the great queen, and the affection which they bore to her, put actual warfare out of the question; and, till other times arrived, broadsides and pamphlets were the only vents left for their bitterness. I have entered upon this digression to show the exceptional circumstances under which Marlowe's personal character has been handed down to us in the writings of the Puritan pamphleteers and balladmongers, and the many grains of salt which must in fairness be employed to qualify their descriptions. Stage plays and bear-baitings and holidays had never been favourites with the stricter Protestants; but about this time they began to single them out as the most particular manifestations of the presence of Satan amongst us; and the awfully sudden death of so eminent a man as Marlowe, in the very flower of his manhood, following, as it did, so closely upon the miserable ending of Robert Greene, may well have tended to confirm the belief. And, even in our own time, the daring sentiments which it was necessary to put into the mouth of Faustus, nay, the mere selection of such a subject for a drama, have been held by many to justify the description which had then been given of his opinions. Even so gentle a critic as Charles Lamb gives a certain amount of countenance to the idea.

"The growing horrors of Faustus are awfully marked by the hours and half hours as they expire, and bring him nearer and nearer to the exactment of his dire compact. It is indeed an agony and bloody sweat. Marlowe is said to have been tainted with atheistical positions, to have denied God and the Trinity. To such a genius the history of Faustus must have been delectable food: to wander in fields where curiosity is forbidden to go; to approach the dark gulf near enough to look in; to be busied in speculations which are the rottenest part of the core of the fruit that fell from the tree of knowledge. Barabas the Jew and Faustus the conjuror are offsprings of a mind which at least delighted to dally with interdicted subjects. They both talk a language which a believer would have been tender of putting in the mouth of a character, though but in fiction, But the holiest minds have sometimes not thought it blameable to counterfeit impiety in the person of another, to bring Vice in upon the stage speaking her own dialect, and themselves being armed with an unction of self-confident impunity, have not scrupled to handle and touch that familiarly which would be death to others. Milton, in the person of Satan, has started speculations hardier than any which the feeble armoury of the atheist ever furnished; and the precise, strait-laced Richardson has strengthened Vice from the mouth of Lovelace, with entangling sophistries, and abstruse pleas against her adversary, Virtue, which Sedley, Villiers, and Rochester wanted depth of libertinism sufficient to have invented."

It only remains to speak of some of the minor productions which go to make up this volume, and which we may suppose to have been the mere sweepings found in his desk after the tragedy at Deptford. The translation, line for line, and in rhyme, of Ovid's Elegies, was in all probability executed in his Cambridge days, an dalmost as a tour de force. Some years after his death the bishops fixed upon it as a proper sacrifice to be burned by the common hangman; but although perhaps the object was to heap further discredit on the name of Marlowe, and through him on the Stage, it must be remembered that the publication was no doing of his own, and that the ideas

are the property of Ovid. A much better plea might easily be set up for him than Dryden, a century later, with all his ingenuity, was able to offer for a similar offence.* The charming verses, The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, must also have been an early production. They are quoted by Marlowe himself in The Jew of Malta (p. 110a), and no doubt suggested to Shakspeare the affectionate name of "dead Shepherd" under which he apostrophizes him in As You Like it. Mr. Campbell, one of the most fastidious of critics, says very truly of this song that it "combines a sweet wild spirit with an exquisite finish of expression." This delightful combination again appears in the beautiful lines called A Fragment (p. 274) in reading which the blindest eye must see the sun flickering through the leaves and the dullest ear recognise the sound of the crystal stream singing among the pebbles. In the translation of the First Book of Lucan blank verse was happily chosen instead of rhyme as in the Ovid, and the result has been the occurrence every here and there of one of those "mighty lines" of which the mightiest might be proud. At page 285 they will be found in a cluster, and the description of the supernatural appearances which followed the passage of the Rubicon, must have been lingering in the memory of Shakspeare when he penned two of his noblest passages. How still grander might Marlowe here have shown himself had he not been dancing in the self-imposed fetters of a line-for-line translation.

It would be unpardonable to close any notice of Marlowe without adverting to the great loss which the cause of old English literature has recently suffered by the death of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. No person who has not had occasion to compare the Edition of Marlowe's Works in 3 vols. 8vo., published by Mr. Pickering, in 1826, under the editorship of Mr. Dickinson, with those which Mr. Dyce issued in 1850 and 1865, can appreciate the immense labour which he must have bestowed upon his task If I have differed from him now and then in the course of the notes at the end of this volume, I have never done so but with the most unfeigned diffidence in the value of my own opinion, and the most genuine respect for his acquirements as a scholar and a critic, and regard for his memory as a gentleman and a friend.

• "I can less easily answer why I translated it than why I thus translated it. The objection arises from the obscenity of the subject, which is aggravated by the too lively and alluring delicacy of the verses. In the first place, without the least formality of an excuse, I own it pleased me, and let my enemies make the worst they can of this confession; I am not yet so secure from that passion, but that I want my author's antidotes against it. He has given the truest and most philosophical account both of the disease and remedy which I ever found in any author: for which reasons I translated him. But it will be asked why I turned him into this luscious English (for I will not give it a worse word)? Instead of an answer, I would ask again of my supercilious adversaries, whether I am not bound when I translate an author to do him all the right I can, and to translate him to the best advantage If nothing of this kind be to be read, physicians must not study nature, anatomies must not be seen, and somewhat I could say of particular passages in books, which, to avoid profaneness, I do not name."-Preface to Sylva, or the Second Part e Porical Miscellanies. 1685

Doth prey upon my flocks of passengers; And, as I hear, doth mean to pull my plumes :.

Therefore 'tis good and meet for to be wise.
Meand. Oft have I heard your Majesty
complain

Of Tamburlaine, that sturdy Scythian thief,
That robs your merchants of Persepolis
Trading.by land unto the Western Isles,
And in your confines with his lawless train
Daily commits uncivil outrages,

Hoping (misled by dreaming prophecies)
To reign in Asia, and with barbarous arms
To make himself the monarch of the East;
But ere he march in Asia, or display
His vagrant ensign in the Persian fields,
Your Grace hath taken order by Theridamas,
Charged with a thousand horse, to appre-
hend

And bring him captive to your Highness'

throne.

Myc. Full true thou speak'st, and like
thyself, my Lord,

Whom I may term a Damon for thy love:
Therefore 'tis best, if so it like you all,
To send my thousand horse incontinent
To apprehend that paltry Scythian.
How like you this, my honourable Lords?
Is 't not a kingly resolution?

Cos. It cannot choose because it comes
from you.

Myc. Then hear thy charge, valiant ridamas,

I long to see thee back return from thence, That I may view these milk-white steeds of mine

All loaden with the heads of killed men, And from their knees e'en to their hoofs below

Besmeared with blood that makes a dainty show.

Ther. Then now, my Lord, I humbly take my leave.

Myc. Theridamas, farewell! ten thousand times. [Exit Theridamas. Ah, Menaphon, why stay'st thou thus behind,

When other men press forward for re-
nown?

Go, Menaphon, go into Scythia;
And foot by foot follow Theridamas.

Cos. Nay, pray you let him stay; a
greater [task]

Fits Menaphon than warring with a thief:
Create him Prorex of all Africa,

That he may win the Babylonians' hearts
Which will revolt from Persian govern-
ment,

Unless they have a wiser king than you.

Myc. "Unless they have a wiser king than you."

These are his words; Meander, set them
down.

Cos. And add this to them-that all Asia
The-Laments to see the folly of their king.
Myc. Well, here I swear by this my royal
seat,-

The chiefest captain of Mycetes' host,
The hope of Persia, and the very legs
Whereon our State doth lean as on a staff,
That holds us up, and foils our neighbour
foes:

Thou shalt be leader of this thousand horse,
Whose foaming gall with rage and high
disdain

Have sworn the death of wicked Tamburlaine.

Go frowning forth; but come thou smiling home,

As did sir Paris with the Grecian dame; Return with speed-time passeth swift away;

Our life is frail, and we may die to-day.

Ther. Before the moon renew her bor-
rowed light,

Doubt not, my Lord and gracious Sovereign,
But Tamburlaine and that Tartarian rout,
Shall either perish by our warlike hands,
Or plead for mercy at your Highness' feet.
Myc. Go, stout Theridamas, thy words
are swords,

And with thy looks thou conquerest all thy
foes;

Cos. You may do well to kiss it then.
Myc. Embossed with silk as best beseems
my state,

To be revenged for these contemptuous
words.

O, where is duty and allegiance now?
Fled to the Caspian or the Ocean main?
What shall I call thee? brother ? — no,
a foe;

Monster of nature !-Shame unto thy stock
That dar'st presume thy sovereign for to
mock!

Meander, come: I am abused, Meander.

[All go out but Cosroe and Menaphon Men. How now, my Lord? What mated and amazed

To hear the king thus threaten like him self!

Cos. Ah, Menaphon, I pass not for his
threats;

The plot is laid by Persian noblemen
And captains of the Median garrisons
To crown me emperor of Asia :
But this it is that doth excruciate
The very substance of my vexèd soul-

To see our neighbours that were wont to And vow to wear it for my country's good,