Christopher Marlowe.

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My bonny Rowland for any gold : 33

If he can dance as well as Pierce,

He shall have my heart in hold.


Why, then, my hearts, let's to this gear ;

And by dancing I may won
My Nan, whose love I hold so dear

As any realm under the sun.


Then, gentles, ere I speed from hence

I will be so bold to dance
A turn or two without offence ;

For, as I was walking along by chance, 40

I was told you did agree.

1 MS. " W. Fre." — which Dyce supposed to be an abbreviation for
WencK's Friend.

2 MS. "Frend,"

298 Dialogue in Verse.


'Tis true, good sir ; and this is she

Hopes your worship comes not to crave her ;

For she hath lovers two or three,

And he that dances best must have her.


How say you, sweet, will you dance with me ?
And you [shall] have both land and [hill] ;
My love shall want nor gold nor fee.


I thank you, sir, for your good will ;
But one of these my love must be : 50

I'm but a homely country maid,
And far unfit for your degree ;

[To dance with you I am afraid.]


Take her, good sir, by the hand.

As she is fairest ; were she fairer,
By this dance, you shall understand,

He that can win her is like to wear her.


And saw you not [my] Nan to-day.
My mother's maid have you not seen ?

Dialogue in Verse. 299

My pretty Nan is gone away 60

To seek her love upon the green.
[I cannot see her 'mong so many :]
She shall have me, if she have any.


Welcome, sweet-heart, and welcome here.

Welcome, my [true] love, now to me.
This is my love [and my darling dear],

And that my husband [soon] must be.
And, boy, when thou com'st home thou'lt see
Thou art as welcome home as he.


Why, how now, sweet Nan ! I hope you jest. 70


No, by my troth, I love the fool the best :

And, if you be jealous, God give you good-night !

I fear you're a gelding, you caper so light.


I thought she had jested and meant but a fable.

But now do I see she hath play'[d] with his bable.'

I wish all my friends by me to take heed,

That a fool come not near you when you mean to speed.

1 MS. "Wen"(?>. Wench).

2 MS. "Wen."
» Bauble.



No. I.


All you that have got eares to heare,

Now listen unto mee ;
Whilst I do tell a tale of feare ;

A true one it shall bee :

A truer storie nere was told,

As some alive can showe ;
'Tis of a man in crime grown olde,

Though age he did not know.

This man did his owne God denie

And Christ his onelie son,
And did all punishment defie,

So he his course misht run.

1 In the Introduction I have expressed my opinion that this ballad is
a forgery.

;o4 Appendix.

Both day and night would he blaspheme,
And day and night would sweare,

As if his life was but a dreame,
Not ending in dispaire.

A poet was he of repute,

And wrote full many a playe,

Now strutting in a silken sute,
Then begging by the way.

He had alsoe a player beene

Upon the Curtaine-stage,
But brake his leg in one lewd scene,

When in his early age.

He was a fellow to all those
That did God's laws reject,

Consorting with the Christians' foes
And men of ill aspect.

Ruffians and cutpurses hee

Had ever at his backe,
And led a life most foule and free.

To his eternall wracke.

He now is gone to his account,

And gone before his time.
Did not his wicked deedes surmount

All precedent of crime.

Appendix. 305

But he no warning ever tooke

From others' wofull fate,
And never gave his life a looke

Untill it was to late.

He had a friend, once gay and greene,^
Who died not long before,

The wofuU'st wretch was ever seen.
The worst ere woman bore,

Unlesse this Wormall^ did exceede
Even him in wickednesse,

Who died in the extreemest neede
And terror's bitternesse.

Yet Wormall ever kept his course,
Since nought could him dismay ;

He knew not what thing was remorse
Unto his dying day.

Then had he no time to repent
The crimes he did commit,

And no man ever did lament
For him, to dye unfitt.

Ah, how is knowledge wasted quite
On such want wisedome true.

And that which should be guiding light
But leades to errors newe !

1 We are to suppose an allusion to Robert Greene.
* The anagram of Marlow.

3o6 Appe7idix.

Well might learnd Cambridge oft regret

He ever there was bred :
The tree she in his mind had set

Brought poison forth instead.

His lust was lawlesse as his life,
And brought about his death ;

For, in a deadlie mortall strife.
Striving to stop the breath

Of one who was his rivall foe,
With his owne dagger slaine,

He groand, and word spoke never moe,
Pierc'd through the eye and braine.

Thus did he come to suddaine ende

That was a foe to all,
And least unto himselfe a friend,

And raging passion's thrall.

Had he been brought up to the trade

His father followed still,
This exit he had never made,

Nor playde a part soe ill.

Take warning ye that playes doe make.
And ye that doe them act ;

Desist in time for Wormall's sake.
And thinke upon his fact.

Appendix. 307

Blaspheming Tambolin must die,

And Faustus meete his ende ;
Repent, repent, or presenthe

To hell ye must discend.

What is there, in this world, of worth,

That we should prize it soe ?
Life is but trouble from our birth.

The wise do say and know.

Our lives, then, let us mend with speed,

Or we shall suerly rue
The end of everie hainous deede,

In life that shall insue.

Finis, Ign.

No. II.

In a copy of Hero and Leander Collier found, together
with other questionable matter, the following MS. notes : —
"Feb. lo, 1640. Mr. [two words follow in cipher], that
Marloe was an atheist, and wrot a booke against [two
words in cipher,] how that it was all one man's making,
and would have printed it, but it would not be suffred to
be printed. Hee was a rare scholar, and made excellent
verses in Latine. He died aged about 30." — "Marloe
was an acquaintance of Mr. [a name follows in cipher]
of Douer, whom hee made become an atheist \ so that
he was faine to make a recantation vppon this text,
* The foole hath said in his heart there is no God.' " —
" This [the name in cipher] learned all Marloe by
heart." — " Marloe was stabd with a dagger and dyed

No. III.



From MS. Harl. 6853, fol. 320.

That the Indians and many Authors of Antiquitei have
assuredly written of aboue 16 thowsande yeers agone,
wher Adam is proved to have leyved within 6 thowsande

He affirmeth'^ That Moyses was but a Juggler, and
that one Heriots can do more then hee.

That Moyses made the Jewes to travell fortie yeers
in the wildemes (which iorny might have ben don in
lesse then one yeer) er they came to the promised lande,
to the intente that those whoe wer privei to most of his
subtileteis might perish, and so an everlastinge super-
sticion remayne in the hartes of the people.

1 This is the original title, which has been partly scored through to
make way for the following title : — A Note delivered on Whitson eve
last of the most horreble blasphemes utteryd by Christofer Marly who
•within Hi dayes after came to a soden and fearfull end of his life.

2 Words printed in italics are scored through in the MS.

312 Appendix.

That the firste beginnynge of Religion was only to
keep men in awe.

That it was an easye matter for Moyses, beinge brought
up in all the artes of the Egiptians, to abvse the Jewes,
being a rvde and grosse people.

■* * * 1

That he [Christ] was the sonne of a carpenter, and
that, yf the Jewes amonge whome he was born did
crvcifye him, thei best knew him and whence he came.

That Christ deserved better to dye than Barrabas, and
that the Jewes made a good choyce, though Barrabas were
both a theife and a murtherer.

That yf ther be any God or good Religion, then it is
in the Papistes, becavse the service of God is performed
w'ith more ceremonyes, as elevacion of the masse, organs,
singinge men, shaven crownes, &c. That all protestantes
ar hipocriticall Asses.

That, yf he wer put to write a new religion, he wolde
vndertake both a more excellent and more admirable
methode, and that all the new testament is filthely



* *

* *

1 Where lacuna occur the clauses are unfit for pubhcation.

Appendix. 3 1 3

That all the Appostels wer fishermen and base fellowes,
nether of witt nor worth, that Pawle only had witt, that
he was a timerous fellow in biddinge men to be subiect
to magistrates against his conscience.

That he had as good right to coyne as the Queen of
Englande, and that he was acquainted with one Poole, a
prisoner in fiewgate, whoe hath great skill in mixture of
mettalls, and havinge learned such t hinges of him, he ment,
thorough help of a cvnnynge stampe-viaker, to coyne french
crownes, pistolettes, and englishe shillinges.

That, yf Christ had instituted the Sacramentes with
more cerymonyall reverence, it would have ben had in
more admiracion, that it wolde have ben much better
beinge administred in a Tobacco pype.

That one Richard Cholmelei ^ hath confessed that
he was perswaded by Marloes reason to become an

Theis thinges, with many other, shall by good and honest
men be proved to be his opinions and cotnmon speeches, and
that this Marloe doth not only holde them himself, but almost
in every company he comfneth, perswadeth men to Athiesme,
willinge them tiot to be af rayed of bugbeares and hobgoblins,
and vtterly scornynge both God a?id his ministers, as I
Richard Borne [sic] will justify bothe by my othe and the
testimony of many honest men, and almost all men with
whome he hath conversed any tyme will testefy the same :

1 In the margin are the words " he is layd for," — i.e., steps are being
taken for his apprehension.

3 1 4 Appendix.

and, as I thincke, all men in christianitei ought to endevor
that the mouth of so dangerous a member may be stopped.

He sayeth moreover that he hath coated'^ a number of
contrarieties out of the scriptures, which he hath geeven to
some great men, who in convenient tyme shalbe named.
When theis thinges shalbe called in question, the witnesses
shalbe produced.

Rychard Bame.


Copye of Marloes blasphemyes
as sent to her H\ighness\

[Now-a-days inquiries as to the age of the earth are of interest
only to Geologists ; and all may criticise with impunity the career
of Moses — provided that they do not employ the shafts of ridicule
too freely. Marlowe's strictures on the New Testament — grossly
exaggerated by the creature who penned the charges — were made
from the literary point of view. We should blame nobody to-day
for saying that the language of Revelations is poor and thin when
compared with the language of Isaiah. Again, as to the statement
that Romanism alone is logical, and that Protestantism has no locus
standi, — has not the doctrine been proclaimed again and again in
our own day by writers whom we all respect ? The charge that
Marlowe had announced his intention of coining French crowns is
so utterly absurd as to throw discredit upon all the other statements.
It must be remembered that the testimony was not upon oath, and
that the deponent was a ruffian.]

1 Quoted.

No. IV.

An edition of Marlowe cannot be more fitly concluded
than by a reprint of Mr. R. H. Home's noble and
pathetic tragedy, The Death of Marlowe (originally pub-
lished in 1837), one of the few dramatic pieces of the
present century that will have any interest for posterity.
For permission to reprint this tragedy I am indebted to
Mr. Home's literary executor, Mr. H. Buxton Forman.


Christopher Marlowe,

™ ., , Dramatists and Act07-s.

Thomas Heywood, |

Thomas Miduleton, Dramatist.

^ \ RunaTuaj/ Wife of the drunkard,

'^^'^^^^^^ \ Baigoiigh.

T 7- T ' ^ i -^ Tavern Pander and Swash-

Jacconot, rt/iflj- Jack-o -night \ i^i^i^i^j.

Gentlemen, Officers, Servants, ^'c.


Public Gardens — Liberty of the Clink, SoutJnvark.
Enter Marlowe a7id Heywood.

Be sure of it.


I am ; but not by your light.


I speak it not in malice, nor in envy

Of your good fortune with so bright a beauty ;

But I have heard such thinsrs !

3i8 The Death of Marlowe.


Good Master Heywood,
I prithee plague me not with what thou'st heard ;
I've seen, and I do love her — and, for hearing,
The music of her voice is in my soul,
And holds a rapturous jubilee 'midst dreams
That melt the day and night into one bliss.

Beware the waking hour !


In lovely radiance,
Like all that's fabled of Olympus' queen.
She moves — as if the earth were undulant clouds,
And all its flowers her subject stars.




Smile not ; for 'tis most true : the very air
With her sweet presence is impregnate richly.
As in a mead, that's fresh with youngest green,
Some fragrant shrub, some secret herb, exhales
Ambrosial odours ; or in lonely bower,
Where one may find the musk plant, heliotrope,
Geranium, or grape hyacinth, confers
A ruling influence, charming present sense

The Death of Marlowe. 319

And sure of memory ; so, her person bears
A natural balm, obedient to the rays
Of heaven — or to her own, which glow within.
Distilling incense by their own sweet power.
The dew at sunrise on a ripened peach
Was never more delicious than her neck.
Such forms are Nature's favourites.


Come, come —
Pygmalion and Prometheus dwell within you !
You poetise her rarely, and exalt
With goddess-attributes, and chastity
Beyond most goddesses : be not thus serious !
If for a passing paramour thou'dst love her.
Why, so, so it may be well ; but never place
Thy full heart in her hand.


I have — I do —
And I will lay it bleeding at her feet.
Reason no more, for I do love this woman :
To me she's chaste, whatever thou hast heard.
Whatever I may know, hear, find, or fancy,
I must possess her constantly, or die.


Nay, if t be thus, I'll fret thine ear no more
With raven voice ; but aid thee all I can.

320 The Death of Marlowe,


Cecilia ! — Go, dear friend — good Master Heywood,
Leave me alone — I see her coming thither !


Bliss wait thy wooing ; peace of mind its end !

{aside) His knees shake, and his face and hands are wet.

As with a sudden fall of dew — God speed him !

This is a desperate fancy ! Exit.

Eftter Cecilia.


Thoughtful sir,
How fare you ? Thou'st been reading much of late,
By the moon's light, I fear me ?


Why so, lady ?

The reflex of the page is on thy face.


But in my heart the spirit of a shrine
Burns, with immortal radiation crown'd.


Nay, primrose gentleman, think'st me a saint?

The Death of Marlozve. 3 2 1


I feel thy power.


I exercise no arts —
Whence is my influence ?


From heaven, I think.
Madam, I love you — ere to-day you've seen it,
Although my lips ne'er breathed the word before ;
And seldom as we've met and briefly spoken,
There are such spiritual passings to and fro
'Twixt thee and me — though I alone may suffer —
As make me know this love blends with my life ;
Must branch with it, bud, blossom, put forth fruit,
Nor end e'en when its last husks strew the grave,
Whence we together shall ascend to bliss.

Continued from this world ?


Thy hand, both hands ;
I kiss them from my soul !


Nay, sir, you burn me —
Let loose my hands !

VOL. in. X

32 2 The Death of Marlowe,


I loose them — half my life has thus gone from me !-
That which is left can scarce contain my heart,
Now grown too full with the high tide of joy,
Whose ebb, retiring, fills the caves of sorrow,
Where Syrens sing beneath their dripping hair,
And raise the mirror'd fate.


Then, gaze not in it,
Lest thou should'st see thy passing funeral.
I would not — I might chance to see far worse.


Thou art too beautiful ever to die !

I look upon thee, and can ne'er believe it.


O, sir — but passion, circumstance, and fate,

Can do far worse than kill : they can dig graves.

And make the future owners dance above them,

Well knowing how 'twill end. Why look you sad ?

'Tis not your case \ you are a man in love —

At least, you say so — and should therefore feel

A constant sunshine, wheresoe'er you tread,

Nor think of what's beneath. But speak no more :

I see a volume gathering in your eye

Which you would fain have printed in my heart ;

But you were better cast it in the fire.

Enough you've said, and I enough have listened.

The Death of Marlowe, 323

I have said naught.


You have spoken very plain —
So, Master Marlowe, please you, break we off;
And, since your mind is now relieved — good day !

Leave me not thus ! — forgive me !


The expression of my love.


Tut ! that's a trifle.
Think'st thou I ne'er saw men in love before ?
Unto the summer of beauty they are common
As grasshoppers.

And to its winter, lady ?

There is no winter in my thoughts — adieu !

For what offence ?


324 The Death of Marlowe.


She's gone ! — How leafless is my life ! — My strength
Seems melted — my breast vacant — and in my brain
I hear the sound of a retiring sea.



Gravel Lane ; Bankside.
Enter Heywood and Middleton.


And yet it may end well, after his fit is over.

But he is earnest in it.


'Tis his habit ; a little thunder clears the atmosphere.
At present he is spell-bound, and smouldereth in a hot
cloud of passion ; but when he once makes his way, he
will soon disperse his free spirit abroad over the inspired


I fear me she will sow quick seed of feverish fancies
in his mind that may go near to drive him mad.

The Death of Marlowe. 325


How SO? He knoweth her for what she is, as well
as for what she was ; — the high-spirited and once virtuous
wife of the drunkard Bengough. You remember him ?


I have seen him i' the mire, 'Twas his accustomed
bed o' nights — and morning, too — many a time. He
preferred that to the angel he left at home. Some men
do. 'Tis a sorrow to think upon.


And one that tears cannot wash ! Master Marlowe
hath too deep a reading i' the books of nature to nail his
heart upon a gilded weathercock. He is only desperate
after the fashion of a pearl diver. When he hath enough
he will desist — breathe freely, polish the shells, and build


Nay, he persisteth in not knowing her for a courtesan
— talks of her purity in burning words, that seem to
glow and enhance his love from his convictions of her
virtue ; then suddenly falls into silent abstraction, looking
like a man whose eyes are filled with visions of Paradise.
No pains takes she to deceive him ; for he supersedes the
chance by deceiving himself beyond measure. He either
listens not at all to intimation, or insists the contrary.

326 The Death of Marlowe.


This is his passionate aggravation or self-will : he
must know it.


'Tis my belief; but her beauty blinds him with its
beams, and drives his exiled reason into darkness.


Here comes one that could enlighten his perception,


Who's he ? Jack-o'-night, the tavern pander and

Enter Jacconot.

Save ye, my masters ; lusty thoughts go with ye, and
a jovial full cup wait on your steps : so shall your blood
\ise, and honest women pledge ye in their dreams !


Your weighty-pursed knowledge of women, balanced
against your squinting knowledge of honesty, Master
Jack-o'-night, would come down to earth, methinks, as
r apid as a fall from a gallows-tree.

The Death of Marlowe. 327


Well said, !Master Middieton — a merry devil and a
long-lived one run monkey-wise up your back-bone !
May your days be as happy as they're sober, and your
nights full of applause ! ]\Iay no brawling mob pelt you,
or your friends, when throned, nor hoot down your plays
when your soul's pinned like a cockchafer on public
opinion ! May no learned or unlearned calf write against
your knowledge and wit, and no brother paper-stainer
pilfer your pages, and then call you a general thief ! Am
I the only rogue and vagabond in the world ?


I' faith, not : nay, an' thou wert, there would be no
lack of them i' the next generation. Thou might'st be
the father of the race, being now the bodily type of it.
The phases of thy villany are so numerous that, were
they embodied they would break down the fatal tree
which is thine inheritance, and cause a lack of cords for
the Thames shipping !

Don't choke me with compliments !

Heywood {to Middleton).

He seems right proud of this multiplied idea of his
latter end.

328 The Death of Marlowe.


Ay; hanging's of high antiquity, and, thereto, of
broad modern repute. The flag, the sign, the fruit, the
felon, and other high and mighty game, all hang; though
the sons of ink and sawdust try to stand apart, smelling
civet, as one should say, — faugh! Jewelled caps, ermined
cloaks, powdered wigs, church bells, bofia-roba bed-
gowns, gilded bridles, spurs, shields, swords, harness,
holy relics, and salted hogs, all hang in glory ! Pictures,
too, of rare value ! Also music's ministrants, — the lute,
the horn, the fiddle, the pipe, the gong, the viol, the
salt-box, the tambourine and the triangle, make a dead-
wall dream of festive harmonies !


Infernal discords, thou would'st say !

Jacconot {rapidly).

These are but few things among many ! for 'scutcheons,
scarecrows, proclamations, the bird in a cage, the target
for fools' wit, hie jacet tablets (that is, lying ones), the
King's Head and the Queen's Arms, ropes of onions,
dried herbs, smoked fish, holly boughs, hall lanthorns,
framed piety texts, and adored frights of family portraits,
all hang ! Likewise corkscrews, cat-skins, glittering
trophies, sausage links, shining icicles, the crucifix, and
the skeleton in chains. There, we all swing, my masters !
Tut ! hanging's a high Act of Parliament privilege ! — a
Star-Chamber Garter-right !

The Death of Marlowe. 329

MiDDLETON {to Heywood laughingly).

The devil's seed germinates with reptile rapidity, and
blossoms and fructifies in the vinous fallows of this
bully's brain !


I tell thee what {looking off) another time !

Exit Jacconot hastily.

I breathe fresh air !



Look ! — said I not so? See whom 'tis he meets j
And with a lounging, loose, familiar air,
Cocking his cap and setting his hand on's hip,
Salutes with such free language as his action
And attitude explain !


I grieve for Marlowe :
The more, since 'tis as certain he must have
Full course of passion, as that its object's full
Of most unworthy elements.


Indeed, of such a form, if all be base.

330 The Death of Marlowe.

But Nature, methinks, doth seldom so belie

The inward by the outward ; seldom frame

A cheat so finish'd to ensnare the senses,

And break our faith in all substantial truth. Exeunt

Enter Cecilia, folloived by Jacconot.


Well, well, Mistress St. Cecil ; the money is all well
enough — I object nothing to the money.

Then, go your ways.


My ways are your ways — a murrain on your beauties !
— has your brain shot forth skylarks as your eyes do
sparks ?

Go ! — here is my purse.


I'll no more oft ! — I have a mind to fling back what
thou'st already given me for my services.


Master Jacconot, I would have no further services
from thee. If thou art not yet satisfied, fetch the weight
and scales, and I will cast my gold into it, and my dross
besides — so shall I be doubly relieved.

The Death of Marlowe. 331


I say again — and the devil bear me fierce witness ! —
it is not gold I want, but rightful favour • not silver, but
sweet civility ; not dross, but the due respect to my non-
pareil value ! Bethink thee, Cecil — bethink thee of many
things ! Ay ! am not I the true gallant of my time ?

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