grove,

The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;
Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with
Where Venus in her naked glory strove
To please the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies;
Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain,
Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.
Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath,
From whence her veil reached to the ground be-
neath:

Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,

Whose workmanship both man and beast de

ceives:

Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,
When 't was the odor which her breath forth cast;
And there for honey bees have sought in vain,
And, beat from thence, have lighted there again.
About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone,
Which, lightened by her neck, like diamonds
shone.

She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind
Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind,
Or warm or cool them, for they took delight
To play upon those hands, they were so white.
Buskins of shells, all silvered, used she,

And branched with blushing coral to the knee; Where sparrows perched, of hollow pearl and gold,.

Such as the world would wonder to behold:

Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills, Which as she went, would cherup through their bills.

Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pined,

And, looking in her face, was strooken blind.
But this is true; so like was one the other,
As he imagined Hero was his mother;
And oftentimes into her bosom flew,

About her naked neck his bare arms threw,

And laid his childish head upon her breast,

And, with still panting rockt, there took his rest.

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE
EYES.

66
FROM THE FOREST."

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be;

But thou thereon didst only breathe.
And sent'st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself but thee!

From the Greek of PHILOSTRATUS.

Translation of BEN JONSON.

From an

BEN JONSON.

engraving after an old painting.

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