The Works of Christopher Marlowe Including His Translations

The mother and the nurse of each disease.
It is tobacco which doth cold expel,
And clears the obstructions of the arteries,
And surfeits threatening death digesteth
well,

Decocting all the stomach's crudities.

It is tobacco which hath power to clarify The cloudy mists before dim eyes appearing, It is tobacco which hath power to rarify The thick gross humour which doth stop the hearing,

The wasting hectic and the quartan fever, Which doth of physic make a mockery: The gout it cures, and helps ill breaths for ever,

Whether the cause in teeth or stomach

be:

And though ill breaths were by it but confounded

Yet that vile medicine it doth far excel, Which by Sir Thomas More hath been propounded,

For this is thought a gentlemanlike smell.
O that I were one of these mountebanks,
Which praise their oils and powders which
they sell,

My customers would give me coin with thanks!

I for this ware, forsooth a tale would tell;

There stands the constable, there stands the We call him Fame, for that the wide-mouth whore,

But falls into a whore-house by the way.

To rich men's tables he doth ever bear:
He tells how Groningen is taken in,
By the brave conduct of illustrious Vere;
And how the Spanish forces Brest would
win,

But that they do victorious Norris fear.
No sooner is a ship at sea surprised,

But straight he learns the news and doth disclose it;

No sooner hath the Turk a plot devised To conquer Christendom, but straight he knows it.*

Fair written in a sell he hath the names, Of all the widows which the plague hath made;

And persons, times and places, still he

frames

To every tale, the better to persuade :

. The above two lines were recovered by Mr. Dyce from a MS. in the British Museum.

slave,

Publius, student at the Common Law,
Oft leaves his books, and for his recreation,
To Paris Garden doth himself withdraw,
Where he is ravished with such delectation,
As down amongst the bears and dogs he
goes;

Where whilst he skipping cries, "To head, to head,"

His satin doublet and his velvet hose,
Are all with spittle from above bespread.
Then is he like his father's country hall,
Stinking with dogs, and muted all with
hawks;

And rightly too on him this filth doth fall, Which for such filthy sports his books forsakes;

Leaving old Plowden, Dyer and Brooke alone,

To see old Harry Hunkes and Sacarson.

IN DACUM. XLV.

Dacus with some good colour and pretence,
Terms his love's beauty "silent eloquence;"
For she doth lay more colours on her face,
Than ever Tully used his speech to grace.

IN MARCUM. XLVI.

Why dost thou, Marcus, in thy misery
Rail and blaspheme, and call the heavens
unkind?

The heavens do owe no kindness unto
thee,

Thou hast the heavens so little in thy

mind:

For in thy life thou never usest prayer,
But at primero, to encounter fair.

MEDITATIONS OF A GULL. XLVII.

See yonder melancholy gentleman,
Which hoodwinked with his hat, alone
doth sit!

Think what he thinks and tell me, if you

can,

What great affairs trouble his little wit.

He thinks not of the war 'twixt France and
Spain,

But he doth seriously bethink him whethe
Of the gulled people he be more esteemed,
For his long cloak, or for his great black
feather,

By which each gull is now a gallant deemed
Or of a journey he deliberates,

To Paris Garden, Cock-pit, or the play:
Or how to steal a dog he meditates,
Or what he shall unto his mistress say:
Yet with these thoughts he thinks hi
self most fit

To be of counsel with a king for wit.

AD MUSAM. XLVIII.

Peace, idle Muse, have done! for it is time
Since lousy Ponticus envies me fame,
And swears the better sort are much
blame

To make me so well known for my ill rhyme
Yet Banks his horse is better known than he
So are the camels and the western hog,
And so is Lepidus his printed dog:
Why doth not Ponticus their fames envy?
Besides this Muse of mine, and the blac
feather,

Grew both together fresh in estimation,
And both grown stale, were cast away to
gether:

What fame is this that scarce lasts out a
fashion?

Whether it be for Europe good or ill,
Nor whether the Empire can itself main-Only this last in credit doth remain,

tain

Against the Turkish power encroaching still;

Nor what great town in all the Nether-
lands

The States determine to besiege this spring,
Nor how the Scottish policy now stands,
Nor what becomes of the Irish mutining.

That from henceforth each bastard cas forth rhyme,

Which doth but savour of a libel vein,
Shall call me father, and be thought my
crime;

So dull and with so little sense endued,
Is my gross-headed judge, the multitude.

I. D.

Ignoto.

I LOVE thee not for sacred chastity.
Who loves for that? nor for thy sprightly wit:
I love thee not for thy sweet modesty,
Which makes thee in perfection's throne to
sit.

I love thee not for thy enchanting eye,
Thy beauty, ravishing perfection :
I love thee not for unchaste luxury,
Nor for thy body's fair proportion.

I love thee not for that my soul doth dance,
And leap with pleasure when those lips of
thine,

Give musical and graceful utterance,
To some (by thee made happy) poet's line.
I love thee not for voice or slender small,
But wilt thou know wherefore? fair sweet,
for all.

'Faith wench! I cannot court thy sprightly

Sweet wench, I love thee; yet I will not
sue,

Or show my love as musky courtiers do;
I'll not carouse a health to honour thee,
In this same bezzling drunken courtesy:
And when all's quaffed, eat up my bousing
glass,

In glory that I am thy servile ass.
Nor will I wear a rotten Bourbon lock,
As some sworn peasant to a female smock.
Well-featured lass, thou know'st I love thee
dear,

Yet for thy sake I will not bore mine ear,
To hang thy dirty silken shoe-tires there :
Nor for thy love will I once gnash a brick,
Or some pied colours in my bonnet stick.

But by the chaps of hell, to do thee good,
I'll freely spend my thrice decocted
blood.

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.

[This beautiful song was first printed in 1599 in The Passionate Pilgrim as Shakspeare's, but in the following year is found in England's Helicon with the name Chr. Marlow appended to it, and followed by The Nimph's Reply to the Sheepheard, and Another of the same nature, made since. The former of these has always been assigned to Sir Walter Raleigh; but in England's Helicon both have the word Ignoto attached to them, which is equivalent to the "Anon." of the present day. Marlowe's famous song should never be printed without them. I have here given, in the first instance, the version made popular by Isaak Walton, and afterwards the three sister poems copied verbatim et literatim from Mr. Collier's beautiful reprint of the old Anthology.]

COME live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain 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
Embroidered 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:

Aud, if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

[Thy silver dishes for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.]

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

The Passionate Sheepheard to his Loue.

COME liue with mee, and be my loue And we will all the pleasures proue, That Vallies, groues, hills and fieldes, Woods, or steepie mountaine yeeldes.

And wee will sit vpon the Rocks,
Seeing the Sheepheards feede theyr
flocks,

By shallow Riuers, to whose falls,
Melodious byrds sings Madrigalls.

And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant poesies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle,
Imbroydred all with leaues of Mirtle.

FINIS

A gowne made of the finest wooll
Which from our pretty Lambes we pull,
Fayre lined slippers for the cold:
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw, and Iuie buds,
With Corall clasps and Amber studs,
And if these pleasures may thee moue,
Come liue with mee, and be my loue.

The Sheepheards Swaines shall daunc and sing,

For thy delight each May-morning,
If these delights thy mind may moue;
Then liue with mee, and be my loue.
CHR. MARLOW.

The Nimphs Reply to the Sheepheard.

IF all the world and loue were young, And truth in euery Sheepheards tongue, These pretty pleasures might me moue, To liue with thee, and be thy loue.

Time driues the flocks from field to fold, When Riuers rage and Rocks grow cold,

And Philomell becommeth dombe,

The rest complaines of cares to come.

The flowers doe fade and wanton fieldes, To wayward winter reckoning yeeldes, A honny tongue, a hart of gall,

Is fancies spring, but sorrowes fall.

Thy gounes, thy shooes, thy beds of Roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy poesies, Soone breake, soone wither, soone for gotten:

In follie ripe, in reason rotten.

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