The first day when he pitcheth down his tents, White is their hue, and on his silver crest A snowy feather spangled-white he bears, To signify the mildness of his mind, That, satiate with spoil, refuseth blood: But, when Aurora mounts the second time, As red as scarlet is his furniture; Then must his kindled wrath be quenched with blood, Not sparing any that can manage arms: But, if these threats move not submission, Black are his colours, black pavilion; His spear, his shield, his horse, his armour, plumes And jetty feathers menace death and hell; Without respect of sex, degree or age, He razeth all his foes with fire and sword. Much has been said of Marlowe's poetry. His originality in the use of blank verse has probably been over-estimated. Quite good blank verse had been used in drama some years before his plays were written. _Gorboduc_, the 1572 version of _Tancred and Gismunda_, and at least two long speeches in _The Arraignment of Paris_ arise in one's mind as containing very creditable examples of it. Moreover it would be wrong to suppose that this earlier blank verse was always stilted and cut up into end-stopt lines and unrhymed couplets. True, the overflow of one line into another was not common, but neither is it so in _Tamburlaine_. Marlowe accepts the end-stopt line almost as naturally as did his predecessors. Overflow may be found in _Gorboduc_. The following passage from _Tancred and Gismunda_ is worth quoting to show how far liberty in this respect had been recognized by 1572. [TANCRED _protests against any second marriage of his young widowed daughter_, GISMUNDA.] Sister, I say, ... Forbear, and wade no farther in this speech. Your words are wounds. I very well perceive The purpose of this smooth oration: This I suspected, when you first began This fair discourse with us. Is this the end Of all our hopes, that we have promised Unto ourself by this her widowhood? Would our dear daughter, would our only joy, Would she forsake us? would she leave us now, Before she hath clos'd up our dying eyes, And with her tears bewail'd our funeral? No other solace doth her father crave But, whilst the fates maintain his dying life, Her healthful presence gladsome to his soul, Which rather than he willing would forego, His heart desires the bitter taste of death.