Bring home my dear lord ere his king awake,
Else of his unstain'd bed he'll shipwreck make.

Enter the Queen, Alvero, and Roderigo.

[Offers to go.

Queen. I murder but the murd'ress of my son.
All. We murder the murd❜ress of our king.

Alv. Ah, me! my child! oh! oh, cease your torturing! Maria. Heaven, ope your windows, that my spotless soul, Riding upon the wings of innocence,

May enter Paradise.

[She dies. King wakes. King. Who calls Fernando? Love, Maria, speak; Oh! whither art thou fled? Whence flow these waters, That fall like winter storms from the drown'd eyes? Alv. From my Maria's death.

King. My Maria dead!

Damn'd be the soul to hell that stopp'd her breath.

Maria! oh, me! who durst murder her?

Qu. Mo. I thought my dear Fernando had been dead, And in my indignation murder'd her.

King. I was not dead until you murder'd me,

By killing fair Maria.

Qu. Mo. Gentle son

King. Ungentle mother, you a deed have done
Of so much ruth, that no succeeding age

Can ever clear you off. Oh! my dear love!
Yet heavens can witness thou wert never mine.

Spain's wonder was Maria.

Qu. Mo. Sweet, have done.

King. Have done! for what? For shedding zealous tears Over the tomb of virtuous chastity?

You cry, have done, now I am doing good;

But cry'd, do on, when you were shedding blood.

Have you done, mother? Yes, yes, you have done
That which will undo your unhappy son.

Rod. These words become you not, my gracious lord.
King. These words become not me! no more it did
Become you lords to be mute standers by,
When lustful fury ravish'd chastity;

It ill becomes me to lament her death:
But it became you well to stop her breath.

Had she been fair, and not so virtuous,
This deed had not been half so impious.

Alv. But she was fair in virtue, virtuous fair. Oh, me!
King. Oh, me! she was true honour's heir.

Hence, beldams, from my presence! all fly hence;
You are all murderers. Come, poor innocent,
Clasp thy cold hand in mine; for here I'll lie,

And since I liv'd for her, for her I'll die."

Eleazar describes the manner in which he quelled an insurrection of the people.

"I rush'd amongst the thickest of their crowds,
And with a countenance majestical,

Like the imperious sun, dispers'd their clouds;
I have perfum'd the rankness of their breath,
And by the magic of true eloquence
Transform'd this many-headed Cerberus,
This py'd Camelion, this beast multitude,

Whose power consists in number, pride in threats,
Yet melts like snow when majesty shines forth,
This heap of fools, who, crowding in huge swarms,
Stood at our court gates like a heap of dung,
Reeking and shouting out contagious breath,
Of power to poison all the elements;

This wolf I held by th' ears, and made him tame,
And made him tremble at the Moor's great name:"

and, having persuaded the Cardinal Mendoza to desert from Prince Philip, by offering to resign the crown in his favour, that he may marry the Queen, for whom he has a passion, he is revolving in his mind how to turn this scheme to the best advantage, when the Queen interrupts him.

"Eleaz. Well, so; you turn my brains; you mar the face Of my attempts i' the making; for this chaos,

This lump of projects, ere it be lick'd over,
'Tis like a bear's conception; stratagems

Being but begot, and not got out, are like
Charg'd cannons not discharg'd, they do no harm,
Nor good; true policy breeding in the brain,
Is like a bar of iron, whose ribs being broken
And soften'd in the fire, you then may forge it
Into a sword to kill, or to a helmet to defend life:

2

"Tis therefore wit to try all fashions,
Ere you apparel villany."

The Moor now offers to resign the crown.

"Eleaz. Princes of Spain, if in this royal court
There sit a man, that having laid his hold
So fast on such a jewel, and dare wear it
In the contempt of envy, as I dare,

Yet uncompell'd (as freely as poor pilgrims
Bestow their prayers) would give such wealth away;
Let such a man step forth;-what, do none rise?
No, no, for kings indeed are deities;

And who'd not (as the sun) in brightness shine?
To be the greatest is to be divine.

Who, among millions, would not be the mightiest?
To sit in godlike state; to have all eyes
Dazzled with admiration, and all tongues
Shouting loud prayers; to rob every heart
Of love; to have the strength of every arm:
A sovereign's name, why 'tis a sovereign charm.
This glory round about me hath thrown beams:
I have stood upon the top of fortune's wheel,
And backward turn'd the iron screw of fate;
The destinies have spun a silken thread
About my life; yet, noble Spaniards, see
Hoc tantum tanti, thus I cast aside
The shape of majesty, and on my knee,
To this imperial state lowly resign
This usurpation; wiping off your fears
Which stuck so hard upon me; let a hand,
A right and royal hand, take up this wreath
And guard it right is of itself most strong;
No kingdom got by cunning can stand long.”

It is said, of the Princess Isabella, who grieves for the imprisonment of her brother Philip,

"In the sandy heap

That wait upon an hour, there are not found
So many little bodies, as those sighs
And tears which she hath every minute spent,
Since her lov'd brother felt imprisonment."

To the genius of Marlowe, the English Drama is considerably indebted. Even amidst the outrageous extravagance of his earliest productions there is an exuberance and fervour_of imagination which gives an earnest of better things. But considered as wholes, his plays are very simple and inartificial in their construction-their excellence consists rather in detached scenes than in general effect. There is a want of coherence in them-they are rather a collection of separate parts which have little dependancy upon each other, than a series of actions which bear a near relation to and assist in the developement of the main event. We do not observe in them that skilful intertexture of parts and that integrity of purpose which is necessary to produce a powerful effect. The most dramatic of his plays, considered as a whole, notwithstanding its occasional extravagance, is Lust's Dominion. It possesses a greater variety of character, a more skilful subordination of parts-is more complete in its conduct, and more entire in its effect. It abounds with poetical images, and is written with "a sweet and curious harmony" of versification which is perfectly delicious. It has not, however, any single scene at all equal in grandeur to the concluding one in Doctor Faustus, or in pathetic effect to that in Edward the Second. Our extracts have swelled this article to such an unexpected length, that we must forbear enlarging further upon the merits of Marlowe, at least for the present. Before we conclude, however, it will be proper to mention, that besides the plays we have already noticed, he assisted Nash in the tragedy of Dido, Queen of Carthage, and Day in the comedy of The Maiden's Holiday, which was never printed. He was also the author of the first and second, and part of the third sestiads of the poem of Hero and Leander, written with great freedom, spirit, and poetry. Speaking of this poem, Ben Jonson said it was fitter for admiration than parallel. It was afterwards completed by Chapman. Marlowe also translated the first Lucan's Pharsalia into English blank verse, and the Elegies of Ovid, the licentiousness of which he rendered with such fidelity, that his book was condemned and burnt at Stationers' Hall in 1599, by order of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Maurice, Printer, Fenchurch Street.