Slippers lined choicely for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold:

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight each May morning;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.

"Marlowe," says Philips, "is a second Shakspeare, not only because he rose like him from an actor to be a maker of plays, though inferior both in fame and merit but also because in his begun poem of Hero and Leander, he seems to have a resemblance of that clear unsophisticated wit, which is natural to that incomparable poet." In his tragedy of Edward the Second, there are passages which warrant this remark and establish his reputation as a child of nature. He admirably contrives such entertainments as afford the highest gratification to the profligate king, and at the same time makes him subject to his will.

EDWARD THE SECOND.

THE PLEASURES WHICH THE KING DELIGHTS IN.

I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,
Musicians, that with touching of a string
May draw the pliant King which way I please.
Music and poetry are his delight:

Therefore I'll have Italian masques by night,
Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows,
And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,
Like sylvan Nypmhs, my pages shall be clad,
My men like Satyrs grazing on the lawns,

Shall with their goat-feet dance the antic hay.
Sometimes a Lovely Boy, in Dian's shape,
With hair that gilds the water as it glides,
Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,
And in his shortful hands an olive tree.

Shall bathe him in a spring: and there hard by,
One like Acteon, peeping through the grove,
Shall by the angry goddess be transformed,-
Such things as these best please his Majesty.

THE RICH JEW OF MALTA.
Barabbas, the rich Jew; his idea of wealth.

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 control, 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 topaz, 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 carat of this quality,

May serve in peril of calamity,

To ransom 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.

DR. FAUSTUS.

Faustus determines to addict himself to magic, being instructed in the elements of which, he sells his soul to the devil, for the services of an Evil Spirit, for twenty-four years—at the expiration of which time his soul is claimed.

Faust. These metaphysics of Magicians,
And necromantic books, are heavenly.
Lines, Circles, Letters, Characters;

Aye, these are those that Faustus most desires.
O what a world of profit and delight
Of power, of honor, of omnipotence,
Is promised to the studious artizan !

All things that move between the quiet poles,
Shall be at my command.

Emperors and kings,

Are but obey'd in their several provinces ;

But his dominion that exceeds in this,
Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man;
A sound Magician is a demigod,

Here tire my brains to gain a deity.

*

*

Faustus alone.

The clock strikes eleven.

Faust, O Faustus,

Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damn'd perpetually.
Stand still you ever-moving spheres of heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come!
Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again, and make
Perpetual day: or let this hour be but

A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul:

The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd,

21

o I will leap to heaven, who pulls me down?
See where Christ's blood streams in the firmament ;
One drop of blood will save me; Oh, my Christ,
Rend not my heart for naming of my Christ,
Yet will I call on him: O spare me, Lucifer.
Where is it now? 'tis gone!

And see, a threatening arm, an angry brow.

Mountains and hills come, come, and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of heaven.
No? then I will headlong run into the earth:
Gape Earth! O no, it will not harbor me.
You stars that reigned at my nativity,
Whose influence hath allotted death and hell,
Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist,
Into the entrails of yon laboring cloud;
That when you vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths,
But let my soul mount, and ascend to heaven.
[The watch strikes.]

O, half the hour is past; 'twill all be past anon-
O, if my soul must suffer for my sin,
Impose some end to my incessant pain.
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years,

A hundred thousand and at the last be saved:
No end is limited to damned souls.

Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?
Or why is this immortal which thou hast ?

Oh, Pythagoras, Metempsychosis, were that true,
This soul should fly from me, and I be changed
Into some brutish beast.

All beasts are happy, for when they die
Their souls are soon dissolved in elements;
But mine must live still to be plagued in hell.
Curst be the parents that engendered me:

No, Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer,
That hath deprived thee of the joys of heaven.

[The clock strikes twelve.]

It strikes, it strikes! now, body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell.
O soul, be chang'd into small water drops,
And fall into the ocean: ne'er be found.

[Thunder and the Devils enter.]

O mercy, heaven, look not so fierce on me.
Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile;
Ugly hell gape, not: come not Lucifer:

I'll burn my books: Oh, Mephistophiles!

*

*

*

*

[Enter SCHOLARS.]

First sch. Come gentleman, let us go visit Faustus, For such a dreadful night was never seen,

Since first the world's creation did begin;

Such fearful shrieks and cries were never heard.

Pray heaven the Doctor have escaped the danger.

Sec. sch. O help us, heavens! see here are Faustus' limbs,

All torn asunder by the hand of death.

Third sch. The devil whom Faustus serv'd hath torn him thus:

For 'twixt the hours of twelve and one, methought

I heard him shriek, and call aloud for help;

At which same time the house seem'd all on fire,

With dreadful horror of these damned fiends.

Sec. sch. Well, gentleman, though Faustus' end be such As every christian heart laments to think on:

Yet, for he was a scholar once admired,

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

And all the scholars, cloth'd in mourning black,