The Growth of English Drama

abilities and genius raised English drama to the rank of literature. Previous dramatists had also been men of good education and fair wit; Sackville, to name but one, was a man of gr

tage of Ralph Roister Doister and tragedy at that of The Misfortunes of Arthur, they transformed and refined both, lifting them to higher levels of humour and passion, gracing them with many witty inventions, and, above all, pouring

ccomplishment, and that to pun, to utter caustic jests, to let fall neat epigrams were the highest ambition of wit; if we take this trouble to prepare ourselves for reading Lyly's plays, we may still find them dull, but we shall at least understand why they took the form they did, and shall be in a position to recognize the substantial service rendered to Comedy by the author. Lyly's work was just the application of the laws of euphuism to native comedy, and it wrought a change curiously similar to the effect of Senecan principles upon native tragedy, transferring the importance from the action to the words. It may be remarked that this redistribution of the interest must always be of great value in the early stage of any literature. The popular taste for action and incident is sure to be gratified sooner or later; the demand for elegant and appropriate diction, usually confined to the cultured few, is more apt to be passed over. Euphuism never did the harm to comedy which tragedy suffered at the hands of the late Elizabethans who, in their pursuit of moving incident, lost themselves in a reckless licence of language and verse. Action, therefore, fell into the background. Refinement, elevation was aimed at. In the place of Hodge, Dame Chat and their company, there now appeared gracious beings of perfect manners and speech; and since things Greek and mythological had become the fashion, Arcadian nymphs and swains, beauteous goddesses and Athenian philosophers were judged

mous a prose style; but as The Supposes, a translation by Gascoigne of Ariosto's I Suppositi, had previously appeared in prose, Lyly's claim as an innovator is weakened. The fact, however, that Ariosto wrote a prose, as well as a poetic, version of his play, and that Gascoigne made use of both in his translation, gives to the latter's prose a borrowed quality, and leaves Lyly fully entitled to whatever credit belongs to the earliest nati

ay, which is crowded with characters. There are, in addition to the three leading persons, four Warriors to discuss the condition of the army, seven Philosophers to puzzle each other with disputation and metaphysical conundrums, three Servants to deride their masters behind their backs, a General to act as Alexander's confidant and counsellor, beside some nine others and a company of citizens. One of the chief characters, Diogenes, stands quite apart from the

hold Diogenes talking

nny, Diogenes;

e a beggar, that firs

wilt give nothing,

ng, till the springs d

gather for

e not for those God

t a right Cynic tha

art not, that w

Alexander, King Alexander,

not for a king

en give me

ot for a beggar to

Campaspe yield the gates of her heart, nor does the artist press the attack with heated fervour. So gentle a besieger is he, that we perceive the young couple drifting into love on the stream of destiny, almost

counterfeit i

is Venus, the

be there also

ath power to command the ve

hired? by prayer, by

ayer, sacrific

e. What

Vows ir

. What s

ever sighing, ne

e. What

kisses. But were

No, nor

n have you i

spe.

e you have been

attered perc

so fair, and a wit so sharp, both withou

cunning, I pray dip your pencil in colours; and

in loving her whom Alexander desires, ending his mournful soliloquy with a song,

my Campa

or kisses;

s quiver, bo

doves, and te

oo; then, do

of his lip

cheek, (but

the crystal

he dimple

did my Cam

set her bot

d Cupid bli

she done t

(alas!) b

intimacy of artist and model, then we discover that the tender sighs of Apelles have sweete

now, Campaspe, a

d me, Apelles, yo

d my love, for it

neither to have b

osed to mistake: I ho

you say if Alexander

say it is no t

he will not suffer

l I gaze continua

t will not fe

hopes, thy protested faith, will cause me to embrace thy shadow continual

rself, that I had rather be in thy shop grinding colou

elles and Alexander are talking together when a servant rushes up, crying out that the former's studio is on fire. 'Aye me!' exclaims the horrified artist; 'if the picture of

an extract from the speech of Hephestion, Alexander's friend and adviser, urging t

shall it not seem monstrous to wise men, that the heart of the greatest conqueror of the world should be found in the hands of the weakest creature of nature? of a woman? of a captive? Ermines have fair skins but foul livers; sepulchres, fresh colours but rotten bones; women, fair faces but false hearts. Remember, Al

into the realm of mythology, where all is unreal and where the least heaviness in the pencil of fancy must convert things that should appear golden into dull lead. Lyly's wit strives gallantly to maintain the light tints,

and wishing to be rid of his attentions, sets him, as a trial of his affection, the impossible, though apparently easy, task of removing Endymion from the bank of lunary. Corsites fails, and fairies send him to sleep, dancing around him with a song and pinching his unresisting body black and blue. A chance visit of Cynthia and her train fortunately arouses him, but Endymion still sleeps his forty years of manhood away undisturbed. At last Eumenides returns with his oracular clue and persuades Cynthia to attempt the cure. Very graciously the queen kisses the pale forehead. At once consciousness returns, and as a white-haired old man the once handsome young courtier arises. He has two dreams to tell (shown in Dumb Show in an earlier scene) but can offer no explanation of his bewitchment. Then Bagoa, the servant of Dipsas, betrays the secret of her mistress's crime

nting comedy. Nor is the reason hard to discover. The first dozen pages show that, apart from the caricatured Sir Tophas and the inevitable Pages (or Servants), all the characters speak in exactly the same way, in fact are the same persons in all but condition. The well-managed contrast noticed in Damon and Pythias has no place in Lyly's arrangement of characters. Wer

wn, shall be filled with bristles as hard as broom: thou shalt sleep out thy youth and flowering time, and become dry hay before thou knewest th

a mild sensation amongst the surprised and delighted spectators, as, in shimmering dress and gossamer wings, these airy sprites danced around the astonished Corsites and sang

r Fai

hairs to stand upright, and spirits to fall down? Hags, ou

ng pinch him, and he falleth asle

im, pinch him,

tals must

een of Star

to our fai

Pinch h

And pinch

Let him

to pinch him

as rock'd hi

the trespass

all his fle

mion, kis

idnight heide

meaning of Lyly's comedy, and has come to the conclusion that it is a dramatic representation of the disgrace brought upon Leicester (Endymion) by his clandestine marriage with the Countess of Sheffield (Tellus), pending his suit for the hand of his royal mistress (Cynthia). Endymion's forty years' sleep upon the bank of lunary is his imprisonment at Elizabeth's favourite Greenwich; the friendly intervention of Eumenides is

on of the crusty philosopher. In his picture of the foolish, boastful knight he followed the author of Thersites in his exaggerated caricature until the least semblance of truth to nature is banished from the portrait. It is interesting to compare him with Ralph Roister Doister. Nevertheless if we project Sir Tophas upon the stage, and by our imagination dress him and make him strut and gesticulate after such a fashion as t

ge, Epiton, have just

What be

Samias, pag

Dares, page

t occupation a

clown! Why, they are

n are they

hine! An

u see, clothed with artillery; it is not silks (milksops), nor tissues, nor the fine wool of Ceres, but iron, steel, swords, flame, shot,

s. W

mmonly my

at then do

ly wound, but

ome so near thy master, E

e you are no bigger; and both of you, because you are but two; for commonly I k

this? Call you

h I, by construction often studying

are you also

ed? I am all

you are all

oice of the weapon wherewith you shall perish. Am I all a mass or lump? Is there no pr

ing doth well understand is all man, for Mas maris is a man. Then As (

he which a world of silver could not have

farewell, and at our next meeting

orest range Diana and her chaste nymphs, amongst whom Cupid, out of pure mischief, lets fly his golden-headed arrows. At once the nymphs feel strange emotions within them, which quicken into uneasiness and longing at the sight of Gallathea and Phillida. But Diana detects the change, guesses at the cause, and promptly makes capture of Cupid. His wings clipped, his bow burnt, all his arrows broken, he is beaten and set to a task. Meanwhile the day of sacrifice has arrived and, in default of a better, a victim is found. But Neptune will have no second-best: what promises to be a tragedy changes to joy on the god's refusal to accept the proffered girl. However, the sacrifice is only postponed. Moreover the delay has given rise to a stricter search, which means increased peril for the disguised maidens. Fortunately intervention arrives before discovery. Venus, having learnt of Cupid's captivity, and not being

Clyomon and Sir Clamydes, preceded Lyly also in the introduction of sex-disguise, but his Neronis stirs up no serious difficulties by her appearance as a shepherd boy and a page, whereas in Gallathea the disguise is the core of the plot. To Lyly, therefore, may be given all the credit for the discovery of the dramatic value of this simple device. With his return to the mutual loves of ordinary human beings (for they are that, however extraordinary the conditions) he happily restores to his characters the naturalness which they enjoyed in the earlier play. The machinery of gods and goddesses is perhaps

allathea, under this fair oak, by whose broad leaves being defended from the w

down this pleasant green, you shall recount to me, if it please you, for what

rable generosity in the matter of quotations. Accordingly we offe

1

da, in disguise, meet

y). But whist! here cometh a lad. I w

e one untoward, the other unfit, both unseemly. O Phillida! But

sliking of themselves as maids; therefore, though

a woman. But because he is not I am glad I am, for now, under t

im, but I fear I should mak

t I would spend some time to make pastime, for say what th

in my face if he should ask me (as the ques

ould be bold. But here cometh a brav

Diana

2

und the affection of each other, but on

the person of a maid, if I should utter my affection with sighs, manifest my sweet love by my salt tears, a

e, and that I should with entreaties, prayers, oaths, bribes, and wha

h! you come i

And you wit

ful speeches be these? I fea

riseth in my mind? I fear th

! it cannot be: his vo

do not think it-for he

ave you eve

brother must needs have two; b

t one daughter, and theref

e! he is as I am, for hi

mple.... (to Gallathea) Come, let us into the grove and make much on

3

y, is set to his ta

! First you must undo all these lo

ts 'tis unpossible to unknit th

e no excuse

ds; made fast with thoughts, and cannot be unloosed with fingers. H

now? you tie t

; it goeth against my

e;-now 'tis unpos

knot of a woman's heart,

falls in sun

man's thought, which w

u have undo

cause it was n

will give you no rest. Thes

knit by Pluto, not Cupid, by money, not love; the oth

o you lay th

. For

sa.

as knit by faith, and mus

their servants, Dromio and Riscio, as principal agents. Not far away live two young people, Livia and Candius, whose mutual love is made unhappy by the opposition of their fathers, Prisius and Sperantius, since these latter covet rather their children's marriage with Accius and Silena. In pursuit of this other object these two countrymen send their servants, Lucio and Halfpenny, to spy out the land. By the ordinary chance of good comradeship the four servants meet and make known to each other their errands, when the opportunity of a mischievous entangling of the threads at once becomes apparent. Disguises are used, with the result that the loving couple, Livia and Candius,

ise their wit upon. Deception and cross purposes are conducted with much skill to their conclusion, though the elaborate balance of households rather oppresses one by its artificiality. As one of the earliest Comedies o

pastoralism as a background for romance. Nor may his efforts in Comedy of Intrigue be overlooked. On the other hand, we lament as a grievous failing his inability to draw real men and women, or indeed to differentiate his characters at all except by gross caricature or the copying of traditional eccentricities. Sir Tophas and Diogenes we remember as distinct personalities only for their peculiar and very obvious traits: the rest of his characters either stay in our memory solely through the charm of particular scenes

ed with wit, as to the foolish to have sport mingled with rudeness. They were banished the theatre of Athens, and from Rome hissed, that brought parasites on the stage with apish actions, or fools with un

ntent. This is plot-structure in its elementary yet ambitious form: an abounding wealth of material is condensed within the limits of a play, but its arrangement reveals no attempt at a gradual and subtle evolution of events to a climax. It succeeds in maintaining interest by its variety, leaving the pleased spectator with the sense of having looked on at a number of very entertaining scenes. Unfortunately the bustle of action invites superficiality of treatment: the end is attained by the use of bold splashes of colour rather than by accurate drawing. Spaniards, Italians, Turks, Moors fill the stage

ard to the dates it is hardly safe to be more definite than to allot them to the period 1587-92. In all we see a preference for ready-made stories. The writer rarely invents a plot, choosing instead to dramatize the history, romance, epic or ballad of another. Where he does invent, as in the love plot in Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, the result is notable. Blank verse is his medium, but in all except the first prose is freely used for the speech of the unc

eed introduction through any text-book. Briefly, Tamburlaine-the play which made the greatest impression on the playwrights of its time-may be described as a magniloquent account of the career of a world-conqueror whose resistless triumph over kingdoms and potentates, signalized by acts of monstrous insolence, provides excuse for outbu

hief supporters all his present conquests, namely, the thrones of Arragon, Naples and Milan, as too trifling for himself, Alphonsus follows his opponents to their refuge at the court of Amurack, the great Turk. Through a misleading oracle of Mahomet they rashly engage in battle without their ally and are slain. With their heads impaled at the corners of his canopy Alphonsus now confronts Amurack, just such another bold and arrogant conqueror as himself. In the conflict that follows he is temporarily put to flight by Amurack's daughter, Iphigena, and her band of Amazons; but, smitten with sudden love, he turns to o

pronounced than in his other plays: Venus recites the prologues to the acts. All the male characters are drawn on the same pattern, in differing degrees according to their condition, and the two women, Iphigena and her mother, Fausta, are without attractive qualities. Marlowe, as we know, rarely expended any care on his female characters; Greene, however, proved capable in his later, independ

ud Alphonsus, thi

force doth te

und to turn hi

r from such

gh that Mars t

d thy weak an

hath view'd wi

ching victors

presence of

ange, and Mars,

me, and leave

I say, thou grea

rtune in a c

rn her wheel a

, whom you do s

s behind the

mmand of every

stir, nor once

sus then should

career of a drunken blacksmith, and of the prophet Jonah-his disobedience, strange sea-journey, mission in Nineveh and subsequent ill-temper being set forth in full. Vainglorious Rasni talks like Alphonsus, and his ladies are even less charming than Iphigena. Ramilia boasts as outrageously as her brother, and is only prevented by sudden death from an incestuous union with him; Alvida, after poisoning her first husband to secure Rasni, shamelessly attempts to woo the King of Cilicia. Quite the most successful character, perhaps the most amusing of all Greene's clowns, is Adam, the blacksmith. His loyal defence of his trade against derog

ing. Mark me, the words be these, 'Thou shalt take no manner of food for so many days'. I had as lief he should have said, 'Thou shalt hang thyself for so many days'. And yet, in faith, I need not find fault with the proclamation, for I have a buttery and a pantry and a kitchen about me; for proof, ecce signum! This right slop (leg of his garments) is my pantry-behold a manchet [Draws it out]; this place is my kitchen, for, lo, a pie

n! how are they armed to repentance! We have searched through th

race.-But stay! here sits one, methinks

m, the smith's ma

ou shalt take no manner o

orisons! But stay, methinks I feel a

oo.-You, sirrah, what vi

r, nor drive me not into a choler. Victuals! why, heardest thou

should be; but methinks

actions in the case. About me! No, no! han

all your words, w

'tis burglary if you break ope a slop; no officer must lift up

s, bread, beef, and beer, where the king commanded

uthor's hand of a gentle, constant, ill-used maiden, but she is very little seen. Most of the play is taken up with warfare, secret enmities, and Orlando's madness. The evil genius, Sacripant, may be the first, as Iago is the greatest, of that school of villains wh

ove, thou mistr

mp that wait'st

indness through

nion, praise thy

tay'd the fiery

coachman of t

view of Daphn

orn, sweet beau

ndo languish

y groves, whe

laugh to see

ndo's faith

awnds, kind Flora

de, spread, ceda

e her couch ami

rystal

oses when she

ven! ah, heaven, th

er that my cont

rowned heads compete for places on the list of dramatis personae in his first three plays. The character of Angelica, however, and stray touches of pastoralism in the last play, hint at an impending change. The author's mind, tire

same time. In spite of this the different sections of the story remain tolerably clear as we proceed, and the interest never flags for longer than the brief minutes when prosy Oxford dons talk learnedly. Four groups of characters attract attention in turn; the young noblemen and Mar

king all blame upon herself and avowing that his death will be instantly followed by her own, that at length more generous impulses rise in the royal breast, and instead of death a blessing is bestowed. Together the prince and the earl repair to Oxford to meet the King, the Emperor of Germany, the King of Castile, and the latter's daughter, Elinor, who is to be Prince Edward's wife. In their absence other admirers appear upon the scene, a squire and a farmer being rivals for Margaret's hand. Quarrelling over the matter, they put it to the test of a duel and kill each other. By an unhappy coincidence their absent sons are looking into Bacon's magic crystal at that very time, and, seeing the fatal consequences of the conflict, turn their weapons hastily against each other, with the result that their fathers' fate becomes theirs. Margaret remains loyal to Lacy, but mischief prompts the latter to send her one hundred pounds and a letter of dismissal on the plea of a wealthier match being necessary for him. Unhappy Margaret, rejecting the money, prepares to enter a convent. Fortunately Lacy himself

s served by the merry nobles and proves himself humorously unprincely. But that which has given most fame to the author is the love-plot. The Fressingfield scenes bring upon the stage a direct picture of simple country life-of a dairy-maid among her cheeses, butter and cream, and of a country fair with farm-lads eager to buy fairings for their lassies. Unfortunately, under the influence of the fashionable affectation, Margaret is unusually learned in Greek mythology, citin

llustrate the st

1

d malcontented, wit

my lord like t

ight shine is sh

e deer, and thr

ur nags the lof

ore the teasers

deer of merr

ull'd down b

e farmers suc

lt, this hundr

r

d more frolic

g'd to a mel

prince got to th

jocund in the

le and milk i

the country's

onny damsel f

stately in he

m did cross hi

he fell into

.

, Ned Lacy, didst

her country-we

ch all Suffol

, all England ho

t like Venus th

pe fast folded

-house went I

st the cream-bo

ngst her prin

r smock over

into milk to

n the milk her

ines of azure,

ture durst bri

2

ith his poniard in his

I, my lord, not

'd and courte

for the courti

fancy made b

f with looks

e with gazing

ch'd lov'd Lacy

ghs, mine eyes p

pity and co

uld not ciphe

'd Lord Lacy w

prince to gain

the loves 'twixt

ks King Henry's son

certain balanc

make a discord

rl, and, 'fore

m thrice over

meet her Lacy

Technically it is Greene's most perfect play, being carefully divided into acts and scenes, and containing a plot ample enough to dispense with much of that extraneous matter which obscured his former plays. An amusing stratum of

murder of his queen, to be accomplished by the French hireling, Jaques. By accident the warrant for her death comes into the possession of a friend of hers, who prevails upon her to flee into hiding, disguised as a man and accompanied by her dwarf. They are followed, however, by Jaques, who, after stabbing her, returns to announce the news to Ateukin. The latter informs the king and at once sets out to secure Ida's acceptance of her royal suitor, only to find her already married to a worthy knight, Eustace. Aware of the consequences to

dels too definitely. The popularity of disguised girls in later drama and their appearance in the works of Peele, Lyly and Greene, point to their having been early accepted as favourites whenever an author sought for an easy addition to the entanglement of his plot. Faithful love in the face of desertion and cruelty is the dominant note in Dorothea's character as it was in that of Angelica.-Slipper and Nano, two dwarf brothers, engaged as attendants respectively on Ateukin and Queen Dorothea, provide most of the humour. More worthy of note are Oberon, King of the Fairies, and Bohan, the embittered Scotch

in the outline of the play we select our i

d Ida discovered in their

, might you choose

orld in blessin

ughter, should

lights, or pom

ss. An

se are means t

d, and make true

have wealth and Fort

, might I choose

sits at Fortu

all not taste

prank on top of

nge, and, fearin

lish maid, each on

why, they know

rry, then, on whom

hat virtue deem

ht this world

wherein with

rkman plants wi

dle draw each

t: some men li

sh; some in their

udden die; some

them a secret

dle, if I ple

ose within my

can change eac

ich, the begg

h man wherein h

ck he lives,

da, here are stran

nd virtuous, and worthy to become the wife of an earl. This aspect of the Fressingfield romance must have had a special appeal for those of his audiences who stood outside the pale of wealth and aristocracy. An earlier bid for their applause has been seen in the figure of the blacksmith, Adam, whose

eteran of great renown but no less in age than 'five score and three'. Thus the yeomen prove their superiority over traitor nobles. But George has other affairs to manage. Fair Bettris, who runs away from a disagreeable father to join him, suddenly refuses to marry him without her father's consent, not easily obtainable in the circumstances. However a trick overcomes that difficulty too in the end. Meanwhile the fame of the lass excites the rival jealousy of Maid Marian, who insists on Robin Hood's challenging George's supremacy. In three single fights Robin's two comrades, Scarlet and Much, are overthrown and Robin himself is driven to call a halt: his identity being discovered, George treats him with great honour. In accordance with former practices kings are brought upon the

and die a y

her, so must

credit to men

eeds, than me

ays high honour to the wors

ncient custom

, claim privi

a reason

dward vail'd h

w, is the clown. There is an abundance of incident, though not the complexity of Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay. We have noticed the historical atmosphere repeated from that play and from James the Fourth. With regard to the

r earl, nor y

n that i

-Greene, the

my heart

holas Mannering, the traitorous noble, and flouts his commission. Those present include the

See you these seals? b

ll things my

ite o

per Jack, vail bo

ts the person

l lay thy head

. Why, wh

, I am Geor

geman to

t men of such

braves of any t

h, and you, my

subjects all

rn, and therefore

m even in our

od, our hearts

ur homage, an

Edward's. Th

ft for traitors

e them in your

fore we send yo

st as much a loss as a gain to drama. Its popularity licensed an indifference on the part of lesser authors to clarity and restraint, and encouraged the development of those dual plots which are to be found, connected by the flimsiest bonds, in the works of such men as Dekker and Heywood. To the same influence may be traced Shakespeare's frequent but skilful use of subordinate plots. For the second quality of Greene's work we name the charm and purity of his romantic conceptions. The fresh air of his pastoralism, the virtue, constancy and patience of his heroines, entitle him to an honourable position amon

pelles loved Campaspe long ago in the pages of history, and was forgotten there; Lyly made him woo and win her again, and now their home is for ever between the covers of his little volume. Greene tells the story of Earl Lacy's love for Margaret, and the details of that delightfully human romance return to us whenever his name is mentioned. But what characters or scenes spring up to proclaim Peele's authorship? He dramatized the narrative of Absalom's rebellion, and, as soon as the end of the play is reached, the theme, with the possible exception of the first scene, slips back, in our minds, into its old biblical setting; it belongs to the writer of The Book of Samuel, not to Peele. He wrote a Marlowesque play, similar to Greene's Alphonsus, King of Arragon, but failed to create out of his several leaders a single dominant figure to compare with Alphonsus. The same might be said of his Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes and his Edward the First; and his Old Wives' Tale is a by-word for confusion. Only in the sub-plot of The Arraignment of Paris does he present a character

r's originality. Lyly was possibly indebted to it for the background and minor figures of certain scenes in Gallathea, and Greene may have owed something to its influence. Certainly neither dramatist ever equalled its delicate descriptions of passive Nature.[56] The preponderance of mythology, however, the

ich most students of his work read, The Arraignment of Paris and David and Bethsabe. Of the first it may be said boldly, without fear of contradiction, that, considered metrically, the verse is unsuited to ordinary drama. The arbitrary and constantly changing use of heroic couplet, blank verse (pentameters), rhyming heptameters, alternate heptameters and hexameters rhyming together, and the swift transition from one form to another in the same speech, possibly help towards the lyrical effect aimed at; the nature of the plot licenses a deviation from the ordinary dramatic rules; but such metric irresponsibility would be out of place in any ordinary play. There is a rare daintiness in some of the lines; they are truly poetic; but we must remember that goddesses and the legendary dwellers about Mount Ida may be permitted to speak in a language which would be condem

l not me, who

t be touch'd, I

, my joys were

t, though rent

essence doth o

onquer him, that

se two passages let us quote the fa

lover trippin

longings tangl

love I'll build

ring of a hun

homage to her

serpents fold

nings, wind th

cles of her c

murmur summon

lden sceptre

of passion; they do not soothe the ear as do Peele's verses, but they strike the deeper chords of the human heart. None of the three passages should be tak

ife-blood of successful drama, and these he lacked. Yet he merits the fame awarded to his group. He was a poet; the refinement, the music, the gentler attributes of his best verse were a valuabl

t to an impending catastrophe. He was content with chronological order for his guide; his directness is the directness of the Chronicle History. The Battle of Alcazar and David and Bethsabe follow this method as completely as his avowedly chronicle play, Edward the First. It is a strange thing how plot-structure fell into abeyance in comedy after its long and strenuous evolution through the Interludes to Ralph Roister Doister and Gammer Gurton's Needle. We must confess, ho

(1584), Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes (printed 1599), Edward the First (printed 1593), The Battle

surpass their totalled attributes of wealth, wisdom, and beauty. The story is provided with two under-plots, presenting opposite aspects of rejected love. In the one, Colin dies for love of disdainful Thestylis, who in her turn dotes despairingly upon an ugly churl. In the other, Oenone holds and loses the affections of Paris, stolen from her by the beauty of Venus; this is the most delicate portion of the whole play. Pretty songs are imbedded in the scenes-Cupid's Curse is a famous one-and many lines of captivating fancy will be found by an appreciative reader. On a well-furnished stage the valley of Mount Ida, where Pan, Flora and others of Nature's guardians direct her wild fruitfulness, where shepherds converse in groups or alone sing their grief to the skies, and Paris and Oenone, seated beneath a tree, renew their mutual pledges, must have looked very delightful. One cannot help thinking, however, that the gods and goddesses, probably magnificently arrayed and carrying splendour wherever they went, seriously detracted from the appearance of free Nature. Nevertheless, by the poet and the stage-manager they were, doubtless, prized equally with th

1

aris to award

y meed, sith I a

reward thee with

ingdoms, heaps

diadems curio

sumptuous workm

hings whereof

hou treadest shall

n liquid gold for th

tend thy flock, and

e curlèd gold to plea

heart on fire, give

this tree of gold w

old rises, laden with dia

it grows, the grass

ark of gold, all g

sh'd gold, the frui

pearl in gold, in gor

of gold in lieu

golden trees, so

2

d kingdom of the nymph Eli

ithin these plea

storm nor sun'

hurt by crue

mate of the m

ghts Jove's ang

that sovereign

winds make music

urbance of ou

ess-springs, a

s Dian for

abours well of

um hight[60], a

t governs th

may well comp

at of kings,

ound with a c

f acts and scenes, his readers would have been able to follow the succession of events much more clearly than is now possible: as it is, between Clyomon and Clamydes, the Golden Shield and the Silver Shield, there is constant confusion. But Peele was not born for chivalrous romance. A writer who could allow one of his heroes to begin his career by a piece of schoolboy trickery followed by headlong flight to escape dete

ering wights whom wa

notably that in which he elects to face single-handed a man whom he supposes to be the redoubtable Robin Hood and who proves to be no less than Llewellyn, Prince of Wales. Unfortunately these excellent intentions are not seconded by the rest of the play. Some of the scenes in which Edward takes part are not at all calculated to increase his dignity; in the last of all, for instance, it is hardly an English act on his part to conceal his identity in a monk's cowl and spy upon the secrets of his queen's dying confession. That, however, may have been pardoned by an Elizabethan audience; any trick may have been thought good enough which ex

we have no desire to remember. At this distance of time, however, righteous indignation at the injustice done to a fair name is perhaps uncalled for. The play is only read by the curious student, and it is quite apparent, as others have pointed

it. More worthy of remembrance is Joan, admirably chosen, for her innocence and gentleness, to stand in contrast to Queen Elinor; the story of her happy love and most unhappy death adds a touch of genuine pathos to the grues

-the closing speech of the play-, and one of several allusions to the

1

Joan of Acon, let

e, now sit thee

loucester, for

s, hath banish'

ows! How oft

ooks, thy lips,

ove in them to

hape, in colou

death, the

m'd the shine, th

dimness, and m

e! vile wretch,

te, and I mus

must fade, and

obe, yet it pr

ighs, since I ma

ed death that thu

2

Joan thy daugh

nour make your

this land ar

rteous, mild,

r lives at

with famil

ereigns once gin

ons' love, whic

of the riches

re better live

th tyranny a

he vigour sometimes appears forced, and the constant stream of end-stopt lines becomes monotonous. Murders that cannot find room elsewhere are perpetrated in dumb-show, ghosts within the wings cry out Vindicta!, and the leading characters suffer the usual inflatus of windy rant to make their dimensions more kingly. Still the play fails to achieve the right effect. There is no dominant hero, the central figure, if such there is, being the villain, Muly Mahamet the Moor. But his is not the career, nor his the character, at all likely to win either the sympathy or the interest of an English audience. Defeated, exiled, twice seen in desperate flight, treacherous, and incapable of anything but amazing speeches, he thoroughly deserves the ignominious fate reserved for him. Of the three other claimants to pre-eminence, Sebastian lends his aid to

ed from the boards by indignant patriots. But his exploits, and his thoroughly English pride, seem to have awakened the sympathies of his countrymen, for his memory was cherished as that of a popular hero. His traitorous intention to conq

o his wife, Calipolis, in exile, is adapted by Pistol to his own rhetorical use (Second Part of Henry the Fourth, II. iv).

en a highly coloured descrip

and let me hear

, b

sor to the gr

om th' Arabi

afraid of Bassas

and Blo

re this scimi

egin to bat

me whereon our t

with my weapo

stream and bloo

l sail in ship

hore unto the

of those slaughter'd

erect like Ni

hose unjust a

allas' lawf

ppy, and tri

enters, reports general d

what dreadful sound

th thou dost af

e be no saf

ortune and su

Roll on, my c

l I be safel

ted place, som

w or dismal

light or comf

eaven and he tha

Envy at Cec

thought and te

w

calculated to rouse laughter when acted; the lower characters, at least, display plenty of animation, and the creation of that fantastic person of royal pedigree, Huanebango-'Polimackeroeplacidus my grandfather, my father Pergopolineo, my mother Dionora de Sardinia, famously descended'-with his effort to 'lisp in numbers' of classical accentuation-'Philida, phileridos, pamphilida, florida, flortos'-reveals humour of a finer edge than the mere laughter-raising kind. Against this moderate praise, however, must be set some blame. It has been said before that the play is a by-word for confusion. An extraordinary reckl

s frightfully ugly while the other is a virago, consults him about their marriages. By his advice they take their pitchers to a magic well, where, by a coincidence, each finds a husband. She of the hideous face easily satisfies Huanebango, while the vile-tempered maiden as readily contents the heart of Corebus, for Sacrapant has previously hurled blindness upon the former, and upon the latter deafness, because they dared to enter his realms in search of Delia. Meanwhile the brothers continue their quest and eventually come upon Sacrapant and their sister making merry together at a feast. At once the lady is sent indoors, thunder and lightning herald disaster, and Sacrapant's magic takes them captive. Subsequently they are set to a task, with Delia standing over to speed their labours with a sharpened goad. It now becomes known that Sacrapant's power depends on the continued existence of a light enclosed within a glass vessel and buried in the earth. Delia has a lover, Eumenides. Acting on a generous impulse, this youth pays for the burial of one, Jack, whose f

the prototypes of the Attendant Spirit, Comus, and the Lady. One may suppose that the same foundation of resemblance establishes Peele as also the inspirer of the first book of The Faerie Queene through his Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes, with its knight and lady and drago

his invention of one. From this test Peele's talent would have emerged triumphantly had he only possessed the ability to construct a plot; for there is an abundance of the right dramatic material in his subject, and in his best moments he displays wonderful mastery in the moulding of hard facts to his use. Nothing could be more perfectly done than the sublimation of the contents of three plain verses (Chapter xi. 2-4) to the delicate poetry of his famous opening scene. Unfortunately the method adopted is that of the chronicle history-plays or of the nearly forgotten Miracles, to which class of drama David and Bethsabe, as a late survival, may be said to belong. It has other marks of retrogression to methods already old-fashioned in the year 1598, such as the introduction (twice) of a Chorus, and the absence of any division into acts, notwithstanding Peele's eff

erse in tender mood, we offer a favourabl

them best, then, t

ds and captains

pierc'd piteous

slip lightly thr

pare the youn

didst once use

my heart in

love be to thy

prove a perf

deeds, and touch

air with which

y, and love to

tingales would b

bowers in eve

lover every

oab, Jove's[62]

sent to solace

e, my lords, ar

t are wash'd w

in with coals

'st the proudest

idle pull'st hi

then, spare l

ake Winter his executor, with tittle-tattle Tom-boy.' The officers thus called to account are Ver, Solstitium, Sol, Orion, Harvest and Bacchus. Each enters in appropriate guise, with a train of attendants singing or dancing. Thus we have such stage-directions as, 'Enter Ver, with his train, overlaid with suits of green moss, representing short grass, singing': 'Enter Harvest, with a scythe on his neck, and all his reapers with sickles, and a great black bowl with a posset in it, borne before him:

merry; cheery,

black bo

ry, with a pou

l it agai

oky, we h

have

ve brough

to

all have a certain charming artlessness about

may make coun

play, the shephe

e birds tune t

jug, pu-we, t

ks as the spirit moves him. He is responsible for the description of the performance as a show. His purpose is fully declared at the start, when he announces that he will 'sit as a chorus and flout the actors and him (the author) at the end of every scene'. Forthwith he proceeds to offer advice to the actors about their behaviour: 'And this I bar, over and besides, that none of you stroke your beards to make action, play with your cod-piece points, or stand fumbling on your buttons, when you know not how to bestow your fingers. Serve God, and act cleanly.' Always his honesty exceeds his consideration for the feelings of others. Three clowns and t

t his, his verse indicates the gradual advance that was being made to greater ease and freedom; his lines are not weighted with sounding words, nor is the 'privilege of metre' restricted to the expression of beautiful, wise or emotional thought, as was commonly the case elsewhere. The country freshness of his lyrics has been a

t (since thou rail'

ord or two in

best that comes

ll come neares

cell us in all

of experien

smell, they se

ch, they have i

nderstand the

good old Sa

more varie

ne voice when t

they wrangle

e beat them ou

sicians are,

sick but they k

ans to ease the

rgeons to cure

with a stake

they use t

of their feet u

lesh about whe

n drawn out; an

es kept foul a

purify it with

rve Hippocrat

cine for the

e the least hur

up and look the

se, they eat a

oys their stoma

riters of exp

e first inve

not, Autumn

h rare creatur