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[CHRISTOPHER Marlow was born in the year 1562. The place of his birth and the circumstances of his family are unknown, though it is recorded that he was educated at Cambridge, and on leaving that university became an actor and dramatic writer. He fell in an unworthy brawl with a servant, in 1593.
Marlow is considered the most distinguished of Shakspeare's predecessors. The character of his works is well described by Hazlitt :“There is a lust of power in his writings, a hunger and thirst after unrighteousness, a glow of imagination unhallowed by anything but its own energies. His thoughts burnt within him like a furnace of Alickering flame, or throwing out black smoke and mists that hide the dawn of genius, or like a poisonous mineral corrode the heart.” The incidents of his death but too well accorded with the licentiousness of his character. ]
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will sit upon the rocks,
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies ;
A gown made of the finest wool,
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
TIMES GO BY TURNS.
BY ROBERT SOUTHWELL.
(ROBERT SOUTHWELL was born at St. Faith's, in Norfolk, in 1560, and was educated in the English College at Douay,--his family being Roman Catholic. He joined the Jesuits at Rome, and, on returning to England, became involved in the intrigues of their order. Consequently he was committed to the Tower, where he remained a prisoner for three years, at the end of which time he was tried, and executed at Tyburn, in 1595.
Southwell's poetry, which is only of the second order, is sad and contemplative; and, as Campbell remarks, it is impossible to read it “without lamenting that its author should have been either the insirument of bigotry, or the object of persecution.”]
The lopped tree in time may grow again,
The driest soil suck in some moistening shower : Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.
The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow;
She draws her favours to the lowest ebb: Her tides have equal times to come and go;
Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web No joy so great but runneth to an end, No hap so hard but may in fine amend.
Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring,
Not endless night, yet not eternal day : The saddest birds a season find to sing,
The roughest storm a calm may soon allay.
Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all,
A chance may win that by mischance was lost;
That net that holds no great, takes little fish; In some things all, in all things none are cross'd ;
Few all they need, but none have all they wish. Unmingled joys here to no man befall; Who least, hath some ; who most, hath never all.