The Works of Christopher Marlowe Volume III Part 55

A miss, 'fore-gad!--the wall has got it! See where it trickles down like the long robe of some dainty fair one! And look you here--and there again, look you!--what make you of the picture he hath presented?

MARLOWE (_staggers as he stares at the wall_).

O subtle Nature! who hath so compounded Our senses, playing into each other's wheels, That feeling oft acts subst.i.tute for sight, As sight becomes obedient to the thought-- How canst thou place such wonders at the mercy Of every wretch that crawls? I feel--I see!

(_Street Music as before, but farther off._)

JACCONOT (_singing_).

Ram out the link, boys; ho, boys!

The blear-eyed morning's here; Let us wander through the streets, And kiss whoe'er one meets; St. Cecil is my dear!

Ram out the link, boys, &c.

MARLOWE (_drawing_).

Lightning come up from h.e.l.l and strangle thee!

MIDDLETON _and_ HEYWOOD.

Nay, Marlowe! Marlowe! (_they hold him back_).

MIDDLETON (_to_ JACCONOT).

Away, thou b.e.s.t.i.a.l villain!

JACCONOT (_singing at_ MARLOWE).

St. Cecil is my dear!

MARLOWE (_furiously_).

Blast! blast and scatter Thy body to ashes! Off! I'll have his ghost!

(_rushes at_ JACCONOT--_they fight--Marlowe disarms him; but_ JACCONOT _wrests_ MARLOWE'S _own sword from his hand, and stabs him_--MARLOWE _falls_)

MIDDLETON.

See! see!

MARLOWE (_clasping his forehead_).

Who's down?--answer me, friends--is't I?-- Or in the maze of some delirious trance, Some realm unknown, or pa.s.sion newly born-- Ne'er felt before--am I transported thus?

My fingers paddle, too, in blood--is't mine?

JACCONOT.

O, content you, Master Marplot--it's you that's down, drunk or sober; and that's your own blood on your fingers, running from a three-inch groove in your ribs for the devil's imps to slide into you. Ugh! cry gramercy! for it's all over with your rhyming!

HEYWOOD.

O, heartless mischief!

MIDDLETON.

Hence, thou rabid cur!

MARLOWE.

What demon in the air with unseen arm Hath turn'd my unchain'd fury against myself?

Recoiling dragon! thy resistless force Scatters thy mortal master in his pride, To teach him, with self-knowledge, to fear thee.

Forgetful of all corporal conditions, My pa.s.sion hath destroy'd me!

JACCONOT.

No such matter; it was _my_ doing. You shouldn't ha' ran at me in that fas.h.i.+on with a real sword--I thought it had been one o' your sham ones.

MIDDLETON.

Away!

HEYWOOD.

See! his face changes--lift him up!

(_they raise and support him_) Here--place your hand upon his side--here, here-- Close over mine, and staunch the flowing wound!

MARLOWE (_delirious_.)

Bright is the day--the air with glory teems-- And eagles wanton in the smile of Jove: Can these things be, and Marlowe live no more!

O Heywood! Heywood! I had a world of hopes About that woman--now in my heart they rise Confused, as flames from my life's coloured map, That burns until with wrinkling agony Its ashes flatten, separate, and drift Through gusty darkness. Hold me fast by the arm!

A little aid will save me:--See! she's here!

I clasp thy form--I feel thy breath, my love-- And know thee for a sweet saint come to save me!

Save!--is it death I feel--it cannot be death?

JACCONOT (_half aside_.)

Marry, but it can!--or else your sword's a foolish dog that dar'n't bite his owner.

MARLOWE.

O friends--dear friends--this is a sorry end-- A most unworthy end! To think--O G.o.d!-- To think that I should fall by the hand of one Whose office, like his nature, is all baseness, Gives Death ten thousand stings, and to the Grave A d.a.m.ning victory! Fame sinks with life!

A galling--shameful--ignominious end! (_sinks down_).

O mighty heart! O full and orbed heart, Flee to thy kindred sun, rolling on high!

Or let the h.o.a.ry and eternal sea Sweep me away, and swallow body and soul!

JACCONOT.

There'll be no "encore" to either, I wot; for thou'st led an ill life, Master Marlowe; and so the sweet Saint thou spok'st of, will remain my fair game--behind the scenes.