which Shakspeare scarce improved in his Richard the Second; and the death-scene of Marlowe's king moves pity and terror beyond any scene ancient or modern with which I am acquainted.]

THE RICH JEW OF MALTA, A TRAGEDY:

BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

Barabas the rich Jew in his counting-house, with heaps of gold before him; in contemplation of his wealth.

Bar. So that of thus much that return was made;
And of the third part of the Persian ships
There was a venture summ'd and satisfied.
As for those Samnites, and the men of Uzz,
That bought my Spanish oils and wines of Greece,
Here have I purst their paltry silverbings.
Fie, what a trouble 'tis to count this trash!
Well fare the Arabians, who so richly pay
The things they traffic for with wedge of gold,
Whereof a man may easily in a day

Tell that, which may maintain him all his life.
The needy groom, that never finger'd groat,
Would make a miracle of thus much coin:
But he whose steel-barr'd coffers are cramm'd full,
And all his life-time hath been tired,
Wearying his fingers' ends with telling it,
Would in his age be loth to labour so,
And for a pound to sweat himself to death.
Give me the merchants of the Indian mines,
That trade in metal of the purest mould;
The wealthy Moor, that in the eastern rocks
Without control can pick his riches up,
And in his house heap pearl like pebble-stones;
Receive them free and sell them by the weight,
Bags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts,
Jacinths, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds,
Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds,
And seld-seen costly stones of so great price,
As one of them, indifferently rated,
And of a caract of this quality,

May serve in peril of calamity

To ransom great kings from captivity.
This is the ware wherein consists my wealth:
And thus methinks should men of judgment frame
Their means of traffic from the vulgar trade,

And, as their wealth increaseth, so enclose
Infinite riches in a little room.

But now how stands the wind?

Into what corner peers my Halcyon's bill?
Ha! to the east? yes: see, how stand the vanes?
East and by south: why then, I hope my ships,
I sent for Egypt and the bordering isles,

Are gotten up by Nilus' winding banks.
Mine argosies from Alexandria,

Laden with spice and silks, now under sail,
Are smoothly gliding down by Candy shore
To Malta, through our Mediterranean sea.

"ertain merchants enter and inform Barabas, that his ships from various
ports are safe arrived, and riding in Malta roads. He descants on
the temporal condition of the Jews, how they thrive and attain to great
worldly prosperity, in spite of the curse denounced against them.
Thus trolls our fortune in by land and sea,
And thus are we on every side enrich'd.
These are the blessings promised to the Jews,
And herein was old Abram's happiness.
What more may Heaven do for earthly man,
Than thus to pour out plenty in their laps,
Ripping the bowels of the earth for them,
Making the sea their servants, and the winds
To drive their substance with successful blasts ?
Who hateth me but for my happiness?

Or who is honour'd now but for his wealth?
Rather had I, a Jew, be hated thus,
Than pitied in a Christian poverty:
For I can see no fruits in all their faith,
But malice, falsehood, and excessive pride,
Which methinks fits not their profession.
Haply some hapless man hath conscience,
And for his conscience lives in beggary.
They say we are a scatter'd nation:
I cannot tell; but we have scambled up

More wealth by far than those that brag of faith.
There's Kirriah Jairim, the great Jew of Greece,
Obed in Bairseth, Nones in Portugal,
Myself in Malta, some in Italy,

Many in France, and wealthy every one:
Ay, wealthier far than any Christian.

I must confess, we come not to be kings;
That's not our fault; alas, our number 's few;
And crowns come either by succession,
Or urged by force; and nothing violent,
Oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.
Give us a peaceful rule; make Christians kings,
That thirst so much for principality.

[Marlowe's Jew does not approach so near to Shakspeare's, as his Edward II. does to Richard II. Shylock in the midst of his savage purpose is a man. His motives, feelings, resentments, have something human in them. "If you wrong us, shall we not revenge ?" Barabas is a mere monster brought in with a large painted nose to please the rabble. He kills in sport, poisons whole nunneries, invents infernal machines. He is just such an exhibition as a century or two earlier might have been played before the Londoners, by the Royal Command, when a general pillage and massacre of the Hebrews had been previously resolved on in the cabinet. It is curious to see a superstition wearing out. The idea of a Jew (which our pious ancestors contemplated with such horror) has nothing in it now revolting. We have tamed the claws of the beast, and pared its nails, and now we take it to our arms, fondle it, write plays to flatter it: it is visited by princes, affects a taste, patronizes the arts, and is the only liberal and gentlemanlike thing in Christendom.]

THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF THE LIFE AND DEATH OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS: BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. How Faustus fell to the study of magic.

born of parents base of stock

In Germany, within a town call'd Rhodes:
At riper years to Wirtemberg he went,
Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him up.
So much he profits in divinity,

That shortly he was graced with Doctor's name,
Excelling all, and sweetly can dispute
In the heavenly matters of theology:

Till swoln with cunning and a self-conceit,
His waxen wings did mount above his reach,
And melting, heavens conspired his overthrow:
For falling to a devilish exercise,

And glutted now with Learning's golden gifts,
He surfeits on the cursed necromancy.
Nothing so sweet as magic is to him,
Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss.

Faustus in his study runs through the circle of the sciences; and being satisfied with none of them, determines to addict himself to magic.

Faust. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin

To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess;
Having commenced, be a divine in show,
Yet level at the end of every art,

And live and die in Aristotle's works.
Sweet Analytics, 'tis thou hast ravish'd me.
Bene disserere est finis Logices.

Is, to dispute well, Logic's chiefest end?
Affords this art no greater miracle?

Then read no more; thou hast attain'd that end.
A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit.

Bid Economy farewell: and Galen come.
Be a physician, Faustus, heap up gold,
And be eternized for some wondrous cure.
Summum bonum medicinæ sanitas:
The end of physic is our bodies' health.
Why, Faustus; hast thou not attain'd that end?
Are not thy bills hung up as monuments,
Whereby whole cities have escaped the plague,
And divers desperate maladies been cured?
Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.
Couldst thou make men but live eternally,
Or being dead raise men to life again,
Then this profession were to be esteem'd.
Physic farewell. Where is Justinian ?
Si una eademque res legatur duobus,
Alter rem, alter valorem rei, &c.
A petty case of paltry legacies.

Exhereditari filium non potest pater, nisi, &c.
Such is the subject of the Institute,

And universal body of the Law.
This study fits a mercenary drudge,
Who aims at nothing but external trash,
Too servile and illiberal for me.
When all is done, Divinity is best.
Jerome's bible, Faustus: view it well.

Stipendium peccati mors est: ha! Stipendium, &c.
The reward of sin is death: that's hard.

Si

peccasse negamus, fallimur, et nulla est in nobis veritas. If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and there is no truth in us.

Why then belike we must sin, and so consequently die.
Ay, we must die an everlasting death.
What doctrine call you this? Che, sera, sera:
What will be shall be. Divinity adieu.
These Metaphysics of Magicians,

And necromantic books, are heavenly.
Lines, Circles, Letters, Characters:

Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires.
O what a world of profit and delight,
Of power, of honour, and omnipotence,
Is promised to the studious artisan!

All things that move between the quiet poles
Shall be at my command. Emperors and kings
Are but obeyed in their several provinces;
But his dominion that exceeds in this,
Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man:
A sound Magician is a Demigod.

Here tire my brains to gain a deity.

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 enterprises 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 wall all Germany with brass,