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But golden laws, like these

Which Nature wrote-THAT'S LAWFUL WHICH

DOTH PLEASE.

Then amongst flowers and springs,

Making delightful sport,

Sat lovers, without conflict, without flame,

And nymphs and shepherds sings,

Mixing, in wanton sort,

Whisperings with songs, then kisses with the same

Which from affection came.

The naked virgin then

Her roses fresh reveals,

Which now her veil conceals,

The tender apples in her bosom seen :

And oft in rivers clear

The lovers with their loves consorting were.

HONOUR! thou first didst close

The spring of all delight,

Denying water to the amorous thirst:

Thou taught'st fair eyes to lose

The glory of their light,

Restrain❜d from men, and on themselves revers'd:

Thou in a lawn didst first

Those golden hairs incase,

Late spread unto the wind:

Thou mad'st loose grace unkind,

Gav'st bridle to their words, art to their pace:

Oh, HONOUR, it is thou

That mak'st that stealth which Love doth free allow:

It is thy work that brings

Our griefs and torments thus.

But, thou fierce lord of Nature and of Love,

The qualifier of kings,

What dost thou hear with us

That are below thy power, shut from above?

Go; and from us remove!

Trouble the mighty's sleep,

Let us, neglected, base,

Live still without thy grace,

And th' use of th' ancient happy ages keep!
Let's love! this life of ours

Can make no truce with time, that all devours.
Let's love! the sun doth set and rise again,
But when as our short light

Comes once to set, it makes eternal night.

SONG.

[In "Hymen's Triumph."]

LOVE is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing;

A plant that with most cutting grows ;
Most barren with best using:

Why so?

More we enjoy it, more it dies;

If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries,
Hey, ho!

Love is a torment of the mind,
A tempest everlasting;

And Jove hath made it of a kind
Not well, nor full, nor fasting:
Why so?

More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries, Hey, ho!

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE,

Contemporary with Shakspeare, and one of the most distinguished tragic poets of his age. He translated, in 1587, Coluthus's Rape of Helen into English rhyme. He also translated several of the Elegies of Ovid. This book was printed at Middleburgh, without date, and was ordered to be burnt at Stationers' Hall, in 1599, by command of the archbishop of Canterbury and bishop of London. He began a translation of the Loves of Hero and Leander, vulgarly attributed to Musæus, but the work was interrupted by his death. Marlowe finished only the first and second Sestiads; Chapman did the remainder. His plays were, 1. "Tamerlane, the great Scythian Emperor, two parts." 2." The rich Jew of Malta." 3." The tragical History of the Life and Death of Dr John Faustus." 4. "Lust's Dominion." 5. "The Tragedy of King Edward the Second." 6. "The Tragedy of Dido, Queen of Carthage." It is to be lamented that these plays have not been collected and published, because the writings of Shakspeare's distinguished contemporaries would prove the best comment on his works.

Marlowe was killed during an affray in a brothel, rather before 1593. His birth, therefore, may be placed, with some probability, about 1562; for it is unlikely that he could have acquired a great reputation as an author and actor much before the age of thirty; and it is to be hoped that he did not meet with such a death at a more advanced age. Of the two following specimens, the first exhi bits the most striking beauties, and the second the charac. teristic defects of his style.

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.

[From "England's Holicon."]

COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That vallies, groves, and hills and fields,
Woods or steepy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;

A

cap of flowers and a kirtle, Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle :

A

gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold:

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

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