lest seas too high Should stay his too obsequious destiny: Who like a fleering slavish parasite, In warping profit or a traitorous sleight, Hoops round his rotten body with devotes, And pricks his descant face full of false notes; Praising with open throat, and oaths as foul As his false heart, the beauty of an owl; Kissing his skipping hand with charmed skips, That cannot leave, but leaps upon his lips Like a cock-sparrow, or shameless quean Sharp at a red-lipp'd youth, and naught doth mean Of all his antic shows, but doth repair More tender fawns, and takes a scatter'd hair From his tame subject's shoulder; whips and calls For everything he lacks; creeps 'gainst the walls With backward humbless, to give needless way: Thus his false fate did with Leander play. First to black Eurus flies the white Leucote. (Born 'mongst the negroes in the Levant sea, On whose curl'd head[s] the glowing sun doth rise,) And shows the sovereign will of Destinies, To have him cease his blasts; and down he lies. Next, to the fenny Notus course she holds, And found him leaning, with his arms in folds, Upon a rock, his white hair full of showers; And him she chargeth by the fatal powers, To hold in his wet cheeks his cloudy voice. To Zephyr then that doth in flowers rejoice: To snake-foot Boreas next she did remove, And found him tossing of his ravish'd love, To heat his frosty bosom hid in snow; Who with Leucote's sight did cease to blow. Thus all were still to Hero's heart's desire; Who with all speed did consecrate a fire Of flaming gums and comfortable spice, To light her torch, which in such curious price She held, being object to Leander's sight, That naught but fires perfum'd must give it light. She lov'd it so, she griev'd to see it burn, Since it would waste, and soon to ashes turn: Yet, if it burn'd not, 'twere not worth her eyes; What made it nothing, gave it all the prize. Sweet torch, true glass of our society! What man does good, but he consumes thereby? But thou wert lov'd for good, held high, given show; Poor virtue loath'd for good, obscur'd, held low: Do good, be pin'd,—be deedless good, disgrac'd; Unless we feed on men, we let them fast. Yet Hero with these thoughts her torch did spend: When bees make wax, Nature doth not intend It should be made a torch; but we, that know The proper virtue of it, make it so, And, when 'tis made, we light it: nor did Nature Propose one life to maids; but each such creature Makes by her soul the best of her true state, Which without love is rude, disconsolate, And wants love's fire to make it mild and bright, Till when, maids are but torches wanting light. Thus 'gainst our grief, not cause of grief, we fight: The right of naught is glean'd, but the delight. Up went she: but to tell how she descended, Would God she were not dead, or my verse ended! She was the rule of wishes, sum, and end, For all the parts that did on love depend: Yet cast the torch his brightness further forth; But what shines nearest best, holds truest worth. Leander did not through such tempests swim To kiss the torch, although it lighted him: But all his powers in her desires awaked, Her love and virtues cloth'd him richly naked. Men kiss but fire that only shows pursue; Her torch and Hero, figure show and virtue. Now at oppos'd Abydos naught was heard But bleating flocks, and many a bellowing herd, Slain for the nuptials; cracks of falling woods; Blows of broad axes; pourings out of floods. The guilty Hellespont was mix'd and stain'd With bloody torrent that the shambles rain'd; Not arguments of feast, but shows that bled, Foretelling that red night that followed. More blood was spilt, more honours were addrest, Than could have graced any happy feast; Rich banquets, triumphs, every pomp employs His sumptuous hand; no miser's nuptial joys. Air felt continual thunder with the noise Made in the general marriage-violence; And no man knew the cause of this expense, But the two hapless lords, Leander's sire, And poor Leander, poorest where the fire Of credulous love made him most rich surmis'd: As short was he of that himself so priz'd, As is an empty gallant full of form, That thinks each look an act, each drop a storm, That falls from his brave breathings; most brought up In our metropolis, and hath his cup Brought after him to feasts; and much palm bears For his rare judgment in th' attire he wears; Hath seen the hot Low-Countries, not their heat, Observe their rampires and their buildings yet; And, for your sweet discourse with mouths, is heard Giving instructions with his very beard; Hath gone with an ambassador, and been A great man's mate in travelling, even to Rhene; And then puts all his worth in such a face As he saw brave men make, and strives for grace To get his news forth: as when you descry A ship, with all her sail contends to fly Out of the narrow Thames with winds unapt, Now crosseth here, then there, then his way rapt, And then hath one point reach'd, then alters all, And to another crooked reach doth fall Of half a bird-bolt's shoot, keeping more coil Than if she danc'd upon the ocean's toil; So serious is his trifling company, In all his swelling ship of vacantry, And so short of himself in his high thought Was our Leander in his fortunes brought, And in his fort of love that he thought won; But otherwise he scorns comparison. O sweet Leander, thy large worth I hide In a short grave! ill-favour'd storms must chide Thy sacred favour; I in floods of ink Must drown thy graces, which white papers drink, Even as thy beauties did the foul black seas; I must describe the hell of thy decease, That heaven did merit: yet I needs must see Our painted fools and cockhorse peasantry Still, still usurp, with long lives, loves, and lust, The seats of Virtue, cutting short as dust Her dear-bought issue: ill to worse converts, And tramples in the blood of all deserts. Night close and silent now goes fast before The captains and the soldiers to the shore, On whom attended the appointed fleet At Sestos' bay, that should Leander meet, Who feign'd he in another ship would pass: Which must not be, for no one mean there was To get his love home, but the course he took. Forth did his beauty for his beauty look, And saw her through her torch, as you behold Sometimes within the sun a face of gold, Form'd in strong thoughts, by that tradition's force That says a god sits there and guides his course. His sister was with him; to whom he show'd His guide by sea, and said, "Oft have you view'd In one heaven many stars, but never yet In one star many heavens till now were met. See, lovely sister! see, now Hero shines, No heaven but her appears; each star repines, And all are clad in clouds, as if they mourn'd To be by influence of earth out-burn'd. Yet doth she shine, and teacheth Virtue's train Still to be constant in hell's blackest reign, Though even the gods themselves do so entreat them As they did hate, and earth as she would eat them." Off went his silken robe, and in he leapt, Whom the kind waves so licorously cleapt, Thickening for haste, one in another, so, To kiss his skin, that he might almost go To Hero's tower, had that kind minute lasted. But now the cruel Fates with Ate hasted To all the Winds, and made them battle fight Upon the Hellespont, for either's right Pretended to the windy monarchy; And forth they brake, the seas mix'd with the sky, And toss'd distress'd Leander, being in hell, As high as heaven: bliss not in height doth dwell. The Destinies sate dancing on the waves, To see the glorious Winds with mutual braves Consume each other: O, true glass, to see How ruinous ambitious statists be To their own glories! Poor Leander cried For help to sea-born Venus she denied; To Boreas, that, for his Atthaea's sake, He would some pity on his Hero take, And for his own love's sake, on his desires; But Glory never blows cold Pity's fires. Then call'd he Neptune, who, through all the noise, Knew with affright his wreck'd Leander's voice, And up he rose; for haste his forehead hit 'Gainst heaven's hard crystal; his proud waves he smit With his fork'd sceptre, that could not obey; Much greater powers than Neptune's gave them sway. They lov'd Leander so, in groans they brake When they came near him; and such space did take 'Twixt one another, loath to issue on, That in their shallow furrows earth was shown, And the poor lover took a little breath: But the curst Fates sate spinning of his death On every wave, and with the servile Winds Tumbled them on him. And now Hero finds, By that she felt, her dear Leander's state: She wept, and pray'd for him to every Fate; And every Wind that whipp'd her with her hair About the face, she kiss'd and spake it fair, Kneel'd to it, gave it drink out of her eyes To quench his thirst: but still their cruelties Even her poor torch envi'd, and rudely beat The baiting flame from that dear food it eat; Dear, for it nourish'd her Leander's life; Which with her robe she rescu'd from their strife: But silk too soft was such hard hearts to break; And, she, dear soul, even as her silk, faint, weak, Could not preserve it; out, O, out it went! Leander still call'd Neptune, that now rent His brackish curls, and tore his wrinkled face, Where tears in billows did each other chase; And, burst with ruth, he hurl'd his marble mace At the stern Fates; it wounded Lachesis That drew Leander's thread, and could not miss The thread itself, as it her hand did hit, But smote it full, and quite did sunder it. The more kind Neptune rag'd, the more he raz'd His love's life fort, and kill'd as he embrac'd: Anger doth still his own mishap increase; If any comfort live, it is in peace. O thievish Fates, to let blood, flesh, and sense, Build two fair temples for their excellence, To rob it with a poison'd influence! Though souls' gifts starve, the bodies are held dear In ugliest things; sense-sport preserves a bear: But here naught serves our turns: O heaven and earth, How most-most wretched is our human birth! And now did all the tyrannous crew depart, Knowing there was a storm in Hero's heart, Greater than they could make, and scorn'd their smart. She bow'd herself so low out of her tower, That wonder 'twas she fell not ere her hour, With searching the lamenting waves for him: Like a poor snail, her gentle supple limb Hung on her turret's top, so most downright, As she would dive beneath the darkness quite, To find her jewel;—jewel!—her Leander, A name of all earth's jewels pleas'd not her Like his dear name: "Leander, still my choice, Come naught but my Leander! O my voice, Turn to Leander! henceforth be all sounds, Accents, and phrases, that show all griefs' wounds, Analys'd in Leander! O black change! Trumpets, do you, with thunder of your clange, Drive out this change's horror! My voice faints: Where all joy was, now shriek out all complaints!" Thus cried she; for her mixed soul could tell Her love was dead: and when the Morning fell Prostrate upon the weeping earth for woe, Blushes, that bled out of her cheeks, did show Leander brought by Neptune, bruis'd and torn With cities' ruins he to rocks had worn, To filthy usuring rocks, that would have blood, Though they could get of him no other good. She saw him, and the sight was much-much more Than might have serv'd to kill her: should her store Of giant sorrows speak?—Burst,—die,—bleed, And leave poor plaints to us that shall succeed. She fell on her love's bosom, hugg'd it fast, And with Leander's name she breath'd her last. Neptune for pity in his arms did take them, Flung them into the air, and did awake them Like two sweet birds, surnam'd th' Acanthides, Which we call Thistle-warps, that near no seas Dare ever come, but still in couples fly, And feed on thistle-tops, to testify The hardness of their first life in their last; The first, in thorns of love, that sorrows past: And so most beautiful their colours show As none (so little) like them; her sad brow A sable velvet feather covers quite, Even like the forehead-cloth that, in the night, Or when they sorrow, ladies use to wear: Their wings, blue, red, and yellow, mix'd appear; Colours that, as we construe colours, paint Their states to life;—the yellow shows their saint, The dainty Venus, left them; blue, their truth; The red and black, ensigns of death and ruth. And this true honour from their love-death sprung,— They were the first that ever poet sung.



MINOR POEMS BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE



THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE

COME live with me, and be my love; And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dales and fields, Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle

A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair-lined 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 live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd-swains 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.



FRAGMENT

First printed in "England's Parnassus," 1600

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-paved 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 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—



IN OBITUM HONORATISSIMI VIRI, ROGERI MANWOOD, MILITIS, QUAESTORII REGI- NALIS CAPITALIS BARONIS

First printed by Payne Collier (History of the English Stage, etc. p. xliv.—prefixed to the first vol. of his Shakespeare) from a MS. on the back of the title-page of a copy of Hero and Leander, ed. 1629, where it is subscribed with Marlowe's name.

NOCTIVAGI terror, ganeonis triste flagellum, Et Jovis Alcides, rigido vulturque latroni, Urna subtegitur. Scelerum, gaudete, nepotes! Insons, luctifica sparsis cervice capillis, Plange! fori lumen, venerandae gloria legis, Occidit: heu, secum effoetas Acherontis ad oras Multa abiit virtus. Pro tot virtutibus uni, Livor, parce viro; non audacissimus esto Illius in cineres, cujus tot millia vultus Mortalium attonuit: sic cum te nuntia Ditis Vulneret exsanguis, feliciter ossa quiescant, Famaque marmorei superet monumenta sepulcri.



DIALOGUE IN VERSE

First printed in The Alleyn Papers (for the Shakespeare Society), p. 8, by Payne Collier, who prefaced it with the following 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." This Dialogue may be a fragment of The Maiden's Holiday, a lost comedy, which is said to have been written partly by Marlowe.—DYCE

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 stoln my love away.

Friend. Let him give her gay gold rings Or tufted gloves, were they ne'er so [gay]; [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. 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.

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. 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: 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. 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, 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: 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 To seek her love upon the green. [I cannot see her 'mong so many:] She shall have me, if she have any.

Nan. Welcome, sweetheart, 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.

Nan. 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 playd with his bable. I wish all my friends by me to take heed, That a fool come not near you when you mean to speed.



THE END