Marston and Breton were amongst the best of the group, though they are not represented in these pages owing to the unsuitability of their writings for extract. Here is a picture from one of the satires of Marston which is instinct with satiric power. It is a portrait of a love-sick swain, and runs as follows:—
“For when my ears
received a fearful sound
That he was sick,
I went, and there I found,
Him laid of love
and newly brought to bed
Of monstrous folly,
and a franticke head:
His chamber hanged
about with elegies,
With sad complaints
of his love’s miseries,
His windows strow’d
with sonnets and the glasse
Drawn full of
love-knots. I approach’d the asse,
And straight he
weepes, and sighes some Sonnet out
To his fair love!
and then he goes about,
For to perfume
her rare perfection,
With some sweet
smelling pink epitheton.
Then with a melting
looke he writhes his head,
And straight in
passion, riseth in his bed,
And having kist
his hand, strok’d up his haire,
Made a French
conge, cryes ‘O cruall Faire!’
To th’ antique
bed-post."[10]
Marston manifests more vigour and nervous force in his satires than Hall, but exhibits less elegance and ease in versification. In Charles Fitz-geoffrey’s Affaniae, a set of Latin epigrams, printed at Oxford in 1601, Marston is complimented as the “Second English Satirist”, or rather as dividing the palm of priority and excellence in English satire with Hall. The individual characteristics of the various leading Elizabethan satirists,—the vitriolic bitterness of Nash, the sententious profundity of Donne, the happy-go-lucky “slogging” of genial Dekker, the sledge-hammer blows of Jonson, the turgid malevolence of Chapman, and the stiletto-like thrusts of George Buchanan are worthy of closer and more detailed study than can be devoted to them in a sketch such as this. I regret that Nicolas Breton’s Pasquil’s Madcappe proved too long for quotation in its entirety,[11] but the man who could pen such lines as these was, of a truth, a satirist of a high order:—