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SEC. SCH. Well, gentlemen, though Faustus' end be such
As every Christian heart laments to think on;

Yet, for he was a scholar once admired

For wondrous knowledge in our German schools,
We'll give his mangled limbs due burial:

And all the scholars, clothed in mourning black,

Shall wait upon his heavy funeral.

[Exeunt.

CHORUS. Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,

And burned is Apollo's laurel bough

That sometimes grew within this learned man:

Faustus is gone! Regard his hellish fall,

Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise

Only to wonder at unlawful things;

Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits

To practise more than heavenly power permits.

The classical taste of Marlowe is evinced in the fine apostrophe to Helen of Greece, whom the spirit Mephistophilis conjures up 'between two Cupids,' to gratify the sensual gaze of Faustus:

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burned the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!
Her lips suck forth my soul-see where it flies.
Come, Helen, come, give ine my soul again:
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena.

I will be Paris, and for love of thee,
Instead of Troy shall Wittenberg be sacked;
And I will combat with weak Menelaus.
And wear thy colours on my plumed crest:
Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel,
And then return to Helen for a kiss.
Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air,
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars!
Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter
When he appeared to hapless Semele;
More lovely than the monarch of the sky
In wanton Arethusa's azure arms;

And none but thou shalt be my paramour.

Before 1593, Marlowe produced three other dramas-the 'Jew of Malta,' the Massacre at Paris,' and a historical play, 'Edward II.' The more malignant passions of the human breast have rarely been represented with such force as they are in the Jew.

Passages from the Jew of Malta.'

In one of the early scenes, Barabas the Jew is deprived of his wealth by the governor of Malta. While being comforted in his distress by two Jewish friends, he thus denounces his oppressors:

The plagues of Egypt, and the curse of heaven,
Earth's barrenness, and all men's hatred
Inflict upon them, thou great Primus Motor!
And here, upon my knees, striking the earth,
I ban their souls to everlasting pains

And extreme tortures of the fiery deep,

That thus have dealt with me in my distress.

So deeply have his misfortunes imbittered his life, that he would have it appear he is tired of it:

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And henceforth wish for an eternal night,

That clouds of darkness may inclose my flesh,

And hide these extreme sorrows from mine eyes.

But when his comforters are gone, he throws off the mask of sorrow to shew his real feelings, which suggest to him schemes of the subtlest vengeance. With the fulfilment of these, the rest of the play is occupied, and when, having taken terrible vengeance on his enemies, he is overmatched himself, he thus confesses his crimes, and closes his carcer.

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Then, Barabas, breathe forth thy latest fate,

And in the fury of thy torments, strive
To end thy life with resolution:

Know, governor, 'tis I that slew thy son;

I framed the challenge that did make them meet.
Know, Calymath, I aimed thy overthrow;
And had I but escaped this stratagem,

I would have brought confusion on you all,
Damned Christian dogs, and Turkish infidels.
But now begins the extremity of heat

To pinch me with intolerable pangs.

Die, life; fly, soul; tongue, curse thy fill, and die.

[Dies.

'Edward II' is greatly superior to the two plays mentioned in connection with it: it is a noble drama, with ably drawn characters and splendid scenes. Another tragedy, Lust's Dominion,' was published long after Marlowe's death, with his name, as author, on the title-page. Mr. Collier has shewn that this play, as it was then printed, was a much later production, and was probably written by Dekker and others. It contains passages and characters, however, characteristic of Marlowe's style, and he may have written the original outline. The old play of Taming of a Shrew,' printed in 1594, contains numerous lines to be found also in Marlowe's acknowledged works, and hence it has been conjectured that he was its author. Great uncertainty hangs over many of the old dramas, from the common practice of managers of theatres employing different authors, at subsequent periods, to furnish additional matter for established plays. Even Faustus' was dressed up in this manner: In 1597-four years after Marlowe's death-Dekker was paid 20s. for making additions to this tragedy; and in other five years, Birde and Rowley were paid £4 for further additions to it. Another source of uncertainty as to the paternity of old plays, was the unscrupulous manner in which booksellers appropriated any popular name of the day, and affixed it to their publications. In addition to the above dramatic productions, Marlowe joined with Nash in writing the tragedy of 'Dido, Queen of Carthage,' and translated part of Hero and Leander'-afterwards completed by Chapman-and the Elegies' of Ovid. The latter was so licentious as to be burned by order of the Archbishop of Canterbury, yet they were often reprinted, in defiance of the ecclesiastical interdict. Poor Marlowe lived, as he wrote, wildly: he was accused of entertaining atheistical opinions, a charge brought against him equally by his associates and by rigid moral censors. He evidently felt what he makes his own Tamburlaine' express:

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Nature that formed us of four elements.
Warring within our breasts for regiment,
Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds:
Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the world,
And measure every wandering planet's course,
Still climbing after knowledge infinite,
And always moving as the restless spheres,
Will us to wear ourselves, and never rest
Until we reach the ripest fruit of all.

Marlowe came to an early and singularly unhappy end. He was stabbed in an affray in a tavern at Deptford, and buried on the 1st of June, 1593, the parish register recording that he was slain by Francis Archer.' Marlowe had raised his poinard against his antagonist-whom Meres and Anthony Wood describe as a serving-man, a rival of his lewd love'-when the other seized him by the wrist, and turned the dagger, so that it entered Marlowe's own head, 'in Buch sort that, notwithstanding all the means of surgery that could be brought, he shortly after died of his wound.' Thus, condemned by the serious and puritanical, and stained with follies, while his genius was rapidly maturing and developing its magnificent resources, Marlowe fell a victim to an obscure and disgraceful brawl. The last words of Greene's address to him a year or two before are somewhat ominous: Refuse not (with me) till this last point of extremity; for little knowest thou how in the end thou shalt be visited.' The warning was

Like the sad presaging raven, that tolls
The sick man's passport in her hollow beak,
And in the shadow of the silent night
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings.

Jew of Malta.

The finest compliment paid to the genius of this unfortunate poet
was by his contemporary and fellow-dramatist, Michael Drayton:
Next Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs
Had in him those brave translunary things
That the first poets had: his raptures were
All air and fire, which made his verses clear;
For that fine maduess still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet's brain.

The great success of Marlowe's plays, and the popularity of Alleyn, the principal actor in them, must have influenced Shakspeare in no small degree; and he fortunately possessed in Burbage a tragic performer capable of embodying his finest conceptions and dividing the applause of the town. Marlowe's Jew was, in a certain sense, the prototype of Shylock, and his historical plays the foundation of Shakspeare's first efforts in the same popular walk of the drama. There could never have been any serious or continued rivalry between the poets, even if death had not prevented it; but there may have been a short period when Shakspeare looked with envy and admira

tion on the wild, irregular, and towering genius that,' with no middle flight,' successfully soared

Above the Aonian mount, while it pursued
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.

Originality, that first attribute of genius, belongs, in an eminent degree, to the ill-fated Marlowe. We subjoin part of the death-scene of Edward II. in his historical drama, a scene which, Charles Lamb says, ' moves pity and terror beyond any scene, ancient or modern.' It may challenge comparison with Shakspeare's death of Richard II.; but Marlowe could not interest us in his hero as the great dramatist does in the gentle Richard.

Scene from Marlowe's' Edward II.

Seene-Berkeley Castle. The KING is left alone with LIGHTBORN, a murderer. EDWARD. Who's there? what light is that? wherefore com'st thou ? LIGHTBORN. To comfort you, and bring you joyful news.

EDW. Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks!

Villain, I know thou com'st to murder me.

LIGHT. TO murder you, my most gracious lord!

Far is it from my heart to do you harm.

The queen sent ine to see how you were used,
For she relents at this your misery:

And what eyes can refrain from shedding tears,]
To see a king in this most piteous state.

EDW. Weep'st thou already? list a while to me,
And then thy heart, were it as Gurney's (1) is,
Or as Matrevis' (1) hewn from the Caucasus,
Yet will it melt, ere I have done my tale.
This dungeon where they keep me is a sink
Wherein the filth of all the castle falls.

LIGHT. O villains!

EDW. And there, in mire and puddle, nave I stood
This ten days' space; and lest that I should sleep,
One plays continually upon a drum.

They give me bread and water, being a king;
So that, for want of sleep and sustenance,

My mind 's distempered, and my body 's numbed.
And whether I have limbs or no, I know not.
O would my blood drop out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tattered robes!
Tell Isabel, the queen, I looked not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhorsed the Duke of Cleremont.

LIGHT. O speak no more, my lord! this breaks my heart.

Lie on this bed, and rest yourself a while.

EDW. These looks of thine can harbour nought but death:

I see my tragedy written in thy brows.

Yet stay a while, forbear thy bloody hand,

Aud let me see the stroke before it comes,

That even then, when I shall lose my life,"

My mind may be more steadfast on my God.

LIGHT. What means your highness to mistrust me thus?
EDW. What mean'st thou to dissemble with me thus ?

1 His keepers.

LIGHT. These hands were never stained with innocent blood,

Nor shall they now be tainted with a king's.

EDW. Forgive my thought, for having such a thought.

One jewel have I left, receive thou this.

Still fear I, and I know not what 's the cause,

But every joint shakes as I give it thee.

Oh, if thou harbour'st murder in thy heart,

Let the gift change thy mind, and save thy soul.
Know that I am a king: Oh, at that name

I feel a hell of grief. Where is my crown?

Gone, gone; and do I still remain alive?

LIGHT. You're overwatched, my lord; lie down and rest.
EDW. But that grief keeps me waken, I should sleep;

For not these ten days have these eyelids closed.

Now as I speak they fall, and yet with fear

Open again. O wherefore sitt'st thou here?

LIGHT. If you mistrust me, I'll be gone, my lord.
EDW. No, no; for if thou mean'st to murder me,

Thou wilt return again; and therefore stay.
LIGHT. He sleeps.

EDw. O let me not die; yet stay, O stay a while.
LIGHT. HOW now, my lord?

EDW. Something still buzzeth in mine ears,
And tells me if I sleep, I never wake;

This fear is that which makes me tremble thus.

And therefore tell me wherefore art thou come?

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LIGHT. To ril thee of thy life. Matrevis, come.
EDW. I am too weak and feeble to resist :
Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul.

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The following may be taken as a specimen of Marlowe's sonorous exaggerated style ·

Description of Tamburlaine.

Of stature tall, and straightly fashioned;
Like his desire, lift upwards and divine.

So large of limbs, his joints so strongly knit,
Such breadth of shoulders, as might mainly bear
Old Atlas' burthen. "Twixt his manly pitch

A pearl more worth than all the world is placed:
Wherein by curious sovereignty of art

Are fixed his piercing instruments of sight:
Whose fiery circles bear encompassed

A heaven of heavenly bodies in their spheres,
That guides his steps and actions to the throne
Where Honour sits invested royally.

Pale of complexion, wrought in him with passion,
Thirsting with sovereignty and love of arms.
His lofty brows in folds do figure death;
And in their smoothness, amity and life.
About them hangs a knot of amber hair,
Wrapped in curls, as fierce Achilles' was;
On which the breath of heaven delights to play,
Making it dance with wanton majesty.
His arms and fingers long and sinewy,
Betokening valour and excess of strength;

In every part proportioned like the man

Should make the world subdued to Tamburlaine.

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The first day when he pitched down his tents,
White is their hue; and on his silver crest

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