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[682] Where _lacunae_ occur the clauses are unfit for publication.
[683] In the margin are the words "he is layd for,"--_i.e._, steps are being taken for his apprehension.
[684] Quoted.
No. IV.
An edition of Marlowe cannot be more fitly concluded than by a reprint of Mr. R. H. Horne's n.o.ble and pathetic tragedy, _The Death of Marlowe_ (originally published in 1837), one of the few dramatic pieces of the present century that will have any interest for posterity. For permission to reprint this tragedy I am indebted to Mr. Horne's literary executor, Mr. H. Buxton Forman.
THE DEATH OF MARLOWE.
_DRAMATIS PERSONae._
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, } _Dramatists and Actors._ THOMAS HEYWOOD, }
THOMAS MIDDLETON, _Dramatist._
CECILIA } _Runaway Wife of the drunkard, } Bengough._
JACCONOT, _alias_ } _A Tavern Pander and Swashbuckler._ JACK-O'-NIGHT }
_Gentlemen, Officers, Servants, &c._
SCENE I.
_Public Gardens--Liberty of the Clink, Southwark._
_Enter_ MARLOWE _and_ HEYWOOD.
HEYWOOD.
Be sure of it.
MARLOWE.
I am; but not by your light.
HEYWOOD.
I speak it not in malice, nor in envy Of your good fortune with so bright a beauty; But I have heard such things!
MARLOWE.
Good Master Heywood, I prithee plague me not with what thou'st heard; I've seen, and I do love her--and, for hearing, The music of her voice is in my soul, And holds a rapturous jubilee 'midst dreams That melt the day and night into one bliss.
HEYWOOD.
Beware the waking hour!
MARLOWE.
In lovely radiance, Like all that's fabled of Olympus' queen, She moves--as if the earth were undulant clouds, And all its flowers her subject stars.
HEYWOOD.
Proceed.
MARLOWE.
Smile not; for 'tis most true: the very air With her sweet presence is impregnate richly.
As in a mead, that's fresh with youngest green, Some fragrant shrub, some secret herb, exhales Ambrosial odours; or in lonely bower, Where one may find the musk plant, heliotrope, Geranium, or grape hyacinth, confers A ruling influence, charming present sense And sure of memory; so, her person bears A natural balm, obedient to the rays Of heaven--or to her own, which glow within, Distilling incense by their own sweet power.
The dew at sunrise on a ripened peach Was never more delicious than her neck.
Such forms are Nature's favourites.
HEYWOOD.
Come, come-- Pygmalion and Prometheus dwell within you!
You poetise her rarely, and exalt With G.o.ddess-attributes, and chast.i.ty Beyond most G.o.ddesses: be not thus serious!
If for a pa.s.sing paramour thou'dst love her, Why, so, so it may be well; but never place Thy full heart in her hand.
MARLOWE.
I have--I do-- And I will lay it bleeding at her feet.
Reason no more, for I do love this woman: To me she's chaste, whatever thou hast heard.
Whatever I may know, hear, find, or fancy, I must possess her constantly, or die.
HEYWOOD.
Nay, if't be thus, I'll fret thine ear no more With raven voice; but aid thee all I can.
MARLOWE.
Cecilia!--Go, dear friend--good Master Heywood, Leave me alone--I see her coming thither!
HEYWOOD.
Bliss wait thy wooing; peace of mind its end!
(_aside_) His knees shake, and his face and hands are wet, As with a sudden fall of dew--G.o.d speed him!
This is a desperate fancy! _Exit._
