Antonio's reflections, at the tomb of the heroine in The Duchess of Malfi, reverberate to him from a ruined abbey with an echo of finality : Like death that we have! Yet, strictly speaking, the existence of institutions and communities - let alone historical movements - can never be terminated as readily or as decisively as the individual lives of human beings. Hence the regime of a given ruler, while it sets a somewhat arbitrary terminus a quo and terminus ad quem, is less problematic than our retrospective arguments over some other beginning or ending of a particular period. It has proved much easier to talk about the reign of Elizabeth I than about the Renaissance in England. We do not speak of Attic tragedy as Periclean, nor do we refer to the theater of the Sigio de Oro as Philippine, and we have better reason to link Moliere and Racine with Louis XIV than we have to associate Shakespeare with the Virgin Queen. Nonetheless we are so impressed by the drama of her career, if not by her own theatrical interests, that we allow her to exceed its limits by almost forty years. No cut-off point for any branch of literature was ever quite so absolute as the closure of the theaters by order of the Long Parliament in 1642. Can we justify the presupposition that the English drama continued to be Elizabethan all the way up to that point? Are we justified, for that matter, in assuming that its prior development had been continuous? Father Harold Gardiner, in Mysteries3 End, argues for an earlier discontinuity, blaming Elizabeth for the suppression of the religious cycles.2 David Bevington, in From Mankind to Marlowe, has retraced a gradual train of secularization through the moralities and the troops of players.3 Recently, in Christian Rite and Christian Drama, O. B. Hardison, Jr., has renewed the attack on an evolutionary conception