Endymion. Endymion! What do I hear? What! a grey-beard, hollow eyes, withered body, decayed limbs, and all in one night? Eumenides. One night! Thou hast slept here forty years, by what enchantress, as yet it is not known: and behold the twig to which thou laidest thy head, is now become a tree. Callest thou not Eumenides to remembrance? Endymion. Thy name I do remember by the sound, but thy favour I do not yet call to mind: only divine Cynthia, to whom time, fortune, death, and destiny are subject, I see and remember; and in all humility, I regard and re verence. Cynthia. You shall have good cause to remember Eumenides, who hath for thy safety forsaken his own solace. Endymion. Am I that Endymion, who was wont in court to lead my life, and in jousts, tourneys, and arms, to exercise my youth? Am I that Endymion ? Eumenides. Thou art that Endymion, and I Eumenides: wilt thou not yet call me to remembrance? Endymion. Ah! sweet Eumenides, I now perceive thou art he, and that myself have the name of Endymion; but that this should be my body, I doubt: for how could my curled locks be turned to grey hair, and my strong body to a dying weakness, having waxed old, and not knowing it. Cynthia. Well, Endymion, arise: awhile sit down, for that thy limbs are stiff and not able to stay thee, and tell what thou hast seen in thy sleep all this while. What dreams, visions, thoughts, and fortunes: for it is impossible but in so long a time thou shouldst see strange things." Act V. Scene 1. It does not take away from the pathos of this poetical allegory on the chances of love and the progress of human life, that it may be supposed to glance indirectly at the conduct of Queen Elizabeth to our author, who, after fourteen years' expectation of the place of Master of the Revels, was at last disappointed. This princess took no small delight in keeping her poets in a sort of Fool's Paradise. The wit of Lyly, in parts of this romantic drama, seems to have grown spirited and classical with his subject. He puts this fine hyperbolical irony in praise of Dipsas, (a most unamiable personage, as it will appear,) into the mouth of Sir Tophas: "Oh, what fine thin hair hath Dipsas! What a pretty low forehead ! What a tall and stately nose! What little hollow eyes! What great and goodly lips! How harmless is she, being toothless! Her fingers fat and short, adorned with long nails like a bittern! What a low stature she is, and yet what a great foot she carrieth! How thrifty must she be, in whom there is no waist; how virtuous she is like to be over whom no man can be jealous!" Act III. Scene 3. It is singular that the style of this author, which is extremely sweet and flowing, should have been the butt of ridicule to his contemporaries, particularly Drayton, who compliments Sydney as the author that "Did first reduce Our tongue from Lyly's writing, then in use; As the English apes and very zanies be Which must apply to the prose style of his work, called "Euphues and his England," and is much more like Sir Philip Sydney's own manner, than the dramatic style of our poet. Besides the passages above quoted, I might refer to the opening speeches of Midas, and again to the admirable contention between Pan and Apollo for the palm of music.-His Alexander and Campaspe is another sufficient answer to the charge. This play is a very pleasing transcript of old manners and sentiment. It is full of sweetness and point, of Attic salt and the honey of Hymettus. The following song given to Apelles, would not disgrace the mouth of the prince of painters: 'Cupid and my Campaspe play'd Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) The conclusion of this drama is as follows. Alexander addressing himself to Apelles, says, "Well, enjoy one another: I give her thee frankly, Apelles. Thou shalt see that Alexander maketh but a toy of love, and leadeth affection in fetters: using fancy as a fool to make him sport, or a minstrel to make nim merry It is not the amorous glance of an eye can settle an idle thought in the heart: no, no, it is children's game, a life for sempsters and senolars; the one, pricking in clouts, have nothing else to think on; the other picking fancies out of books, have little else to marvel at. Go, Apelles, take with you your Campaspe; Alexander is cloyed with looking on at that, which thou wonderest at. Apelles. Thanks to your majesty on bended knee; you have honoured Apelles. Campaspe. Thanks with bowed heart; you have blessed Campaspe. [Exeunt Alexander. Page, go warn Clytus and Parmenio, and the other lords, to be in readiness; let the trumpet sound, strike up the drum, and I will presently into Persia. How now, Hephistion, is Alexander able to resist love as he list? Hephistion. The conquering of Thebes was not so honourable as the subduing of these thoughts. Alexander. It were a shame Alexander should desire to command the world, if he could not command himself. But come, let us go. And, good Hephistion, when all the world is won, and every country is thine and mine, either find me out another to subdue, or ou my word, I will fall in love." Marlowe is a name that stands high, and almost first in this list of dramatic worthies. He was a little before Shakspeare's time,* and has a marked character both from him and the rest. There is a lust of power in his writings, a hunger and thirst after unrighteousness, a glow of the imagination, unhallowed by any thing but its own energies. His thoughts burn within him like a furnace with bickering flames: or throwing out black smoke and mists, that hide the dawn of genius, or like a poison ous mineral, corrode the heart. His "Life and Death of Doctor Faustus," though an imperfect and unequal performance, is his greatest work. Faustus himself is a rude sketch, but it is a gigantic one. This character may be considered as a personification of the pride of will and eagerness of curiosity, sublimed beyond the reach of fear and remorse. He is hurried away, and, as it were, devoured by a tormenting desire to enlarge his knowledge to the utmost bounds of nature and art, and to extend his power with his knowledge. He would realize all the fictions of a lawless imagination, would solve the most subtle speculations of abstract reason; and for this purpose sets at defiance all mortal *He died about 1594. ? consequences, and leagues himself with demoniacal power, with How am I glutted with conceit of this! Perform what desperate enterprize I will? Ransack the ocean for orient pearl, And search all corners of the new-found world For pleasant fruits and princely delicates. I'll have them read me strange philosophy, Enter VALDES and CORNELIUS. Come, German Valdes and Cornelius, And make me blest with your sage conference. Know that your words have won me at the last Both Law and Physic are for petty wits; Whose shadow made all Europe honour him. Valdes. These books, thy wit, and our experience Shall make all nations to canonize us. As Indian Moors obey their Spanish lords, So shall the spirits of every element Be always serviceable to us three. Like Lions shall they guard us when we please; Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love, That yearly stuffs old Philip's treasury*; An anachronism. |