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these old dramas as money in a modern sentimental comedy; and as this is given away till it reminds us that it is nothing but counters, so that is spilt till it affects us no more than its representative, the paint of the propertyman in the theatre.]

TAMBURLAINE THE GREAT; OR, THE SCYTHIAN SHEPHERD. IN TWO PARTS. BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.-PART FIRST.

Tamburlaine's person described.

OF stature tall, and straightly fashioned;
Like his desire, lift* upwards and divine.
So large of limbs, his joints so strongly knit,
Such breadth of shoulders, as might mainly bear
Old Atlas' burthen. "Twixt his manly pitch
A pearl more worth than all the world is placed :
Wherein by curious soverainty of art
Are fixed his piercing instruments of sight:
Whose fiery circles bear encompassed

A heaven of heavenly bodies in their spheres:
That guides his steps and actions to the throne
Where Honor sits invested royally.

Pale of complexion, wrought in him with passion
Thirsting with soverainty and love of arms.
His lofty brows in folds do figure death;
And in their smoothness amity and life.
About them hangs a knot of amber hair,
Wrapped in curls, as fierce Achilles' was;
On which the breath of heaven delights to play,
Making it dance with wanton majesty.
His arms and fingers long and sinewy,
Betokening valor and excess of strength;
In every part proportioned like the man
Should make the world subdue to Tamburlaine.

His custom in war.

The first day when he pitcheth down his tents,

PART I. 3

* Lifted.

White is their hue; and on his silver crest
A snowy feather spangled white he bears;
To signify the mildness of his mind,
That, satiate with spoil, refuseth blood:
But when Aurora mounts the second time,

As red as scarlet is his furniture;

Then must his kindled wrath be quenched with blood,
Not sparing any that can manage arms:

But if these threats move not submission,

Black are his colors, black pavilion,

His spear, his shield, his horse, his armor, plumes,
And jetty feathers, menace death and hell ;
Without respect of sex, degree or age,

He raseth all his foes with fire and sword.

[I had the same difficulty (or rather much more) in culling a few sane lines from this as from the preceding Play. The lunes of Tamburlaine are perfect "midsummer madness." Nebuchadnazar's are mere modest pretensions compared with the thundering vaunts of this Scythian Shepherd. He comes in (in the Second Part) drawn by conquered kings, and reproaches these pampered jades of Asia that they can draw but twenty miles a day. Till I saw this passage with my own eyes, I never believed that it was any thing more than a pleasant burlesque of Mine Ancient's. But I assure my readers that it is soberly set down in a Play which their Ancestors took to be serious. I have subjoined the genuine speech for their amusement. Enter Tamburlaine, drawn in his chariot by Trebizon and Soria, with bits in their mouths, reins in his left hand, in his right hand a whip, with which he scourgeth them.

Tamb. Holla, ye pamper'd jades of Asia:
What can ye draw but twenty miles a day,
And have so proud a chariot at your heels,
And such a coachman as great Tamburlaine ?
But from Asphaltis, where I conquered you,
To Byron here, where thus I honor you?
The horse that guide the golden eye of heaven,
And blow the morning from their nostrils,
Making their fiery gate above the glades,
Are not so honor'd in their governor

As you ye slaves in mighty Tamburlaine.

The headstrong jades of Thrace Alcides tamed,
That King Egeus fed with human flesh,

And made so wanton that they knew their strengths,

Were not subdued with valor more divine,

Than you by this unconquer'd arm of mine.
To make you fierce and fit my appetite,
You shall be fed with flesh as raw as blood,
And drink in pails the strongest muscadel:
If you can live with it, then live and draw
My chariot swifter than the racking clouds:
If not, then die like beasts, and fit for nought
But perches for the black and fatal ravens.

Thus am I right the scourge of highest Jove, &c.]

EDWARD THE SECOND. A TRAGEDY, BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

Gaveston shows what pleasures those are which the King chiefly aelights in.

Gav. I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,

Musicians, that with touching of a string

May draw the pliant King which way I please.
Music and poetry are his delight;
Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night,
Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows;
And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,
Like Sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad;
My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
Shall with their goat-feet dance the antick hay.
Sometimes a lovely boy in Dian's shape,
With hair that gilds the water as it glides,
Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,
And in his sportful hands an olive tree

To hide those parts which men delight to see,
Shall bathe him in a spring, and there hard by,
One like Acteon, peeping thro' the grove,
Shall by the angry goddess be transform'd,
And running in the likeness of an hart,

By yelping hounds pull'd down, shall seem to die;
Such things as these best please his majesty.

The younger Mortimer repines at the insolence of Gaveston.
Mort. sen. Nephew, I must to Scotland, thou stay'st here.

Leave now to oppose thyself against the King.
Thou seest by nature he is mild and calm,
And seeing his mind so doats on Gaveston,
Let him without controlment have his will.
The mightiest kings have had their minions :
Great Alexander lov'd Hephestion;
The conquering Hercules for his Hilas wept,
And for Patroclus stern Achilles droop'd.
And not kings only, but the wisest men ;
The Roman Tully lov'd Octavius;
Grave Socrates wild Alcibiades.

Then let his grace, whose youth is flexible,
And promiseth as much as we can wish,
Freely enjoy that vain light-headed earl,

For riper years will wean him from such toys.

Mort. jun. Uncle, his wanton humor grieves not me;

But this I scorn, that one so basely born,

Should by his sovereign's favor grow so pert,

And riot with the treasure of the realm.
While soldiers mutiny for want of pay,
He wears a lord's revenue on his back,
And Midas-like, he jets it in the court,
With base outlandish cullions at his heels,
Whose proud fantastic liveries make such show,
As if that Proteus, god of shapes, appear'd.
I have not seen a dapper jack so brisk;
He wears a short Italian hooded cloak,
Larded with pearl, and in his Tuscan cap
A jewel of more value than the crown.
While others walk below, the king and he,
From out a window, laugh at such as we
And flout our train, and jest at our attire.
Uncle, 'tis this that makes me impatient.

The Barons reproach the King with the calamities which the realm endures from the ascendency of his wicked favorite Gaveston.

KING EDWARD, LANCASTER, WARWICK. The MORTIMERS and other LORDS.

Mort. jun. Nay, stay, my lord, I come to bring you news. Mine uncle is taken prisoner by the Scots.

Edw. Then ransom him.

Lan. 'Twas in your wars, you should ransom him.
Mort. jun. And you shall ransom him, or else—
Kent. What, Mortimer, you will not threaten him?
Edw. Quiet yourself, you shall have the broad seal,
To gather for him throughout the realm.

Lan. Your minion Gaveston hath taught you this.
Mort. jun. My Lord, the family of the Mortimers
Are not so poor, but would they sell their land,
Could levy men enough to anger you.

We never beg, but use such prayers as these.
Edw. Shall I still be haunted thus ?

Mort. jun. Nay, now you are here alone, I'll speak my mind.
Lan. And so will I, and then, my lord, farewell.

Mort. The idle triumphs, masks, lascivious shows,

And prodigal gifts bestow'd on Gaveston,

Have drawn thy treasure dry, and made thee weak;
The murmuring commons, overstretched, break.
Lan. Look for rebellion, look to be depos'd;

Thy garrisons are beaten out of France,
And lame and poor lie groaning at the gates.
The wild Oneyle, with swarms of Irish kerns,
Live uncontrol'd within the English pale.
Unto the walls of York the Scots make road,
And unresisted draw away rich spoils.

Mort. jun. The haughty Dane commands the narrow seas,
While in the harbor ride thy ships unrigg'd.

Lan. What foreign prince sends thee embassadors ?

Mort. Who loves thee, but a sort of flatterers? Lan. Thy gentle queen, sole sister to Valoys, Complains that thou hast left her all forlorn.

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