Neptune for pity in his arms did take them,
Flung them into the air, and did awake them
Like two sweet birds, surnam'd th' Acanthides,
Which we call Thistle-warps, that near no seas
Dare ever come, but still in couples fly,
And feed on thistle-tops, to testify

The hardness of their first life in their last;
The first, in thorns of love, that sorrows past:
And so most beautiful their colours show
As none (so little) like them; her sad brow
A sable velvet feather covers quite,

Even like the forehead-cloth that, in the night,
Or when they sorrow, ladies use to wear:
Their wings, blue, red, and yellow, mix'd appear;
Colours that, as we construe colours, paint
Their states to life;-the yellow shows their saint,
The dainty Venus, left them; blue, their truth;
The red and black, ensigns of death and ruth.
And this true honour from their love-death sprung,—
They were the first that ever poet sung.

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD

TO HIS LOVE

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

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.

FRAGMENT

First printed in "England's Parnassus," 1600

I WALK'D along a stream, for pureness rare,
Brighter than sun-shine; for it did acquaint
The dullest sight with all the glorious prey
That in the pebble-paved channel lay.

No molten crystal, but a richer mine,

Even Nature's rarest alchymy ran there,— Diamonds resolv'd, and substance more divine, Through whose bright-gliding current might appear A thousand naked nymphs, whose ivory shine, Enamelling the banks, made them more dear Than ever was that glorious palace' gate Where the day-shining Sun in triumph sate.

Upon this brim the eglantine and rose,
The tamarisk, olive, and the almond tree,
As kind companions, in one union grows,
Folding their twining arms, as oft we see
Turtle-taught lovers either other close,
Lending to dulness feeling sympathy;
And as a costly valance o'er a bed,

So did their garland-tops the brook o'erspread.

Their leaves, that differ'd both in shape and show, Though all were green, yet difference such in green,

Like to the checker'd bent of Iris' bow,

Prided the running main, as it had been—

IN OBITUM HONORATISSIMI VIRI, ROGERI MANWOOD, MILITIS, QUÆSTORII REGINALIS CAPITALIS BARONIS 1

NOCTIVAGI terror, ganeonis triste flagellum,
Et Jovis Alcides, rigido vulturque latroni,
Urnâ subtegitur. Scelerum, gaudete, nepotes!
Insons, luctificâ sparsis cervice capillis,
Plange! fori lumen, venerandæ gloria legis,
Occidit: heu, secum effœtas Acherontis ad oras
Multa abiit virtus. Pro tot virtutibus uni,
Livor, parce viro; non audacissimus esto
Illius in cineres, cujus tot millia vultus
Mortalium attonuit: sic cum te nuntia Ditis
Vulneret exsanguis, feliciter ossa quiescant,

Famaque marmorei superet monumenta sepulcri.

1 First printed by Payne Collier (History of the English Stage, etc. p. xliv.-prefixed to the first vol. of his Shakespeare) from a MS. on the back of the title-page of a copy of Hero and Leander, ed. 1629, where it is subscribed with Marlowe's name.

DIALOGUE IN VERSE

Jack. Seest thou not yon farmer's son?
He hath stoln my love from me, alas!
What shall I do? I am undone;

My heart will ne'er be as it was.
O, but he gives her gay gold rings,
And tufted gloves [for] holiday,
And many other goodly things,

That hath stoln my love away.

Friend. Let him give her gay gold rings

Or tufted gloves, were they ne'er so [gay]; [F]or were her lovers lords or kings,

They should not carry the wench away.

Jack. But 'a dances wonders well,

And with his dances stole her love from me:
Yet she wont to say, I bore the bell

For dancing and for courtesy.

Dick. Fie, lusty younker, what do you here,
Not dancing on the green to-day?
For Pierce, the farmer's son, I fear,
Is like to carry your wench away.

Jack. Good Dick, bid them all come hither,
And tell Pierce from me beside,

That, if he thinks to have the wench,

Here he stands shall lie with the bride.

1 First printed in The Alleyn Papers (for the Shakespeare Society), p. 8, by Payne Collier, who prefaced it with the following remarks: "In the original MS. this dramatic dialogue in verse is written as prose, on one side of a sheet of paper, at the back of which, in a more modern hand, is the name Kitt Marlowe.' What connection, if any, he may have had with it, it is impossible to determine." This Dialogue may be a fragment of The Maiden's Holiday, a lost comedy, which is said to have been written partly by Marlowe.-DYCE.