For 'twixt the hours of twelve and one, methought, At which same time the house seem'd all on fire Sec. Sch. Well, gentlemen, though Faustus' end be such Yet, for he was a scholar once admired For wondrous knowledge in our German schools, And all the scholars, cloth'd in mourning black, Shall wait upon his heavy funeral. Chorus. Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough That sometime grew within this learned man: Faustus is gone. Regard his hellish fall,1 Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits [Sc. xvia.1] 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 impunity, have not scrupled to handle and touch that familiarly, which would be death to others. Milton 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. [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 [PUBLISHED 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 daughter Maria has consented to a stolen match with Carracus.-Albert, arriving before his friend, is mistaken by Maria for Carracus, and takes advantage of the night to wrong his friend. Enter ALBERT, solus. Alb. This is the green, and this the chamber-window; And see, the appointed light stands in the casement, The ladder of ropes set orderly, Yet he that should ascend, slow in his haste, Is not as yet come hither. Were it any friend that lives but Carracus, I'd try the bliss which this fine time presents. And be so slack! 'sfoot, it doth move my patience. Not have watch'd night by night for such a prize? Thy faith to him whose only friendship's worth He is and was ever as thine own heart's blood. [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, It may be acted and ne'er call'd in question. 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 loval 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.1 [They go in. Enter CARRACU's, to his appointment. Car. How pleasing are the steps we lovers make, To make me happy whilst I live on earth; This is the green; how dark the night appears! She feared to set a light, and only heark'neth [Two lines omitted.] Until the coming of my dear friend Albert. Of this thou dost determine: thou art come That solely lengthens his now drooping years, Yet reason tells us, parents are o'erseen, Their child's affections, and controul that love But whilst I run contemplating on this, I'll go into the next field, where my friend ALBERT descending from MARIA. Mar. But do not stay. What if you find not Albert ? Mar. If you should now deceive me, having gain'd What you men seek for Alb. Sooner I'll deceive My soul-and so I fear I have. [Exit. [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. Alb. But you did lend a hand unto my entrance. [Maria goes in. [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 Wanders this cold night through the unshelt'ring field Seeking me treach'rous man, yet no man neither, Of wronged love and friendship rightly makes me. But like a wretch hides him to dig his grave; Yet, Albert, be not reasonless to indanger Who can detect The crime of thy licentious appetite? I hear one's pace; 'tis surely Carracus. Enter CARRACUS. Car. Not find my friend! sure some malignant planet Rules o'er this night, and envying the content Which I in thought possess, debars me thus From what is more than happy, the lov'd presence Alb. 'Tis wronged Carracus by Albert's baseness : I have no power now to reveal myself. Car. The horses stand at the appointed place, And night's dark coverture makes firm our safety. On some bank hereabouts; I will call him. Friend, Albert, Albert. Alb. Whate'er you are that call, you know my name. [Maria appears above. Mar. My Carracus, are you so soon return'd? I see, you'll keep your promise. Car. Who would not do so, having pass'd it thee, Cannot be fram'd of aught but treachery. Fairest, descend, that by our hence departing |