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Mascarille. Je le crois bien. Voudriez-vous, faquins, que j'exposasse l'embonpoint de mes plumes aux inclémences de la saison pluvieuse, et que j'allasse imprimer mes souliers en boue?-Les Precieuses Ridicules, sc. 7. [Mascarille (to the sedan chairmen). Stop, stop! What the devil is all this? Am I to be beaten to pieces against the walls and pavement?
Chairman. Why you see the passage is narrow. You told us to bring you right in.
Mascarille. Unquestionably. Would you have me expose the embonpoint of my feathers to the inclemency of the rainy season, and leave the impression of my pumps in the mud?]
Our gallery shall close with a piece of
Eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound
The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade
39" The gentle warbling wind,” &c. This exquisite stanza is a specimen of perfect modulation, upon the principles noticed in the description of Archimago's Hermitage. The reader may, perhaps, try it upon them. "Compare it," says Upton, "with Tasso's Gierusalemme Liberata, canto 16, st. 12." Readers who understand Italian will gladly compare it, and see how far their countryman has surpassed the sweet poet of the south.
BORN, ACCORDING TO MALONE, ABOUT 1565,-DIED, 1593.
If ever there was a born poet, Marlowe was one. things in their spiritual as well as material relations, and impressed them with a corresponding felicity. Rather, he struck them as with something sweet and glowing that rushes by ;perfumes from a censer,-glances of love and beauty. And he could accumulate images into as deliberate and lofty a grandeur. Chapman said of him, that he stood
Up to the chin in the Pierian flood.
Drayton describes him as if inspired by the recollection :—
Next Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs,
Which rightly should possess a poet's brain.
But this happy genius appears to have had as unhappy a will, which obscured his judgment. It made him condescend to write fustian for the town, in order to rule over it; subjected him to the charge of impiety, probably for nothing but too scornfully treating irreverent notions of the Deity; and brought him, in the prime of his life, to a violent end in a tavern. His plays abound in wilful and self-worshipping speeches, and every one of them turns upon some kind of ascendency at the expense of other people. He was the head of a set of young men from the university, the Peeles, Greens, and others, all more or less possessed of a true poetical vein, who, bringing scholarship to the
theatre, were intoxicated with the new graces they threw on the old bombast, carried to their height the vices as well as wit of the town, and were destined to see, with indignation and astonishment, their work taken out of their hands, and lone better, by the uneducated interloper from Stratford-upon-Avon.
Marlowe enjoys the singular and (so far) unaccountable honor of being the only English writer to whom Shakspeare seems to have alluded with approbation. In As You Like It, Phoebe says,
Dead Shepherd! now I know thy saw of might,—
The " saw is in Marlowe's Hero and Leander, a poem not comparable with his plays.
The ranting part of Marlowe's reputation has been chiefly owing to the tragedy of Tamburlaine, a passage in which is laughed at in Henry the Fourth, and has become famous. Tamburlaine cries out to the captive monarchs whom he has yoked to his car,
Hollo, ye pampered jades of Asia,
What! can ye draw but twenty miles a-day,
And such a coachman as great Tamburlaine?
Then follows a picture drawn with real poetry:
The horse that guide the golden eye of heaven,
And blow the morning from their nostrils (read nosterils),
Are not so honor'd in their governor,
As you, ye slaves, in mighty Tamburlaine.
It has atterly been thought, that a genius like Marlowe could have had no hand in a play so bombastic as this huffing tragedy. But besides the weighty and dignified, though monotonous tone of his versification in many places (what Ben Jonson, very exactly as well as finely, calls "Marlowe's mighty line,") there are passages in it of force and feeling, of which I doubt whether any of his contemporaries were capable in so sustained a degree, though Green and Peele had felicitous single lines, and occa
zonally a refined sweetness. Take, for instance, the noble erses to be found in the description of Tamburlaine himself, hich probably suggested to Milton his "Atlantean shoulders' "fit to bear mightiest monarchies "—and to Beaumont a fine nage, which the reader will see in his Melancholy :
of stature tall and straightly fashioned
Such breadth of shoulders as might mainly bear
Pale of complexion, wrought in him with passion, &c.
By "passion we are to understand, not anger, but deep emotions. Peele or Green might possibly have written the beautiful verse that closes these four lines:
Kings of Argier, Moroccus, and of Fesse,
You that have marched with happy Tamburlaine
but the following is surely Marlowe's own :
As princely lions when they rouse themselves,
Stretching their paws and threatening herds of beasts,
And in the following is not only a hint of the scornful part of his style, such as commences the extract from the Jew of Malta, but the germ of those lofty and harmonious nomenclatures, which have been thought peculiar to Milton.
So from the east unto the farthest west
Have fetch'd about the Indian continent,
And thence unto the Straits of Jubaltàr.
Milton never surpassed the elevation of that close. Who also but Marlowe is likely to have written the fine passage extracted into this volume, under the title of "Beauty beyond Expression," in which the thought argues as much expression, as the style a confident dignity? Tamburlaine was most likely a joint-stock piece, got up from the manager's chest by Marlowe, Nash, and perhaps half-a-dozen others; for there are two consecutive plays on the subject, and the theatres of our own time are not unacquainted with this species of manufacture.
But I am forgetting the plan of my book. Marlowe, like Spenser, is to be looked upon as a poet who had no native precursors. As Spenser is to be criticised with an eye to his poetic ancestors, who had nothing like the Faerie Queene, so is Marlowe with reference to the authors of Gorboduc. He got nothing from them; he prepared the way for the versification, the dignity, and the pathos of his successors, who have nothing finer of the kind to show than the death of Edward the Second -not Shakspeare himself:-and his imagination, like Spenser's, haunted those purely poetic regions of ancient fabling and modern rapture, of beautiful forms and passionate expressions, which they were the first to render the common property of inspiration, and whence their language drew "empyreal air.” Marlowe and Spenser are the first of our poets who perceived the beauty of words; not as apart from their significance, nor upon occasion only, as Chaucer did (more marvellous in that than themselves, or than the originals from whom he drew), but as a habit of the poetic mood, and as receiving and reflecting beauty through the feeling of the ideas.
So that of thus much that return was made,