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For 'twixt the hours of twelve and one, methought,
Sec. Sch. Well, gentlemen, though Faustus' end be such
Christian heart laments to think on;
Chorus. Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,
[Sc. xvia.'] The growing horrors of Faustus are awfully marked by the hours and half-hours as they expire and bring him nearer and nearer to the exactment of his dire compact. It is indeed an agony and bloody sweat.
Marlowe is said to have been tainted with atheistical positions, to have denied God and the Trinity. To such a genius the History of Faustus must have been delectable food: to wander in fields where curiosity is forbidden to go, to approach the dark gulf near enough to look in, to be busied in speculations which are the rottenest part of the core of the fruit that fell from the Tree of Knowledge. Barabas the Jew, and Faustus the Conjurer, are offsprings of a mind which at least delighted to dally with interdicted subjects. They both talk a language which a believer would have been tender of putting into the mouth of a character though but in fiction. But the holiest minds have sometimes not thought it blameable to counterfeit impiety in the person of another, to bring Vice in upon the stage speaking her own dialect, and, themselves being armed with an Unction of self-confident im. punity, have not scrupled to handle and touch that familiarly, which would be death to others. Milion in the person of Satan has started speculations hardier than any which the feeble armoury of the atheist ever furnished; and the precise strait-laced Richardson has strengthened Vice, from the mouth of Lovelace, with entangling sophistries and abstruse pleas against her adversary Virtue which Sedley, Villiers, and Rochester, wanted depth of libertinism sufficient to have invented.
1[This Scene is given by Bullen in his Appendix to "Faustus," see Marlowe's Works, vol. i., p. 324.]
THE HOG HATH LOST HIS PEARL; A COMEDY [PUB
LISHED 1614], BY ROBERT TAILOR (FLOURISHED
1614] Carracus appoints his friend Albert to meet him before the
break of day at the house of the old Lord Wealthy, whose
Enter ALBERT, solus.
He is such a one,
[Maria beckons him from the window. 'Sfoot, see, she beckons me for Carracus. Shall my base purity cause me neglect This present happiness? I will obtain it, Spite of my timorous conscience. I am in person, Habit and all, so like to Carracus, It may be acted and ne'er call'd in question.
Mar. (calls) Hist! Carracus, ascend : All is as clear as in our hearts we wish'd. Mar. O love, why do you so ?
(Albert ascends, and being on the top
of the ladder, puts out the candle. Alb. I heard the steps of some coming this way. Did you not hear Albert pass by as yet?
Mar. Not any creature pass this way this hour.
Alb. Then he intends just at the break of day To lend his trusty help to our departure.
Mar. Come then, dear Carracus, thou now shalt rest Upon that bed where fancy oft hath thought thee; Which kindness until now I ne'er did grant thee, Nor would I now but that thy loyal faith I have so often tried ; even now, Seeing thee come to that most honour'd end, Through all the dangers which black night presents, For to convey me hence and marry me. [They go in.
Enter CARRACUS, to his appointment. Car. How pleasing are the steps we lovers make, When in the paths of our content we pace, To meet our longings ! what happiness it is For man to love! but, oh, what greater bliss To love and be belov'd! O what one virtue E'er reign'd in me, that I should be enrich'd With all earth's good at once? I have a friend, Selected by the heavens as a gift To make me happy whilst I live on earth ; A man so rare of goodness, firm of faith, That earth's content must vanish in his death. Then for my love and mistress of my soul, A maid of rich endowments, beautified With all the virtues nature could bestow Upon mortality, who this happy night Will make me gainer of her heavenly self. And see, how suddenly I have attain'd To the abode of my desired wishes ! This is the green ; how dark the night appears ! I cannot hear the tread of my true friend. Albert! hist, Albert !-he's not come as yet, Nor is the appointed light set in the window. What if I call Maria ? it may be She feared to set a light, and only heark’neth To hear my steps ; and yet I dare not call, Lest I betray myself, and that my voice, Thinking to enter in the ears of her, Be of some other heard : no, I will stay
"[Two lines omitted.)
Until the coming of my dear friend Albert.
Mar. If you should now deceive me, having gain'd What
you men seek forAlb. Sooner l’ll deceive My soul-and so I fear I have.
(Aside. Mar. At your first call I will descend.
Alb. Till when, this touch of lips be the true pledge Of Carracus' constant true devoted love.
Mar. Be sure you stay not long ; farewell. I cannot lend an ear to hear you part.
[Maria goes in. Alb. But you did lend a hand unto my entrance.
[He descends. Alb. (solus) How I have wrong’d my friend, my faithful friend ! Robb’d him of what's more precious than his blood, His earthly heaven, the unspotted honour Of his soul-joying mistress ! the fruition of whose bed I yet am warm of; whilst dear Carracus Wanders this cold night through the unshelt'ring field
Seeking me treach’rous man, yet no man neither,
Alb. 'Tis wronged Carracus by Albert's baseness :
Car. The horses stand at the appointed place,
Alb. Whate'er you are that call, you know
Mar. My Carracus, are you so soon return'd?
Car. Who would not do so, having pass'd it thee,
Mar. Is your friend Albert with you ?
[Dodsley, 1874: "hies".]