Book III
. Ep. 21) Harington refers to this epigram of Davies, and expresses himself greatly pleased at the compliment paid to his dog.
IGNOTO.
I[570] love thee not for sacred chastity,-- Who loves for that?--nor for thy sprightly wit; I love thee not for thy sweet modesty, Which makes thee in perfection's throne to sit; I love thee not for thy enchanting eye, Thy beauty['s] ravishing perfection; I love thee not for unchaste luxury, Nor for thy body's fair proportion; I love thee not for that my soul doth dance And leap with pleasure, when those lips of thine Give musical and graceful utterance To some (by thee made happy) poet's line; I love thee not for voice or slender small: But wilt thou know wherefore? fair sweet, for all.
Faith, wench, I cannot court thy sprightly eyes, With the base-viol plac'd between my thighs; I cannot lisp, nor to some fiddle sing, Nor run upon a high-stretch'd minikin; I cannot whine in puling elegies, Entombing Cupid with sad obsequies; I am not fashion'd for these amorous times, To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes; I cannot dally, caper, dance, and sing, Oiling my saint with supple sonneting; I cannot cross my arms, or sigh "Ay me, Ay me, forlorn!" egregious foppery! I cannot buss thy fist,[571] play with thy hair, Swearing by Jove, "thou art most debonair!" Not I, by cock! but [I] shall tell thee roundly,-- Hark in thine ear,--zounds, I can (----) thee soundly.
Sweet wench, I love thee: yet I will not sue, Or show my love as musky courtiers do; I'll not carouse a health to honour thee, In this same bezzling[572] drunken courtesy, And, when all's quaff'd, eat up my bousing-glass[573] In glory that I am thy servile ass; Nor will I wear a rotten Bourbon lock,[574] As some sworn peasant to a female smock. Well-featur'd lass, thou know'st I love thee dear: Yet for thy sake I will not bore mine ear, To hang thy dirty silken shoe-tires there; Nor for thy love will I once gnash a brick, Or some pied colours in my bonnet stick:[575] But, by the chaps of hell, to do thee good, I'll freely spend my thrice-decocted blood.
FOOTNOTES:
[570] This sonnet and the two following pieces are only found in Isham copy and ed. A.
[571] So Isham copy.--Ed. A "fill."
[572] Tippling.
[573] "Bouse" was a cant term for "drink."
[574] See note v. p. 226.
[575] It was a common practice for gallants to wear their mistresses' garters in their hats.
THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCAN.
_Lucans First Booke Translated Line for Line, By Chr. Marlow. At London, Printed by P. Short, and are to be sold by Walter Burre at the Signe of the Flower de Luce in Paules Churchyard_, 1600, 4_to._
This is the only early edition. The title-page of the 1600 4to. of _Hero and Leander_ has the words, "Whereunto is added the first booke of Lucan;" but the two pieces are not found in conjunction.
TO HIS KIND AND TRUE FRIEND, EDWARD BLUNT.[576]
Blunt,[577] I propose to be blunt with you, and, out of my dulness, to encounter you with a Dedication in memory of that pure elemental wit, Chr. Marlowe, whose ghost or genius is to be seen walk the Churchyard,[578] in, at the least, three or four sheets. Methinks you should presently look wild now, and grow humorously frantic upon the taste of it. Well, lest you should, let me tell you, this spirit was sometime a familiar of your own, _Lucan's First Book translated_; which, in regard of your old right in it, I have raised in the circle of your patronage. But stay now, Edward: if I mistake not, you are to accommodate yourself with some few instructions, touching the property of a patron, that you are not yet possessed of; and to study them for your better grace, as our gallants do fashions. First, you must be proud, and think you have merit enough in you, though you are ne'er so empty; then, when I bring you the book, take physic, and keep state; assign me a time by your man to come again; and, afore the day, be sure to have changed your lodging; in the meantime sleep little, and sweat with the invention of some pitiful dry jest or two, which you may happen to utter with some little, or not at all, marking of your friends, when you have found a place for them to come in at; or, if by chance something has dropped from you worth the taking up, weary all that come to you with the often repetition of it; censure, scornfully enough, and somewhat like a traveller; commend nothing, lest you discredit your (that which you would seem to have) judgment. These things, if you can mould yourself to them, Ned, I make no question that they will not become you. One special virtue in our patrons of these days I have promised myself you shall fit excellently, which is, to give nothing; yes, thy love I will challenge as my peculiar object, both in this, and, I hope, many more succeeding offices. Farewell: I affect not the world should measure my thoughts to thee by a scale of this nature: leave to think good of me when I fall from thee.
Thine in all rights of perfect friendship,
THOMAS THORPE.
FOOTNOTES:
[576] A well-known bookseller.
[577] Old ed. "Blount."
[578] Paul's churchyard, the Elizabethan "Booksellers' Row."
THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCAN.
Wars worse than civil on Thessalian plains, And outrage strangling law, and people strong, We sing, whose conquering swords their own breasts lancht,[579] Armies allied, the kingdom's league uprooted, Th' affrighted world's force bent on public spoil, Trumpets and drums, like[580] deadly, threatening other, Eagles alike display'd, darts answering darts, Romans, what madness, what huge lust of war, Hath made barbarians drunk with Latin blood? Now Babylon, proud through our spoil, should stoop, 10 While slaughter'd Crassus' ghost walks unreveng'd, Will ye wage war, for which you shall not triumph? Ay me! O, what a world of land and sea Might they have won whom civil broils have slain! As far as Titan springs, where night dims heaven, I, to the torrid zone where mid-day burns, And where stiff winter, whom no spring resolves, Fetters the Euxine Sea with chains of ice; Scythia and wild Armenia had been yok'd, And they of Nilus' mouth, if there live any. 20 Rome, if thou take delight in impious war, First conquer all the earth, then turn thy force Against thyself: as yet thou wants not foes. That now the walls of houses half-reared totter, That, rampires fallen down, huge heaps of stone Lie in our towns, that houses are abandon'd, And few live that behold their ancient seats; Italy many years hath lien untill'd And chok'd with thorns; that greedy earth wants hinds;-- Fierce Pyrrhus, neither thou nor Hannibal 30 Art cause; no foreign foe could so afflict us: These plagues arise from wreak of civil power. But if for Nero, then unborn, the Fates Would find no other means, and gods not slightly Purchase immortal thrones, nor Jove joy'd heaven Until the cruel giants' war was done; We plain not, heavens, but gladly bear these evils For Nero's sake: Pharsalia groan with slaughter, And Carthage souls be glutted with our bloods! At Munda let the dreadful battles join; 40 Add, CÊsar, to these ills, Perusian famine, The Mutin toils, the fleet at Luca[s] sunk, And cruel[581] field near burning ∆tna fought! Yet Rome is much bound to these civil arms, Which made thee emperor. Thee (seeing thou, being old, Must shine a star) shall heaven (whom thou lovest) Receive with shouts; where thou wilt reign as king, Or mount the Sun's flame-bearing chariot, And with bright restless fire compass the earth, Undaunted though her former guide be chang'd; 50 Nature and every power shall give thee place, What god it please thee be, or where to sway. But neither choose the north t'erect thy seat, Nor yet the adverse reeking[582] southern pole, Whence thou shouldst view thy Rome with squinting[583] beams. If any one part of vast heaven thou swayest, The burden'd axes[584] with thy force will bend: The midst is best; that place is pure and bright; There, CÊsar, mayst thou shine, and no cloud dim thee. Then men from war shall bide in league and ease, 60 Peace through the world from Janus' face shall fly, And bolt the brazen gates with bars of iron. Thou, CÊsar, at this instant art my god; Thee if I invocate, I shall not need To crave Apollo's aid or Bacchus' help; Thy power inspires the Muse that sings this war. The causes first I purpose to unfold Of these garboils,[585] whence springs a long discourse; And what made madding people shake off peace. The Fates are envious, high seats[586] quickly perish, 70 Under great burdens falls are ever grievous; Rome was so great it could not bear itself. So when this world's compounded union breaks, Time ends, and to old Chaos all things turn, Confused stars shall meet, celestial fire Fleet on the floods, the earth shoulder the sea, Affording it no shore, and Phoebe's wain Chase Phoebus, and enrag'd affect his place, And strive to shine by day and full of strife Dissolve the engines of the broken world. 80 All great things crush themselves; such end the gods Allot the height of honour; men so strong By land and sea, no foreign force could ruin. O Rome, thyself art cause of all these evils, Thyself thus shiver'd out to three men's shares! Dire league of partners in a kingdom last not. O faintly-join'd friends, with ambition blind, Why join you force to share the world betwixt you? While th' earth the sea, and air the earth sustains, While Titan strives against the world's swift course, 90 Or Cynthia, night's queen, waits upon the day, Shall never faith be found in fellow kings: Dominion cannot suffer partnership. This need[s] no foreign proof nor far-fet[587] story: Rome's infant walls were steep'd in brother's blood; Nor then was land or sea, to breed such hate; A town with one poor church set them at odds.[588] CÊsar's and Pompey's jarring love soon ended, 'Twas peace against their wills; betwixt them both Stepp'd Crassus in. Even as the slender isthmos, 100 Betwixt the ∆gÊan,[589] and the Ionian sea, Keeps each from other, but being worn away, They both burst out, and each encounter other; So whenas Crassus' wretched death, who stay'd them, Had fill'd Assyrian Carra's[590] walls with blood, His loss made way for Roman outrages. Parthians, y'afflict us more than ye suppose; Being conquer'd, we are plagu'd with civil war. Swords share our empire: Fortune, that made Rome Govern the earth, the sea, the world itself, 110 Would not admit two lords; for Julia, Snatch'd hence by cruel Fates, with ominous howls Bare down to hell her son, the pledge of peace, And all bands of that death-presaging alli‡nce. Julia, had heaven given thee longer life, Thou hadst restrain'd thy headstrong husband's rage, Yea, and thy father too, and, swords thrown down, Made all shake hands, as once the Sabines did: Thy death broke amity, and train'd to war These captains emulous of each other's glory. 120 Thou fear'd'st, great Pompey, that late deeds would dim Old triumphs, and that CÊsar's conquering France Would dash the wreath thou war'st for pirates' wreck: Thee war's use stirr'd, and thoughts that always scorn'd A second place. Pompey could bide no equal, Nor CÊsar no superior: which of both Had justest cause, unlawful 'tis to judge: Each side had great partakers; CÊsar's cause The gods abetted, Cato lik'd the other.[591] Both differ'd much. Pompey was struck in years, 130 And by long rest forgot to manage arms, And, being popular, sought by liberal gifts To gain the light unstable commons' love, And joy'd to hear his theatre's applause: He lived secure, boasting his former deeds, And thought his name sufficient to uphold him: Like to a tall oak in a fruitful field, Bearing old spoils and conquerors' monuments, Who, though his root be weak, and his own weight Keep him within the ground, his arms all bare, 140 His body, not his boughs, send forth a shade; Though every blast it nod,[592] and seem to fall, When all the woods about stand bolt upright, Yet he alone is held in reverence. CÊsar's renown for war was loss; he restless, Shaming to strive but where he did subdue; When ire or hope provok'd, heady and bold; At all times charging home, and making havoc; Urging his fortune, trusting in the gods, Destroying what withstood his proud desires, 150 And glad when blood and ruin made him way: So thunder, which the wind tears from the clouds, With crack of riven air and hideous sound Filling the world, leaps out and throws forth fire, Affrights poor fearful men, and blasts their eyes With overthwarting flames, and raging shoots Alongst the air, and, not resisting it, Falls, and returns, and shivers where it lights. Such humours stirr'd them up; but this war's seed Was even the same that wrecks all great dominions. 160 When Fortune made us lords of all, wealth flow'd, And then we grew licentious and rude; The soldiers' prey and rapine brought in riot; Men took delight in jewels, houses, plate, And scorn'd old sparing diet, and ware robes Too light for women; Poverty, who hatch'd Rome's greatest wits,[593] was loath'd, and all the world Ransack'd for gold, which breeds the world['s] decay; And then large limits had their butting lands; The ground, which Curius and Camillus till'd, 170 Was stretched unto the fields of hinds unknown. Again, this people could not brook calm peace; Them freedom without war might not suffice: Quarrels were rife; greedy desire, still poor, Did vild deeds; then 'twas worth the price of blood, And deem'd renown, to spoil their native town; Force mastered right, the strongest govern'd all; Hence came it that th' edicts were over-rul'd, That laws were broke, tribunes with consuls strove, Sale made of offices, and people's voices 180 Bought by themselves and sold, and every year Frauds and corruption in the Field of Mars; Hence interest and devouring usury sprang, Faith's breach, and hence came war, to most men welcome. Now CÊsar overpass'd the snowy Alps; His mind was troubled, and he aim'd at war: And coming to the ford of Rubicon, At night in dreadful vision fearful[594] Rome Mourning appear'd, whose hoary hairs were torn, And on her turret-bearing head dispers'd, 190 And arms all naked; who, with broken sighs, And staring, thus bespoke: "What mean'st thou, CÊsar? Whither goes my standard? Romans if ye be, And bear true hearts, stay here!" This spectacle Struck CÊsar's heart with fear; his hair stood up, And faintness numb'd his steps there on the brink. He thus cried out: "Thou thunderer that guard'st Rome's mighty walls, built on Tarpeian rock! Ye gods of Phrygia and Ilus' line, Quirinus' rites, and Latian Jove advanc'd 200 On Alba hill! O vestal flames! O Rome, My thoughts sole goddess, aid mine enterprise! I hate thee not, to thee my conquests stoop: CÊsar is thine, so please it thee, thy soldier. He, he afflicts Rome that made me Rome's foe." This said, he, laying aside all lets[595] of war, Approach'd the swelling stream with drum and ensign: Like to a lion of scorch'd desert Afric, Who, seeing hunters, pauseth till fell wrath And kingly rage increase, then, having whisk'd 210 His tail athwart his back, and crest heav'd up, With jaws wide-open ghastly roaring out, Albeit the Moor's light javelin or his spear Sticks in his side, yet runs upon the hunter. In summer-time the purple Rubicon, Which issues from a small spring, is but shallow, And creeps along the vales, dividing just The bounds of Italy from Cisalpine France. But now the winter's wrath, and watery moon Being three days old, enforc'd the flood to swell, 220 And frozen Alps thaw'd with resolving winds. The thunder-hoof'd[596] horse, in a crookËd line, To scape the violence of the stream, first waded; Which being broke, the foot had easy passage. As soon as CÊsar got unto the bank And bounds of Italy, "Here, here," saith he, "An end of peace; here end polluted laws! Hence leagues and covenants! Fortune, thee I follow! War and the Destinies shall try my cause." This said, the restless general through the dark, 230 Swifter than bullets thrown from Spanish slings, Or darts which Parthians backward shoot, march'd on; And then, when Lucifer did shine alone, And some dim stars, he Ariminum enter'd. Day rose, and view'd these tumults of the war: Whether the gods or blustering south were cause I know not, but the cloudy air did frown. The soldiers having won the market-place, There spread the colours with confusËd noise Of trumpets' clang, shrill cornets, whistling fifes. 240 The people started; young men left their beds, And snatch'd arms near their household-gods hung up, Such as peace yields; worm-eaten leathern targets, Through which the wood peer'd,[597] headless darts, old swords With ugly teeth of black rust foully scarr'd. But seeing white eagles, and Rome's flags well known, And lofty CÊsar in the thickest throng, They shook for fear, and cold benumb'd their limbs, And muttering much, thus to themselves complain'd: "O walls unfortunate, too near to France! 250 Predestinate to ruin! all lands else Have stable peace: here war's rage first begins; We bide the first brunt. Safer might we dwell Under the frosty bear, or parching east, Waggons or tents, than in this frontier town. We first sustain'd the uproars of the Gauls And furious Cimbrians, and of Carthage Moors: As oft as Rome was sack'd, here gan the spoil." Thus sighing whisper'd they, and none durst speak, And show their fear or grief; but as the fields 260 When birds are silent thorough winter's rage, Or sea far from the land, so all were whist,[598] Now light had quite dissolv'd the misty night, And CÊsar's mind unsettled musing stood; But gods and fortune pricked him to this war, Infringing all excuse of modest shame, And labouring to approve[599] his quarrel good. The angry senate, urging Gracchus'[600] deeds, From doubtful Rome wrongly expell'd the tribunes That cross'd them: both which now approach'd the camp, 270 And with them Curio, sometime tribune too, One that was fee'd for CÊsar, and whose tongue Could tune the people to the nobles' mind.[601] "CÊsar," said he, "while eloquence prevail'd, And I might plead and draw the commons' minds To favour thee, against the senate's will, Five years I lengthen'd thy command in France; But law being put to silence by the wars, We, from her houses driven, most willingly Suffer'd exile: let thy sword bring us home, 280 Now, while their part is weak and fears, march hence: Where men are ready lingering ever hurts.[602] In ten years wonn'st thou France: Rome may be won With far less toil, and yet the honour's more; Few battles fought with prosperous success May bring her down, and with her all the world. Nor shalt thou triumph when thou com'st to Rome, Nor Capitol be adorn'd with sacred bays; Envy denies all; with thy blood must thou Aby thy conquest past:[603] the son decrees 290 To expel the father: share the world thou canst not; Enjoy it all thou mayst." Thus Curio spake; And therewith CÊsar, prone enough to war, Was so incens'd as are Elean[604] steeds. With clamours, who, though lock'd and chain'd in stalls,[605] Souse[606] down the walls, and make a passage forth. Straight summon'd he his several companies Unto the standard: his grave look appeas'd The wrestling tumult, and right hand made silence; And thus he spake: "You that with me have borne 300 A thousand brunts, and tried me full ten years, See how they quit our bloodshed in the north, Our friends' death, and our wounds, our wintering Under the Alps! Rome rageth now in arms As if the Carthage Hannibal were near; Cornets of horse are muster'd for the field; Woods turn'd to ships; both land and sea against us. Had foreign wars ill-thriv'd, or wrathful France Pursu'd us hither, how were we bested, When, coming conqueror, Rome afflicts me thus? 310 Let come their leader[607] whom long peace hath quail'd, Raw soldiers lately press'd, and troops of gowns, Babbling[608] Marcellus, Cato whom fools reverence! Must Pompey's followers, with strangers' aid (Whom from his youth he brib'd), needs make him king? And shall he triumph long before his time, And, having once got head, still shall he reign? What should I talk of men's corn reap'd by force, And by him kept of purpose for a dearth? Who sees not war sit by the quivering judge, 320 And sentence given in rings of naked swords, And laws assail'd, and arm'd men in the senate? 'Twas his troop hemm'd in Milo being accus'd; And now, lest age might wane his state, he casts For civil war, wherein through use he's known To exceed his master, that arch-traitor Sylla. A[s] brood of barbarous tigers, having lapp'd The blood of many a herd, whilst with their dams They kennell'd in Hyrcania, evermore Will rage and prey; so, Pompey, thou, having lick'd 330 Warm gore from Sylla's sword, art yet athirst: Jaws flesh[ed] with blood continue murderous. Speak, when shall this thy long-usurped power end? What end of mischief? Sylla teaching thee, At last learn, wretch, to leave thy monarchy! What, now Sicilian[609] pirates are suppress'd, And jaded[610] king of Pontus poison'd slain, Must Pompey as his last foe plume on me, Because at his command I wound not up My conquering eagles? say I merit naught,[611] 340 Yet, for long service done, reward these men, And so they triumph, be't with whom ye will. Whither now shall these old bloodless souls repair? What seats for their deserts? what store of ground For servitors to till? what colonies To rest their bones? say, Pompey, are these worse Than pirates of Sicilia?[612] they had houses. Spread, spread these flags that ten years' space have conquer'd! Let's use our tried force: they that now thwart right, In wars will yield to wrong:[613] the gods are with us; 350 Neither spoil nor kingdom seek we by these arms, But Rome, at thraldom's feet, to rid from tyrants." This spoke, none answer'd, but a murmuring buzz Th' unstable people made: their household-gods And love to Rome (though slaughter steel'd their hearts, And minds were prone) restrain'd them; but war's love And CÊsar's awe dash'd all. Then LÊlius,[614] The chief centurion, crown'd with oaken leaves For saving of a Roman citizen, Stepp'd forth, and cried: "Chief leader of Rome's force, So be I may be bold to speak a truth, 361 We grieve at this thy patience and delay. What, doubt'st thou us? even now when youthful blood Pricks forth our lively bodies, and strong arms Can mainly throw the dart, wilt thou endure These purple grooms, that senate's tyranny? Is conquest got by civil war so heinous? Well, lead us, then, to Syrtes' desert shore, Or Scythia, or hot Libya's thirsty sands. This band, that all behind us might be quail'd, 370 Hath with thee pass'd the swelling ocean, And swept the foaming breast of Arctic[615] Rhene. Love over-rules my will; I must obey thee, CÊsar: he whom I hear thy trumpets charge, I hold no Roman; by these ten blest ensigns And all thy several triumphs, shouldst thou bid me Entomb my sword within my brother's bowels, Or father's throat, or women's groaning[616] womb, This hand, albeit unwilling, should perform it? Or rob the gods, or sacred temples fire, 380 These troops should soon pull down the church of Jove;[617] If to encamp on Tuscan Tiber's streams, I'll boldly quarter out the fields of Rome; What walls thou wilt be levell'd with the ground, These hands shall thrust the ram, and make them fly, Albeit the city thou wouldst have so raz'd Be Rome itself." Here every band applauded, And, with their hands held up, all jointly cried They'll follow where he please. The shouts rent heaven, As when against pine-bearing Ossa's rocks 390 Beats Thracian Boreas, or when trees bow[618] down And rustling swing up as the wind fets[619] breath. When CÊsar saw his army prone to war, And Fates so bent, lest sloth and long delay Might cross him, he withdrew his troops from France, And in all quarters musters men for Rome. They by Lemannus' nook forsook their tents; They whom[620] the Lingones foil'd with painted spears, Under the rocks by crookËd Vogesus; And many came from shallow Isara, 400 Who, running long, falls in a greater flood, And, ere he sees the sea, loseth his name; The yellow Ruthens left their garrisons; Mild Atax glad it bears not Roman boats,[621] And frontier Varus that the camp is far, Sent aid; so did Alcides' port, whose seas Eat hollow rocks, and where the north-west wind Nor zephyr rules not, but the north alone Turmoils the coast, and enterance forbids; And others came from that uncertain shore 410 Which is nor sea nor land, but ofttimes both, And changeth as the ocean ebbs and flows; Whether the sea roll'd always from that point Whence the wind blows, still forcËd to and fro; Or that the wandering main follow the moon; Or flaming Titan, feeding on the deep, Pulls them aloft, and makes the surge kiss heaven; Philosophers, look you; for unto me, Thou cause, whate'er thou be, whom God assigns This great effect, art hid. They came that dwell 420 By Nemes' fields and banks of Satirus,[622] Where Tarbell's winding shores embrace the sea; The Santons that rejoice in CÊsar's love;[623] Those of Bituriges,[624] and light Axon[625] pikes; And they of Rhene and Leuca,[626] cunning darters, And Sequana that well could manage steeds; The Belgians apt to govern British cars; Th' A[r]verni, too, which boldly feign themselves The Roman's brethren, sprung of Ilian race; The stubborn Nervians stain'd with Cotta's blood; 430 And Vangions who, like those of Sarmata, Wear open slops;[627] and fierce Batavians, Whom trumpet's clang incites; and those that dwell By Cinga's stream, and where swift Rhodanus Drives Araris to sea; they near the hills, Under whose hoary rocks Gebenna hangs; And, Trevier, thou being glad that wars are past thee; And you, late-shorn Ligurians, who were wont In large-spread hair to exceed the rest of France; And where to Hesus and fell Mercury[628] 440 They offer human flesh, and where Jove seems Bloody like Dian, whom the Scythians serve. And you, French Bardi, whose immortal pens Renown the valiant souls slain in your wars, Sit safe at home and chant sweet poesy. And, Druides, you now in peace renew Your barbarous customs and sinister rites: In unfell'd woods and sacred groves you dwell; And only gods and heavenly powers you know, Or only know you nothing; for you hold 450 That souls pass not to silent Erebus Or Pluto's bloodless kingdom, but elsewhere Resume a body; so (if truth you sing) Death brings long life. Doubtless these northern men, Whom death, the greatest of all fears, affright not, Are blest by such sweet error; this makes them Run on the sword's point, and desire to die, And shame to spare life which being lost is won. You likewise that repuls'd the Caˇc foe, March towards Rome; and you, fierce men of Rhene, 460 Leaving your country open to the spoil. These being come, their huge power made him bold To manage greater deeds; the bordering towns He garrison'd; and Italy he fill'd with soldiers. Vain fame increased true fear, and did invade The people's minds, and laid before their eyes Slaughter to come, and, swiftly bringing news Of present war, made many lies and tales: One swears his troops of daring horsemen fought Upon Mevania's plain, where bulls are graz'd; 470 Other that CÊsar's barbarous bands were spread Along Nar flood that into Tiber falls, And that his own ten ensigns and the rest March'd not entirely, and yet hide the ground; And that he's much chang'd, looking wild and big, And far more barbarous than the French, his vassals; And that he lags[629] behind with them, of purpose, Borne 'twixt the Alps and Rhene, which he hath brought From out their northern parts,[630] and that Rome, He looking on, by these men should be sack'd. 480 Thus in his fright did each man strengthen fame, And, without ground, fear'd what themselves had feign'd. Nor were the commons only struck to heart With this vain terror; but the court, the senate, The fathers selves leap'd from their seats, and, flying, Left hateful war decreed to both the consuls. Then, with their fear and danger all-distract, Their sway of flight carries the heady rout,[631] That in chain'd[632] troops break forth at every port: You would have thought their houses had been fir'd, 490 Or, dropping-ripe, ready to fall with ruin. So rush'd the inconsiderate multitude Thorough the city, hurried headlong on, As if the only hope that did remain To their afflictions were t' abandon Rome. Look how, when stormy Auster from the breach Of Libyan Syrtes rolls a monstrous wave, Which makes the main-sail fall with hideous sound, The pilot from the helm leaps in the sea, And mariners, albeit the keel be sound, 500 Shipwreck themselves; even so, the city left, All rise in arms; nor could the bed-rid parents Keep back their sons, or women's tears their husbands: They stayed not either to pray or sacrifice; Their household-gods restrain them not; none lingered, As loath to leave Rome whom they held so dear: Th' irrevocable people fly in troops. O gods, that easy grant men great estates, But hardly grace to keep them! Rome, that flows With citizens and captives,[633] and would hold 510 The world, were it together, is by cowards Left as a prey, now CÊsar doth approach. When Romans are besieged by foreign foes, With slender trench they escape night-stratagems, And sudden rampire rais'd of turf snatched up, Would make them sleep securely in their tents. Thou, Rome, at name of war runn'st from thyself, And wilt not trust thy city-walls one night: Well might these fear, when Pompey feared and fled. Now evermore, lest some one hope might ease 520 The commons' jangling minds, apparent signs arose, Strange sights appeared; the angry threatening gods Filled both the earth and seas with prodigies. Great store of strange and unknown stars were seen Wandering about the north, and rings of fire Fly in the air, and dreadful bearded stars, And comets that presage the fall of kingdoms; The flattering[634] sky glittered in often flames, And sundry fiery meteors blazed in heaven, Now spear-like long, now like a spreading torch; 530 Lightning in silence stole forth without clouds, And, from the northern climate snatching fire, Blasted the Capitol; the lesser stars, Which wont to run their course through empty night, At noon-day mustered; Phoebe, having filled Her meeting horns to match her brother's light, Struck with th' earth's sudden shadow, waxËd pale; Titan himself, throned in the midst of heaven, His burning chariot plunged in sable clouds, And whelmed the world in darkness, making men 540 Despair of day; as did Thyestes' town, MycenÊ, Phoebus flying through the east. Fierce Mulciber unbarrËd ∆tna's gate, Which flamËd not on high, but headlong pitched Her burning head on bending Hespery. Coal-black Charybdis whirled a sea of blood. Fierce mastives howled. The vestal fires went out; The flame in Alba, consecrate to Jove, Parted in twain, and with a double point Rose, like the Theban brothers' funeral fire. 550 The earth went off her hinges; and the Alps Shook the old snow from off their trembling laps.[635] The ocean swelled as high as Spanish Calpe Or Atlas' head. Their saints and household-gods Sweat tears, to show the travails of their city: Crowns fell from holy statues. Ominous birds Defiled the day; and wild beasts were seen,[636] Leaving the woods, lodge in the streets of Rome. Cattle were seen that muttered human speech; Prodigious births with more and ugly joints 560 Than nature gives, whose sight appals the mother; And dismal prophecies were spread abroad: And they, whom fierce Bellona's fury moves To wound their arms, sing vengeance; Cybel's[637] priests, Curling their bloody locks, howl dreadful things. Souls quiet and appeas'd sighed from their graves; Clashing of arms was heard; in untrod woods Shrill voices schright;[638] and ghosts encounter men. Those that inhabited the suburb-fields Fled: foul Erinnys stalked about the walls, 570 Shaking her snaky hair and crookËd pine With flaming top; much like that hellish fiend Which made the stern Lycurgus wound his thigh, Or fierce Agave mad; or like MegÊra That scar'd Alcides, when by Juno's task He had before look'd Pluto in the face. Trumpets were heard to sound; and with what noise An armËd battle joins, such and more strange Black night brought forth in secret. Sylla's ghost Was seen to walk, singing sad oracles; 580 And Marius' head above cold Tav'ron[639] peering, His grave broke open, did affright the boors. To these ostents, as their old custom was, They call th' Etrurian augurs: amongst whom The gravest, Arruns, dwelt in forsaken Leuca[640] Well-skill'd in pyromancy; one that knew The hearts of beasts, and flight of wandering fowls. First he commands such monsters Nature hatch'd Against her kind, the barren mule's loath'd issue, To be cut forth[641] and cast in dismal fires; 590 Then, that the trembling citizens should walk About the city; then, the sacred priests That with divine lustration purg'd the walls, And went the round, in and without the town; Next, an inferior troop, in tuck'd-up vestures, After the Gabine manner; then, the nuns And their veil'd matron, who alone might view Minerva's statue; then, they that kept and read Sibylla's secret works, and wash[642] their saint In Almo's flood; next learnËd augurs follow; 600 Apollo's soothsayers, and Jove's feasting priests; The skipping Salii with shields like wedges; And Flamens last, with net-work woollen veils. While these thus in and out had circled Rome, Look, what the lightning blasted, Arruns takes, And it inters with murmurs dolorous, And calls the place Bidental. On the altar He lays a ne'er-yok'd bull, and pours down wine, Then crams salt leaven on his crookËd knife: The beast long struggled, as being like to prove 610 An awkward sacrifice; but by the horns The quick priest pulled him on his knees, and slew him. No vein sprung out, but from the yawning gash, Instead of red blood, wallow'd venomous gore. These direful signs made Arruns stand amazed, And searching farther for the gods' displeasure, The very colour scared him; a dead blackness Ran through the blood, that turned it all to jelly, And stained the bowels with dark loathsome spots; The liver swelled with filth; and every vein 620 Did threaten horror from the host of CÊsar A small thin skin contained the vital parts; The heart stirred not; and from the gaping liver Squeezed matter through the caul; the entrails peered; And which (ay me!) ever pretendeth[643] ill, At that bunch where the liver is, appear'd A knob of flesh, whereof one half did look Dead and discolour'd, th' other lean and thin.[644] By these he seeing what mischiefs must ensue, Cried out, "O gods, I tremble to unfold 630 What you intend! great Jove is now displeas'd; And in the breast of this slain bull are crept Th' infernal powers. My fear transcends my words; Yet more will happen than I can unfold: Turn all to good, be augury vain, and Tages, Th' art's master, false!" Thus, in ambiguous terms Involving all, did Arruns darkly sing. But Figulus, more seen in heavenly mysteries, Whose like ∆gyptian Memphis never had For skill in stars and tuneful planeting,[645] 640 In this sort spake: "The world's swift course is lawless And casual; all the stars at random range;[646] Or if fate rule them, Rome, thy citizens Are near some plague. What mischief shall ensue? Shall towns be swallow'd? shall the thicken'd air Become intemperate? shall the earth be barren? Shall water be congeal'd and turn'd to ice?[647] O gods, what death prepare ye? with what plague Mean ye to rage? the death of many men Meets in one period. If cold noisome Saturn 650 Were now exalted, and with blue beams shin'd, Then Ganymede[648] would renew Deucalion's flood, And in the fleeting sea the earth be drench'd. O Phoebus, shouldst thou with thy rays now singe The fell NemÊan beast, th' earth would be fir'd, And heaven tormented with thy chafing heat: But thy fires hurt not. Mars, 'tis thou inflam'st The threatening Scorpion with the burning tail, And fir'st his cleys:[649] why art thou thus enrag'd? Kind Jupiter hath low declin'd himself; 660 Venus is faint; swift Hermes retrograde; Mars only rules the heaven. Why do the planets Alter their course, and vainly dim their virtue? Sword-girt Orion's side glisters too bright: War's rage draws near; and to the sword's strong hand Let all laws yield, sin bears the name of virtue: Many a year these furious broils let last: Why should we wish the gods should ever end them? War only gives us peace. O Rome, continue The course of mischief, and stretch out the date 670 Of slaughter! only civil broils make peace." These sad presages were enough to scare The quivering Romans; but worse things affright them. As MÊnas[650] full of wine on Pindus raves, So runs a matron through th' amazËd streets, Disclosing Phoebus' fury in this sort; "PÊan, whither am I haled? where shall I fall, Thus borne aloft? I seen PangÊus' hill With hoary top, and, under HÊmus' mount, Philippi plains. Phoebus, what rage is this? 680 Why grapples Rome, and makes war, having no foes? Whither turn I now? thou lead'st me toward th' east, Where Nile augmenteth the Pelusian sea: This headless trunk that lies on Nilus' sand I know. Now th[o]roughout the air I fly To doubtful Syrtes and dry Afric, where A Fury leads the Emathian bands. From thence To the pine-bearing[651] hills; thence[652] to the mounts Pyrene; and so back to Rome again. See, impious war defiles the senate-house! 690 New factions rise. Now through the world again I go. O Phoebus, show me Neptune's shore, And other regions! I have seen Philippi." This said, being tir'd with fury, she sunk down.
FOOTNOTES:
[579] Old ed. "launcht."--The forms "lanch" and "lance" are used indifferently.
[580] Alike.
[581] "Et ardenti _servilia_ bella sub ∆tna."
[582] "Nec polus adversi _calidus_ qua vergitur Austri."
[583] "_Obliquo_ sidere."
[584] Axis.
[585] Tumults.
[586]
"Summisque negatum, Stare diu."
[587] Far-fetched.
[588] "Exiguum dominos commisit asylum."
[589] "So old ed. in some copies which had been corrected at press; other copies 'Aezean.'"--_Dyce_.
[590] CarrÊ's.
[591] A somewhat weak translation of Lucan's most famous line:--"Victrix causa diis placuit, sed victa Catoni."
[592] As the line stands we must take "nod" and "fall" transitively ("though every blast make it nod and seem to make it fall"). The original has "At quamvis primo nutet casura sub Euro."
[593] "Fecunda virorum / Paupertas."
[594] "Ingens visa duci patriae _trepidantis_ imago."
[595] "Inde _moras_ solvit belli."
[596] "Sonipes."
[597] "Nuda jam crate fluentes / Invadunt clypeos."
[598] Silent.
[599] Prove.
[600] "Jactatis ... _Gracchis_."
[601] Marlowe omits to translate the words that follow in the original:--
"Utque ducem varias volventem pectore curas Conspexit."
[602] A line (omitted by Marlowe) follows in the original:--"Par labor atque metus pretio majore petuntur."
[603] An obscure rendering of
"Gentesque subactas Vix impune feres."
[604] Old ed. "Eleius." It is hardly possible to suppose (as Dyce suggests) that Marlowe took the adjective "Eleus" for a substantive.
[605] A mistranslation of "carcere clauso." ("Carcer" is the barrier or starting-place in the circus.)
[606] "Immineat foribus." "Souse" is a north-country word meaning to bang or dash. It is also applied to the swooping-down of a hawk.
[607] Old ed. "leaders."
[608] So Dyce for the old ed's. "Brabbling." The original has "Marcellusque _loquax_." ("Brabbling" means "wrangling.")
[609] A mistake (or perhaps merely a misprint) for "Cilician."
[610] Old ed. has "Jaded, king of Pontus!"
[611] "Unless we understand this in the sense of--say I receive no reward (--and in Fletcher's _Woman-Hater_, 'merit' means--derive profit, B. and F.'s _Works_, i. 91, ed. Dyce,--), it is a wrong translation of 'mihi si merces erepta laborum est.'"--_Dyce_.
[612] "Sicilia" should be "Cilicia."
[613] A free translation of the frigid original--
"Arma tenenti Omnia dat qui justa negat."
[614] Old ed. "Lalius."
[615] Old ed. "_Articks_ Rhene." ("Rhene" is the old form of "Rhine.")
[616] So old ed. Dyce's correction "or groaning woman's womb" seems hardly necessary. (The original has "plenaeque in viscera partu conjugis.")
[617] "Numina miscebit castrensis flamma _Monetae_."
[618] Old ed. "bowde."
[619] Fetches.
[620] The original has--
"Castraque quae, Vogesi curvam super ardua rupem, Pugnaces pictis cohibebant _Lingonas_ armis."
Dyce conjectures that Marlowe's copy read _Lingones_.
[621] Old ed. "bloats."
[622]
"Tunc rura Nemossi Qui tenet et ripas Aturi."
[623] Marlowe seems to have read here very ridiculously, "gaudetque amato [instead of amoto] Santonus hoste."--_Dyce_.
[624] Marlowe has converted the name of a tribe into that of a country.
[625] The approved reading is "longisque leves _Suessones_ in armis."
[626] "Optimus excusso _Leucus Rhemusque_ lacerto."
[627] "Et qui te _laxis_ imitantur, Sarmata, _bracchis_ Vangiones."
Marlowe has mistaken "Sarmata," a _Sarmatian_, for the country _Sarmatia_.
[628] The old ed. gives "fell Mercury (Joue)," and in the next line "where it seems." "Jove" written, as a correction, in the MS. above "it" was supposed by the printer to belong to the previous line.
[629] The original has--
"Hunc inter Rhenum populos Alpesque jacentes, / Finibus Arctois patriaque a sede revulsos, / Pone sequi."/ ("Populos" is the subject and "Hunc" the object of "sequi." For "Hunc" the best editions give "Tunc.")
[630] "Parts" must be pronounced as a dissyllable.
[631] "Praecipitem populum."
[632] "Serieque haerentia longa / Agmina prorumpunt."
[633] "Urbem populis, _victisque_ frequentem Gentibus."--Old ed. "captaines."
[634] "Fulgura _fallaci_ micuerunt crebra sereno."
[635] The original has, "_jugis_ nutantibus." Dyce reads "tops,"--an emendation against which Cunningham loudly protests. "Laps" is certainly more emphatic.
[636] The line is imperfect. We should have expected "_at night_ wild beasts were seen" ("silvisque feras _sub nocte_ relictis").
[637] Old ed. "Sibils."
[638] Shrieked.
[639] "Gelidas _Anienis_ ad undas."
[640] "Or LunÊ"--marginal note in old ed.
[641] The original has "rapi."
[642] Old ed. "wash'd."
[643] Portendeth.
[644] Here Marlowe quite deserts the original--
"pars Êgra et marcida pendet, _Pars micat, et celeri venas movet improba pulsu_."
[645] "Numerisque moventibus astra."--The word "planeting" was, I suppose, coined by Marlowe. I have never met it elsewhere.
[646] So Dyce.--Old ed. "radge." (The original has "et incerto _discurrunt_ sidera motu.")
[647] "Omnis an effusis miscebitur unda _venenis_."--Dyce suggests that Marlowe's copy read "pruinis."
[648] The original has "Aquarius."--Ganymede was changed into the sign Aquarius: see Hyginus' _Poeticon Astron._ II. 29.
[649] Claws.
[650] A MÊnad.--Old ed. "MÊnus."
[651] The original has "NubiferÊ."
[652] Old ed. "hence."
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.[653]
Come[654] live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and vallies, dales and fields,[655] Woods or steepy mountain yields.[656]
And we will[657] sit upon the rocks, Seeing[658] the shepherds feed their[659] flocks By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing[660] madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses[661] And[662] a thousand fragrant posies, A cup of flowers and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown[663] made of the finest wooll Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair-linËd[664] slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy-buds, With coral clasps and amber studs; An if these pleasures may thee move, Come[665] live with me, and be my love.
The shepherd-swains[666] shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love.
FOOTNOTES:
[653] This delightful pastoral song was first published, without the fourth and sixth stanzas, in _The Passionate Pilgrim_, 1599. It appeared complete in _England's Helicon_, 1600, with Marlowe's name subscribed. By quoting it in the _Complete Angler_, 1653, Izaak Walton has made it known to a world of readers.
[654] Omitted in P. P.
[655] So P. P.--E. H. "That vallies, groves, hills and fieldes."--Walton "That vallies, groves, or hils or fields."
[656] So E. H.--P. P. "And the craggy mountain yields."--Walton "Or, woods and steepie mountains yeelds."
[657] So E. H.--P. P. "There will we."--Walton "Where we will."
[658] So E. H.--P. P. and Walton "And see."
[659] So E. H. and P. P.--Walton "our."
[660] So P. P. and Walton.--E. H. "sings."
[661] So E. H. and Walton.--P. P. "There will I make thee a bed of roses."
[662] So E. H.--P. P. "With."--Walton "And then."
[663] This stanza is omitted in P. P.
[664] So E. H.--Walton "Slippers lin'd choicely."
[665] So E. H. and Walton.--P. P. "Then."--After this stanza there follows in the second edition of the _Complete Angler_, 1655, an additional stanza:--
"Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepar'd each day for thee and me."
[666] This stanza is omitted in P. P.--E. H. and Walton "The sheep-heards swaines."
[In _England's Helicon_ Marlowe's song is followed by the "Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd" and "Another of the same Nature made since." Both are signed _Ignoto_, but the first of these pieces has been usually ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh[667]--on no very substantial grounds.]
THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD.
If all the world and love were young, And truth in every Shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love.
Times drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten; In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these to me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.
But could youth last and love still breed, Had joys no date nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love.
FOOTNOTES:
[667] Oldys in his annotated copy (preserved in the British Museum) of Langbaine's _Engl. Dram. Poets_, under the article _Marlowe_ remarks:--"Sir Walter Raleigh was an encourager of his [_i.e._ Marlowe's] Muse; and he wrote an answer to a Pastoral Sonnet of Sir Walter's [_sic_], printed by Isaac Walton in his book of fishing." It would be pleasant to think that Marlowe enjoyed Raleigh's patronage; but Oldys gives no authority for his statement.
ANOTHER OF THE SAME NATURE MADE SINCE.
Come live with me, and be my dear, And we will revel all the year, In plains and groves, on hills and dales, Where fragrant air breathes sweetest gales.
There shall you have the beauteous pine, The cedar, and the spreading vine; And all the woods to be a screen, Lest Phoebus kiss my Summer's Queen.
The seat for your disport shall be Over some river in a tree, Where silver sands and pebbles sing Eternal ditties to the spring.
There shall you see the nymphs at play, And how the satyrs spend the day; The fishes gliding on the sands, Offering their bellies to your hands.
The birds with heavenly tunËd throats Possess woods' echoes with sweet notes, Which to your senses will impart A music to enflame the heart.
Upon the bare and leafless oak The ring-doves' wooings will provoke A colder blood than you possess To play with me and do no less.
In bowers of laurel trimly dight We will out-wear the silent night, While Flora busy is to spread Her richest treasure on our bed.
Ten thousand glow-worms shall attend, And all these sparkling lights shall spend All to adorn and beautify Your lodging with most majesty.
Then in mine arms will I enclose Lilies' fair mixture with the rose, Whose nice perfection in love's play Shall tune me to the highest key.
Thus as we pass the welcome night In sportful pleasures and delight, The nimble fairies on the grounds, Shall dance and sing melodious sounds.
If these may serve for to entice Your presence to Love's Paradise, Then come with me, and be my dear, And we will then begin the year.
The following verses in imitation of Marlowe are by Donne:--
THE BAIT.
Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasure prove Of golden sands and christal brooks With silken lines and silver hooks.
There will the river whispering run, Warm'd by thine eyes more than the sun; And there th' enamoured fish will stay Begging themselves they may betray.
When thou wilt swim in that live bath, Each fish which every channel hath Will amorously to thee swim, Gladder to catch thee than thou him.
If thou to be so seen beest loath By sun or moon, thou darkenest both; And if my self have leave to see, I heed not their light, having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds And cut their legs with shells and weeds, Or treacherously poor fish beset With strangling snare or winding net.
Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest The bedded fish in banks outwrest, Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies, Bewitch poor fishes' wandering eyes.
For thee, thou need'st no such deceit, For thou thyself art thine own bait: That fish that is not catched thereby, Alas, is wiser far than I.
Herrick has a pastoral invitation
TO PHILLIS TO LOVE AND LIVE WITH HIM.
Live, live with me, and thou shalt see The pleasures I'll prepare for thee; What sweets the country can afford Shall bless thy bed and bless thy board.
The soft sweet moss shall be thy bed With crawling woodbine overspread: By which the silver-shedding streams Shall gently melt thee into dreams.
Thy clothing next shall be a gown Made of the fleeces' purest down. The tongues of kids shall be thy meat; Their milk thy drink; and thou shall eat
The paste of filberts for thy bread, With cream of cowslips buttered. Thy feasting-tables shall be hills With daisies spread and daffodils;
Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by For meat shall give thee melody. I'll give thee chains and carcanets Of primroses and violets.
A bag and bottle thou shalt have, That richly wrought and this as brave, So that as either shall express The wearer's no mean shepherdess.
At shearing-times and yearly wakes, When Themilis his pastime makes, There thou shalt be; and be the wit, Nay more, the feast and grace of it.
On holidays when virgins meet To dance the hays with nimble feet, Thou shalt come forth and then appear The queen of roses for that year;
And having danced ('bove all the best) Carry the garland from the rest. In wicker-baskets maids shall bring To thee, my dearest shepherdling,
The blushing apple, bashful pear, And shame-faced plum all simp'ring there: Walk in the groves and thou shalt find The name of Phillis in the rind
Of every straight and smooth-skin tree, Where kissing that I'll twice kiss thee. To thee a sheep-hook I will send Be-prankt with ribands to this end,
This, this alluring hook might be Less for to catch a sheep than me. Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine, Not made of ale but spiced wine;
To make thy maids and self free mirth, All sitting near the glittering hearth. Thou shalt have ribbands, roses, rings, Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes and strings, Of winning colours that shall move Others to lust but me to love. These, nay, and more, thine own shall be If thou wilt love and live with me.
FRAGMENT.[668]
I walk'd along a stream, for pureness rare, Brighter than sun-shine; for it did acquaint The dullest sight with all the glorious prey That in the pebble-pavËd channel lay.
No molten crystal, but a richer mine, Even Nature's rarest alchymy ran there,-- Diamonds resolv'd, and substance more divine, Through whose bright-gliding current might appear A thousand naked nymphs, whose ivory shine, Enamelling the banks, made them more dear Than ever was that glorious palace' gate Where the day-shining Sun in triumph sate.
Upon this brim the eglantine and rose, The tamarisk, olive, and the almond tree, As kind companions, in one union grows, Folding their twining[669] arms, as oft we see Turtle-taught lovers either other close, Lending to dulness feeling sympathy; And as a costly valance o'er a bed, So did their garland-tops the brook o'erspread.
Their leaves, that differ'd both in shape and show, Though all were green, yet difference such in green, Like to the checker'd bent of Iris' bow, Prided the running main, as it had been--
FOOTNOTES:
[668] From _England's Parnassus_, 1600, p. 480, where it is subscribed "Ch. Marlowe."
[669] The text of _England's Parnassus_ has "twindring," which is corrected in the _Errata_, to "twining."
DIALOGUE IN VERSE.[670]
JACK.
Seest thou not yon farmer's son? He hath stoln my love from me, alas! What shall I do? I am undone; My heart will ne'er be as it was. O, but he gives her gay gold rings, And tufted gloves [for] holiday, And many other goodly things, That hath stolen my love away.
FRIEND.
Let him give her gay gold rings Or tufted gloves, were they ne'er so [gay]; 10 [F]or were her lovers lords or kings, They should not carry the wench away.
[JACK.]
But 'a dances wonders well, And with his dances stole her love from me: Yet she wont to say I bore the bell For dancing and for courtesy.
DICK.[671]
Fie, lusty younker, what do you here, Not dancing on the green to-day? For Pierce, the farmer's son, I fear, Is like to carry your wench away. 20
[JACK.]
Good Dick, bid them all come hither, And tell Pierce from me beside, That, if he thinks to have the wench, Here he stands shall lie with the bride.
DICK.[672]
Fie, Nan, why use thy old lover so, For any other new-come guest? Thou long time his love did know; Why shouldst thou not use him best?
[NAN.]
Bonny Dick, I will not forsake My bonny Rowland for any gold: 30 If he can dance as well as Pierce, He shall have my heart in hold.
PIERCE.
Why, then, my hearts, let's to this gear; And by dancing I may won My Nan, whose love I hold so dear As any realm under the sun.
GENTLEMAN.[673]
Then, gentles, ere I speed from hence I will be so bold to dance A turn or two without offence; For, as I was walking along by chance, 40 I was told you did agree.
[FRIEND.]
'Tis true, good sir; and this is she Hopes your worship comes not to crave her; For she hath lovers two or three, And he that dances best must have her.
GENTLEMAN.
How say you, sweet, will you dance with me? And you [shall] have both land and [hill]; My love shall want nor gold nor fee.
[NAN.]
I thank you, sir, for your good will; But one of these my love must be: 50 I'm but a homely country maid, And far unfit for your degree; [To dance with you I am afraid.]
FRIEND.
Take her, good sir, by the hand, As she is fairest; were she fairer, By this dance, you shall understand, He that can win her is like to wear her.
FOOL.
And saw you not [my] Nan to-day, My mother's maid have you not seen? My pretty Nan is gone away 60 To seek her love upon the green. [I cannot see her 'mong so many:] She shall have me, if she have any.
NAN.[674]
Welcome, sweet-heart, and welcome here, Welcome, my [true] love, now to me. This is my love [and my darling dear], And that my husband [soon] must be. And, boy, when thou com'st home thou'lt see Thou art as welcome home as he.
GENTLEMAN.
Why, how now, sweet Nan! I hope you jest. 70
NAN.[675]
No, by my troth, I love the fool the best: And, if you be jealous, God give you good-night! I fear you're a gelding, you caper so light.
GENTLEMAN.
I thought she had jested and meant but a fable, But now do I see she hath play'[d] with his bable.[676] I wish all my friends by me to take heed, That a fool come not near you when you mean to speed.
FOOTNOTES:
[670] First printed in _The Alleyn Papers_ (for the Shakespeare Society), p. 8, by Collier, who remarks:--"In the original MS. this dramatic dialogue in verse is written as prose, on one side of a sheet of paper, at the back of which, in a more modern hand, is the name 'Kitt Marlowe.' What connection, if any, he may have had with it, it is impossible to determine, but it was obviously worthy of preservation, as a curious stage-relic of an early date, and unlike anything else of the kind that has come down to us. In consequence of haste or ignorance on the part of the writer of the manuscript, it has been necessary to supply some portions, which are printed within brackets. There are also some obvious errors in the distribution of the dialogue, which it was not easy to correct. The probability is that, when performed, it was accompanied with music."
[671] MS. "Jack."
[672] MS. "W. Fre."--which Dyce supposed to be an abbreviation for _Wench's Friend_.
[673] MS. "Frend."
[674] MS. "Wen" (_i.e._ Wench).
[675] MS. "Wen."
[676] Bauble.
APPENDICES.
APPENDICES.
No. I.
THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDIE.[677]
All you that have got eares to heare, Now listen unto mee; Whilst I do tell a tale of feare; A true one it shall bee:
A truer storie nere was told, As some alive can showe; 'Tis of a man in crime grown olde, Though age he did not know.
This man did his owne God denie And Christ his onelie son, And did all punishment defie, So he his course might run.
Both day and night would he blaspheme, And day and night would sweare, As if his life was but a dreame, Not ending in dispaire.
A poet was he of repute, And wrote full many a playe, Now strutting in a silken sute, Then begging by the way.
He had alsoe a player beene Upon the Curtaine-stage, But brake his leg in one lewd scene, When in his early age.
He was a fellow to all those That did God's laws reject, Consorting with the Christians' foes And men of ill aspect.
Ruffians and cutpurses hee Had ever at his backe, And led a life most foule and free, To his eternall wracke.
He now is gone to his account, And gone before his time, Did not his wicked deedes surmount All precedent of crime.
But he no warning ever tooke From others' wofull fate, And never gave his life a looke Untill it was too late.
He had a friend, once gay and greene.[678] Who died not long before, The wofull'st wretch was ever seen, The worst ere woman bore,
Unlesse this Wormall[679] did exceede Even him in wickednesse, Who died in the extreemest neede And terror's bitternesse.
Yet Wormall ever kept his course, Since nought could him dismay; He knew not what thing was remorse Unto his dying day.
Then had he no time to repent The crimes he did commit, And no man ever did lament For him, to dye unfitt.
Ah, how is knowledge wasted quite On such want wisedome true, And that which should be guiding light But leades to errors newe!
Well might learnd Cambridge oft regret He ever there was bred: The tree she in his mind had set Brought poison forth instead.
His lust was lawlesse as his life, And brought about his death; For, in a deadlie mortall strife, Striving to stop the breath
Of one who was his rivall foe, With his owne dagger slaine, He groand, and word spoke never moe, Pierc'd through the eye and braine.
Thus did he come to suddaine ende That was a foe to all, And least unto himselfe a friend, And raging passion's thrall.
Had he been brought up to the trade His father follow'd still, This exit he had never made, Nor played a part soe ill.
Take warning ye that playes doe make, And ye that doe them act; Desist in time for Wormall's sake, And thinke upon his fact.
Blaspheming Tambolin must die, And Faustus meete his ende; Repent, repent, or presentlie To hell ye must discend.
What is there, in this world, of worth, That we should prize it soe? Life is but trouble from our birth, The wise do say and know.
Our lives, then, let us mend with speed, Or we shall suerly rue The end of everie hainous deede, In life that shall insue.
_Finis. Ign._
FOOTNOTES:
[677] In the Introduction I have expressed my opinion that this ballad is a forgery.
[678] We are to suppose an allusion to Robert Greene.
[679] The anagram of Marlowe.
No. II.
In a copy of _Hero and Leander_ Collier found, together with other questionable matter, the following MS. notes:--"Feb. 10, 1640. Mr. [two words follow in cipher], that Marloe was an atheist, and wrot a booke against [two words in cipher,] how that it was all one man's making, and would have printed it, but it would not be suffred to be printed. Hee was a rare scholar, and made excellent verses in Latine. He died aged about 30."--"Marloe was an acquaintance of Mr. [a name follows in cipher] of Douer, whom hee made become an atheist; so that he was faine to make a recantation vppon this text, 'The foole hath said in his heart there is no God.'"--"This [the name in cipher] learned all Marloe by heart."--"Marloe was stabd with a dagger and dyed swearing."
No. III.
A NOTE[680]
CONTAYNINGE THE OPINION OF ONE CHRISTOFER MARYLE, CONCERNYNGE HIS DAMNABLE OPINIONS AND JUDGMENT OF RELYGION AND SCORNE OF GODS WORDE.
FROM MS. HARL. 6853, FOL. 320.
That the Indians and many Authors of Antiquitei have assuredly written of aboue 16 thowsande yeers agone, wher Adam is proved to have leyved within 6 thowsande yeers.
_He affirmeth_[681] That Moyses was but a Juggler, and that one Heriots can do more then hee.
That Moyses made the Jewes to travell fortie yeers in the wildernes (which iorny might have ben don in lesse then one yeer) er they came to the promised lande, to the intente that those whoe wer privei to most of his subtileteis might perish, and so an everlastinge supersticion remayne in the hartes of the people.
That the firste beginnynge of Religion was only to keep men in awe.
That it was an easye matter for Moyses, beinge brought up in all the artes of the Egiptians, to abvse the Jewes, being a rvde and grosse people.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *[682]
That he [Christ] was the sonne of a carpenter, and that, yf the Jewes amonge whome he was born did crvcifye him, thei best knew him and whence he came.
That Christ deserved better to dye than Barrabas, and that the Jewes made a good choyce, though Barrabas were both a theife and a murtherer.
That yf ther be any God or good Religion, then it is in the Papistes, becavse the service of God is performed with more ceremonyes, as elevacion of the masse, organs, singinge men, _shaven crownes_, &c. That all protestantes ar hipocriticall Asses.
That, yf he wer put to write a new religion, he wolde vndertake both a more excellent and more admirable methode, and that all the new testament is filthely written.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * *
That all the Appostels wer fishermen and base fellowes, nether of witt nor worth, that Pawle only had witt, that he was a timerous fellow in biddinge men to be subiect to magistrates against his conscience.
_That he had as good right to coyne as the Queen of Englande, and that he was acquainted with one Poole, a prisoner in newgate, whoe hath great skill in mixture of mettalls, and havinge learned such thinges of him, he ment, thorough help of a cvnnynge stampe-maker, to coyne french crownes, pistolettes, and englishe shillinges._
That, yf Christ had instituted the Sacramentes with more cerymonyall reverence, it would have ben had in more admiracion, that it wolde have ben much better beinge administred in a Tobacco pype.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That one Richard Cholmelei[683] hath confessed that he was perswaded by Marloes reason to become an Athieste.
_Theis thinges, with many other, shall by good and honest men be proved to be his opinions and common speeches, and that this Marloe doth not only holde them himself, but almost in every company he commeth, perswadeth men to Athiesme, willinge them not to be afrayed of bugbeares and hobgoblins, and vtterly scornynge both God and his ministers, as I Richard Bome_ [sic] _will justify bothe by my othe and the testimony of many honest men, and almost all men with whome he hath conversed any tyme will testefy the same:_ _and, as I thincke, all men in christianitei ought to endevor that the mouth of so dangerous a member may be stopped._
_He sayeth moreover that he hath coated[684] a number of contrarieties out of the scriptures, which he hath geeven to some great men, who in convenient tyme shalbe named. When theis thinges shalbe called in question, the witnesses shalbe produced._
RYCHARD BAME.
(Endorsed)
_Copye of Marloes blasphemyes as sent to her H[ighness]._
[Now-a-days inquiries as to the age of the earth are of interest only to Geologists; and all may criticise with impunity the career of Moses--provided that they do not employ the shafts of ridicule too freely. Marlowe's strictures on the New Testament--grossly exaggerated by the creature who penned the charges--were made from the literary point of view. We should blame nobody to-day for saying that the language of Revelations is poor and thin when compared with the language of Isaiah. Again, as to the statement that Romanism alone is logical, and that Protestantism has no _locus standi_,--has not the doctrine been proclaimed again and again in our own day by writers whom we all respect? The charge that Marlowe had announced his intention of coining French crowns is so utterly absurd as to throw discredit upon all the other statements. It must be remembered that the testimony was not upon oath, and that the deponent was a ruffian.]
FOOTNOTES:
[680] This is the original title, which has been partly scored through to make way for the following title:--_A Note delivered on Whitson eve last of the most horrible blasphemes utteryd by Christofer Marly who within iii dayes after came to a soden and fearfull end of his life._
[681] Words printed in italics are scored through in the MS.
[682] Where _lacunÊ_ occur the clauses are unfit for publication.
[683] In the margin are the words "he is layd for,"--_i.e._, steps are being taken for his apprehension.
[684] Quoted.
No. IV.
An edition of Marlowe cannot be more fitly concluded than by a reprint of Mr. R. H. Horne's noble and pathetic tragedy, _The Death of Marlowe_ (originally published in 1837), one of the few dramatic pieces of the present century that will have any interest for posterity. For permission to reprint this tragedy I am indebted to Mr. Horne's literary executor, Mr. H. Buxton Forman.
THE DEATH OF MARLOWE.
_DRAMATIS PERSON∆._
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, } _Dramatists and Actors._ THOMAS HEYWOOD, }
THOMAS MIDDLETON, _Dramatist._
CECILIA } _Runaway Wife of the drunkard, } Bengough._
JACCONOT, _alias_ } _A Tavern Pander and Swashbuckler._ JACK-O'-NIGHT }
_Gentlemen, Officers, Servants, &c._
## SCENE I.
_Public Gardens--Liberty of the Clink, Southwark._
_Enter_ MARLOWE _and_ HEYWOOD.
HEYWOOD.
Be sure of it.
MARLOWE.
I am; but not by your light.
HEYWOOD.
I speak it not in malice, nor in envy Of your good fortune with so bright a beauty; But I have heard such things!
MARLOWE.
Good Master Heywood, I prithee plague me not with what thou'st heard; I've seen, and I do love her--and, for hearing, The music of her voice is in my soul, And holds a rapturous jubilee 'midst dreams That melt the day and night into one bliss.
HEYWOOD.
Beware the waking hour!
MARLOWE.
In lovely radiance, Like all that's fabled of Olympus' queen, She moves--as if the earth were undulant clouds, And all its flowers her subject stars.
HEYWOOD.
Proceed.
MARLOWE.
Smile not; for 'tis most true: the very air With her sweet presence is impregnate richly. As in a mead, that's fresh with youngest green, Some fragrant shrub, some secret herb, exhales Ambrosial odours; or in lonely bower, Where one may find the musk plant, heliotrope, Geranium, or grape hyacinth, confers A ruling influence, charming present sense And sure of memory; so, her person bears A natural balm, obedient to the rays Of heaven--or to her own, which glow within, Distilling incense by their own sweet power. The dew at sunrise on a ripened peach Was never more delicious than her neck. Such forms are Nature's favourites.
HEYWOOD.
Come, come-- Pygmalion and Prometheus dwell within you! You poetise her rarely, and exalt With goddess-attributes, and chastity Beyond most goddesses: be not thus serious! If for a passing paramour thou'dst love her, Why, so, so it may be well; but never place Thy full heart in her hand.
MARLOWE.
I have--I do-- And I will lay it bleeding at her feet. Reason no more, for I do love this woman: To me she's chaste, whatever thou hast heard. Whatever I may know, hear, find, or fancy, I must possess her constantly, or die.
HEYWOOD.
Nay, if't be thus, I'll fret thine ear no more With raven voice; but aid thee all I can.
MARLOWE.
Cecilia!--Go, dear friend--good Master Heywood, Leave me alone--I see her coming thither!
HEYWOOD.
Bliss wait thy wooing; peace of mind its end! (_aside_) His knees shake, and his face and hands are wet, As with a sudden fall of dew--God speed him! This is a desperate fancy! _Exit._
_Enter_ CECILIA.
CECILIA.
Thoughtful sir, How fare you? Thou'st been reading much of late, By the moon's light, I fear me?
MARLOWE.
Why so, lady?
CECILIA.
The reflex of the page is on thy face.
MARLOWE.
But in my heart the spirit of a shrine Burns, with immortal radiation crown'd.
CECILIA.
Nay, primrose gentleman, think'st me a saint?
MARLOWE.
I feel thy power.
CECILIA.
I exercise no arts-- Whence is my influence?
MARLOWE.
From heaven, I think. Madam, I love you--ere to-day you've seen it, Although my lips ne'er breathed the word before; And seldom as we've met and briefly spoken, There are such spiritual passings to and fro 'Twixt thee and me--though I alone may suffer-- As make me know this love blends with my life; Must branch with it, bud, blossom, put forth fruit, Nor end e'en when its last husks strew the grave, Whence we together shall ascend to bliss.
CECILIA.
Continued from this world?
MARLOWE.
Thy hand, both hands; I kiss them from my soul!
CECILIA.
Nay, sir, you burn me-- Let loose my hands!
MARLOWE.
I loose them--half my life has thus gone from me!-- That which is left can scarce contain my heart, Now grown too full with the high tide of joy, Whose ebb, retiring, fills the caves of sorrow, Where Syrens sing beneath their dripping hair, And raise the mirror'd fate.
CECILIA.
Then, gaze not in it, Lest thou should'st see thy passing funeral. I would not--I might chance to see far worse.
MARLOWE.
Thou art too beautiful ever to die! I look upon thee, and can ne'er believe it.
CECILIA.
O, sir--but passion, circumstance, and fate, Can do far worse than kill: they can dig graves, And make the future owners dance above them, Well knowing how 'twill end. Why look you sad? 'Tis not your case; you are a man in love-- At least, you say so--and should therefore feel A constant sunshine, wheresoe'er you tread, Nor think of what's beneath. But speak no more: I see a volume gathering in your eye Which you would fain have printed in my heart; But you were better cast it in the fire. Enough you've said, and I enough have listened.
MARLOWE.
I have said naught.
CECILIA.
You have spoken very plain-- So, Master Marlowe, please you, break we off; And, since your mind is now relieved--good day!
MARLOWE.
Leave me not thus!--forgive me!
CECILIA.
For what offence
MARLOWE.
The expression of my love.
CECILIA.
Tut! that's a trifle. Think'st thou I ne'er saw men in love before? Unto the summer of beauty they are common As grasshoppers.
MARLOWE.
And to its winter, lady?
CECILIA.
There is no winter in my thoughts--adieu!
_Exit._
MARLOWE.
She's gone!--How leafless is my life!--My strength Seems melted--my breast vacant--and in my brain I hear the sound of a retiring sea.
_Exit._
## SCENE II.
_Gravel Lane; Bankside._
_Enter_ HEYWOOD _and_ MIDDLETON.
MIDDLETON.
And yet it may end well, after his fit is over.
HEYWOOD.
But he is earnest in it.
MIDDLETON.
'Tis his habit; a little thunder clears the atmosphere. At present he is spell-bound, and smouldereth in a hot cloud of passion; but when he once makes his way, he will soon disperse his free spirit abroad over the inspired heavens.
HEYWOOD.
I fear me she will sow quick seed of feverish fancies in his mind that may go near to drive him mad.
MIDDLETON.
How so? He knoweth her for what she is, as well as for what she was;--the high-spirited and once virtuous wife of the drunkard Bengough. You remember him?
HEYWOOD.
I have seen him i' the mire. 'Twas his accustomed bed o' nights--and morning, too--many a time. He preferred _that_ to the angel he left at home. Some men do. 'Tis a sorrow to think upon.
MIDDLETON.
And one that tears cannot wash! Master Marlowe hath too deep a reading i' the books of nature to nail his heart upon a gilded weathercock. He is only desperate after the fashion of a pearl diver. When he hath enough he will desist--breathe freely, polish the shells, and build grottoes.
HEYWOOD.
Nay, he persisteth in _not_ knowing her for a courtesan--talks of her purity in burning words, that seem to glow and enhance his love from his convictions of her virtue; then suddenly falls into silent abstraction, looking like a man whose eyes are filled with visions of Paradise. No pains takes she to deceive him; for he supersedes the chance by deceiving himself beyond measure. He either listens not at all to intimation, or insists the contrary.
MIDDLETON.
This is his passionate aggravation or self will: he _must_ know it.
HEYWOOD.
'Tis my belief; but her beauty blinds him with its beams, and drives his exiled reason into darkness.
MIDDLETON.
Here comes one that could enlighten his perception, methinks.
HEYWOOD.
Who's he? Jack-o'-night, the tavern pander and swashbuckler.
_Enter_ JACCONOT.
JACCONOT.
Save ye, my masters; lusty thoughts go with ye, and a jovial full cup wait on your steps: so shall your blood rise, and honest women pledge ye in their dreams!
MIDDLETON.
Your weighty-pursed knowledge of women, balanced against your squinting knowledge of honesty, Master Jack-o'-night, would come down to earth, methinks, as rapid as a fall from a gallows-tree.
JACCONOT.
Well said, Master Middleton--a merry devil and a long-lived one run monkey-wise up your back-bone! May your days be as happy as they're sober, and your nights full of applause! May no brawling mob pelt you, or your friends, when throned, nor hoot down your plays when your soul's pinned like a cockchafer on public opinion! May no learned or unlearned calf write against your knowledge and wit, and no brother paper-stainer pilfer your pages, and then call you a general thief! Am I the only rogue and vagabond in the world?
MIDDLETON.
I' faith, not: nay, an' thou wert, there would be no lack of them i' the next generation. Thou might'st be the father of the race, being now the bodily type of it. The phases of thy villany are so numerous that, were they embodied they would break down the fatal tree which is thine inheritance, and cause a lack of cords for the Thames shipping!
JACCONOT.
Don't choke me with compliments!
HEYWOOD (_to_ MIDDLETON).
He seems right proud of this multiplied idea of his latter end.
JACCONOT.
Ay; hanging's of high antiquity, and, thereto, of broad modern repute. The flag, the sign, the fruit, the felon, and other high and mighty game, all hang; though the sons of ink and sawdust try to stand apart, smelling civet, as one should say,--faugh! Jewelled caps, ermined cloaks, powdered wigs, church bells, _bona-roba_ bed-gowns, gilded bridles, spurs, shields, swords, harness, holy relics, and salted hogs, all hang in glory! Pictures, too, of rare value! Also music's ministrants,--the lute, the horn, the fiddle, the pipe, the gong, the viol, the salt-box, the tambourine and the triangle, make a dead-wall dream of festive harmonies!
MIDDLETON.
Infernal discords, thou would'st say!
JACCONOT (_rapidly_).
These are but few things among many! for 'scutcheons, scarecrows, proclamations, the bird in a cage, the target for fools' wit, _hic jacet_ tablets (that is, lying ones), the King's Head and the Queen's Arms, ropes of onions, dried herbs, smoked fish, holly boughs, hall lanthorns, framed piety texts, and adored frights of family portraits, all hang! Likewise corkscrews, cat-skins, glittering trophies, sausage links, shining icicles, the crucifix, and the skeleton in chains. There, we all swing, my masters! Tut! hanging's a high Act of Parliament privilege!--a Star-Chamber Garter-right!
MIDDLETON (_to_ Heywood _laughingly_).
The devil's seed germinates with reptile rapidity, and blossoms and fructifies in the vinous fallows of this bully's brain!
JACCONOT.
I tell thee what----(_looking off_) another time!
_Exit_ JACCONOT _hastily._
HEYWOOD.
I breathe fresh air!
MIDDLETON.
Look!--said I not so? See whom 'tis he meets; And with a lounging, loose, familiar air, Cocking his cap and setting his hand on's hip, Salutes with such free language as his action And attitude explain!
HEYWOOD.
I grieve for Marlowe: The more, since 'tis as certain he must have Full course of passion, as that its object's full Of most unworthy elements.
MIDDLETON.
Unworthy, Indeed, of such a form, if all be base. But Nature, methinks, doth seldom so belie The inward by the outward; seldom frame A cheat so finish'd to ensnare the senses, And break our faith in all substantial truth. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ CECILIA, _followed by_ JACCONOT.
JACCONOT.
Well, well, Mistress St. Cecil; the money is all well enough--I object nothing to the money.
CECILIA.
Then, go your ways.
JACCONOT.
My ways are your ways--a murrain on your beauties!--has your brain shot forth skylarks as your eyes do sparks?
CECILIA.
Go!--here is my purse.
JACCONOT.
I'll no more of't!--I have a mind to fling back what thou'st already given me for my services.
CECILIA.
Master Jacconot, I would have no further services from thee. If thou art not yet satisfied, fetch the weight and scales, and I will cast my gold into it, and my dross besides--so shall I be doubly relieved.
JACCONOT.
I say again--and the devil bear me fierce witness!--it is not gold I want, but rightful favour; not silver, but sweet civility; not dross, but the due respect to my non-pareil value! Bethink thee, Cecil--bethink thee of many things! Ay! am not I the true gallant of my time? the great Glow-worm and Will-o'-the-wisp--the life, the fortune, and the favourite of the brightest among ye!
CECILIA.
Away!
JACCONOT.
Whither?
CECILIA.
Anywhere, so it be distant.
JACCONOT.
What mean'st by discarding me, and why is it? 'Slud! is this the right sort of return for all my skilful activities, my adroit fascinations of young lords in drink, my tricks at dice, cards, and dagger-play, not to speak too loudly of bets on bear-baits, soap-bubbles, and Shrovetide cocks; or my lies about your beauty and temper? Have I not brought dukes and earls and reverend seniors, on tip-toe, and softly whispering for fear of "the world," right under the balcony of your window?--O, don't beat the dust with your fine foot! These be good services, I think!
CECILIA (_half aside_).
Alas! alas!--the world sees us only as bright, though baleful stars, little knowing our painful punishments in the dark--our anguish in secret.
JACCONOT.
Are you thinking of me?
CECILIA.
Go!
JACCONOT.
Go!--a death's-head crown your pillow! May you dream of love, and wake and see that!
CECILIA.
I had rather see't than you.
JACCONOT.
What's i' the wind,--nobleman, or gentleman, or a brain fancy--am not I at hand? Are you mad?
CECILIA (_overcome_).
I'd gladly believe I have been so.
JACCONOT.
Good. I'm content you see me aright once more, and acknowledge yourself wrong.
CECILIA (_half aside, and tearfully_).
O, wrong indeed--very wrong--to my better nature--my better nature.
JACCONOT.
And to me, too! Bethink thee, I say, when last year, after the dance at Hampton, thou wert enraged against the noble that slighted thee; and, flushed with wine, thou took'st me by the ear, and mad'st me hand thee into thy coach, and get in beside thee, with a drawn sword in my hand and a dripping trencher on my head, singing such songs, until----
CECILIA.
Earthworms and stone walls!
JACCONOT.
Hey! what of them?
CECILIA.
I would that as the corporal Past they cover, They would, at earnest bidding of the will, Entomb in walls of darkness and devour The hated retrospections of the mind.
JACCONOT (_aside_).
Oho!--the lamps and saw-dust!--Here's foul play And mischief in the market. Preaching varlet! I'll find him out--I'll dog him! _Exit_.
CECILIA.
Self disgust Gnaws at the root of being, and doth hang A heavy sickness on the beams of day, Making the atmosphere, which should exalt Our contemplations, press us down to earth, As though our breath had made it thick with plague. Cursed! accursed be the freaks of Nature, That mar us from ourselves, and make our acts The scorn and loathing of our afterthoughts-- The finger mark of Conscience, who, most treacherous, Wakes to accuse, but slumber'd o'er the sin.
_Exit._
## SCENE III.
_A Room in the Triple Tun, Blackfriars._
MARLOWE, MIDDLETON, _and_ GENTLEMEN.
GENTLEMAN.
I do rejoice to find myself among The choicest spirits of the age: health, sirs! I would commend your fame to future years, But that I know ere this ye must be old In the conviction, and that ye full oft With sure posterity have shaken hands Over the unstable bridge of present time.
MARLOWE.
Not so: we write from the full heart within, And leave posterity to find her own. Health, sir!--your good deeds laurel you in heaven.
MIDDLETON.
'Twere best men left their fame to chance and fashion, As birds bequeath their eggs to the sun's hatching, Since Genius can make no will.
MARLOWE.
Troth, can it! But for the consequences of the deed, What fires of blind fatality may catch them! Say, you do love a woman--do adore her-- You may embalm the memory of her worth And chronicle her beauty to all time, In words whereat great Jove himself might flush, And feel Olympus tremble at his thoughts; Yet where is your security? Some clerk Wanting a foolscap, or some boy a kite, Some housewife fuel, or some sportsman wadding To wrap a ball (which hits the poet's brain By merest accident) seizes your record, And to the wind thus scatters all your will, Or, rather, your will's object. Thus, our pride Swings like a planet by a single hair, Obedient to God's breath. More wine! more wine! I preach--and I grow melancholy--wine!
_Enter_ DRAWER _with a tankard_.
A GENTLEMAN (_rising_).
We're wending homeward--gentlemen, good night!
MARLOWE.
Not yet--not yet--the night has scarce begun-- Nay, Master Heywood--Middleton, you'll stay! Bright skies to those who go--high thoughts go with ye, And constant youth!
GENTLEMEN.
We thank you, sir--good night! _Exeunt_ GENTLEMEN.
HEYWOOD.
Let's follow--'tis near morning.
MARLOWE.
Do not go. I'm ill at ease, touching a certain matter I've taken to heart--don't speak of't--and besides I have a sort of horror of my bed. Last night a squadron charged me in a dream, With Isis and Osiris at the flanks, Towering and waving their colossal arms, While in the van a fiery chariot roll'd, Wherein a woman stood--I knew her well-- Who seem'd but newly risen from the grave!
She whirl'd a javelin at me, and methought I woke; when, slowly at the foot o' the bed The mist-like curtains parted, and upon me Did learned Faustus look! He shook his head With grave reproof, but more of sympathy, As though his past humanity came o'er him-- Then went away with a low, gushing sigh, That startled his own death-cold breast, and seem'd As from a marble urn where passion's ashes Their sleepless vigil keep. Well--perhaps they do. (_after a pause_) Lived he not greatly? Think what was his power! All knowledge at his beck--the very Devil His common slave. And, O, brought he not back, Through the thick-million'd catacombs of ages, Helen's unsullied loveliness to his arms?
MIDDLETON.
So--let us have more wine, then!
HEYWOOD.
Spirit enough Springs from thee, Master Marlowe--what need more.
MARLOWE.
Drawer! lift up thy leaden poppy-head! Up man!--where art? The night seems wondrous hot!
(MARLOWE _throws open a side window that reaches down to the floor, and stands there, looking out._)
HEYWOOD (_to_ MIDDLETON).
The air flows in upon his heated face, And he grows pale with looking at the stars; Thinking the while of many things in heaven.
MIDDLETON.
And some one on the earth--as fair to him-- For, lo you!--is't not she?
(_Pointing towards the open window_.)
HEYWOOD.
The lady, folded In the long mantle, coming down the street?
MIDDLETON.
Let be; we cannot help him.
(HEYWOOD _and_ MIDDLETON _retire apart_--CECILIA _is passing by the open window_.)
MARLOWE.
Stay awhile!-- One moment stay!
CECILIA (_pausing_).
That is not much to ask.
(_She steps in through the window_.)
MARLOWE.
Nor much for you to grant; but O, to me That moment is a circle without bounds,-- Because I see no end to my delight!
CECILIA.
O, sir, you make me very sad at heart; Let's speak no more of this. I am on my way To walk beside the river.
MARLOWE.
May I come?
CECILIA.
Ah, no; I'll go alone.
MARLOWE.
'Tis dark and dismal; Nor do I deem it safe!
CECILIA.
What can harm _me_? If not above, at least I am beyond All common dangers. No, you shall not come. I have some questions I would ask myself; And in the sullen, melancholy flow O' the unromantic Thames, that has been witness Of many tragical realities, Bare of adornment as its cold stone stairs, I may find sympathy, if not response.
MARLOWE.
You find both here. I know thy real life; We do not see the truth--or, O, how little! Pure light sometimes through painted windows streams; And, when all's dark around thee, thou art fair! Thou bear'st within an ever-burning lamp, To me more sacred than a vestal's shrine; For she may be of heartless chastity, False in all else, and proud of her poor ice, As though 'twere fire suppress'd; but thou art good For goodness' sake;--true-hearted, lovable, For truth and honour's sake; and such a woman, That man who wins, the gods themselves may envy.
CECILIA (_going_).
Considering all things, this is bitter sweet.
MARLOWE.
And I may come? (_following her_)
CECILIA (_firmly_).
You shall not.
MARLOWE.
I obey you.
CECILIA (_tenderly_).
Ah! Kit Marlowe,-- You think too much of me--and of yourself Too little!
MARLOWE.
Then I may----(_advancing_)
CECILIA (_firmly_).
No--no!
MARLOWE.
Wilt promise To see me for one "good night" ere you sleep?
CECILIA.
On my way home I will.
(_She turns to look at him--then steps through the Window--Exit_.)
MARLOWE.
Be sure--be sure!
(HEYWOOD _and_ MIDDLETON _approach_.)
HEYWOOD.
Now, Marlowe!--you desert us!
MARLOWE.
Say not so;-- Or, saying so, add--that I have lost myself! Nay, but I _have_; yonder I go in the dark! (_pointing after_ CECILIA)
_Street Music._--JACCONOT, _singing outside._
Ram out the link, boys; ho, boys![685] There's daylight in the sky! While the trenchers strew the floor, And the worn-out grey beards snore, Jolly throats continue dry! Ram out the link, boys, &c.
MIDDLETON.
What voice is that?
MARLOWE (_through his teeth_).
From one of the hells.
HEYWOOD.
The roystering singer approaches.
_Enter_ JACCONOT, _with a full tankard._
JACCONOT.
Ever awake and shining, my masters! and here am I, your twin lustre, always ready to herald and anoint your pleasures, like a true Master of the Revels. I ha' just stepped over the drawer's body, laid nose and heels together on the door-mat, asleep, and here's wherewith to continue the glory!
MIDDLETON.
We need not your help.
HEYWOOD.
We thank you, Jack-o'-night: we would be alone.
JACCONOT.
What say _you_, Master Marlowe? you look as grim as a sign-painters' first sketch on a tavern bill, after his ninth tankard.
MIDDLETON.
Cease your death-rattle, night-hawk!
MARLOWE.
That's well said.
JACCONOT.
Is it? So 'tis my gallants--a night-bird like yourselves, am I.
MARLOWE.
Beast!--we know you.
JACCONOT.
Your merry health, Master Kit Marlowe! I'll bring a loud pair of palms to cheer your soul the next time you strut in red paint with a wooden weapon at your thigh.
MARLOWE.
Who sent for _you_, dorr-hawk?--go!
JACCONOT.
Go! Aha!--I remember the word--same tone, same gesture--or as like as the two profiles of a monkey, or as two squeaks for one pinch. Go!--not I--here's to all your healths! One pull more! There, I've done--take it, Master Marlowe; and pledge me as the true knight of London's rarest beauties!
MARLOWE.
I will! (_Dashes the tankard at his head_.)
JACCONOT (_stooping quickly_).
A miss, 'fore-gad!--the wall has got it! See where it trickles down like the long robe of some dainty fair one! And look you here--and there again, look you!--what make you of the picture he hath presented?
MARLOWE (_staggers as he stares at the wall_).
O subtle Nature! who hath so compounded Our senses, playing into each other's wheels, That feeling oft acts substitute for sight, As sight becomes obedient to the thought-- How canst thou place such wonders at the mercy Of every wretch that crawls? I feel--I see!
(_Street Music as before, but farther off._)
JACCONOT (_singing_).
Ram out the link, boys; ho, boys! The blear-eyed morning's here; Let us wander through the streets, And kiss whoe'er one meets; St. Cecil is my dear! Ram out the link, boys, &c.
MARLOWE (_drawing_).
Lightning come up from hell and strangle thee!
MIDDLETON _and_ HEYWOOD.
Nay, Marlowe! Marlowe! (_they hold him back_).
MIDDLETON (_to_ JACCONOT).
Away, thou bestial villain!
JACCONOT (_singing at_ MARLOWE).
St. Cecil is my dear!
MARLOWE (_furiously_).
Blast! blast and scatter Thy body to ashes! Off! I'll have his ghost!
(_rushes at_ JACCONOT--_they fight--Marlowe disarms him; but_ JACCONOT _wrests_ MARLOWE'S _own sword from his hand, and stabs him_--MARLOWE _falls_)
MIDDLETON.
See! see!
MARLOWE (_clasping his forehead_).
Who's down?--answer me, friends--is't I?-- Or in the maze of some delirious trance, Some realm unknown, or passion newly born-- Ne'er felt before--am I transported thus? My fingers paddle, too, in blood--is't mine?
JACCONOT.
O, content you, Master Marplot--it's you that's down, drunk or sober; and that's your own blood on your fingers, running from a three-inch groove in your ribs for the devil's imps to slide into you. Ugh! cry gramercy! for it's all over with your rhyming!
HEYWOOD.
O, heartless mischief!
MIDDLETON.
Hence, thou rabid cur!
MARLOWE.
What demon in the air with unseen arm Hath turn'd my unchain'd fury against myself? Recoiling dragon! thy resistless force Scatters thy mortal master in his pride, To teach him, with self-knowledge, to fear thee. Forgetful of all corporal conditions, My passion hath destroy'd me!
JACCONOT.
No such matter; it was _my_ doing. You shouldn't ha' ran at me in that fashion with a real sword--I thought it had been one o' your sham ones.
MIDDLETON.
Away!
HEYWOOD.
See! his face changes--lift him up! (_they raise and support him_) Here--place your hand upon his side--here, here-- Close over mine, and staunch the flowing wound!
MARLOWE (_delirious_.)
Bright is the day--the air with glory teems-- And eagles wanton in the smile of Jove: Can these things be, and Marlowe live no more! O Heywood! Heywood! I had a world of hopes About that woman--now in my heart they rise Confused, as flames from my life's coloured map, That burns until with wrinkling agony Its ashes flatten, separate, and drift Through gusty darkness. Hold me fast by the arm! A little aid will save me:--See! she's here! I clasp thy form--I feel thy breath, my love-- And know thee for a sweet saint come to save me! Save!--is it death I feel--it cannot be death?
JACCONOT (_half aside_.)
Marry, but it can!--or else your sword's a foolish dog that dar'n't bite his owner.
MARLOWE.
O friends--dear friends--this is a sorry end-- A most unworthy end! To think--O God!-- To think that I should fall by the hand of one Whose office, like his nature, is all baseness, Gives Death ten thousand stings, and to the Grave A damning victory! Fame sinks with life! A galling--shameful--ignominious end! (_sinks down_). O mighty heart! O full and orbed heart, Flee to thy kindred sun, rolling on high! Or let the hoary and eternal sea Sweep me away, and swallow body and soul!
JACCONOT.
There'll be no "encore" to either, I wot; for thou'st led an ill life, Master Marlowe; and so the sweet Saint thou spok'st of, will remain my fair game--behind the scenes.
MARLOWE.
Liar! slave! sla---- Kind Master Heywood, You will not see me die thus!--thus by the hand And maddening tongue of such a beast as that! Haste, if you love me--fetch a leech to help me-- Here--Middleton--sweet friend--a bandage here-- I cannot die by such a hand--I will not-- I say I will not die by that vile hand! Go bring Cecilia to me--bring the leech-- Close--close this wound--you know I did it myself-- Bring sweet Cecilia--haste--haste--instantly-- Bring life and time--bring heaven!--Oh, I am dying!-- Some water--stay beside me--maddening death, By such a hand! O villain! from the grave I constantly will rise--to curse! curse! curse thee! (_Rises_--_and falls dead_.)
MIDDLETON.
Terrible end!
HEYWOOD.
O God!--he is quite gone!
JACCONOT (_aghast_.)
'Twas dreadful--'twas! Christ help us! and lull him to sleep in's grave. I stand up for mine own nature none the less. (_Voices without_) What noise is that?
_Enter_ OFFICERS.
CHIEF OFFICER.
This is our man--ha! murder has been here! You are our prisoner--the gallows waits you!
JACCONOT.
What have I done to be hung up like a miracle? The hemp's not sown nor the ladder-wood grown, that shall help fools to finish me! He did it himself! He said so with his last words!--there stands his friends and brother players--put them to their Testament if he said not he did it himself?
CHIEF OFFICER.
Who is it lies here?--methinks that I should know him, But for the fierce distortion of his face!
MIDDLETON.
He who erewhile wrote with a brand of fire, Now, in his passionate blood, floats tow'rds the grave! The present time is ever ignorant-- We lack clear vision in our self-love's maze; But Marlowe in the future will stand great, Whom this--the lowest caitiff in the world-- A nothing, save in grossness, hath destroy'd.
JACCONOT.
"Caitiff" back again in your throat! and "gross nothing" to boot--may you have it to live upon for a month, and die mad and starving! Would'st swear my life away so lightly? Tut! who was he? I could always find the soundings of a quart tankard, or empty a pasty in half his time, and swear as rare oaths between whiles--who was he? I too ha' write my odes and Pindar jigs with the twinkling of a bedpost, to the sound of the harp and hurdygurdy, while Capricornus wagged his fiery beard; I ha' sung songs to the faint moon's echoes at daybreak and danced here away and there away, like the lightning through a forest! As to your sword and dagger play, I've got the trick o' the eye and wrist--who was he? What's all his gods--his goddesses and lies?--the first a'nt worth a word; and for the two last, I was always a prince of both! "Caitiff!" and "beast!" and "nothing!"--who was he?
CHIEF OFFICER.
You're ours, for sundry villanies committed, Sufficient each to bring your vice to an end; The law hath got you safely in its grasp!
JACCONOT (_after a pause_).
Then may Vice and I sit crown'd in heaven, while Law and Honesty stalk damned through hell! Now do I see the thing very plain!--treachery--treachery, my masters! I know the jade that hath betrayed me--I know her. 'Slud! who cares? She was a fine woman, too--a rare person--and a good spirit; but there's an end of all now--she's turned foolish and virtuous, and a tell-tale, and I am to be turned to dust through it--long, long before my time: and these princely limbs must go make a dirt-pie--build up a mud hut--or fatten an alderman's garden! There! calf-heads--there's a lemon for your mouths! Heard'st ever such a last dying speech and confession! Write it in red ochre on a sheet of Irish, and send it to Mistress Cecily for a death-winder. I know what you've got against me--and I know you all deserve just the same yourselves--but lead on, my masters!
_Exeunt_ JACCONOT _and_ OFFICERS.
MIDDLETON.
O Marlowe! canst thou rise with power no more? Can greatness die thus?
HEYWOOD (_bending over the body.)_
Miserable sight!
(_A shriek outside the house_).
MIDDLETON.
That cry!--what may that mean?
HEYWOOD (_as if awaking_).
I hear no cry.
MIDDLETON.
What is't comes hither, like a gust of wind?
CECILIA _rushes in_.
CECILIA.
Where--where? O, then, 'tis true--and he is dead! All's over now--there's nothing in the world-- For he who raised my heart up from the dust, And show'd me noble lights in mine own soul, Has fled my gratitude and growing love-- I never knew how deep it was till now! Through me, too!--do not curse me!--I was the cause-- Yet do not curse me--No! no! not the cause, But that it happen'd so. This is the reward Of Marlowe's love!--why, why did I delay? O, gentlemen, pray for me! I have been Lifted in heavenly air--and suddenly The arm that placed me, and with strength sustain'd me, Is snatch'd up, starward: I can neither follow, Nor can I touch the gross earth any more! Pray for me, gentlemen!--but breathe no blessings-- Let not a blessing sweeten your dread prayers-- I wish no blessings--nor could bear their weight; For I am left, I know not where or how: But, pray for me--my soul is buried here.
(_Sinks down upon the body._)
MIDDLETON.
"Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough!"
(_Solemn music._)
Dark Curtain.
FOOTNOTES:
[685] The inverted iron horns or tubes, a few of which still remain on lamp-posts and gates, were formerly used as extinguishers to the torches which were thrust into them.
INDEX TO THE NOTES.
affects, iii. 60 again, ii. 161 a-good, ii. 49 air of life, ii. 217 Albertus, i. 220. Alcides' post, i. 105 a-life, iii. 175 Alleyn, Edward, ii. 6 Almain rutters, i. 112 amorous, i. 121 Antwerp, blockade of, i. 217 aphorisms, i. 213 appointed, ii. 190 approve, iii. 263 Aquarius, iii. 279 _Arden of Feversham_, quoted, ii. 89 argins, i. 149 Ariosto, incident taken from, i. 177 artier, i. 45 axes, iii. 255 azur'd, i. 276
bable, iii. 299 Badgeth, i. 115 baiting, iii. 99 ballace, ii. 335 bandy, ii. 125 Banks' horse, iii. 232 Barabas' nose, ii. 47 basilisks, i. 67 bassoes, i. 48 bastones, i. 57 bevers, i. 246 bezzling, iii. 247 bid a base, ii. 191 bill, i. 213 bird-bolt, iii. 96 blazing star, iii. 225 block, iii. 226 blubbered, i. 85 bombards, ii. 105 border, iii. 129 boss, i. 62 Boulogne, taking of, iii. 224 Bourne, Vincent, his _Cantatrices_, iii. 238 bousing-glass, iii. 247 brave, i. 21 braves, ii. 175 Brest, expedition against, iii. 239 Britainy, ii. 10 bugs, i. 164 bullets wrapt in fire, ii. 40 burn, iii. 234 by, ii. 14
Cadiz, expedition against, iii. 48 carbonadoes, i. 79 case, i. 246 cast, ii. 165 Catullus imitated, iii. 89 catzery, ii. 89 cavaliero, i. 141 cazzo, ii. 75 centronel, ii. 328 champion, i. 32 channel (collar-bone), i. 125 channel (gutter), ii. 127 cleapt, iii. 98 cleys, iii. 279 clift, i. 206 clout, i. 37 coated, iii. 314 coll, ii. 354 colts, i. 180 competitor, i. 25 confits, iii. 85 convertite, ii. 22 counterfeit, i. 51 counterscarfs, iii. 228 covent, ii. 78 covered way, i. 149 Creusa's crown, allusion to, ii. 207 cross, ii. 52 cross-biting, ii. 89 cullions, ii. 148 curst, iii. 225 custom, ii. 13 cypress, iii. 51
Damasco, i. 84 Damascus walls, i. 87 damned, i. 204 dang'd, iii. 37 Daniel, Samuel, allusions to, iii. 232, 242 debasement of coinage, iii. 225 defend, ii. 272 deserved, ii. 190 Devil (he that eats with the Devil had need of a long spoon), ii. 67 die, ii. 119 Dis, iii. 36 discoloured, iii. 10 dittany, ii. 205 double cannons, i. 252 Drayton, Michael, allusion to, iii. 228
earns, ii. 202 ecues, ii. 244 elephant, object of wonder, iii. 217 Elze, Dr. Karl, emendation by, ii. 364 enginous, iii. 52 entrance, ii. 252 erring, i. 223 exercise, ii. 84 exhibition, ii. 280 exocoetus, ii. 154 eyas, iii. 62 eye, by the, ii. 68 eyelids of the day, ii. 38
falc'nets, i. 152 false-brays, iii. 228 fancy, ii. 339 far-fet, ii. 344 favour, iii. 97 fawns, iii. 92 fet, iii. 268 few, in, ii. 68 fleering, ii. 161 fleet, i. 61 flour, iii. 11 flying-fish, ii. 154 foil (check), i. 64 foil (stain), i. 170 foreslow, ii. 167 frost of 1564, iii. 224
gabions, i. 154 garboils, iii. 255 Gascoigne, George, iii. 226 gaunt, iii. 236 gear, i. 31 give arms, i. 164 glorious, i. 70 gobbets, iii. 111 grate, iii. 215 guess, i. 313 Guilpin's _Skialetheia_ quoted, iii. 214, 238 Guise, the, ii. 9
had I wist, ii. 172 halcyon's bill, ii. 12 Hammon, Master Thomas, ii. 4 Harington, Sir John, his _Ajax_, iii. 231; his dog Bungey, iii. 245 harness, ii. 324 Hatton, Sir Christopher, his monument, iii. 217 haught, ii. 176 Havre, expedition against, iii. 224 hay, ii. 122 head (to head, to head!), iii. 241 hebon, ii. 68 held in hand, ii. 61 Hermoso piarer, etc., ii. 38 het, iii. 47 hey-pass, i. 266 Heywood, John, iii. 231 hold a wolf by the ears, ii. 212 horsebread, i. 257 horse-courser, i. 264 hugy, i. 59 Hunkes, Harry, iii. 242
I, old spelling for _ay_, i. 78. (The form _I_ has been retained, perhaps unnecessarily, throughout.) imbast, iii. 192 impartial, ii. 60 imperance, iii. 55 imprecations, i. 85 incontinent, i. 11 incony, ii. 93 injury (verb), i. 16 intire, iii. 49 investion, i. 16 ippocras, i. 256 Irish kerns, ii. 160
jesses, ii. 155 jig, ii. 161 John the Great, i. 128 Jubalter, i. 128 Judas, ii. 95
keend, ii. 372 keep, ii. 245 Knave's acre, i. 229 knights of the post, iii. 128 known of, i. 266
lake, ii. 226 lanch, i. 22 Lantchidol, i. 114 lawnds, ii. 312 leaguer, i. 127 leave, ii. 327 Lepidus, his printed dog, iii. 245 let, i. 80 liefest, ii. 373 lightly borne, iii. 107 linstock, ii. 107 Lopez, Doctor, i. 266 love-lock, iii. 226 lown, ii. 135
mails, i. 22 malgrado, ii. 169 malice (verb), i. 15 mandrake juice, ii. 99 March beer, i. 247 Martlemas beef, i. 247 mate, i. 13, 211 measures, i. 188 merchants, i. 24 mere, iii. 44 merit, iii. 266 Milton quoted, ii. 38; iii. 22 minions, i. 152 miss, i. 173 Mithridate, i. 89 moorish fool, iii. 50 More, Sir Thomas, allusion to a Latin epigram by, iii. 235 Moroccus, i. 58 mottoes at the end of plays, i. 283 Mount Falcon, ii. 253 mounted his chariot, i. 183 muschatoes, ii. 84 Muse (masculine), i. 211 muted, iii. 241
neck-verse, ii. 83 need, i. 119 nepenthe, iii. 234 nephew, ii. 329 no way but one, i. 92 nymph, ii. 360
old Edward, ii. 218 on cai me on, i. 213 ostry, i. 267 other some, iii. 85 Ovid imitated, i. 25 packed, ii. 359 paised, iii. 25 parbreak, i. 95 Paris-Garden, iii. 241 pash, i. 59 pass, i. 13 Paul's churchyard, iii. 251 Paul's steeple struck by lightning, iii. 225 pentacle, iii. 45 Perkins, Richard, ii. 6. Petrarch's _Itinerarium Syriacum_ quoted, i. 250 pheres, iii. 66 pickadevaunts, i. 228 pilling, i. 65 pin, i. 37 pioners, i. 50 pitch, i. 28 places, ii. 258 plage, i. 83 plat, iii. 81 plates, ii. 44 platform, ii. 363 Plato's year, i. 74 play the man, i. 159 play-houses, hours of performance at, iii. 238. Pont Neuf, iii. 236 porcupine darting her quills, ii. 121 port, i. 30 portagues, ii. 28 prest, i. 116 pretend (_i.e._ portend), ii. 64 pretend (_i.e._ intend), ii. 104 prevail, i. 141 prize played, ii. 7 proin, iii. 66 prorex, i. 12 purchase, i. 42 put by, iii. 17
quenchless, ii. 323 qui mihi discipulus, i. 229 quit, ii. 367 quite, ii. 282 quod tumeraris, i. 224
racking, i. 179 ray, iii. 180 ream, ii. 88 rebated, i. 177 reflex, i. 50 regiment, i. 13 renied, Christians, i. 48 renowned, i. 24 resolve, i. 13 respect, ii. 142 retorqued, i. 94 Rhamnus, i. 35 Rhodes, i. 212 ringled, iii. 29 rising in the North, iii. 224 rivelled, ii. 334; iii. 124 Rivo-Castiliano, ii. 92 road, ii. 160 rod, i. 122 rombelow, with a, ii. 161 ruinate, ii. 244 run division, ii. 88 running banquet, ii. 86 rushes, rooms strewed with, iii. 27
Sabans, ii. 11 Sackarson, iii. 242 St. Quentin, storming of, iii. 224 sakers, i. 152 sarell, i. 58 saunce, iii. 127 saying, ii. 44 scald, i. 31 scambled, ii. 16 scenes, i. 215 scholarism, i. 212 schright, iii. 275 sciomancy, i. 218 sect, ii. 28 set, ii. 249 Seven deadly Sins, i. 245 shadow, ii. 175 Shakespeare quoted, i. 16, 18, 25, 29, 31, 46, 92, 97, 167, 254, 266, 275; ii. 12, 16, 36, 37, 40, 41, 44, 60, 68, 84, 86, 99, 128, 142, 158, 193, 218, 228, 304, 326; iii. 9, 12, 15, 24, 27, 31, 41, 50, 65, 89, 234 shaver, ii. 45 Shelley quoted, i. 155, 206 shine, iii. 106 silverlings, ii. 11 Skelton imitated, iii. 59 slick, i. 265 slop, i. 230 slubber, iii. 65 smell-feast, iii. 239 snicle, ii. 92 soil, ii. 343 sollars, ii. 76 sometimes, ii. 31 sonnet, i. 253 sort, ii. 288 souse, iii. 264 Spenser quoted in _Tamburlaine_, i. 183. (I neglected to point out that in i. 173, "As when an herd of lusty Cymbrian bulls," &c., there is an imitation of a passage of the _Faerie Queene_,