marks a new departure in dramatic literature; or the first time blank verse was heard on the stage. The play vibrates with national feeling. The great pulse of the English people then throbbing with patriotic emotion makes itself felt in the poet's verse. Tamburlaine is the vigorous and resolute Scythian chief who revolted against the power of Persia, and strong in his self-reliant courage was ready to withstand the world. It was produced at a fitting moment. England was awake to the European combination which threatened her. England could rely only upon herself. The story of the resolution which would face all odds was a story calculated to appeal to English sentiment. "Tamburlaine" hit the English feeling, as the saying is, "between wind and water." It introduced a daring experiment which gave the poet greater freedom of expression, and it awakened the sympathetic feeling of the people. widening world of which Drake had reminded Englishmen, the possibility of finding spoil and glory beyond the seas, these are thoughts to which Marlowe can give expression and be sure of winning the applause of his countrymen.

Lo! here, my sons, are all the golden mines,
More worth than Asia and the world beside;

The

And from the Antarctic Pole, eastward behold
As much more land, which never was descried,
Wherein are rocks of pearl that shine as bright
As all the lamps that beautify the sky!
And shall I die, and this unconquered ?
Here, lovely boys; what death forbids my life,
That let your lives command in spite of death.

"Tamburlaine the Great," Pt. ii. Act v. sc. 3.

These words of Tamburlaine echo the active and even buccaneering spirit which animated so many Englishmen at the time. The spirit of adventure and courage, stimulated by extravagant fancies of rich harvests of spoil, is the spirit to which "Tamburlaine" gives expression. But he realises that behind this brave and adventurous spirit, there must be a firm and resolute will; it is neither a mere romantic sentiment nor a transient and hot-headed courage which will achieve; it must be the fixed and calm spirit which recognises that through danger lies the road to success.

Oft have I levelled and at last have learned
That peril is the chiefest way to happiness,
And resolution, honour's fairest aim.

"The Massacre at Paris," Act i. sc. 2.

Parallel are the lines in "Tamburlaine."

Nature that framed us of four elements,
Warring within our breast for regiment,
Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds.

"Tamburlaine the Great," Act ii. sc. 7.

In such passages as these, we hear words which echo the strong national courage and determination which distinguished Englishmen of the Elizabethan age.

But there is another characteristic of the poet which seems to separate him from the normal Englishman of his age. He has a touch of unscrupulous craft about him. The Englishman of the sixteenth century took a delight in the wild recklessness of the sea-dogs of the time. Το take life in hand, and to rush thoughtlessly through perils, to conduct war in the spirit of the buccaneer, suited the temper of men to whom adventure and the play of courage were a sort of birthright. But though this spirit sometimes betrayed a rough unscrupulousness, it was far removed from the cold and cruel cunning which sets aside all moral considerations at the bidding of policy. It was a rough age in which men dealt blows and expected them; but there was a difference between the dagger and the poison. The Englishman would have no hesitation in striking down his foe; but the tales of secret poisoning which were whispered in Italy were seldom told of English life. The social morality might not be high, but it had a rough straightforwardness, and the raw material of its

conscience had some notions about fighting fair. Here England drew back from Italian influences. The great moral power which the religious reformation had organised wrought in men's minds a profound distrust of a culture which was divorced from ethics. The renaissance in a sense helped the reformation, but as the reformation revived the conviction that religion was personal, it was impossible that it could remain in perpetual alliance with an unethical intellectualism. The time of the parting of the streams had come. The men of extremes did their best to hasten the separation. The cultivated son of the renaissance worshipped intellect, culture, refinement, and the more these could be emancipated from reverence and godly fear the more desirable did they seem in his eyes. Such a spirit alienated many pious souls from the new learning; and as a result the reactionary came to regard all culture, art, and intellectualism as unclean and irreligious. The world beheld in Italy the cultivation of knowledge and the patronage of art allied with debauchery and religious unbelief; it beheld in England a puritanism which viewed art, taste and refinement as an accursed thing, which destroyed what was beautiful in the name of

God, and what was elevating in the name of morality.

No writer was more intensely hated by the Puritans than Christopher Marlowe. We can hardly be surprised at it. It may be true enough that his enemies did not scruple to blacken his memory with impossible stories of his excesses and immoralities; but there was a strain in his character and thought which provoked resentment, and which showed a disregard for the ethical restraints. Marlowe was an Englishman, but he was an Englishman who had imbibed a strong taste for Italian ideas. He had a love for Italian modes of thought and some admiration for Italian methods and morals.

He introduces Machiavelli to speak the Prologue to "The Jew of Malta." Machiavelli assures the audience that he is not dead, though the world believed him to be; his soul had flown beyond the Alps. He admits that he may be an unwelcome visitor in the eyes of some.

To some, perhaps, my name is odious.

He flouts the old saws and maxims which were based on the conviction that there was a righteous law of retribution operative in the world.