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Faust.

Ah Faustus,
Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damned perpetually.
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,
That time may cease and midnight never come.
Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again, and make
Perpetual day! or let this hour be but

A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul.

O lente lente currite, noctis equi.1

The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damned.
Oh, I will leap up to my God! Who pulls me down?
See where Christ's blood streams in the firmament:
One drop would save my soul-half a drop: ah my
Christ!

Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ!
Yet will I call on him: O spare me, Lucifer !--
Where is it now? 'tis gone! And see where God
Stretcheth out his arm and bends his ireful brow.
Mountains and hills, come, come and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of God.
No! no!

Then I will headlong run into the earth :
Earth, gape! O no, it will not harbour me!
You stars that reigned at my nativity,
Whose influence have allotted Death and Hell,
Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist
Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud;
That when you vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths,
So that my soul may but ascend to heaven.

[The clock strikes the half-hour. Oh, the half-hour is past!

'Twill all be past anon, O God!

If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul.

Yet for Christ's sake whose blood hath ransomed me
Impose some end to my incessant pain.
Let Faustus live in Hell a thousand years,

A hundred thousand, and-at last-be saved!
O, no end is limited to damned souls.
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?
Or why is this immortal that thou hast?
Pythagoras' Metempsychosis, were that true,
This soul should fly from me, and I be changed
Unto some brutish beast.

All beasts are happy, for when they die,
Their souls are soon dissolved in elements;
But mine must live still to be plagued in Hell.
Curst be the parents that engendered me!
No, Faustus: curse thyself: curse Lucifer,
That hath deprived thee of the joys of Heaven.

[The clock strikes twelve.

It strikes, it strikes; now, body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to Hell.

[Thunder and lightning.
O soul, be changed into little water-drops,
And fall into the ocean: ne'er be found.
Enter Devils.

My God! my God! look not so fierce on me.
Adders and serpents, let me breathe a while :
Ugly Hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer!
I'll burn my books: Ah Mephistophilis !

[Exeunt Devils with FAUSTUS.

1 Words whispered in Corinna's arms; from Ovid's Amores.

Enter CHORUS.

Cho. Cut is the branch that might have grown full

straight,

And burned is Apollo's laurel bough

That sometimes grew within this learned man :
Faustus is gone; regard his hellish fall,
Whose fiendish fortune may exhort the wise
Only to wonder at unlawful things;
Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits
To practise more than heavenly power permits.

There is a fine apostrophe to Helen of Greece, whom Mephistophilis conjures up 'between two Cupids,' to gratify the sensual gaze of Faustus :

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burned the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!
Her lips suck forth my soul--see where it flies.
Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again :
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena.

I will be Paris, and for love of thee,
Instead of Troy shall Wertenberg be sacked;
And I will combat with weak Menelaus,
And wear thy colours on my plumed crest :
Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel,
And then return to Helen for a kiss.
Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air,
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars!
Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter
When he appeared to hapless Semele ;
More lovely than the monarch of the sky
In wanton Arethusa's azure arms;
And none but thou shalt be my paramour.

(From Scene xiv.) Faustus long held the stage, and was revived at the Restoration. Faust is first heard of in Germany in 1507; the folk-tale on his life had appeared in various shapes in Germany from 1587 down. Marlowe's play, in a German version, was acted in Germany by English players in 1608 and 1626; and the play was not without influence on the Faust of Goethe, who greatly admired Marlowe's.

Before 1593 Marlowe produced three other dramas, The Jew of Malta, The Massacre at Paris, and Edward II. The more malignant passions of the human breast have rarely been represented with greater power than in the Jew of Malta, in some respects the prototype of the Merchant of Venice (see below at Shakespeare), though, as Charles Lamb pointed out, whereas Shylock at the worst was a man, Barabas is a mere monster, who 'kills in sport, poisons whole nunneries, invents infernal machines.' Yet in the earlier scenes he behaves like a very human man, and there is some fine poetry put in his mouth. After he has been stripped of house and wealth by the Church authorities his friends try vainly to comfort him:

1st Jew. Yet, brother Barabas, remember Job. Bar. What tell you me of Job? I wot his wealth Was written thus: he had seven thousand sheep, Three thousand camels, and two hundred yoke Of labouring oxen, and five hundred She asses: but for every one of those,

Had they been valued at indifferent rate,

I had at home, and in mine argosy,

And other ships that came from Egypt last,

As much as would have bought his beasts and him,

And yet have kept enough to live upon :
So that not he, but I may curse the day,
Thy fatal birth-day, forlorn Barabas ;
And henceforth wish for an eternal night,
That clouds of darkness may inclose my flesh,
And hide these extreme sorrows from mine eyes :
For only I have toiled to inherit here

The months of vanity and loss of time,
And painful nights have been appointed me.

2nd Jew. Good Barabas, be patient.

Bar. Ay, I pray, leave me in my patience. You, Were ne'er possessed of wealth, are pleased with want; But give him liberty at least to mourn,

That in a field amidst his enemies

Doth see his soldiers slain, himself disarmed,

And knows no means of his recovery :

Ay, let me sorrow for this sudden chance; 'Tis in the trouble of my spirit I speak ; Great injuries are not so soon forgot.

1st Jew. Come, let us leave him; in his ireful mood Our words will but increase his ecstasy.

His house has been straightway turned into a
nunnery, and he sends his daughter Abigail, osten-
sibly to become a novice, really to steal back some
gold and jewels he had hid beneath a movable
plank. While waiting outside he thus soliloquises :
Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls
The sick man's passport in her hollow beak,
And in the shadow of the silent night
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings;
Vexed and tormented runs poor Barabas
With fatal curses towards these Christians.
The uncertain pleasures of swift-footed time
Have ta'en their flight, and left me in despair;
And of my former riches rests no more
But bare remembrance, like a soldier's scar,
That has no further comfort for his maim.
O thou, that with a fiery pillar led'st

The sons of Israel through the dismal shades,
Light Abraham's offspring; and direct the hand
Of Abigail this night; or let the day

Turn to eternal darkness after this!

No sleep can fasten on my watchful eyes,
Nor quiet enter my distempered thoughts,
Till I have answer of my Abigail.

And when Abigail throws down the bags from the window he hugs them, and in words almost anticipating Shakespeare's, 'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!' gasps :

O girl! O gold! O beauty! O my bliss! Edward II. is, as a play, greatly superior to the two named with it: though it has not the majestic poetry of Faustus and the first two acts of the Jew of Malta, it is a noble drama, with ablydrawn characters and splendid scenes. Another tragedy, Lust's Dominion, was published long after Marlowe's death, with his name as author on the title-page. Collier showed that this play, as printed, was a much later production, and was probably

In

written by Dekker and others; but it contains passages and characters characteristic of Marlowe's style, and he may have written the original outline. The old play of Taming of a Shrew, printed in 1594 (a precursor of Shakespeare's), contains numerous passages manifestly borrowed from Marlowe's acknowledged works, and hence it has been quite unreasonably argued that he was its author. Great uncertainty hangs over many of the old dramas, from the common practice of managers of theatres employing different authors, at subsequent periods, to furnish additional matter for established plays. Even Faustus was dressed up in this manner. 1597-four years after Marlowe's death-Dekker was paid 20s. for making additions to this tragedy; and in other five years Birde and Rowley were paid £4 for further additions to it. Another source of uncertainty as to the paternity of old plays was the unscrupulous manner in which booksellers appropriated any popular name of the day and affixed it to their publications. Marlowe joined with Nash in writing Dido, Queen of Carthage, a tragedy of small value, though it contains some true poetry; and there is little doubt that he had a hand in the three parts of Shakespeare's Henry VI., probably also in Titus Andronicus. His translation of the Elegies of Ovid was burnt as licentious by order of the Archbishop of Canterbury, yet it was often reprinted in defiance of the ecclesiastical interdict.

His influence on Shakespeare is marked, especially in the early plays (see the article on Shakespeare). Marlowe never tried comedyfortunately; for he seems to have had no humour. He had no conception of true love or of a noble woman's character. And the sweetness, light, sympathy, and morality (not in a precisian but yet very indefeasible sense) of his great successor, Shakespeare, were foreign to Marlowe's usual mood.

Marlowe lived a wild life, and came to an early and unhappy end; at twenty-nine he was stabbed in an affray in a tavern at Deptford on the 1st of June 1593. Marlowe had raised his poniard against his antagonist-according to Meres and Anthony Wood, 'a baudy serving-man, a rival of his lewd love' when the other seized him by the wrist and turned the dagger, so that it entered Marlowe's own head, 'in such sort that, notwithstanding all the means of surgery that could be brought, he shortly after died of his wound.' His freethinking ways were notorious: Greene, writing the Groatsworth of Wit in the preceding autumn, charged him with utter atheism (see above at page 326). Whether his unbelief was dogmatic atheism or not, it was sufficiently pronounced to attract the notice of the authorities, who were taking proceedings against him and others at the time of his death, and had issued a warrant for his arrest. The last words of Greene's address to him are ominous : 'Defer not with me till this last point of extremitie ; for little knowest thou how in the end thou shalt

be visited.' A noble compliment was paid to the genius of this unfortunate poet by his fellowdramatist, Michael Drayton :

Next Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs,
Had in him those brave translunary things
That the first poets had : his raptures were
All air and fire, which made his verses clear;
For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet's brain.

Mr Sidney Lee thinks Marlowe was probably associated with Shakespeare in bringing the second and third parts of Henry VI. into final shape, and that he may have had a share in writing the anonymous Edward III (see below at Shakespeare). Originality, first attribute of genius, belongs in an eminent degree to the ill-fated Marlowe. Mr Swinburne thinks there is greater discrimination of character, and figures more lifelike, in Marlowe's Edward II. than in Shakespeare's Richard II. Gaveston, reading a letter, is thus introduced :

Gav. My father is deceased! Come, Gaveston,
And share the kingdom with thy dearest friend.'
Ah! words that make me surfeit with delight!
What greater bliss can hap to Gaveston
Than live and be the favourite of a king!

Sweet prince, I come; these, these thy amorous lines
Might have enforced me to have swum from France,
And, like Leander, gasped upon the sand,

So thou would'st smile, and take me in thine arms.
The sight of London to my exiled eyes
Is as Elysium to a new-come soul;

Not that I love the city, or the men,

But that it harbours him I hold so dear-
The king, upon whose bosom let me lie,
And with the world be still at enmity.
What need the arctic people love starlight,

To whom the sun shines both by day and night?
Farewell base stooping to the lordly peers!
My knee shall bow to none but to the king.
As for the multitude, that are but sparks,
Raked up in embers of their poverty ;—
Tanti; I'll fawn first on the wind
That glanceth at my lips, and flieth away.
But how now, what are these?

In Charles Lamb's judgment, the death-scene of Edward II., at Berkeley Castle, when the king is left alone with Lightborn, the murderer, 'moves pity and terror beyond any scene, ancient or modern,' and may indeed challenge comparison with Shakespeare's death of Richard II. :

Edward. Who's there? what light is that? wherefore com'st thou ?

Lightborn. To comfort you, and bring you joyful news. Edw. Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks! Villain, I know thou com st to murder me.

Light. To murder you, my most gracious lord!

Far is it from my heart to do you harm.

The queen sent me to see how you were used,

For she relents at this your misery:

And what eyes can refrain from shedding tears,
To see a king in this most piteous state.

Edw. Weep'st thou already? list a while to me,

And then thy heart, were it as Gurney's1 is, Or as Matrevis', hewn from the Caucasus, Yet will it melt, ere I have done my tale. This dungeon where they keep me is a sink Wherein the filth of all the castle falls.

Light. O villains!

Edw. And there, in mire and puddle, have I stood This ten days' space; and lest that I should sleep, One plays continually upon a drum.

They give me bread and water, being a king;
So that, for want of sleep and sustenance,
My mind's distempered, and my body's numbed,
And whether I have limbs or no, I know not.
O would my blood drop out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tattered robes!
Tell Isabel, the queen, I looked not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhorsed the Duke of Cleremont.
Light. O speak no more, my lord! this breaks my heart.
Lie on this bed, and rest yourself a while.

Edw. These looks of thine can harbour nought but death:

I see my tragedy written in thy brows.

Yet stay a while, forbear thy bloody hand,
And let me see the stroke before it comes,
That even then, when I shall lose my life,
My mind may be more steadfast on my God.

Light. What means your highness to mistrust me thus ?
Edw. What mean'st thou to dissemble with me thus?
Light. These hands were never stained with innocent
blood,

Nor shall they now be tainted with a king's.

Edw. Forgive my thought, for having such a thought. One jewel have I left, receive thou this.

Still fear I, and I know not what's the cause,
But every joint shakes as I give it thee.
Oh, if thou harbour'st murder in thy heart,
Let the gift change thy mind, and save thy soul.
Know that I am a king: Oh, at that name

I feel a hell of grief. Where is my crown?

Gone, gone; and do I still remain alive?

Light. You're overwatched, my lord; lie down and rest. Edw. But that grief keeps me waken, I should sleep; For not these ten days have these eyelids closed.

Now as I speak they fall, and yet with fear
Open again. O wherefore sitt'st thou here?

Light. If thou mistrust me, I'll be gone, my lord.
Edw. No, no; for if thou mean'st to murder me,
Thou wilt return again; and therefore stay.

Light. He sleeps.

Edw. O let me not die; yet stay, O stay a while.
Light. How now, my lord?

Edw. Something still buzzeth in mine ears,
And tells me if I sleep, I never wake;
This fear is that which makes me tremble thus.
And therefore tell me wherefore art thou come?
Light. To rid thee of thy life. Matrevis, come.
Edw. I am too weak and feeble to resist :
Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul.

1 Gurney and Matrevis were Edward's keepers. The following scene, in which the nobles remonstrate with Edward II., has also something of the Shakespearian manner :

Edward. How now? What noise is this?

Who have we here? Is 't you?

Young Mortimer. Nay, stay my lord: I come to bring you news:

Mine uncle's taken prisoner by the Scots.

Edw. Then ransom him.

Lancaster. 'Twas in your wars; you should ransom him. Y. Mor. And you shall ransom him, or else

Kent. What! Mortimer, you will not threaten him? Edw. Quiet yourself; you shall have the broad seal To gather for him throughout the realm.

Lane. Your minion, Gaveston, hath taught you this.
Y. Mor. My lord, the family of the Mortimers
Are not so poor but would they sell their land,
'Twould levy men enough to anger you.

We never beg, but use such prayers as these.
Edw. Shall I still be haunted thus ?

Y. Mor. Nay, now you're here alone, I'll speak my mind.

Lane. And so will I, and then, my lord, farewell.

Y. Mor. The idle triumphs, masques, lascivious shows, And prodigal gifts bestowed on Gaveston, Have drawn thy treasury dry, and made thee weak: The murmuring commons, overstretched, break.

Lanc. Look for rebellion, look to be deposed;
Thy garrisons are beaten out of France,

And, lame and poor, lie groaning at the gates.
The wild Oneyl, with swarms of Irish kernes,
Lives uncontrolled within the English pale.
Unto the walls of York the Scots make road,
And unresisted draw away rich spoils.

Y. Mor. The haughty Dane commands the narrow seas, While in the harbour ride thy ships unrigged.

Lane. What foreign prince sends thee ambassadors ? Y. Mor. Who loves thee but a sort of flatterers? Ianc. Thy gentle queen, sole sister to Valois, Complains that thou hast left her all forlorn.

Y. Mor. Thy court is naked, being bereft of those
That make a king seem glorious to the world—
I mean the Peers, whom thou shouldst dearly love :
Libels are cast against thee in the street,
Ballads and rhymes made of thy overthrow.
Lanc. The northern borderers seeing their houses
burned,

Their wives and children slain, run up and down
Cursing the name of thee and Gaveston.

Y. Mor. When wert thou in the field with banner spread,
But once? and then thy soldiers marched like players
With garish robes, not armour; and thyself
Bedaubed with gold, rode laughing at the rest,
Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest,
Where women's favours hung like labels down.
Lanc. And therefore came it that the fleering Scots
To England's high disgrace have made this jig:
'Maids of England, sore may you mourn

For

your lemans you have lost at Bannocksbourn,

With a heave and a ho.

What weeneth the King of England

So soon to have won Scotland?

With a rombelow.

The concluding ditty is that quoted by Fabyan as having been sung by the Scots after Bannockburn (see above at page 171).

Detached lines and passages in Edward II. possess much poetical beauty or imaginative power. Thus, in answer to Leicester, the king

says:

Leicester, if gentle words might comfort me,
Thy speeches long ago had eased my sorrows;
For kind and loving hast thou always been.
The griefs of private men are soon allayed,
But not of kings. The forest deer being struck,
Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds:
But when the imperial lion's flesh is gored,
He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw,
And highly scorning that the lowly earth
Should drink his blood, mounts up to the air.

Young Mortimer's device for the royal pageant was:
A lofty cedar tree fair flourishing,

On whose top branches kingly eagles perch,
And by the bark a canker creeps me up,
And gets into the highest bough of all.

For the story Marlowe follows not so much Fabyan as the chronicles of Stow, Holinshed, and Baker.

Marlowe's unfinished poem of Hero and Leander, founded on the classic story of the sixth-century Musæus, was first published in 1598. Marlowe completed the first and second Sestiads of his paraphrase, and they were reprinted with a completion (four sestiads) by Chapman in 1600. A few lines will show his command of the heroic couplet :

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.

When two are stripped, long ere the race begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win.
And one especially do we affect

Of two gold ingots, like in each respect.
The reason no man knows : let it suffice
What we behold is censured by our eyes:
Where both deliberate, the love is slight :

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

The last memorable line was quoted from the 'Dead Shepherd' by Shakespeare in As You Like It. 'Blood is the god of war's rich livery,' 'Above our life we love an absent friend,' 'More childish valorous than worldly wise,' are pregnant single lines; Things past recovery are hardly cured with exclamations' has a modern ring.

Of the following pieces which first appeared in the Passionate Pilgrim (see page 257), the first is in England's Helicon given as by Marlowe, and the second by Ignoto.' But in one copy the initials of Sir Walter Raleigh are attached; and we have the explicit statement of Izaak Walton that the pieces were really by Marlowe and Raleigh respectively —an attribution now generally accepted. Posterity also agrees with Walton that Marlowe's poem is 'choicely good.'

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and vallies, dales and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wooll,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs :
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight, each May-morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

The Nymph's Reply.
(By Sir Walter Raleigh.)

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But Time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cup, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs ;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

See the editions of Marlowe by Dyce (1850 and 1858), Cunningham (1872), and Bullen (3 vols. 1888); New Light on Kyd and Marlowe, by Mr Boas in the Fortnightly for February 1899; and Mr Boas's edition of Kyd (1900). Marlowe's best plays are included in the Mermaid' series (ed. Havelock Ellis, 1887). Dr Faustus was elaborately edited by Professor A. W. Ward, and Tamburlaine by A. Wagner (Heilb. 1885). See also Mr Swinburne's essay, Symonds's Shakespeare's Predecessors, and Mr Churton Collins's Essays and Studies (1895).

Richard Carew (1555–1620), of Antony House in East Cornwall, was bred at Christ Church, Oxford, but spent most of his life as an active and cultured country gentleman on his own estate. He was the first to essay an English rendering of Tasso; but of his translation-Godfrey of Bulloigne or the Recoverie of Hierusalem-only five cantos appeared (1594). Carew kept much closer to his original than Fairfax did, was often correct where

Fairfax blundered, and was sometimes (though seldom) as rhythmical. The apostrophe in the first book will serve for comparison with Fairfax's version (given below at page 445):

O Muse! thou that thy head not compassest
With fading bayes which Helicon doth beare;
But bove in skyes, amids the Quyers blest,

Dost golden crowne of starres immortal weare,
Celestiall flames breath thou into my brest,

Enlighten thou my song; and pardon where
I fainings weave with truth, and verse with art
Of pleasings deckt, wherein thou hast no part.

His entertaining Survey of Cornwall (1602) describes the manners and customs of the people, and gives a pretty full account, with specimens, of the Cornish language, then still spoken. He does not omit the 'common byword-By Tre, Pol, and Pen, you shall know the Cornishmen;' and then goes on to record a sad fact:

can

But the principall love and knowledge of this language lived in Doctor Kennall the civilian, and with him lyeth buryed: for the English speach doth still encroche upon it, and hath driven the same into the uttermost skirts of the shire. Most of the inhabitants no word of Cornish; but very few are ignorant of the English and yet some so affect their owne as to a stranger they will not speake it for if meeting them by chance you enquire the way or any such matter, your answere shal be, Meea navidva cowzasawzneck, ‘I can speake no Saxonage.' The English which they speake is good and pure as receyving it from the best hands of their owne gentry and the easterne marchants: but they disgrace it in part with a broad and rude accent, and eclipsing (somewhat like the Somersetshire men) specially in pronouncing names.

His Epistle concerning the Excellencies of the English Tongue (1605) is slight but interesting. He argues that in the four main points-significance, easiness, copiousness, and sweetness-English is comparable if not preferable to any other in use at this day.' The ground language ‘appertaineth to the old Saxon;' and our having borrowed 'from the Dutch, the Britaine, the Roman, the Dane, the French, the Italian, the Spaniard,' so far from 'making Littletons hotch-potch of our tongue or a Babelish confusion,' is amply warranted by the results, especially by the copiousness secured. (Littleton's Tenures, reproduced in 'Coke-uponLittleton,' was long the standard authority on the branch of English law called Hotchpot.) The conclusion is:

Moreover, the Copiousnesse of our Language appeareth in the diversitie of our Dialects; for we have Court and we have Countrie English, we have Northerne and Southerne, grosse and ordinarie, which differ each from the other not onely in the Terminations, but also in many words, termes, and phrases, and expresse the same thinges in divers sorts, yet all right English alike. Neither can any Tongue, as I am perswaded, deliver a Matter with more Variety than ours, both plainly, and by Proverbes and Metaphors: for example, when we would be rid of one, we use to say, Be going, trudge, packe; Bee faring

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