Christoper Marlowe (1564-1593)

Marlowe was one of the first great dramatists and poets of the Elizabeth Age. Nothing is known of his early childhood education but on Jan. 14, 1579, he entered King's School in Canterbury. A year later he went to Corpus Christi College in Cambridge and earned his bachelor's degree in 1584.

Marlowe was in London writing for theater in 1587. He was frequently in trouble with authorities because of his rough behavior. He also worked, serving the government from time to time, apparently in Elizabeth I's secret service. He was considered disreputable because of his reputation for "atheism." He also exhibited a delight in blasphemy. On May 18, 1593, the Privy Council ordered his arrest.

Marlowe is likened to Shakespeare in his playwrighting abilities, even though his career spanned little more than six years. The play, "Tamburlaine the Great," was published in 1587. "Dido, Queen of Carthage" was published in 1594. He translated Ovid's "Amores" and the first book of Lucan's "Pharsalia" from Latin. No other plays, poems or writings were published during his lifetime.

His unfinished but splendid poem, "Hero and Leander," considered the finest nondramatic Elizabethan poem appeared in 1598. Other works included: "Faustus, "Edward II" and "The Massacre at Paris." Marlowe's "Tamburlaine" established blank verse as a staple for later Elizatethan and Jacobean dramatic writing. Marlowe's most-famous play, "The Tragicall History of Dr. Faustus," has survived in only corrupt form and the date of the writing has been in dispute. It takes over the dramatic framework of morality plays. The theme of "Tamburlaine" and "Faustus" outlines the cruelty, absurdity and magnificence of the hero, showing grandiose intellectual ambition and viewing those pursuits as futile, self-destructive and absurd. "Edward II" is the only one of Marlowe's plays whose text can be relied on as adequately representing the author's manuscript. Most of the others have been incomplete or corrupted later by hack writers. "The Jew and the Massacre" reveals Marlowe's awareness of the nature of disaster, the power of society and the dark extent of an individual's suffering.

Fred Tromly, in 1998's "Playing with Desire: Christoper Marlowe and the Art of Tantalization," replaces the interpretation of Marlovian desire as a heroic aspiration with the proposal that the author's writing desire is a calculated, teasing enticement, ultimately a sign of impotence, not power. Tromly identifies this desire with sadistic irony rather than sublime tragedy. Marlowe's characters are said to tantalize and frustrate their audiences.

In 1593, Marlowe was suspected of heresy but was found dead, allegedly killed during a fight over a dinner bill, before he could be brought before the Privy Council. He was 29.

Hero and Leander, an excerpt 

 FIRST SESTIAD

On Hellespont, guilty of true-love's blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune's might;
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,
And offered as a dower his burning throne,
Where she should sit for men to gaze upon.
The outside of her garments were of lawn,
The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;
Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with a grove,
Where Venus in her naked glory strove
To please the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies.
Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain,
Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.
Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath,
From whence her veil reached to the ground beneath.
Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves
Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives.
Many would praise the sweet smell as she passed,
When 'twas the odour which her breath forth cast;
And there for honey bees have sought in vain,
And, beat from thence, have lighted there again.
About her neck hung chains of pebblestone,
Which, lightened by her neck, like diamonds shone.
She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind
Would burn or parch her hands, but to her mind,
Or warm or cool them, for they took delight
To play upon those hands, they were so white.
Buskins of shells, all silvered used she,
And branched with blushing coral to the knee;
Where sparrows perched of hollow pearl and gold,
Such as the world would wonder to behold.
Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,
Which, as she went, would chirrup through the bills.
Some say for her the fairest Cupid pined
And looking in her face was strooken blind.
But this is true: so like was one the other,
As he imagined Hero was his mother.
And oftentimes into her bosom flew,
About her naked neck his bare arms threw,
And laid his childish head upon her breast,
And, with still panting rocked, there took his rest.
So lovely fair was Hero, Venus' nun,
As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,
Because she took more from her than she left,
And of such wondrous beauty her bereft.
Therefore, in sign her treasure suffered wrack,
Since Hero's time hath half the world been black.

 Amorous Leander, beautiful and young,
(whose tragedy divine Musaeus sung,)
Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there none
For whom succeeding times make greater moan.
His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,
Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne,
Would have allured the vent'rous youth of Greece
To hazard more than for the golden fleece.
Fair Cynthia wished his arms might be her sphere;
Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there.
His body was as straight as Circe's wand;
Jove might have sipped out nectar from his hand.
Even as delicious meat is to the taste,
So was his neck in touching, and surpassed
The white of Pelop's shoulder. I could tell ye
How smooth his breast was and how white his belly;
And whose immortal fingers did imprint
That heavenly path with many a curious dint
That runs along his back, but my rude pen
Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men,
Much less of powerful gods. Let it suffice
That my slack Muse sings of Leander's eyes,
Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his
That leaped into the water for a kiss
Of his own shadow and, despising many,
Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.
Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen
Enamoured of his beauty had he been.
His presence made the rudest peasant melt
That in the vast uplandish country dwelt.
The barbarous Thracian soldier, moved with nought,
Was moved with him and for his favour sought.
Some swore he was a maid in man's attire,
For in his looks were all that men desire,
A pleasant smiling cheek, a speaking eye,
A brow for love to banquet royally;
And such as knew he was a man, would say,
Leander, thou art made for amorous play.
Why art thou not in love, and loved of all?
Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall."

 The men of wealthy Sestos every year,
(For his sake whom their goddess held so dear,
Rose-cheeked Adonis) kept a solemn feast.
Thither resorted many a wandering guest
To meet their loves.