ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

MICHAEL DRAYTON-CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung,

Piercing the weather:

None from his fellow starts,
But, playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilbows drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy:

Arms were from shoulder sent,
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went:
Our men were hardy.

This while our noble King,
His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding
As to o'erwhelm it;

And many a deep wound rent
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent

Bruised his helmet.

Glo'ster, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood

With his brave brother Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet, in that furious fight,

Scarce such another!

Warwick in blood did wade;
Oxford, the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made
Still, as they ran up:

Suffolk his axe did ply; Beaumont and Willoughby

Bare them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon St. Crispin's day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay

To England to carry :--
Oh, when shall Englishmen
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?

Christopher Marlowe.

25

Marlowe (1564-1593) ranks among the most eminent of the Elizabethan dramatists. He was the son of a shoemaker in Canterbury. After graduating at Cambridge, he became a writer for the stage and an actor. In 1587, he was known as the author of "Tamburlaine the Great." Other plays followed; and for a time Marlowe and Shakspeare were competitors. This splendid rivalry, and all it might have led to, was, however, cut short in 1593, when Marlowe, still not thirty years of age, received a stab in a brawl in some inn at Deptford, and died from its effects. The pastoral song, to which a reply, supposed to be by Raleigh, was written, is among the few specimens we have of Marlowe's non-dramatic In some versions of it the following stanza (coming next before the last) is contained; but it is believed to have been inserted by Izaak Walton, and presents a very unshepherd-like image:

verse.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Yet will I call on HIM!-Oh 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 will I headlong run into the earth:
Gape, earth!-Oh no; it will not harbor me.
Ye 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.

Oh! half the hour is past: 'twill all be past anon.
Oh! 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 last be saved:
No end is limited to damnéd souls.

Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?
Or, why is this immortal that thou hast ?
Oh! Pythagoras,- Metempsychosis!-

true,

were that

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

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,
Embroidered 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:
And 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,
Come live with me and be my love.

ANSWER TO THE SAME.' If all the world and Love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;
Then Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,

Thy coral clasps and amber studs,

1 Archbishop Trench is of opinion that the evidence which ascribes this to Raleigh is insufficient.

[blocks in formation]

Edward Fairfax.

The first edition of Fairfax's celebrated translation of Tasso's "Jerusalem Delivered" is dated 1600; the second, 1624. Dryden ranked Fairfax with Spenser as a master of English; and Waller derived from him, according to his own confession, the harmony of his numbers. The date of Fairfax's birth is unknown, but was probably about 1564. He was the natural son of Sir Thomas Fairfax, and had a long and happy life amidst rural scenes. He was living in 1631. The date of his death is not known. He wrote a work on "Demonology," which was not printed until 1859.

RINALDO AT MOUNT OLIVET.

It was the time when 'gainst the breaking day
Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined;
For in the east appeared the morning gray,
And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined,
When to Mount Olivet he took his way,
And saw, as round about his eyes he twined,
Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's
shine,

This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine.

Thus to himself he thought: How many bright
And 'splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple
high!

Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night,
Her fixed and wandering stars the azure sky:
So framed all by their Creator's might,
That still they live and shine, and ne'er will die,
Till in a moment, with the last day's brand,
They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.

Thus as he muséd, to the top he went,

And there kneeled down with reverence and fear;
His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent;
His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were:--
"The sins and errors which I now repent,
Of my unbridled youth, O Father dear,
Remember not, but let thy mercy fall,
And purge my faults and my offences all.”

William Shakspeare.

The Baptismal Register of Stratford-on-Avon contains the following entry: "April 26, 1564. Gulielmus, filius Johannes Shakespeare." The house in which the poet was born stands, in a restored condition, in Henley Street; and the conjectured room of his birth is scribbled over-walls, ceiling, windows-with thousands of names. His father, a wool-comber, though not opulent, seems to have been in good circumstances, to have had property in land and houses, and to have held the highest official dignities of the town. But probably a short course in the Stratford grammar-school was all the reg ular education Shakspeare ever received. He married, at the age of eighteen, Anne Hathaway, seven or eight years older than himself. Two or three years afterward he removed to London, where he rapidly acquired a large property in more than one theatre. We do not know the order in which his plays were produced, but. he soon vindicated the immense superiority of his genius by universal popularity. He was the companion of the nobles and the wits of the time, and a favorite of Queen Elizabeth herself, at whose request some of his pieces were written. The wealth which he realized enabled him, comparatively early in life, to retire from his professional career. There had been born to him a son and two daughters. He had purchased an estate in the vicinity of his native town, but he enjoyed it only four years. He died of fever in 1616, aged fifty-two.

The works of Shakspeare consist of thirty-seven plays, tragedies, comedies, and histories; the poems, "Venus and Adonis," and "Tarquin and Lucrece," with a collection of sonnets, or, rather, fourteen-lined poems, of exquisite beauty and variety, each consisting of three quatrains of alternate rhyme and a closing couplet. His want of care in preserving and authenticating the productions of his genius before his death has been supposed to indicate either his indifference to fame or the absence of a knowledge of the magnitude of what he had achieved; and yet there are expressions in his sonnets that seem to imply a sense of his intellectual superiority. The subject of his dramatic and poetical character is so vast that it would be idle here to attempt its analysis.

His Sonnets represent him in the full maturity of manhood, and at the height of his fame. They were probably written between the years 1595 and 1603, when he was living at Stratford in dignified retirement. Of these sonnets Trench says: "They are so heavily laden with meaning, so double-shotted (if one may so speak) with thought, so penetrated and pervaded with a repressed

passion, that, packed as all this is into narrowest limits, it sometimes imparts no little obscurity to them; and they often require to be heard or read, not once, but many times-in fact, to be studied-before they reveal to us all the treasures of thought and feeling which they contain."

These remarkable and mysterious sonnets are one hundred and fifty-four in number, and, with the exception of twenty-eight, are addressed to some male person, to whom the poet refers in a style of affection, love, and idolatry almost unnatural; remarkable, even in the reign of Elizabeth, for morbid extravagance and enthusiasm. The sonnets were first printed in 1609, by Thomas Thorpe, a publisher of the day, who prefixed to the volume the following enigmatical dedication: "To the only begetter of these ensuing sonnets, Mr. W. H., all happiness and that eternity promised by our ever-living poet, wisheth the well-wishing adventurer in setting forth, T. T." The "W. H." alluded to by Thorpe has been conjectured to be Wliam Herbert, afterward Earl of Pembroke, who, as appears from the folio of 1623, was one of Shakspeare's patrons. This conjecture has received the assent of Mr. Hallam and others. Many theories, none satisfactory, have been broached to account for these exceptional productions.

It has been truly remarked by an anonymous writer that no man of whom we have any knowledge in literature ever had, like Shakspeare, "the faculty of pouring out on all occasions such a flood of the richest and deepest language; no man ever said such splendid extempore things on all subjects universally. That excessive fluency which astonished Ben Jonson when he listened to Shakspeare in person astonishes the world yet. He was the greatest master of expression that literature has known. Indeed, by his powers of expression he has beg gared and forestalled posterity. Such lightness and case in the manner, and such prodigious wealth and depth in the matter, are combined in no other writer."

SIGH NO MORE.

FROM "MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.”

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever;

One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

Aud be you blithe and bonny; Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo,

Of dumps so dull and heavy; The frand of men was ever so, Since summer first was leavy:

Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny; Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey nonny, nonny.

ARIEL'S SONG.

FROM "THE TEMPEST."

Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie;

There I couch when owls do cry,
On the bat's back I do fly

After summer merrily:

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

SILVIA.

FROM THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA."

Who is Silvia? What is she,

That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she,

The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admiréd be.

Is she kind as she is fair,

For beauty lives with kindness? Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

MAN'S INGRATITUDE.

FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT."

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then heigh-ho! the holly!

This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Thou dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot:

[blocks in formation]

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash ;

Thou hast finished joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

THE SONG OF WINTER.
FROM "LOVE'S LABOR LOST."

When icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipped, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who,

To-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

CLOTEN'S SERENADE.

FROM "CYMBELINE."

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise;

Arise, arise!

SONNETS.

XVIII.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate :
Rongh winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thon wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

ΧΧΧ.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's

waste:

Then can I drown an eye unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since cancelled woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight.

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »