Part 60

We thank you, Jack-o'-night: we would be alone.

JACCONOT.

What say you, Master Marlowe? you look as grim as a sign-painters' first sketch on a tavern bill, after his ninth tankard.

MIDDLETON.

Cease your death-rattle, night-hawk!

MARLOWE.

That's well said.

JACCONOT.

Is it? So 'tis my gallants--a night-bird like yourselves, am I.

MARLOWE.

Beast!--we know you.

JACCONOT.

Your merry health, Master Kit Marlowe! I'll bring a loud pair of palms to cheer your soul the next time you strut in red paint with a wooden weapon at your thigh.

MARLOWE.

Who sent for you, dorr-hawk?--go!

JACCONOT.

Go! Aha!--I remember the word--same tone, same gesture--or as like as the two profiles of a monkey, or as two squeaks for one pinch. Go!--not I--here's to all your healths! One pull more! There, I've done--take it, Master Marlowe; and pledge me as the true knight of London's rarest beauties!

MARLOWE.

I will! (Dashes the tankard at his head.)

JACCONOT (stooping quickly).

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 substitute 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 hell and strangle thee!