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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;
Talking of stones, stars, plants, of fishes, flies,
Playing with words and idle similes,

As the English apes and very zanies be
Of every thing that they do hear and see."

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
At cards for kisses, Cupid paid;
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows:
His mother's doves and team of sparrows;
Loses them too, then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose

Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how)
With these the crystal of his brow
And then the dimple of his chin;
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O, Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?"

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
"fate and metaphysical aid." The idea of witchcraft and necro-
mancy, once the dread of the vulgar and the darling of the vision-
ary recluse, seems to have had its origin in the restless tendency
of the human mind, to conceive of and aspire to more than it can
achieve by natural means, and in the obscure apprehension that
the gratification of this extravagant and unauthorized desire can
only be attained by the sacrifice of all our ordinary hopes and
better prospects, to the infernal agents that lend themselves to
its accomplishment. Such is the foundation of the present story.
Faustus, in his impatience to fulfil at once and for a moment, for
a few short years, all the desires and conceptions of his soul, is
willing to give in exchange his soul and body to the great enemy
of mankind. Whatever he fancies, becomes by this means pre-
sent to his sense: whatever he commands, is done. He calls
back time past, and anticipates the future: the visions of antiquity
pass before him, Babylon in all its glory, Paris and Enone: all
the projects of philosophers, or creations of the poet, pay tribute
at his feet all the delights of fortune, of ambition, of pleasure,
and of learning are centred in his person; and from a short-lived
dream of supreme felicity and drunken power, he sinks into an
abyss of darkness and perdition. This is the alternative. to which
he submits; the bond which he signs with his blood! As the
outline of the character is grand and daring, the execution is
abrupt and fearful. The thoughts are vast and irregular; and
the style halts and staggers under them, "with uneasy steps;"
"such footing found the sole of unblest feet." There is a little
fustian and incongruity of metaphor now and then, which is not
very injurious to the subject. It is time to give a few passages
in illustration of this account. He thus opens his mind at the
beginning:

How am I glutted with conceit of this!
Shall I make spirits fetch me what I please?
Resolve me of all ambiguities?

Perform what desperate enterprize I will?
I'll have them fly to India for gold,

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,
And tell the secrets of all foreign kings:
I'll have them wal. all Germany with brass,
And make swift Rhine circle fair Wittenberg;
I'll have them fill the public schools with skill,
Wherewith the students shall be bravely clad;
I'll levy soldiers with the coin they bring,
And chase the Prince of Parma from our land,
And reign sole king of all the provinces:
Yea, stranger engines for the brunt of war
Than was the fiery keel at Antwerp bridge,
I'll make my servile spirit to invent.

Enter VALDES and CORNELIUS.

Come, German Valdes and Cornelius,

And make me blest with your sage conference.
Valdes, sweet Valdes, and Cornelius,

Know that your words have won me at the last
To practise magic and concealed arts.
Philosophy is odious and obscure;

Both Law and Physic are for petty wits;
'Tis magic, magic, that hath ravish'd me.
Then, gentle friends, aid me in this attempt;
And I, that have with subtle syllogisms
Gravell'd the pastors of the German church,
And made the flow'ring pride of Wittenberg
Swarm to my problems, as th' infernal spirits
On sweet Musæus when he came to hell;
Will be as cunning as Agrippa was,

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;
Like Almain Rutters with their horseman's staves,
Or Lapland giants trotting by our sides:
Sometimes like women, or unwedded maids,
Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows

Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love,
From Venice they shall drag whole argosies,
And from America the golden fleece,

That yearly stuffs old Philip's treasury*;
If learned Faustus will be resolute.

An anachronism.

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