Page:Hero and Leander - Marlowe and Chapman (1821).pdf/95

 Nor is't of earth, or mould celestial, Or capable of any form at all. Of that which hath no being, do not boast; Things that are not at all, are never lost. Men foolishly do call it virtuous, What virtue is it, that is born with us? Much less can honour be ascrib'd thereto: Honour is purchas'd by the deeds we do. Believe me, Hero, honour is not won, Until some honourable deed be done. Seek you, for chastity, immortal fame; And know that some have wrong'd Diana's name? Whose name is it, if she be false or not, So she be fair, but some vile tongues will blot? But you are fair, ah me! so wondrous fair, So young, so gentle, and so debonair, As Greece will think, if thus you live alone, Some one or other keeps you as his own. Then, Hero, bate me not, nor from me fly, To follow swiftly blasting infamy. Perhaps thy sacred priesthood makes thee loath: Tell me, to whom mad'st thou that heedless oath?"

"To Venus," answer'd she; and, as she spake, Forth from those two translucent cisterns brake