see Tamburlaine drawn in his chariot by captive kings with bits in their mouths, and to hear him reproaching them for not going faster than twenty miles a day; yet there is something almost sublime in the conception of vanquishing entire regions, carrying victory into remote countries almost with the certainty of fate, and then exhibiting to the world the emblems of this mighty power in the persons of the harnessed kings. It may awaken ludicrous associations to hear Tamburlaine's expression of surprise when he feels the approach of sickness, as if he who had overawed mortality in others, must himself be immortal; and his proposal to go forth and fight death, as he had fought other enemies, is simply absurd; but it is a stroke of genius, in immediate relation with all this, to represent death as being afraid to come too near him, and making his approaches as it were by stealth, every time Tamburlaine turns aside his head. The manner in which Faustus sells himself to the devil will make the modern reader smile; but assuredly the heaping up of the horrors, hour after hour, as the moment when the forfeit is to be paid draws near, is profoundly tragical.

The poems that are not dramatic possess all Marlowe's excellences liberated from his excesses. The most important of them is the Hero and Leander. How admirably it is executed will be felt upon reaching the continuation by 'cloudgrappling Chapman,' who, with great original powers, falls infinitely short of the luxury of description and exquisite versification of his predecessor. The Song of the Passionate Shepherd, which has retained its popularity for nearly 300 years, is the best known, as it is one of the most beautiful of Marlowe's compositions. To these is added, in the present volume, a translation of the First Book of Lucan, which presents especial claims to preservation as the second example of the kind in English, and as affording, by its closeness, being rendered line for line, a curious means of comparison with the more elaborate version of Rowe. Marlowe also produced a translation of Ovid's Elegies, which the bishops ordered to be burnt for its licentiousness.

POEMS

OF

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

HERO AND LEANDER.

[THE fragment of this poem left by Marlowe extends only to the end of the Second Sestiad. It was published for the first time in 1598, and was reprinted in 1600, with Chapman's completion of the paraphrase. A third edition appeared in 1606, followed by subsequent editions in 1609, 1613, 1629, and 1637. Marlowe's portion obtained great popularity immediately after it appeared in print; lines were quoted from it in the plays of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson; and it was frequently alluded to by other contemporary writers.

The liberal scale upon which Marlowe planned the paraphrase (which Warton by an oversight describes as a translation) elevates it in some degree to the dignity of a creation. Drawing his subject from the Greek poem ascribed to Musæus, he enriches it with luxurious additions, which not only impart a new character to the piece, but expand it considerably beyond the scope or design of its original. Indeed, little more is taken from Musæus than the story. The poetical drapery and passionate descriptions belong wholly to Marlowe. Mr. Hallam does injustice to this work when he dismisses it as a 'paraphrase of a most licentious kind.' The Venus and Adonis, and Rape of Lucrece, are open to the same charge. Licentiousness of treatment in poems of this nature was the common characteristic of the age, and not a speciality in Marlowe, who employed it with a grace and sweetness reached by none of his contemporaries except Shakspeare.

It may be inferred from an allusion in Meres' Palladis Tamia, that Chapman's continuation was written and circulated in manuscript so early as 1598, although not published for two years afterwards. A passage in the Third Sestiad (see post, p. 186) seems to imply that the continuation was undertaken at the request of Marlowe; but the meaning is by no means clear. Marlowe apparently intended that the poem should be one entire piece; Chapman, however, broke it up into Sestiads, and prefixed a rhyming argument to each. Whether the narrative derives any advantage from this formal distribution of the action may be doubted; but it is, at all events, useful as helping to mark distinctly where Marlowe ended and Chapman began. The reader will at once feel the difference in passing from the musical flow and choice diction of Marlowe to the rugged versification and uncouth pedantry of Chapman. It is like a burst of harsh and dissonant trumpets coming after the voluptuous melody of flutes. But there are great merits in Chapman notwithstanding. Although frequently obscure, he is often profound, and always vigorous. His descriptions, generally overloaded with crude ornaments, are sometimes full of beauty and dignity; and, occasionally, but very rarely, he betrays an unexpected touch of tenderness.]

Dedication.

TO THE RIGHT-WORSHIPFUL SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM,
KNIGHT.

SIR,-We think not ourselves discharged of the duty we owe to our friend when we have brought the breathless body to the earth; for, albeit the eye there taketh his ever-farewell of that beloved object, yet the impression of the man that hath been dear unto us, living an after-life in our memory, there putteth us in mind of farther obsequies due unto the deceased; and namely of the performance of whatsoever we may judge shall make to his living credit and to the effecting of his determinations prevented by the stroke of death. By these meditations

(as by an intellectual will) I suppose myself executor to the unhappily deceased author of this poem; upon whom, knowing that in his lifetime you bestowed many kind favours, entertaining the parts of reckoning and worth which you found in him with good countenance and liberal affection,* I cannot but see so far into the will of him dead, that whatsoever issue of his brain should chance to come abroad, that the first breath it should take might be the gentle air of your liking; for, since his self had been accustomed thereunto, it would prove more agreeable and thriving to his right children than any other foster countenance whatsoever. At this time seeing that this unfinished tragedy happens under my hands to be imprinted, of a double duty, the one to yourself, the other to the deceased, I present the same to your most favourable allowance, offering my utmost self now and ever to be ready at your worship's disposing.

EDWARD BLUNT.+

THE FIRST SESTIAD.

THE ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST SESTIAD.

Hero's description and her love's;
The fane of Venus, where he moves

His worthy love-suit, and attains;

Whose bliss the wrath of Fates restrains
For Cupid's grace to Mercury:

Which tale the author doth imply.

N Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune's might;
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,
And offered as a dower his burning throne,
Where she should sit, for men to gaze upon.

This is not the only proof extant,' says Mr. Dyce, in his careful life of Marlowe, that Sir Thomas Walsingham cultivated a familiarity with the dramatists of his day; for to him, as to his long-loved and honorable friend,' Chapman has inscribed by a sonnet the comedy of At Fooles, 1605.'

Edward Blunt was the publisher of the first edition of Hero and Leander. This dedication, together with the whole of the poem, was reprinted by Sir Egerton Brydges in the Restituta.

The outside of her garments were* of lawn,
The lining, purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;
Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with a grove,
Where Venus in her naked glory strove

To please the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies;
Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain,
Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.
Upon her head she wore a myrtle wreath,

From whence her veil reached to the ground beneath:
Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,

Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives:
Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,
When 'twas the odour which her breath forth cast;
And there for honey bees have sought in vain,
And, beat from thence, have lighted there again.
About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone,
Which, lightened by her neck, like diamonds shone.
She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind
Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind,
Or warm or cool them, for they took delight
To play upon those hands, they were so white.
Buskins of shells, all silvered, used she,

And branched with blushing coral to the knee;
Where sparrows perched, of hollow pearl and gold,
Such as the world would wonder to behold:
Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,
Which, as she went, would cherup through the bills.
Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pined,
And, looking in her face, was strooken blind.
But this is true; so like was one the other,
As he imagined Hero was his mother;
And oftentimes into her bosom flew,
About her naked neck his bare arms threw,

All the editions print were. common among the early writers.

This confusion of antecedents is
Thus in the Jew of Malla:-

Oh, holy friar, the burden of my sins
Lie heavy on my soul.'