Christopher Marlowe, as GilbertGifford,
makes anagrams in a Paris prison

ANAGRAMS BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

extracted by
Roberta Ballantine

from

THE TRAGEDIE OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS

1 & 2 Not marching in the fields of Thrasimen, Where Mars did mate the warlicke Carthagens, While h-he was incarcerated, K. M. (Chr. M.) made this find of a German t-tale o' regrettin' sins. H–
3 & 4 Nor sporting in the dalliance of loue In Courts of Kings, where state is ouerturn'd, e writes it as a lo doctor lost in lvck 'n' errors 'n' one fiendish fee– not uurung i' the gap.
5 & 6 Nor in the pompe of proud audacious deeds, Intends our Muse to vaunt his heavenly verse; He'd invade, sever, resume, put himself douun, so ye end's not too sad. No! U R a hippocrite! A nu v–
7 & 8 Onely this, Gentles: we must now performe The forme of Faustus fortunes, good or bad, iew shows Faustus desperate, lonely; U see, not born demon, he f-f-forgot t' go from trum–
9 & 10 And now to patient iudgements we appeale, And speake for Faustus in his infancie. perie t' wickedness: he's not sinned enuf t' see awful damnation at fin. I O U, Pa-Papa, ag–
11 & 12 Now is he borne, of parents base of stocke, In Germany, within a Towne cal'd Rhode: ain, for teachin' not t' sign away freedom, as th' lo-brow creep's done! He knows bein'
13 & 14 At riper yeares to Wittenberg he went, Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him up; without power, U want h-help. Shy, he signs ye tricksie bargain, remember? Fie! Enter th'
15 & 16 So much he profits in Divinitie The fruitfull plot of Scholerisme grac'd, chief good spirits tu trie tu help him. No! Daft, he'll fuss 'n' frolic i' Rome, C? I'v–
17 & 18 That shortly he was grac'd with Doctors name, Excelling all, whose sweete delight's dispute e seen lewd, wag, magic shadows: don't expect a tr-true scholar! He's l-lost– his light witheld. Yet
19 & 20 In th' heavenly matters of Theologie, Till swolne with cunning of a selfe conceit, a genius flashes now 'n' then, only t-t' go calm, content wi' foolerie. Fie! It'l chil thee! U
21 & 22 His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And melting, heauens conspir'd his over-throw: view his acts as error, but no, in his dim mind he'd hug al experience as good, 'n' now hunts wha–
23 & 24 For falling to a divellish exercise, And glutted now with learnings golden gifts, t's extravagant, stuffing it all down wi' greed. I! 'N' life's end gliding close! Re: h-hollo
25 & 26 He surfets upon cursed Necromancie: Nothing so sweet as Magicke is to him, satisfaction: unregenerate, he sinkes in mud. C-come, choose to
swim! Hug spr–
27 & 28 Which he preferres before his chiefest blisse, And this the man that in his study sits. ites who can reclaim thy sad spirit! Fie! Be free! Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh, sh! But he is fetterd in ein t–
. . .sh, sh, sh, sh, sh, sh! the poet is comforting Faustus, cradling him like a child and telling him to accept these good sprites, but Faustus won't do it.
29 & 30 Settle thy studies Faustus, and begin To sound the depth of that thou wilt professe, t-t-tense wish! One tu, tu hot desire: tu B adept at gusty puffs 'n' foolish deeds, so, al th' th–
31 & 32 Hauing commenc'd, be a Divine in shew, Yet levell at the end of every Art, eology left behind, each eve he'd matriculate in mere vain new study, 'n'
33 & 34 And live and die in Aristotles workes. Sweet Analitikes, tis thou hast ravisht me, send his learin' slavish devil out in haste wi' triksie tasks to do– 'n' tear meat t' awe
35 & 36 Bene disserere est finis logices. Is to dispute well Logickes chiefest end? guests! Cost? He'l seek, spend, lose, sit friendless i' frigid cel– ie, ie, ie– 'n' bow t' ce–
37 & 38 Affoords this Art no greater miracle? Then read no more, thou hast attain'd that end; rtain damn'd death at th' arranged hour! Fool! No comfort here, i' th' nastee strait; teas–

Identifying with Faustus, Marlowe is sitting in a frigid cell facing almost certain execution at the hands of a Catholic League judge (who believes Kit to be Gilbert Gifford), and Kit blames himself for his own foolery.

39 & 40 A greater subiect fitteth Faustus wit: Bid on kai me on farewell, Galen come: ing, MT work is o'er: th' bil's begun t' come due at last. Feature it! We face a finale.
41 & 42 Seeing ubi desinit philosophus, ibi incipit medicus. Be a Phisitian Faustus, heape up gold, Eclipst, he's gone (big fuss). I-I tu mai die. How t' escape this bad bishop's diuine iail? Pin-pin up
43 & 44 And be eterniz'd for some wondrous cure: Summum bonum medicinae sanitas, braue remember'd words o' comment to saue mi fazed uacuous mind! 'N' sin– 'n' sin–
45 & 46 The end of Physicke is our bodies health: Why Faustus, hast thou not attain'd that end? they harp on that: "thy soul's sick t' death with sin!" So e'en if U had a hot bed U'd not use ta f–
47 & 48 Is not thy common talke sound Aphorismes? Are not thy bils hung up as monuments, uc 'n' masterbate. No! My most nonny iailer uud sh-shout: "Gism!" So no help-p! Kno that sm–
49 & 50 Wher( e) by whole Cities have escap't the plague, And thousand desperate maladies beene cur'd? el o' piss-dirtie wash water? UUe had plentee each seven-day! C, he's both clap-mad 'n' greedee ta B u–
51 & 52 Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man. Couldst thou make men to live eternally, ltra-dutiful to ye scummy knave he'd serue 'n' tattle to about small sin, 'n' altho' U at–
53 & 54 Or being dead, raise them to life againe, Then this profession were to be esteem'd. tempt t' ignore him, soon he begins lewd threats, 'n' I fear a bad dose o' reefis tee. Eie!
55 & 56 Physicke farewell: where is Iustinian? Si una eademque res legatur duobus, alter rem, alter valorem rei, &c. [etc.] A friend saves me quils! We read 'n' write! He'l bring U a saucy Merlot, tel U chileee tales o' Paris! U R– Mee? U Arre– Kit!
Kit! He's had too much saucy Merlot. The friend was Edward Grimston, and Kit incorporated bits of the chilly tales in one of the plays he wrote in this jail, Measure for Measure.

 

The Tragedie of Doctor Faustus, (from The Complete Works of Christopher Marlowe, 2nd ed., Fredson Bowers, ed.) Only lines of dialogue are counted.

Translations copyright© 2000 R. Ballantine.

All rights reserved.