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The facts on which enquiry has to build are extremely few. "Venus and Adonis," with the "Lucrece," must have been written before their publication in 1593-4; the Sonnets, though not published till 1609, were known in some form among his private friends as early as 1598.
While the debaucheries of Jupiter were celebrated, the continence of Xenocrates was revered; the chaste Lucrece adored the shameless Venus; the bold Roman offered sacrifices to Fear; he invoked the god who mutilated his father, and he died without a murmur at the hand of his own father. The most unworthy gods were worshipped by the noblest men.
Yet, up to the hour of her coming into the private cabin, after seeing the government transport, she had not told the very thing which she knew would most surely enlist the sympathy of Evaleen or of any other woman. Now, Lucrèce was moved to pour out her simple heart in maiden confidence to Miss Hale, her only female friend.
Lucrèce, who had been sweeping the circle of the horizon with the seaman's glass, caught far to the northward, the glimpse of a sail. "I see away up the river what looks like a leetle black house, with a white thing on the roof." "That boat," said Winslow, "is miles and miles behind us; it is above the second bend. Let me look.
By this time the "Venus and Adonis" had been published with a dedication to the third Earl of Southampton, and the poet followed it a year later with "The Rape of Lucrece," dedicated to the same patron. These works created a sensation.
Messieurs, my little axe make ze first log in ze city, in Premiereville, where we drink now this wine." The doctor's preparations for the trip down the river were quickly made. Half the population of the village, led by Lucrèce, flocked to the boat-landing to see him safely off.
Then Weaver alludes to him as author of Venus, Lucrece, Romeo, Richard, "more whose names I know not." Freeman credits him with Venus and Lucrece. "Besides in plays thy wit winds like Meander." I repeat Heywood's evidence.
It is significant of his dramatic habit of mind that dialogue and soliloquy usurp the place of narration, and that, in the Rape of Lucrece especially, the poet lingers over the analysis of motives and feelings, instead of hastening on with the action, as Chaucer, or any born story-teller, would have done. In Marlowe's poem there is the same spendthrift fancy, although not the same subtlety.
The most remarkable thing in this fete was the indescribable luxury of flowers and shrubs, which must doubtless have been collected at great expense, owing to the severity of the winter. The halls of Lucrece and of La Reunion, in which the dancing quadrilles were formed, resembled an immense parterre of roses, laurel, lilac, jonquils, lilies, and jessamine.
Versifying is the lowest form of poetry; and the last thing a great poet will do in these days is to write verses. I have been trying to read Venus and Adonis and the Rape of Lucrece but cannot get on with them. They teem with fine things, but they are got-up fine things. I do not know whether this is quite what I mean but, come what may, I find the poems bore me.
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