all which results from the governor's
injustice. Such a point of view is attractive, and would raise the
character of the play considerably. But it has many obstacles in its
way, not the least being the Machiavellian prologue and the difficulty
of believing that any dramatist of the sixteenth century would wish, or
dare, to present to an English audience the picture of an honest,
ill-treated Jew. The confiscation which we regard as an injustice was
probably viewed in that day as an eminently sound and Christian act of
political economy.

Leaving Abigail and Ithamore to the liking or loathing of readers of the
play, we hasten to conclude this discussion with examples of Marlowe's
verse. His poetry is once more the refining element, beautifying the
ugly, ennobling the mean, a vein of gold in the quartz. Having grown
more generous since the days of _Doctor Faustus_, the poet scatters gems
with lavish hand throughout the play. Rhymes begin to appear, as though
he scorned to seem dependent upon blank verse alone. Extensive as is
the choice, it is impossible, in fairness to those readers who have not
the play, to omit entirely the often-quoted opening scene of the second
act. After it, however, we quote a passage which, almost more than the
other, illustrates the purifying influence of the author's imagination:
the fact that it is partly in rhyme gives it an additional interest.

(1)

[BARABAS _wanders in the streets about his old home where his
treasure lies concealed._]

_Barabas._ 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 incertain 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....
Now I remember those old women's words,
Who in my wealth would tell me winter's tales,
And speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night
About the place where treasure hath been hid:
And now methinks that I am one of those;
For, whilst I live, here lives my soul's sole hope,
And, when I die, here shall my spirit walk.

(2)

[BELLAMIRA, _a courtesan, and_ ITHAMORE, _a c