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Berkley Castle. The KING is left alone with LIGHTBORN, a murderer.

Edw. Who's there? what light is that? wherefore com'st thou ?

Light. To comfort you, and bring you joyful news. Edw. Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks. Villain, I know thou com'st to murder me.

Light. To murder you, my most gracious lord!
Far is it from my heart to do you harm.

The queen sent me to see how you were us'd,
For she relents at this your misery:

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

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

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

They give me bread and water, being a king;
So that, for want of sleep and sustenance,
My mind's distemper'd, and my body's numb'd
And whether I have limbs or no, I know not.
O would my blood drop out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tattered robes.
Tell Isabel the queen, I look'd not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhors'd the duke of Cleremont.

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

Lie on this bed, and rest yourself awhile.

Edw. These looks of thine can harbour nought but

I see my tragedy written in thy brows.
Yet stay awhile, forbear thy bloody hand,
And let me see the stroke before it comes,"

* His keepers.

[death:

VOL. I.

C

That even then when I shall lose my life,

My mind may be more stedfast on my God.

Light. What means your highness to mistrust me thus ?

Edw. What mean'st thou to dissemble with me thus? Light. These hands were never stain'd with innocent blood,

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

Edw. Forgive my thought, for having such a thought.
One jewel have I left, receive thou this.
Still fear I, and I know not what's the cause,
But every joint shakes as I give it thee.

O if thou harbour'st murder in thy heart,
Let the gift change thy mind, and save thy soul.
Know that I am a king: Oh, at that name
I feel a hell of grief. Where is my crown?
Gone, gone, and do I still remain alive?

Light. You're overwatch'd my lord, lie down and

rest.

[sleep;
Edw. But that grief keeps me waking, I should
For not these ten days have these eyelids closed.
Now as speak they fall, and yet with fear
Open again. O wherefore sitt'st thou here?

Light. If you mistrust me, I'll be gone, my lord.
Edw. No, no, for if thou mean'st to murder me,
Thou wilt return again; and therefore stay.
Light. He sleeps.

Edw. O let me not die; yet stay, O stay awhile.
Light. How now, my lord?

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

This fear is that which makes me tremble thus.
And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come
Light. To rid thee of thy life; Matrevis, come.
Edw. I am too weak and feeble to resist :

Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul.

[This tragedy is in a very different style from "mighty Tamburlaine." The reluctant pangs of abdicating Royalty in Edward furnished hints which Shakspeare scarce improved in his Richard the Second; and the death-scene of Marlowe's king moves pity and terror beyond any scene, ancient or modern, with which I am acquainted.]

27

THE RICH JEW OF MALTA.

A TRAGEDY, BY CHRISTOPHER MARLowe.

BARABAS, the Rich Jew, in his Counting-house, with heaps of gold before him; in contemplation of his wealth.

Bar. So that of thus much that return was made;
And of the third part of the Persian ships
There was a venture summ'd and satisfied.
As to those Samnites, and the Men of Uzz,
That bought my Spanish oils and wines of Greece,
Here have I purst their paltry silverbings.
Fie, what a trouble 'tis to count this trash!
Well fare the Arabians, who so richly pay
The things they traffic for with wedge of gold,
Whereof a man may easily in a day

Tell that, which may maintain him all his life.
The needy groom, that never finger'd groat,
Would make a miracle of thus much coin:
But he whose steel-barr'd coffers are cramm'd full,
And all his life-time hath been tired,
Wearying his fingers' ends with telling it,
Would in his age be loth to labour so,
And for a pound to sweat himself to death.
Give me the merchants of the Indian mines,
That trade in metal of the purest mould;
The wealthy Moor, that in the eastern rocks
Without controul can pick his riches up,
And in his house heap pearl like pebble-stones;
Receive them free and sell them by the weight,
Bags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts,
Jacinths, hard topas, grass-green emeralds,
Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds,
And seld-seen costly stones of so great price,
As one of them, indifferently rated,
And of a caract of this quality,

May serve in peril of calamity

To ransome great kings from captivity.

This is the ware wherein consists my wealth:
And thus methinks should men of judgment frame
Their means of traffic from the vulgar trade,
And, as their wealth increaseth, so inclose
Infinite riches in a little room.

But now how stands the wind?

Into what corner peers my Halcyon's bill?
Ha! to the east? yes: see, how stand the vances ?
East and by south: why then, I hope my ships,
I sent for Egypt and the bordering isles,
Are gotten up by Nilus' winding banks.
Mine argosies from Alexandria,

Loaden with spice and silks, now under sail,
Are smoothly gliding down by Candy shore
To Malta, through our Mediterranean sea.

Certain Merchants enter, and inform BARABAS, that his ships from various ports are safe arrived, and riding in Malta roads. He descants on the temporal condition of the Jews, how they thrive and attain to great worldly prosperity, in spite of the curse denounced against them.

Thus trolls our fortune in by land and sea,
And thus are we on every side enrich'd.
These are the blessings promis'd to the Jews,
And herein was old Abram's happiness.
What more may heaven do for earthly man,
Than thus to pour out plenty in their laps,
Ripping the bowels of the earth for them,
Making the sea their servants, and the winds
To drive their substance with successful blasts!
Who hateth me but for my happiness?

Or who is honour'd now but for his wealth?
Rather had I, a Jew, be hated thus,
Than pitied in a Christian poverty:
For I can see no fruits in all their faith,
But malice, falsehood, and excessive pride,
Which methinks fits not their profession.
Haply some hapless man hath conscience,
And for his conscience lives in beggary.
They say we are a scatter'd nation :

I cannot tell; but we have scambled up

More wealth by far than those that brag of faith.
There's Kirriah Jairim, the great Jew of Greece,
Obed in Bairseth, Nones in Portugal,

Myself in Malta, some in Italy,

Many in France, and wealthy every one :
Aye, wealthier far than any Christian.

I must confess, we come not to be kings;
That's not our fault; alas! our number's few ;
And crowns come either by succession,
Or urged by force; and nothing violent,
Oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.
Give us a peaceful rule; make Christians kings,
That thirst so much for principality.

[Marlowe's Jew does not approach so near to Shakspeare's as his Edward II. does to Richard II. Shylock, in the midst of his savage purpose, is a man. His motives, feelings, resentments, have something human in them. "If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?" Barabas is a mere monster, brought in with a large painted nose, to please the rabble. He kills in sport, poisons whole nunneries, invents infernal machines. He is just such an exhibition as a century or two earlier might have been played before the Londoners by the Royal command, when a general pillage and massacre of the Hebrews had been previously resolved on in the cabinet. It is curious to see a superstition wearing out. The idea of a Jew (which our pious ancestors contemplated with such horror) has nothing in it now revolting. We have tamed the claws of the beast, and pared its nails, and now we take it to our arms, fondle it, write plays to flatter it: it is visited by princes, affects a taste, patronises the arts, and is the only liberal and gentleman-like thing in Christendom.]

THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF THE LIFE AND DEATH OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS.

BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

How FAUSTUS fell to the study of magic.
born of parents base of stock

In Germany, within a town called Rhodes :
At riper years to Wirtemberg he went,
Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him up.

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