for the Death of his Ladie and Love, faire Zenocrate: his forme of exhortation and discipline to his three sons, and the manner of his owne death." From the opening of the prologue, we learn that it was written by the author in consequence of the great success of the first part; at what interval it would be idle to inquire, because we could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion, nor, if ascertained, would the fact be worth the pains of obtaining it.

The generall welcomes Tamburlaine received,

When he arriued last vpon our stage,
Hath made our Poet pen his second part,
Where death cuts off the progres of his
pompe.

The experiment, to which allusion has before been made, was, therefore, completely successful, though the second part is not written in quite the same extravagant strain as the first; and we shall see by and by, that Marlow, having weaned the frequenters of the theatre in a great degree from the "jigging veins of rhyming mother wits," and from "such conceits as clownage keeps in pay," before the end of his career reduced the drama very much to that more restrained and sober condition in which Shakespeare found it. Yet there are scenes in the second part of Tamburlaine sufficiently highly wrought and gorgeous, and of this character is the following passage, where Callapine, son of Bajazet, endeavours to prevail upon Almeda (one of Tamburlaine's generals, who had him under his charge) to allow him to escape. By Cario runs to Alexandria bay Darotes streames, wherein at anchor lies A Turkish gally of my royal fleet, Waiting my comming to the riuer's side, Hoping by some meanes I shall be releast, Which, when I come aboord, wil hoist vp

saile,

And soone put forth into the Terrene sea, Where, twixt the isles of Cyprus and of Creete,

We quickly may in Turkish seas arriue; Then shalt thou see a hundred kings and

more,

Vpon their knees, al bid me welcome home. Amongst so many crownes of burnisht gold,

By "jigging veins" the poet means the ballad style; for many examples could be produced to show that a jig formerly did not mean a dance, but a song.

Choose which thou wilt, all are at thy command.

A thousand gallies, mann'd with Christian slaues,

I freely giue thee, which shall cut the straights,

And bring Armados to the coasts of Spaine,
The Grecian virgins shall attend on thee,
Fraughted with golde of rich America:
Skilfull in musicke and in amorous laies,
As faire as was Pigmalion's iuory gyrle,
Or louely Io metamorphosed.
With naked negroes shall thy coach be
drawen,

And, as thou rid'st in triumph through the streetes,

The pauement vnderneath thy chariot

wheeles

With Turky carpets shall be couered,
And cloath of Arras hung about the walles,
Fit obiects for thy princely eie to pierce.
A hundred Bassoes, cloath'd in crimson
silke,

Shal ride before thee on Barbarian steeds,
And, when thou goest, a golden canapie,
Enchac'd with precious stones, which shine
as bright

As that faire vaile that couers all the world,
When Phoebus, leaping from his hemi-
spheare,
Discendeth downward to the antipodes.

collecting the object of the speaker, Against a quotation like this, reas to the wealth and splendour of the and the vulgar notion then existing country described, nothing can be reasiderable applause may be given to sonably urged; on the contrary, conthe poet for the luxuriant manner in which he has worked up the picture. It is not my intention to go at all at of the second part of "Tamburlaine;' length into the story or the conduct but in Act IV. there is a striking scene, which deserves some notice. Tamburlaine sets down before Balsora, which is valiantly defended by a captain, afterwards slain. His wife destroy herself, to avoid falling into Olympia kills her son, and is about to the hands of the enemy, when she is prevented by Theridamas, one of the hero's minor monarchs, who subsequently endeavours to make her yield to the gratification of his passions.

Olym. Stay now, my Lord, and will you saue my honor,

Ile giue your grace a present of such price, As all the world cannot afford the like. Ther. What is it?

Olym. An ointment which a cunning
alcamist

Distilled from the purest balsamum,
And simplest extractes of all minerals,
In which the essential forme of marble
stone,

Tempered by science metaphisical,
And spels of magicke from the mother of
spirits;

With which if you but noint your tender skin,

Nor pistol, sword, nor lance, can pierce your flesh.

Ther. Why, madam, think ye to mock me thus palpably?

Olym. To proue it, I will noint my naked throat,

Which, when you stab, looke on your wea

pon's point,

And you shal se't rebated with the blow. Ther. Why gaue you not your husband some of it, if

You loued him, and it so precious?
Olym. My purpose was, (my Lord,) to

spend it so,

But was preuented by his sodaine end;
And for a present easie proofe thereof,
That I desemble not, try it on me.

Ther. I will, Olympia, and I will keepe it for The richest present of this Easterne world. She nointes her throat. Olym. Now, stab, my Lord, and mark your weapon's point, That will be blunted if the blow be great. Ther. Here, then, Olympia.-What, haue Islaine her? Villaine, stab thy selfe:

Cut off this arme that murthered my loue, In whom the learned Rabies of this age Might find as many wondrous myracles, As in the Theoria of the world.

This incident would have a very good stage effect, and it is very well managed by the poet, coming upon the audience unexpectedly, yet naturally. It shews that Marlow was ac

• There is a similar incident in Miss Baillie's play of Constantine Paleologus, but it is almost the only scene of that fine drama which we had but little satisfaction in witnessing on the stage. It is, no doubt, much less rapidly executed than Marlow's; we see what is to happen long before the blow is struck, and a trick of this sort, seen through, has a ludicrous air, and only makes us wonder at the stupidity of the persons who are gulled by it. In Marlow, indeed, it is so much of a coup de

quainted with the Italian poets, or at least with Ariosto, for the same circumstances are related in Orlando Furioso, c. 29, as occurring between Rodomont and Isabella.

Bagnosi, come disse, e lieta porse
All incauto Pagano il collo ignudo;
Incauto, e vinto anche dal vino forse,
Incontro a cui non vale elmo, nè scudo.
Quell'uom bestial le prestò fede; e scorse
Si con la mano, e sì col ferro crudo,
Che del bel capo, già d'Amore albergo,
Fè tronco rimanere il petto e il tergo!

66

There is, however, a considerable difference between the composition of the two ointments employed, Marlow's being calculated, like the whole of his play, to confound and astonish. How the essential form of marble stone" could exist in a liquid state, would puzzle some of the firmest believers in alchymy, even of that credulous day. The finest part of this play is unquestionably what is introductory to the death of its hero, who, in Act V. Sc. 6, is represented as afflicted with a mortal malady, the force of which he struggles at times to overcome, and, at others, is compelled by exhaustion to submit to it. Techelles, one of his attendants, thus addresses Tamburlaine:

Sit still, my gracious Lord, this grief will

internal maladies, excepting in such cases as King John and Cardinal Beaufort, must commonly be untheatrical, and it is only when the imagination of the writer, as in the case before us, adds new and dreadful characters to the scene, that a lasting impression is produced. The presence of death to the eyes of Tamburlaine," shaking and quivering," flying before his resolute glance, and then "stealing on" as the monarch's agonies increase, perhaps is finer than any thing of the same kind in our memory.

The other dramatic productions in which Marlow was alone concerned are five in number, and as we have before alluded to the gradual change he occasioned from rhyme to blank verse, from low comedy to stately tragedy, and subsequently from inflated bombast to a more refined and chastened style, it is comparatively easy to trace the course and progress of his muse. His plays were all printed at very different dates, between 1590 to 1657; but the order in which they were written may be arrived at without much difficulty or uncertainty. His first effort was, doubtless, that the examination of which we have just completed, and his last, his Edward II. which, as a historical play, has more to recommend it than the "True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York," with many of the materials of which Shakespeare constructed his Henry VI. Part 3. All Marlow's other pieces are in various gradations of improvement, with the exception, perhaps, of "The Massacre of Paris," which was obviously a work of great haste, and got up for the purpose of gratifying the vulgar feeling at that date against popery: indeed, it has hardly any thing to recommend it, and I forbear to quote from it, because though its excessive rarity may render it curious, it would throw but a faint light on this undertaking. I may say, however, that the plot, as far as it deserves the name, is most irregularly conducted, and is little better than mere bustle and confusion, and incongruity from beginning to end. Scarce ly a single poetical passage is to be found in it; and though the name of

A copy of it was not many months since sold by Mr Evans of Pall-Mall for about ten guineas.

Marlow be upon the title-page, I feel satisfied that it is merely the imposition of the bookseller, availing himself of the popularity of so esteemed a poet.

On the other hand, " The Tragical Historie of Dr Faustus," "The Rich Jew of Malta," "Lusts Dominion," and the English historical play of "Edward II." all possess, in a greater or less degree, strong claims to our admiration. The first of these † has had justice done to it in Mr Lamb's Specimens, where several characteristic extracts are inserted. It is well known that the greatest living poet of Germany has constructed a tragedy upon the same story. There is one circumstance in Marlow's play of "Faustus" deserving remark, and that is the repetition of the incident in his " Tamburlaine," where the hero mounts his throne on the back of the prostrate Bajazet: in " Faustus," the Pope is made to employ the same kind of footstool in ascending his chair, using the back of the " Saxon Bruno," who had put in claims to the See of Rome. Of" The Rich Jew of Malta" I shall say nothing, because it has recently been introduced upon the public stage, where Kean represented Barabas. "Lusts Dominion, or the Lascivious Queen," contains some beautiful poetry and harmonious versification, though here and there we find traces of that bombastic style Marlow at first employed to gratify his audiences: Thus, in one place, Eleazar, the Moor, tells his king,

My liege, the tongue of true obedience Must not gainesay his soueraign's inpose: By heauen, I will not kiss the cheek of sleep

Till I have fetched those traitors to the

court.

contrasted with such delightful pasThis puffed-up stuff may well be

has a curious allusion to the representation The superstitious zealot W. Prynne of Marlow's "Faustus" at the Belsavage Theatre, in his Histriomastix: he states, that, in Queen Elizabeth's days, while the actors were playing the tragedy, the devil himself made his visible appearance on the stage, and distracted many of the specta

tors; "the truth of which," he sagaciously adds, "I have heard from many now alive who well remember it."-Prynne's Histriomastix, fol. 556.

sages as the following, in which the Queen is endeavouring to assuage the angry Moor:

Looke smoothly on me!

Chime out your softest strains of harmony, And on delicious musick's silken wings Send ravishing delight to my loue's ears, That he may bé inamour'd of your tunes.

The "Edward II." of the same author in no respect differs from some of the historical plays attributed to Shakespeare, excepting in its superiority, both in conduct and poetry. It has been already said, that the Richard II. of the latter has been drawn upon the model of Marlow's unhappy monarch, whose vacillating character is quite as finely contrasted with that of the rash and blustering Mortimer, as the disposition and conduct of Richard is with the hot aspiring Bolingbroke. I had purposed to go into some detail on the peculiar merits of this play, but to do so with any success would demand an article of itself, and it is the less necessary as the historical tragedy is inserted in Dodsley's Collection. Your readers will also, perhaps, be of opinion that I have already dwelt long enough upon Marlow. J. P. C.

London, July 1820.

is from the confession of this holy man, made on his death-bed, and after the poor victim of his apostacy was already in her grave.

"I was the second son of the Duke Manfredi, by his second wife, in right of whom I bore the name and enjoyed the fortune of the family of Guastalla; but at an early age I discovered a distaste for the things of this world, and a passion for retirement and theological studies, which seemed to prove me called by a voice from Heaven to devote myself to the service or the church." Vol. I. p. 218.

What follows is powerfully given.

"At the age of sixteen I began my noviciate in a convent of Benedictines at Rome. With what delight did my ears and distinguished piety! How was my drink in the praises bestowed on my early pride gratified when I found my acts of extraordinary self-denial and penance the theme of admiration, and that I was held up as a model to the other novices in the convent! Infatuated being! not to feel that the heart which was elated by human praise for homage to its God was actuated by an earthly ambition, not by the irresistible impulses of heavenly zeal.

"But I thought myself the holiest of the holy, and I took the vows at the age of seventeen. Yes, the youthful Count Manfredi di Guastalla laid down his worldly honours, to be known no more but as the Father Francisco. Still the ambition of my soul prompted me, in spite of my re

OF THE HEART.

THIS lady does not improve in her manufacture of tales as she proceeds, -her great staple was her pathos, and that she seems, pretty nearly, to have exhausted, nor has she much talent for incident or character to make up for it. Yet there are striking situations, occurring every now and then, in her later writings, which remind us of their better promise-and which come upon the heart, with an impression that cannot easily be thrown off. There is one of these in her first tale in this collection,-a singular story of a Roman Catholic priest who fell in love with a beautiful nun, and in consequence, not only broke his vows, but abandoned character, reputation, and all the most darling idols of his ambition, to attain the object of his unfortunate passion. The passage, which we shall lay before our readers,

4 Vols. London, 1820.

name of Father Francisco by eloquence and learning; and in idea the sacred tiara already glittered on my brow. With this view, though I redoubled my austerities, I at the same time also redoubled my ttention to my studies; and my fame as a preacher, when once I had been permitted to ascend the chair, spread from Rome through every town in the Pontificate, tiil, by the time that I was one-and-twenty,

crowds collected wherever I was, to see me

pass along, and kiss the hem of my garment; and the proudest beauties of Italy humbled themselves in the overwhelming consciousness of sin before the holy eloquence of the youthful Benedictine. But did not he who thus admonished others require admonition himself? Was he who called sinners to repentance free himself from the consciousness of sin? Alas! undetected, the damning sin of pride clave unto my secret soul, and terrible was the humiliation preparing for me.

"By this time I was known personally, as a theologian, a saint, and an orator, to some of the first men of the age; to Cardinal de Retz, and other distinguished men who visited Rome; and I was invited to go

to Paris, to preach before the Grand Monarque: nor would my vanity have denied itself this gratification, had I not been certainly stopped in my career by a power whose influence I despised, and against which, puffed up with self-righteousness, I had never thought of arming myself by humble reliance on my God."

Vol. I. pp. 219-221.

A young lady of a noble family, nearly related to Francisco, but whom he had never seen, was likewise strongly impelled to dedicate her life to heaven. An intercourse of letters took place between them, in which he warmly approved of her resolution.

"In the mean while, I was advancing in reputation, and was the delighted idol of kneeling crowds; and engravings of me, taken from the picture which you will find in the box I shall give you, were spread over the Continent. Scarcely, perhaps, will you believe that I ever resembled that picture, which exhibits a man glowing with the bloom of youth, and in unblighted pride. The print, however, which is colourless, resembles me still; and little did Father Vincent think, when he looked on the mysterious stranger with so suspicious an eye at Delmayne, that a portrait of me was hanging up in his apartment, as the holy Father Francisco. This print was given by one of our mutual relatives to Rosmunda, who sent me in return, with a letter full of humble veneration, a miniature of herself, painted by a pensioner in her nun's dress, soon after she had taken the vows, and when the austerities of her religious duties had begun to injure the roses of her cheek. But, though I knew it not, in spite of its languid eye and faded bloom, that face, when I first beheld it, even in painting, called forth in me emotions never known before. I fancied them the result of admiration for that zeal, which could resolve to bury such beauty in a convent: but, though my proud heart disdained to believe that aught of human passion mingled with my adoration, certain it is, that I have often turned from the image of the Virgin to gaze on Sister Angela, (as Rosmunda was now called ;) and that, having done so, I have penned letters to her glowing with all the fervour of earthly and forbidden ardour. She, poor innocent! believed as I did; and we were far gone in a correspondence, which, though it treated wholly of religion, was written with the pen of passion, when we both of us fell ill,—I from the fatigues and austerities of my religious profession, which threatened me with consumption, and she from her too rigorous observance of fasts and penances. We were both ordered by our physician to the baths of Baia, near which

VOL. VII.

our mutual relative, the young Marquis di Romano, had lately purchased a villa. Our noble relatives were excessively devoted to holy books and holy beings; and the idea of having two such youthful saints near them was most gratifying to their enthusiastic minds. Nor was it long before they formed to themselves the delightful prospect of prevailing on us to take up our abode under their roof. And what should

prevent it? No danger could accrue to two such sanctified beings from a familiar intercourse; and there was no doubt but that their whole family would be edified and hallowed by our presence.

"Alas! our own betraying wishes agreed but too well with theirs; and I veiled my real motives from my view, by believing that I wished to converse on doctrinal points with my correspondent face to face, because I had reason, as I fancied, to apprehend that she was a litte tinctured with Jansenism; as she had been deeply impressed with the high reputation and talents of Sister Angelica of Port-Royal, where heresy was suspected to flourish under the countenance of the celebrated Arnauds.

"To be brief: We consented to stay at the villa of the Marquis, and still more eagerly consented to meet there. O day of fate! a day big with inconceivable misery, when I first gazed upon that form of breathing loveliness, and viewed that face where the woman's impassioned tenderness, and the saint's holy zeal, shed indescribable fascination over the features of a Grecian Venus! Never shall I forget my emotion, when she bent her knee with modest reverence before me, and, crossing her beautiful hands on her bosom, besought my blessing.

66

Those hands, so often lifted with confidence to call down blessings upon others, now trembled, as if palsied by conscious forebodings, while raised to Heaven for her; and the voice faltered, which uttered the now inarticulate prayer.

"When she rose, with a glistening eye and blushing check, and gazed upon me with a look of flattering regard and reverence, the tender impulse which made me wish to clasp her to my heart, ought to have convinced me, that, though I proudly thought myself a teacher and an example, my breast was about to glow with a consuming fire, and one which other love than that of Heaven had kindled. But I was self-confiding; and I thought that for me, the gifted one, to fall from grace, was im possible, and I hurried blindly on to my destruction. Alas! I hurried not on alone.

"We had met, and we were left daily together; for we feared not for ourselves, and who should presume to fear for us? When not alone, we witnessed the wedded happiness of the Marquis and his Paulina,

U