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The Shepheards Commendation of his And finds no waie, to get the same I sought,


What shepheard can expresse
The favour of her face?
To whom in this distresse
I doe appeale for grace;

A thousand cupids flye
About her gentle eye;

From which each throwes a dart
That kindleth soft sweet fire
Within my sighing heart,
Possessed by desire

No sweeter life I trie
Than in her love to die.

The lilly in the field
That glories in his white

For purenesse now must yeeld
And render up his right.

Heaven pictur'd in her face
Doth promise joy and grace.

Faire Cynthiae's silver light
That beates on running streames,
Compares not with her white;
Whose haires are all sun - beames.
So bright my nimph doth shine
As day unto my eyne.

With this there is a red, Exceedes the damaske rose:

But as the Dere are driven unto the gaze. Myself to burne, I blowe the fire:

But shall I come ny you,

Of forse I must flie you.

What death, alas, may be compared to this?
I plaie within the maze of my swete foe:
And when I would of her but crave a kis,
Disdaine enforceth her awaie to goe.
Myself I check: yet doe I twiste the twine:
The pleasure hers, the paine is myne:

But shall I come ny you,

Of forse I must flie you.

You courtly wights, that want your pleasant choise,
Lende me a floud of teares to waile my chaunce:
Happie are thei in love that can rejoyse,
To their greate paines, where fortune doeth advance.
But sith my sute, alas, can not prevaile!
Full fraight with care in grief still will-I waile:
Sith you will needs flie me,

I maie not comme ny you.


If woemen coulde be fayre and yet not fonde, Or that theyre Love were firme not fickle still,

I would not mervaylle that they make me bonde By servise longe to purchase theyre good will: But when I se how frayll those creatures are, I muse that men forget them selves so farr.

To marcke the choyse they make, and how they Yet for disporte we fawne and flatter bothe,

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George Gascoigne ward (wahrscheinlich zu Anfang des sechszehnten Jahrhunderts) zu Walthamstow in Essex geboren, studirte zu Cambridge und widmete sich dann der Rechtsgelehrsamkeit. Von seinem Vater wegen Jugendstreiche enterbt, gab er jedoch diese Laufbahn auf, nahm Kriegsdienste in Holland, gerieth in spanische Gefangenschaft, kehrte dann in sein Vaterland zurück und wandte sich wieder zur Jurisprudenz. Er starb 1577 zu Stamford. Ausser lyrischen Poesieen hinterliess er zwei grössere erzählende Gedichte "The fruites of Warre" und "The Steele glass" und Bearbeitungen italienischer und altgriechischer Dramen und ausländischer Dichtungen. Seine gesammelten Werke erschienen zuerst zu London 1587 unter dem Titel: The Pleasauntest Works of George Gascoigne, Esquyre, newlye compyled into one volume, that is to saye: His Flowers, Hearbes, Weedes, the Fruites of Warre, the Comedie called Supposes, the Trajedie of Jocasta, the Steele-glasse, the Complaint of Phylomene, the Story of Ferdinando Jeronimi and the Pleasure of Kenelworth Castle. Das Letztere ist ein Maskenspiel, welches 1575 zu Kenilworth vor der Königin Elisabeth aufgeführt wurde. Während seines Lebens erschien bereits eine Sammlung von Bearbeitungen ausländischer Gedichte von ihm, mit dem Titel: A Hundreth Sundrie Flowres, bound up in one small Posie etc.

Anmuth, Eleganz und Gewandtheit in Behandlung der Sprache und Form, Gedankenreichthum und eine gesunde Lebensanschauung verleihen seinen Leistungen nicht geringen Werth, doch leidet er auch an den Geschmacksfehlern seiner Zeit, namentlich an dem Streben nach Künstlichkeit und dem gesuchten Spiel mit Begriffen und Wörtern.

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Downe fell I then upon my knee
All flatte before Dame Beauties face,
And cryed, good Ladye pardon mee,
Which here appeale unto your grace,
You knowe if I have beene untrue,
It was in too much praysing you.

And though this Judge doe make suche haste,
To shead with shame my guiltlesse blood:
Yet let your pittie first bee plaste,
To save the man that meant you good,

So shall you shewe your selfe a Queene,
And I maye bee your servaunt seene.

(Quod Beautie) well: bicause I guesse,
What thou dost meane hencefoorth to bee,
Although thy faultes deserve no lesse,
Than Justice here hath judged thee,
Wylt thou be bounde to stynte all strife,
And be true prisoner all thy lyfe?

Yea Madame (quod I) that I shall,
Loe Fayth and Trueth my suerties:
Why then (quod shee) come when I call,
I aske no better warrantise.

Thus am I Beauties bounden thrall,

At hir commaunde when shee doth call.

Christopher Marlowe.

Das Geburtsjahr dieses genialen, aber zügellosen Dichters ist nicht ermittelt und man weiss nur gewiss, dass es in die Zeit der Regierung Eduards VI. fiel. Marlowe studirte 1587 in Cambridge, verliess aber die Universität und ward Schauspieler, führte indessen ein regelloses Leben, machte sich als Freigeist_verrufen und starb 1593 an einer Verwundung, die er sich in einem Streit zugezogen hatte.

Unter seinen Trauerspielen, Lust's Dominion, später von Behu unter dem Titel Abdelazer or the Moors Revenge überarbeitet, Edward II., First Part of Tamburlaine, the Jew of Malta, Doctor Faustus etc. zeichnet sich vorzüglich das Letztgenannte (deutsch von Wilhelm Müller, Berlin 1818) durch Gedankenreichthum, Kraft und Phantasie sehr vortheilhaft aus und verdient unter den Bearbeitungen der Sage von Faust, als eine der ersten und bedeutendsten, aufmerksame Beachtung. Ueberhaupt ist Marlowe als der begabteste Vorgänger Shakspeare's zu betrachten, aber eben so roh wie genial, gestattete ihm seine wilde Lebensweise weder die nothwendige Ruhe noch die genügende Entwickelung und Reife seiner seltenen Fähigkeiten.


Summum bonum medicinae sanitas:

from the tragical history of the Life The end of physic is our bodies' health. and Death of Doctor Faustus: by Why, Faustus; hast thou not attain'd that end?

Christopher Marlowe.

(Faustus in his study, runs through the circle of the sciences; and being satisfied with none of them,

Are not thy bills hung up as monuments,
Whereby whole cities have escap'd the plague,
de-And divers desperate maladies been cured?
Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.
Couldst thou make men but live eternally,
Or being dead raise men to life again,
Then this profession were to be esteem'd..
Physic farewell. Where is Justinian?

termines to addict himself to magic.)
Faust. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin
To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess;
Having commenc'd, be a Divine in show,
Yet level at the end of every art,
And live and die in Aristotle's works.
Sweet Analytics, 'tis thou hast ravish'd me
Bene disserere est finis Logices.
Is, to dispute well, Logic's chiefest end?
Affords this art no greater miracle?

Si una eademque res legatur duobus,
Alter rem, alter valorem rei, etc.
A petty case of paltry legacies.

Exhereditari filium non potest pater,

nisi, etc.

Then read no more; thou hast attain'd that end Such is the subject of the Institute,

A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit.

Bid Oeconomy farewell: and Galen come.
Be a physician, Faustus, heap up gold,

And be eterniz'd for some wond'rous cure.

And universal body of the Law.

This study fits a mercenary drudge,

Who aims at nothing but external trash,

Too servile and illiberal for me.

'Tis Magic, Magic, that hath ravish'd me. Then gentle friends aid me in this attempt;

When all is done, Divinity is best.
Jerome's bible, Faustus: view it well.
Stipendium peccati mors est: ha! Sti- And I that have with subtil syllogisms

pendium, etc.

The reward of sin is death: that's hard.

Si peccasse negamus, fallimur, et nulla est in nobis veritas. If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and there is no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, and so conse

quently die.

Aye, we must die an everlasting death.

Gravell'd the Pastors of the German Church,
And made the flowering pride of Wirtemberg
Swarm to my problems, as th' infernal Spirits
On sweet Musaeus when he came to hell,
Will be as cunning as Agrippa was,
Whose shadow made all Europe honour him.
Vald. Faustus, these books, thy wit, and our

Shall make all nations canonize us.

What doctrine call you this? Che sera, sera: As Indian Moors obey their Spanish Lords,

What will be, shall be. Divinity adieu.

These Metaphysics of Magicians,

And necromantic books, are heavenly.
Lines, Circles, Letters, Characters:

So shall the Spirits of every Element
Be always serviceable to us three:
Like Lions shall they guard us when we please;
Like Almain Rutters with their horsemen's staves,

Aye, these are those that Faustus most desires. Or Lapland Giants trotting by our sides:

O what a world of profit and delight,

Of power, of honour, and omnipotence,

Is promis'd to the studious artizan!

All things that move between the quiet poles
Shall be at my command. Emperors and Kings
Are but obey'd in their several provinces;
But his dominion that exceeds in this,
Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man:
A sound Magician is a Demigod.
Here tire my brains to gain a deity.

How am I glutted with conceit of this!
Shall I make Spirits fetch me what I please?
Resolve me of all ambiguities?

Perform what desperate enterprises I will?
I'll have them fly to India for gold,
Ransack the ocean for orient pearl,

And search all corners of the new-found world
For pleasant fruits and princely delicates.
I'll have them read me strange philosophy;
And tell the secrets of all foreign kings:
I'll have them fill the public schools with skill,
Wherewith the students shall be bravely clad:
I'll levy soldiers with the coin they bring
And chase the Prince of Parma from our land,
And reign sole king of all the provinces:
Yea stranger engines for the brunt of war,
Than was the fiery keel at Antwerp bridge,
I'll make my servile Spirits to invent.
Come German Valdes, and Cornelius,
And make me wise with your sage conference.

Enter Valdes and Cornelius.

Faust. Valdes, sweet Valdes, and Cornelius,
Know that your words have won me at the last,
To practise Magic and concealed Arts.
Philosophy is odious and obscure:

Both Law and Physic are for petty wits:

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Faust. Ah my sweet chamber-fellow, had I lived with thee, then had I lived still, but now must die eternally. Look, Sirs, comes he not? comes he not?

First Sch. O my dear Faustus, what imports this fear?

Sec. Sch. Is all our pleasure turn'd to melancholy?

Faust. Talk not of me but save yourselves and depart.

Third Sch. God will strengthen me, I will stay with Faustus,

First Sch. Tempt not God, sweet friend, but let us into the next room and pray for him.

Faust. Aye, pray for me, pray for me; and what noise soever you hear, come not unto me,

Third Sch. He is not well with being over for nothing can rescue me.


Sec. Sch. Pray thow, and we will pray, that God may have mercy upon thee. Faust. Gentlemen, farewell; if I live till morning, I'll visit you: if not, Faustus is gone to hell.

Scholars. Faustus farewell.

Faustus alone. The Clock strikes Eleven.

Faust. O Faustus,

Sec. Sch. If it be so, we will have physicians, and Faustus shall be cured. Third. Sch. 'Tis but a surfeit, Sir; fear nothing. Faust. A surfeit of a deadly sin that hath damn'd both body and soul. Sec. Sch. Yet, Faustus, look up to heaven, and remember mercy is infinite. Faust. But Faustus' offence can ne'er be pardoned. The serpent that tempted Eve may be saved, but not Faustus. O Gentlemen, bear me with patience, and tremble not at my speeches. Though my heart pant and quiver to remember that I have been a student here these thirty years. O would I had ne'er seen Wirtemberg, never read book! and what wonders I have done, all Germany can witness, yea all the world: for which, Faustus hath lost both Germany and the world, yea heaven itself, heaven the seat of God, the throne of the blessed, the kingdom of joy, and must remain in hell for ever.. Hell, O hell, for The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd. Sweet friends, what shall become of Fau-O I will leap to heaven: who pulls me down? stus being in hell for ever? See where Christ's blood will save me: Oh, my


Sec. Sch. Yet Faustus call on God.

Faust. On God whom Faustus hath abjured? on God whom Faustus hath blasphemed? O my God, I would weep but the devil draws in my tears. Gush forth blood instead of tears, yea life and soul. Oh, he stays my tongue: I would lift up my hands, but see, they hold'em, they hold'em.

Scholars. Who, Faustus?

Faust. God forbid it indeed, but Faustus hath done it for the vain pleasure of four and twenty years hath Faustus lost eternal joy and felicity. I writ them a bill with mine own blood, the date is expired: this is the time, and he will fetch me.

First. Sch. Why did not Faustus tell us of this before, that Divines might have prayed for thee?

Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damn'd perpetually.
Stand still you ever moving spheres of heaven,
That time may cease and midnight never come.
Fair nature's Eye, rise, rise again, and make
Perpetual day: or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul.
O lente lente currite noctis equi.
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will


Rend not my heart for naming of my Christ.
Yet will I call on him: O spare me, Lucifer.
Where is it now? 'tis gone;

And see, a threatning arm, and angry brow.
Mountains and hills come, come and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of heaven.
No? then will I headlong run into the earth:
Gape earth. O no, it will not harbour me.
You stars that reign'd at my nativity,
Whose influence have allotted death and hell,
Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist
Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud;
That when you vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from your smoaky mouths,
But let my soul mount and ascend to heaven.

The watch strikes.

Faust. Oft have I thought to have done so; but the devil threatened to tear me in pieces if O half the hour is past: 'twill all be past anon. I named God; to fetch me body and soul if IO if my soul must suffer for my sin,

once gave ear to divinity: and now it is too late. Gentlemen, away, lest you perish with me.

Sec. Sch. O what may we do to save Faustus?

Impose some end to my incessant pain.
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years.,
A hundred thousand, and at the last be saved:

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