstracted here, And varied in a triple sphere. Hero, Alcmane, Mya, so outshine thee, Ere thou come here, let Thetis thrice refine thee. Love calls to war; Sighs his alarms, Lips his swords are, The field his arms. The evening star I see: Rise, youths! the evening star 460 Helps Love to summon war; Both now embracing be. Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; rise! Now the bright marigolds, that deck the skies, Phoebus' celestial flowers, that, contrary To his flowers here, ope when he shuts his eye, And shuts when he doth open, crown your sports: Now Love in Night, and Night in Love exhorts Courtship and dances: all your parts employ, And suit Night's rich expansure with your joy. 470 Love paints his longings in sweet virgins' eyes: Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; rise! Rise, virgins! let fair nuptial loves enfold Your fruitless breasts: the maidenheads[110] ye hold Are not your own alone, but parted are; Part in disposing them your parents share, And that a third part is; so must ye save Your loves a third, and you your thirds must have. Love paints his longings in sweet virgins' eyes: Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; rise! 480 Herewith the amorous spirit, that was so kind To Teras' hair, and comb'd it down with wind, Still as it, comet-like, brake from her brain, Would needs have Teras gone, and did refrain To blow it down: which, staring[111] up, dismay'd The timorous feast; and she no longer stay'd; But, bowing to the bridegroom and the bride, Did, like a shooting exhalation, glide Out of their sights: the turning of her back Made them all shriek, it look'd so ghastly black. 490 O hapless Hero! that most hapless cloud Thy soon-succeeding tragedy foreshow'd. Thus all the nuptial crew to joys depart; But much-wronged[112] Hero stood Hell's blackest dart: Whose wound because I grieve so to display, I use digressions thus t' increase the day. FOOTNOTES: [92] Some modern editors read "sat." [93] Singer suggested "Alcmaeon." [94] "Chapman has a passage very similar to this in his _Widow's Tears_, Act iv.:--