Page:Hero and Leander - Marlowe and Chapman (1821).pdf/86

 Even as delicious meat is to the taste, So was his neck in touching, and surpass'd The white of Pelops' shoulder; I could tell ye, How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly; And whose immortal fingers did imprint That heavenly path with many a curious dint, That runs along his back; but my rude pen Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men; Much less of powerful gods: let it suffice, That my slack Muse sings of Leander's eyes. Those orient cheeks and lips exceeding his, That leap'd into the water for a kiss Of his own shadow, and despising many, Died ere he could enjoy the love of any. Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen, Enamour'd of his beauty had he been; His presence made the rudest peasant melt, That in the vast uplandish country dwelt; The barbarous Thracian soldier, mov'd with nought, Was mov'd with him, and for his favour sought. Some swore he was a maid in man's attire, For in his looks were all that men desire; A pleasant smiling cheek, a speaking eye, A brow for love to banquet royally;