of the Revels, was at last disappointed.* This princess took no small delight in keeping her poets in a sort of fools' paradise. The wit of Lyly, in parts of this romantic drama, seems to have grown spirited and classical with his subject. He puts this fine hyperbolical irony in praise of Dipsas (a most unamiable personage, as it will appear) into the mouth of Sir Tophas : "O what a fine thin hair hath Dipsas! What a pretty low forehead! What a tall and stately nose! What little hollow eyes! What great and goodly lips! How harmless she is, being toothless! Her fingers fat and short, adorned with long nails like a bittern! What a low stature she is, and yet what a great foot she carrieth! How thrifty must she be, in whom there is no waist! ‡ How virtuous she is like to be, over whom no man can be jealous!"'§ It is singular that the style of this author, which is extremely sweet and flowing, should have been the butt of ridicule to his contemporaries, particularly Drayton, who compliments Sidney as the author that "Did first reduce Our tongue from Lyly's writing, then in use; As the English apes and very zanies be Of every thing that they do hear and see": which must apply to the prose style of his work, called Euphues and his England, and is much more like Sir * This is, in all probability, an inexact statement. Lyly ad dressed two petitions to Queen Elizabeth on this subject-both, perhaps, in the course of 1577-8. See memoir of the poet, prefixed to ed. 1858, pp. xvii. xx.-ED. † Low foreheads were considered a great deformity in Elizabeth's time. Constant allusions to this feeling occur in the dramas and other popular productions of that age. A jeu de mots, of which the old dramatists were rather fond.-ED. § Act iii. sc. 3; Works, i. 36-7. First published in 1579-80. The first part, entitled Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit, appeared in 1579; and the sequel, Euphues and his England, followed in 1580.-ED. * Philip Sidney's own manner than the dramatic style of our poet. Besides the passages above quoted, I might refer to the opening speeches of Midas, and again to the admirable contention between Pan and Apollo for the palm of music. His Alexander and Campaspe is another sufficient answer to the charge. This play is a very pleasing transcript of old manners and sentiment. It is full of sweetness and point, of Attic salt and the honey of Hymettus. The following song given to Apelles would not disgrace the mouth of the prince of painters: 66 Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses, Cupid paid; He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows; Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how), The conclusion of this drama is as follows. Alexander addressing himself to Apelles, says: "Well, enjoy one another: I give her thee frankly, Apelles. Thou shalt see that Alexander maketh but a toy of love, and leadeth affection in fetters: using fancy as a fool to make him sport, or a minstrel to make him merry. It is not the amorous glance of an eye can settle an idle thought in the heart: no, no, it is children's game, a life for sempsters and scholars; the one, pricking in clouts, have nothing else to think on; the other, picking fancies out of books, have little else to marvel a Go, Apelles, * First published in 1584.-ED. † Campaspe, iii. 5; Works, 1858, i. 128-9. take with you your Campaspe; Alexander is cloyed with looking on that which thou wonderest at. Apelles. Thanks to your Majesty on bended knee; you have honoured Apelles. Campaspe. Thanks with bowed heart; you have blessed Cam[Exeunt. paspe. Alexander. Pagė, go warn Clytus and Parmenio, and the other lords, to be in a readiness; let the trumpet sound, strike up the drum, and I will presently into Persia. How now, Hephestion, is Alexander able to resist love as he list? Hephestion. The conquering of Thebes was not so honourable as the subduing of these thoughts. Alexander. It were a shame Alexander should desire to command the world, if he could not command himself. But come, let us go. And, good Hephestion, when all the world is won, and every country is thine and mine, either find me out another to subdue, or on my word I will fall in love."* Marlowe is a name that stands high, and almost first in this list of dramatic worthies. He was a little before Shakspeare's time,† and has a marked character both from him and the rest. There is a lust of power in his writings, a hunger and thirst after unrighteousness, a glow of the imagination, unhallowed by any thing but its own energies. His thoughts burn within him. like a furnace with bickering flames; or throwing out black smoke and mists that hide the dawn of genius, or, like a poisonous mineral, corrode the heart. His Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, though an imperfect and unequal performance, is his greatest work. Faustus himself is a rude sketch, but it is a gigantic one. This character may be considered as a personification of the pride of will and eagerness of curiosity, sublimed beyond the reach of fear and remorse. He is hurried away, and, as it were, devoured by a tormenting desire to enlarge his knowledge to the utmost bounds of nature and art, *Campaspe, i. 148-9. He died about 1594. He was killed in a brawl at Deptford, June 1, 1593, having been stabbed by one Henry Archer. See Dyce's edition of Marlowe, 1850, i. 33. and to extend his power with his knowledge. He would realise all the fictions of a lawless imagination, would solve the most subtle speculations of abstract reason; and for this purpose, sets at defiance all mortal consequences, and leagues himself with demoniacal power, with "fate and metaphysical aid." The idea of witchcraft and necromancy, once the dread of the vulgar and the darling of the visionary recluse, seems to have had its origin in the restless tendency of the human mind to conceive of and aspire to more than it can achieve by natural means, and in the obscure apprehension that the gratification of this extravagant and unauthorised desire can only be attained by the sacrifice of all our ordinary hopes and better prospects to the infernal agents that lend themselves to its accomplishment. Such is the foundation of the present story. Faustus, in his impatience to fulfil at once and for a moment, for a few short years, all the desires and conceptions of his soul, is willing to give in exchange his soul and body to the great enemy of mankind. Whatever he fancies becomes by this means present to his sense; whatever he commands is done. He calls back time past, and anticipates the future: the visions of antiquity pass before him, Babylon in all its glory, Paris and Enone; all the projects of philosophers or creations of the poet pay tribute at his feet; all the delights of fortune, of ambition, of pleasure, and of learning, are centered in his person; and from a short-lived dream of supreme felicity and drunken power, he sinks into an abyss of darkness and perdition. This is the alternative to which he submits; the bond which he signs with his blood! As the outline of the character is grand and daring, the execution is abrupt and fearful. The thoughts are vast and irregular; and the style halts and staggers under them, "with uneasy steps;"- -"such footing found the sole of unblest feet." There is a little fustian and incongruity of metaphor now and then, which is not very injurious to the subject. It is time to give a few passages in He thus opens his mind at illustration of this account. the beginning: "How am I glutted with conceit of this? Perform what desperate enterprise I will? And search all corners of the new-found world, Enter Valdes and Cornelius. Come, German Valdes, and Cornelius, And make me blest with your sage conference. Know that your words have won me at the last, Philosophy is odious and obscure; Both law and physic are for petty wits; |