Page:Hero and Leander - Marlowe and Chapman (1821).pdf/137

 Glad to disclaim herself, proud of an art, That makes the face a pandar to the heart. Those be the painted moons, whose lights profane Beauty's true heaven, at full still in their wane; Those be the lapwing faces that still cry, "Here 'tis!" when that they vow is nothing nigh. Base fools! when every Moorish fool can teach That which men think the height of human reach. But custom, that the apoplexy is Of bedrid Nature, and lives led amiss, And takes away all feeling of offence, Yet braz'd not Hero's brow with impudence; And this she thought most hard to bring to pass, To seem in countenance other than she was, As if she had two souls; one for the face, One for the heart, and that they shifted place As either list to utter, or conceal What they conceiv'd: or as one soul did deal With both affairs at once, keeps and ejects Both at an instant contrary effects: Retention and ejection in her powers Being acts alike: for this one vice of ours, That forms the thought, and sways the countenance, Rules both our motion and our utterance.