Page:Hero and Leander - Marlowe and Chapman (1821).pdf/84

 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 reach'd to the ground beneath. Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves, Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives. Many would praise the sweet smell as she pass'd, When 'twas the odour 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, light'ned 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 silver'd, used she; And branch'd with blushing coral to the knee; Where sparrows perch'd, 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 the bills. Some say for her the fairest Cupid pin'd, And looking in her face was stricken blind.