The Marlovian theory of Shakespeare authorship holds, first, that Christopher Marlowe did not die on 30th May 1593 as the historical records show, his death having been faked; and second, that in fact he survived long enough to be the main author of the poems and plays typically attributed to William Shakespeare. These are the two things upon which all of those who subscribe to the theory ("Marlovians") would agree.
Against the suggestion that his death was faked are both the fact that it was accepted as genuine by no fewer than sixteen jurors at a coroner's inquest and that there is a complete lack of direct evidence supporting his survival beyond 1593. As for his writing Shakespeare's works, it is generally believed that Marlowe's style—and indeed his whole world-view—are too different to Shakespeare's for this to have been possible, and that all the direct evidence in any case points to William Shakespeare as being the true author. This means that the Marlovian theory is dismissed as nonsense by almost all professional Shakespearian scholars.
THY various works, imperial queen, we see, How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp by thee! Thy wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand, And all attest how potent is thine hand.
From Helicon's refulgent heights attend, Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
To tell her glories with a faithful tongue, Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies, Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes, Whose silken fetters all the senses bind, And soft captivity involves the mind.
Imagination! who can sing thy force? Or who describe the swiftness of thy course? Soaring through air to find the bright abode, Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God, We on thy pinions can surpass the wind, And leave the rolling universe behind: From star to star the mental optics rove, Measure the skies, and range the realms above. There in one view we grasp the mighty whole, Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.
Though Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyes The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise; The frozen deeps may break their iron bands, And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands. Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign, And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain; Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round, And all the forest may with leaves be crown'd: Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose, And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.
Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain, O thou the leader of the mental train: In full perfection all thy works are wrought, And thine the sceptre o'er the realms of thought. Before thy throne the subject-passions bow, Of subject-passions sov'reign ruler thou; At thy command joy rushes on the heart, And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
Fancy might now her silken pinions try To rise from earth, and sweep th' expanse on high:
From Tithon's bed now might Aurora rise, Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies, While a pure stream of light o'erflows the skies. The monarch of the day I might behold, And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold, But I reluctant leave the pleasing views, Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse; Winter austere forbids me to aspire, And northern tempests damp the rising fire; They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing sea, Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.
1576 James Burbage (father of the actor, Richard Burbage) obtains lease and permission to build 'The Theatre' in Shoreditch, London. The Lord Chamberlain's Men use it from 1594 to 1596
1577 Another open air amphitheatre called The Curtain opens in Finsbury Fields, Shoreditch, London
1587 Open air amphitheatre The Rose, Bankside, Surrey is opened
1593 Theatres close due to the Bubonic Plague (The Black Death)
1594 The Lord Chamberlain's Company (formally known as 'Lord Stranges Men') was formed.
1595 March 15, First document mentioning Shakespeare connected with the Theatre
1596 From 1596 to 1597 London's authorities banned the public presentation of plays within the city limits of London
1596 James Burbage purchases Blackfriars and converts it to a theatre. Unable to get permission to open as a theatre it stands empty
1597 Dispute over the lease of 'the Theatre'. The Puritan owner, Giles Allen. disapproved of the Theatre and the acting troupe. Burbage opens negotiations to re-new the lease of the 'Theatre'
1597 Shakespeare's company of actors moved to the Curtain Theatre after failed negotiations for a new lease for the 'Theatre'
1598 Christmas - Timber from the 'Theatre' taken to use for the building of a new theatre to be called the Globe
1599 The Globe Theatre is opened on Bankside
1600 Richard Burbage is forced to lease out Blackfriars.
1603 The Bubonic Plague (The Black Death) again ravages London killing 33,000 people - all theatres close 1613 June 29, Fire at the Globe Theatre
1614 Globe Theatre was rebuilt on original foundations, this time the roof is tiled, not thatched
1616 April 25, Burial of William Shakespeare in the chancel of Holy Trinity Church in Stratford. 1642 The English Civil War beaks out between the Parliamentarians (Puritans) and the Royalists
1642 September 2 - Parliament issues an ordinance suppressing all stage plays
1644 The Globe Theatre demolished by the Puritans. 15th April - Landowner Sir Matthew Brend demolishes the Globe and builds tenement houses on the site
1647 Even stricter rules passed by the Puritans restricting the staging of plays
1648 The Puritans ordered all playhouses and theatres to be pulled down, all players to be seized and whipped, and anyone caught attending a play to be fined five shillings.
1649 The Civil War finally leads to the terrible execution of King Charles I by the Parliamentarians (Puritans)
1653 Oliver Cromwell becomes Lord Protector of England
1658 Cromwell dies and the power of the Puritan starts to decline
1660 King Charles II is restored to the throne of England
1660 The Restoration, and the demise in the power of the Puritans, sees the opening of the theatres again
"Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land, Taught my benighted soul to understand That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too: Once I redemption neither sought nor knew. Some view our sable race with scornful eye, "Their colour is a diabolic die." Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain, May be refin'd and join th'angelic train.
On Being Brougth from Africa to America Phillis Wheatley
Friday
NAME: Phillis Wheatley
DATE OF BIRTH: c. 1753-5
PLACE OF BIRTH: Gambia, Africa
DATE OF DEATH: December, 1784
PLACE OF DEATH: Boston, Massachusetts as a result of childbirth
FAMILY BACKGROUND: Phillis Wheatley was a slave child of seven or eight and sold to John and Susanna Wheatley in Boston on July 11, 1761. Her first name was apparently derived from the ship that carried her to America, The Phillis.
ACCOMPLISHMENTS: During her life, while it was not common for American women to be published, it was especially uncommon for children of slaves to be educated at all. Her gift of writing poetry was encouraged by her owners and their daughter, Mary; they taught Phillis to read and write, with her first poem being published at the age of twelve, "On Messrs. Hussey and Coffin." The countess of Huntingdon, Selina Hastings, was a friend of the Wheatley's who greatly encouraged and financed the publication of her book of poetry, Poems. Obour Tanner, a former slave who made the journey through the middle passage with Phillis also was one of the chief influences and supporters of Phillis' craft.
She was especially fond of writing in the elegiac poetry style, perhaps mirroring the genre of oration taught to her through the women in her African American tribal group. Her elegy on a popular evangelical Methodist minister, George Whitefield, brought her instant success upon his death. She also was well versed in Latin which allowed her to write in the epyllion (short epic) style with the publication of "Niobe in Distress."
Phillis' popularity as a poet both in the United States and England ultimately brought her freedom from slavery on October 18, 1773. She even appeared before General Washington in March, 1776 for her poetry and was a strong supporter of independence during the Revolutionary War. She felt slavery to be the issue which separated whites from true heroism: whites can not "hope to find/Deivine acceptance with th' Almighty mind" when "they disgrace/And hold in bondage Afric's blameless race."
Phyllis is remembered for many first time accomplishments from a woman of her day:
First African American to publish a book An accomplished African American woman of letters First African American woman to earn a living from her writing First woman writer encouraged and financed by a group of women (Mrs. Wheatley, Mary Wheatly, and Selina Hastings.)
Source: Women in History. Phillis Wheatley biography. Last Updated: 1/26/2008. Lakewood Public Library.
LITTLE thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown Of thee from the hill-top looking down; The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, Deems not that great Napoleon Stops his horse, and lists with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; Nor knowest thou what argument Thy life to thy neighbor’s creed has lent. All are needed by each one; Nothing is fair or good alone. I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough; I brought him home, in his nest, at even; He sings the song, but it cheers not now, For I did not bring home the river and sky; He sang to my ear,—they sang to my eye. The delicate shells lay on the shore; The bubbles of the latest wave Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, And the bellowing of the savage sea Greeted their safe escape to me. I wiped away the weeds and foam, I fetched my sea-born treasures home; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. The lover watched his graceful maid, As mid the virgin train she strayed, Nor knew her beauty’s best attire Was woven still by the snow-white choir. At last she came to his hermitage, Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; The gay enchantment was undone, A gentle wife, but fairy none. Then I said, “I covet truth; Beauty is unripe childhood’s cheat; I leave it behind with the games of youth:” As I spoke, beneath my feet The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, Running over the club-moss burrs; I inhaled the violet ’s breath; Around me stood the oaks and firs; Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground; Over me soared the eternal sky, Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird; Beauty through my senses stole; I yielded myself to the perfect whole.
Sonnets were introduced by Thomas Wyatt in the early 16th century. His sonnets and those of his contemporary the Earl of Surrey were chiefly translations from the Italian of Petrarch and the French of Ronsard and others. While Wyatt introduced the sonnet into English, it was Surrey who gave them the rhyme scheme, meter, and division into quatrains that now characterizes the English sonnet. Sir Philip Sidney's sequence Astrophil and Stella (1591) started a tremendous vogue for sonnet sequences: the next two decades saw sonnet sequences by William Shakespeare, Edmund Spenser, Michael Drayton, Samuel Daniel, Fulke Greville, William Drummond of Hawthornden, and many others.These sonnets were all essentially inspired by the Petrarchan tradition, and generally treat of the poet's love for some woman; the exception is Shakespeare's sequence. In the 17th century, the sonnet was adapted to other purposes, with John Donne and George Herbert writing religious sonnets, and John Milton using the sonnet as a general meditative poem. Both the Shakespearean and Petrarchan rhyme schemes were popular throughout this period, as well as many variants.
The fashion for the sonnet went out with the Restoration, and hardly any sonnets were written between 1670 and Wordsworth's time. However, sonnets came back strongly with the French Revolution. Wordsworth himself wrote several sonnets, of which the best-known are "The world is too much with us" and the sonnet to Milton; his sonnets were essentially modelled on Milton's. Keats and Shelley also wrote major sonnets; Keats's sonnets used formal and rhetorical patterns inspired partly by Shakespeare, and Shelley innovated radically, creating his own rhyme scheme for the sonnet "Ozymandias". Sonnets were written throughout the 19th century, but, apart from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese and the sonnets of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, there were few very successful traditional sonnets. Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote several major sonnets, often in sprung rhythm, of which the greatest is "The Windhover," and also several sonnet variants such as the 10-1/2 line curtal sonnet "Pied Beauty" and the 24-line caudate sonnet "That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire." By the end of the 19th century, the sonnet had been adapted into a general-purpose form of great flexibility.
This flexibility was extended even further in the 20th century. Among the major poets of the early Modernist period, Robert Frost, Edna St. Vincent Millay and E. E. Cummings all used the sonnet regularly. William Butler Yeats wrote the major sonnet Leda and the Swan, which used half rhymes. Wilfred Owen's sonnet Anthem for Doomed Youth was another sonnet of the early 20th century. W. H. Auden wrote two sonnet sequences and several other sonnets throughout his career, and widened the range of rhyme-schemes used considerably. Auden also wrote one of the first unrhymed sonnets in English, "The Secret Agent" (1928). Half-rhymed, unrhymed, and even unmetrical sonnets have been very popular since 1950; perhaps the best works in the genre are Seamus Heaney's Glanmore Sonnets and Clearances, both of which use half rhymes, and Geoffrey Hill's mid-period sequence 'An Apology for the Revival of Christian Architecture in England'. The 1990s saw something of a formalist revival, however, and several traditional sonnets have been written in the past decade.
Soon after the introduction of the Italian sonnet, English poets began to develop a fully native form. These poets included Sir Philip Sidney, Michael Drayton, Samuel Daniel, the Earl of Surrey's nephew Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford and William Shakespeare. The form is often named after Shakespeare, not because he was the first to write in this form but because he became its most famous practitioner. The form consists of three quatrains and a couplet. The third quatrain generally introduces an unexpected sharp thematic or imagistic "turn" called a volta. The usual rhyme scheme was a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g. In addition, sonnets are usually written in iambic pentameter, meaning that there are 10 or perhaps even 11 or 9 syllables per line, and that every other syllable is naturally accented. (Sonnets almost always have 10 syllable lines, but do not always have the natural accent)The sonnet must be 14 lines long, and the last two lines of the sonnet have rhyming endings (though there may be exceptions). In Shakespeare's sonnets, the couplet usually summarizes the theme of the poem or introduces a fresh new look at the theme.
This is the proper rhyme scheme for an English Sonnet (/ represents a new stanza): a-b-a-b / c-d-c-d / e-f-e-f / g-g
This example, Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, illustrates the form:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds (a) Admit impediments, love is not love (b) Which alters when it alteration finds, (a) Or bends with the remover to remove. (b)
O no, it is an ever fixed mark (c) That looks on tempests and is never shaken; (d) It is the star to every wand'ring bark, (c) Whose worth's unknown although his height be taken. (d)
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks (e) Within his bending sickle's compass come, (f) Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, (e) But bears it out even to the edge of doom: (f)
If this be error and upon me proved, (g) I never writ, nor no man ever loved. (g)
In Flanders, once, there was a company Of young companions given to folly, Riot and gambling, brothels and taverns; And, to the music of harps, lutes, gitterns, They danced and played at dice both day and night. And ate also and drank beyond their might, Whereby they made the devil's sacrifice Within that devil's temple, wicked wise, By superfluity both vile and vain. So damnable their oaths and so profane That it was terrible to hear them swear; Our Blessed Saviour's Body did they tear; They thought the Jews had rent Him not enough; And each of them at others' sins would laugh. Then entered dancing-girls of ill repute, Graceful and slim, and girls who peddled fruit, Harpers and bawds and women selling cake, Who do their office for the Devil's sake, To kindle and blow the fire of lechery, Which is so closely joined with gluttony; I call on holy writ, now, to witness That lust is in all wine and drunkenness. Lo, how the drunken Lot unnaturally Lay with his daughters two, unwittingly; So drunk he was he knew not what he wrought. Herod, as in his story's clearly taught, When full of wine and merry at a feast, Sitting at table idly gave behest To slay John Baptist, who was all guiltless. Seneca says a good word too, doubtless; He says there is no difference he can find Between a man that's quite out of his mind And one that's drunken, save perhaps in this That when a wretch in madness fallen is, The state lasts longer than does drunkenness. O gluttony; full of all wickedness, O first cause of confusion to us all, Beginning of damnation and our fall, Till Christ redeemed us with His blood again! Behold how dearly, to be brief and plain, Was purchased this accursed villainy; Corrupt was all this world with gluttony! Adam our father, and his wife also, From Paradise to labour and to woe Were driven for that vice, no doubt; indeed The while that Adam fasted, as I read, He was in Paradise; but then when he Ate of the fruit forbidden of the tree, Anon he was cast out to woe and pain. O gluttony, of you we may complain! Oh, knew a man how many maladies Follow on excess and on gluttonies, Surely he would be then more moderate In diet, and at table more sedate. Alas! The throat so short, the tender mouth, Causing that east and west and north and south, In earth, in air, in water men shall swink To get a glutton dainty meat and drink! Of this same matter Paul does wisely treat: "Meat for the belly and belly for the meat: And both shall God destroy," as Paul does say. Alas! A foul thing is it, by my fay, To speak this word, and fouler is the deed, When man so guzzles of the white and red That of his own throat makes he his privy, Because of this cursed superfluity. The apostle, weeping, says most piteously: "For many walk, of whom I've told you, aye, Weeping I tell you once again they're dross, For they are foes of Christ and of the Cross, Whose end is death, whose belly is their god." O gut! O belly! O you stinking cod, Filled full of dung, with all corruption found! At either end of you foul is the sound. With how great cost and labour do they find Your food! These cooks, they pound and strain and grind; Substance to accident they turn with fire, All to fulfill your gluttonous desire! Out of the hard and riven bones knock they The marrow, for they throw nothing away That may go through the gullet soft and sweet; With spicery, with leaf, bark, root, replete Shall be the sauces made for your delight, To furnish you a sharper appetite. But truly, he that such delights entice Is dead while yet he wallows in this vice. A lecherous thing is wine, and drunkenness Is full of striving and of wretchedness. O drunken man, disfigured is your face, Sour is your breath, foul are you to embrace, And through your drunken nose there comes a sound As if you snored out "Samson, Samson" round; And yet God knows that Samson drank no wine. You fall down just as if you were stuck swine; Your tongue is loose, your honest care obscure; For drunkenness is very sepulture Of any mind a man may chance to own. In whom strong drink has domination shown He can no counsel keep for any dread. Now keep you from the white and from the red, And specially from the white wine grown at Lepe That is for sale in Fish Street or in Cheap. This wine of Spain, it mixes craftily With other wines that chance to be near by, From which there rise such fumes, as well may be, That when a man has drunk two draughts, or three, And thinks himself to be at home in Cheap, He finds that he's in Spain, and right at Lepe,- Not at Rochelle nor yet at Bordeaux town, And then will he snore out "Samson, Samson." But hearken, masters, one word more I pray: The greatest deeds of all, I'm bold to say, Of victories in the old testament, Through the True God, Who is omnipotent, Were gained by abstinence and after prayer: Look in the Bible, you may learn this there. Lo, Attila, the mighty conqueror, Died in his sleep, in shame and dishonour, And bleeding at the nose for drunkenness; A great captain should live in soberness. Above all this, advise yourself right well What was commanded unto Lemuel- Not Samuel, but Lemuel, say I- The Bible's words you cannot well deny: Drinking by magistrates is called a vice. No more of this, for it may well suffice. And now that I have told of gluttony, I'll take up gambling, showing you thereby The curse of chance, and all its evils treat; From it proceeds false swearing and deceit, Blaspheming, murder, and- what's more- the waste Of time and money; add to which, debased And shamed and lost to honour quite is he, Who once a common gambler's known to be. And ever the higher one is of estate, The more he's held disgraced and desolate. And if a prince plays similar hazardry In all his government and policy, He loses in the estimate of men His good repute, and finds it not again. Chilon, who was a wise ambassador, Was sent to Corinth, all in great honour, From Lacedaemon, to make alliance. And when he came, he noticed there, by chance, All of the greatest people of the land Playing at hazard there on every hand. Wherefore, and all as soon as it might be, He stole off home again to his country, And said: "I will not thus debase my name; Nor will I take upon me so great shame You to ally with common hazarders. Send, if you will, other ambassadors; For, my truth, I say I'd rather die Than you with gamblers like to them ally. For you that are so glorious in honours Shall never ally yourselves with hazarders By my consent, or treaty I have made." This wise philosopher, 'twas thus he said. Let us look, then, at King Demetrius. The king of Parthia, as the book tells us, Sent him a pair of golden dice, in scorn, Because the name of gambler he had borne; Wherefore he marked his reputation down As valueless despite his wide renown. Great lords may find sufficient other play Seemly enough to while the time away. Now will I speak of oaths both false and great A word or two, whereof the old books treat. Great swearing is a thing abominable, And vain oaths yet more reprehensible. The High God did forbid swearing at all, As witness Matthew; but in especial Of swearing says the holy Jeremiah, "Thou shalt not swear in vain, to be a liar, But swear in judgment and in righteousness"; But idle swearing is a wickedness. Behold, in the first table of the Law, That should be honoured as High God's, sans flaw, This second one of His commandments plain: "Thou shalt not take the Lord God's name in vain." Nay, sooner He forbids us such swearing Than homicide or many a wicked thing; I say that, as to order, thus it stands; 'Tis known by him who His will understands That the great second law of God is that. Moreover, I will tell you full and flat, That retribution will not quit his house Who in his swearing is too outrageous. "By God's own precious heart, and by His nails, And by the blood of Christ that's now at Hales, Seven is my chance, and yours is five and trey!" "By God's good arms, if you do falsely play, This dagger through your heart I'll stick for you!" Such is the whelp ing of the bitched bones two: Perjury, anger, cheating, homicide. Now for the love of Christ, Who for us died, Forgo this swearing oaths, both great and small; But, sirs, now will I tell to you my tale. Now these three roisterers, whereof I tell, Long before prime was rung by any bell, Were sitting in a tavern for to drink; And as they sat they heard a small bell clink Before a corpse being carried to his grave; Whereat one of them called unto his knave: "Go run," said he, "and ask them civilly What corpse it is that's just now passing by, And see that you report the man's name well." "Sir," said the boy, "it needs not that they tell. I learned it, ere you came here, full two hours; He was, by gad, an old comrade of yours; And he was slain, all suddenly, last night, When drunk, as he sat on his bench upright; An unseen thief, called Death, came stalking by, Who hereabouts makes all the people die, And with his spear he clove his heart in two And went his way and made no more ado. He's slain a thousand with this pestilence; And, master, ere you come in his presence, It seems to me to be right necessary To be forewarned of such an adversary: Be ready to meet him for evermore. My mother taught me this, I say no more." "By holy Mary," said the innkeeper, "The boy speaks truth, for Death has slain, this year, A mile or more hence, in a large village, Both man and woman, child and hind and page. I think his habitation must be there; To be advised of him great wisdom 'twere, Before he did a man some dishonour." "Yea, by God's arms!" exclaimed this roisterer, "Is it such peril, then, this Death to meet? I'll seek him in the road and in the street, As I now vow to God's own noble bones! Hear, comrades, we're of one mind, as each owns; Let each of us hold up his hand to other And each of us become the other's brother, And we three will go slay this traitor Death; He shall be slain who's stopped so many a breath, By God's great dignity, ere it be night." Together did these three their pledges plight To live and die, each of them for the other, As if he were his very own blood brother. And up they started, drunken, in this rage, And forth they went, and towards that village Whereof the innkeeper had told before. And so, with many a grisly oath, they swore And Jesus' blessed body once more rent- "Death shall be dead if we find where he went." When they had gone not fully half a mile, Just as they would have trodden over a stile, An old man, and a poor, with them did meet. This ancient man full meekly them did greet, And said thus: "Now, lords, God keep you and see!' The one that was most insolent of these three Replied to him: "What? Churl of evil grace, Why are you all wrapped up, except your face? Why do you live so long in so great age?" This ancient man looked upon his visage And thus replied: "Because I cannot find A man, nay, though I walked from here to Ind, Either in town or country who'll engage To give his youth in barter for my age; And therefore must I keep my old age still, As long a time as it shall be God's will. Not even Death, alas! my life will take; Thus restless I my wretched way must make, And on the ground, which is my mother's gate, I knock with my staff early, aye, and late, And cry: 'O my dear mother, let me in! Lo, how I'm wasted, flesh and blood and skin! Alas! When shall my bones come to their rest? Mother, with you fain would I change my chest, That in my chamber so long time has been, Aye! For a haircloth rag to wrap me in!' But yet to me she will not show that grace, And thus all pale and withered is my face. "But, sirs, in you it is no courtesy To speak to an old man despitefully, Unless in word he trespass or in deed. In holy writ you may, yourselves, well read 'Before an old man, hoar upon the head, You should arise.' Which I advise you read, Nor to an old man any injury do More than you would that men should do to you In age, if you so long time shall abide; And God be with you, whether you walk or ride. I must pass on now where I have to go." "Nay, ancient churl, by God it sha'n't be so," Cried out this other hazarder, anon; "You sha'n't depart so easily, by Saint John! You spoke just now of that same traitor Death, Who in this country stops our good friends' breath. Hear my true word, since you are his own spy, Tell where he is or you shall rue it, aye By God and by the holy Sacrament! Indeed you must be, with this Death, intent To slay all us young people, you false thief." "Now, sirs," said he, "if you're so keen, in brief, To find out Death, turn up this crooked way, For in that grove I left him, by my fay, Under a tree, and there he will abide; Nor for your boasts will he a moment hide. See you that oak? Right there you shall him find. God save you, Who redeemed all humankind, And mend your ways!"- thus said this ancient man. And every one of these three roisterers ran Till he came to that tree; and there they found, Of florins of fine gold, new-minted, round, Well-nigh eight bushels full, or so they thought. No longer, then, after this Death they sought, But each of them so glad was of that sight, Because the florins were so fair and bright, That down they all sat by this precious hoard. The worst of them was first to speak a word. "Brothers," said he, "take heed to what I say; My wits are keen, although I mock and play. This treasure here Fortune to us has given That mirth and jollity our lives may liven, And easily as it's come, so will we spend. Eh! By God's precious dignity! Who'd pretend, Today, that we should have so fair a grace? But might this gold be carried from this place Home to my house, or if you will, to yours- For well we know that all this gold is ours- Then were we all in high felicity. But certainly by day this may not be; For men would say that we were robbers strong, And we'd, for our own treasure, hang ere long. This treasure must be carried home by night All prudently and slyly, out of sight. So I propose that cuts among us all Be drawn, and let's see where the cut will fall; And he that gets the short cut, blithe of heart Shall run to town at once, and to the mart, And fetch us bread and wine here, privately. And two of us shall guard, right cunningly, This treasure well; and if he does not tarry, When it is night we'll all the treasure carry Where, by agreement, we may think it best." That one of them the cuts brought in his fist And bade them draw to see where it might fall; And it fell on the youngest of them all; And so, forth toward the town he went anon. And just as soon as he had turned and gone, That one of them spoke thus unto the other: "You know well that you are my own sworn brother, So to your profit I will speak anon. You know well how our comrade is just gone; And here is gold, and that in great plenty, That's to be parted here among us three. Nevertheless, if I can shape it so That it be parted only by us two, Shall I not do a turn that is friendly?" The other said: "Well, now, how can that be? He knows well that the gold is with us two. What shall we say to him? What shall we do?" "Shall it be secret?" asked the first rogue, then, "And I will tell you in eight words, or ten, What we must do, and how bring it about." "Agreed," replied the other, "Never doubt, That, on my word, I nothing will betray." "Now," said the first, "we're two, and I dare say The two of us are stronger than is one. Watch when he sits, and soon as that is done Arise and make as if with him to play; And I will thrust him through the two sides, yea, The while you romp with him as in a game, And with your dagger see you do the same; And then shall all this gold divided be, My right dear friend, just between you and me; Then may we both our every wish fulfill And play at dice all at our own sweet will." And thus agreed were these two rogues, that day, To slay the third, as you have heard me say. This youngest rogue who'd gone into the town, Often in fancy rolled he up and down The beauty of those florins new and bright. "O Lord," thought he, "if so be that I might Have all this treasure to myself alone, There is no man who lives beneath the throne Of God that should be then so merry as I." And at the last the Fiend, our enemy, Put in his thought that he should poison buy With which he might kill both his fellows; aye, The Devil found him in such wicked state, He had full leave his grief to consummate; For it was utterly the man's intent To kill them both and never to repent. And on he strode, no longer would he tarry, Into the town, to an apothecary, And prayed of him that he'd prepare and sell Some poison for his rats, and some as well For a polecat that in his yard had lain, The which, he said, his capons there had slain, And fain he was to rid him, if he might, Of vermin that thus damaged him by night. The apothecary said: "And you shall have A thing of which, so God my spirit save, In all this world there is no live creature That's eaten or has drunk of this mixture As much as equals but a grain of wheat, That shall not sudden death thereafter meet; Yea, die he shall, and in a shorter while Than you require to walk but one short mile; This poison is so violent and strong." This wicked man the poison took along With him boxed up, and then he straightway ran Into the street adjoining, to a man, And of him borrowed generous bottles three; And into two his poison then poured he; The third one he kept clean for his own drink. For all that night he was resolved to swink In carrying the florins from that place. And when this roisterer, with evil grace, Had filled with wine his mighty bottles three, Then to his comrades forth again went he. What is the need to tell about it more? For just as they had planned his death before, Just so they murdered him, and that anon. And when the thing was done, then spoke the one: "Now let us sit and drink and so be merry, And afterward we will his body bury." And as he spoke, one bottle of the three He took wherein the poison chanced to be And drank and gave his comrade drink also, For which, and that anon, lay dead these two. I feel quite sure that Doctor Avicena Within the sections of his Canon never Set down more certain signs of poisoning Than showed these wretches two at their ending. Thus ended these two homicides in woe; Died thus the treacherous poisoner also. O cursed sin, full of abominableness! O treacherous homicide! O wickedness! O gluttony, lechery, and hazardry! O blasphemer of Christ with villainy, And with great oaths, habitual for pride! Alas! Mankind, how may this thing betide That to thy dear Creator, Who thee wrought, And with His precious blood salvation bought, Thou art so false and so unkind, alas! Now, good men, God forgive you each trespass, And keep you from the sin of avarice. My holy pardon cures and will suffice, So that it brings me gold, or silver brings, Or else, I care not- brooches, spoons or rings. Bow down your heads before this holy bull! Come up, you wives, and offer of your wool! Your names I'll enter on my roll, anon, And into Heaven's bliss you'll go, each one. For I'll absolve you, by my special power, You that make offering, as clean this hour As you were born. And lo, sirs, thus I preach. And Jesus Christ, who is our souls' great leech, So grant you each his pardon to receive; For that is best; I will not you deceive. But, sirs, one word forgot I in my tale; I've relics in my pouch that cannot fail, As good as England ever saw, I hope, The which I got by kindness of the pope. If gifts your change of heart and mind reveal, You'll get my absolution while you kneel. Come forth, and kneel down here before, anon, And humbly you'll receive my full pardon; Or else receive a pardon as you wend, All new and fresh as every mile shall end, So that you offer me each time, anew, More gold and silver, all good coins and true. It is an honour to each one that's here That you may have a competent pardoner To give you absolution as you ride, For all adventures that may still betide. Perchance from horse may fall down one or two, Breaking his neck, and it might well be you. See what insurance, then, it is for all That I within your fellowship did fall, Who may absolve you, both the great and less, When soul from body passes, as I guess. I think our host might just as well begin, For he is most-enveloped in all sin. Come forth, sir host, and offer first anon, And you shall kiss the relics, every one, Aye, for a groat! Unbuckle now your purse." "Nay, nay," said he, "then may I have Christ's curse! It sha'n't be," said he, "as I've hope for riches, Why, you would have me kissing your old breeches, And swear they were the relics of a saint, Though with your excrement 'twere dabbed like paint. By cross Saint Helen found in Holy Land, I would I had your ballocks in my hand Instead of relics in a reliquary; Let's cut them off, and them I'll help you carry; They shall be shrined within a hog's fat turd." This pardoner, he answered not a word; So wrathy was he no word would he say. "Now," said our host, "I will no longer play With you, nor any other angry man." But at this point the worthy knight began, When that he saw how all the folk did laugh: "No more of this, for it's gone far enough; Sir pardoner, be glad and merry here; And you, sir host, who are to me so dear, I pray you that you kiss the pardoner. And, pardoner, I pray you to draw near, And as we did before, let's laugh and play." And then they kissed and rode forth on their way.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
The Marlovian theory of Shakespeare authorship holds, first, that Christopher Marlowe did not die on 30th May 1593 as the historical records show, his death having been faked; and second, that in fact he survived long enough to be the main author of the poems and plays typically attributed to William Shakespeare. These are the two things upon which all of those who subscribe to the theory ("Marlovians") would agree.
