Part 61

MIDDLETON and HEYWOOD.

Nay, Marlowe! Marlowe! (they hold him back).

MIDDLETON (to JACCONOT).

Away, thou bestial 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 passion 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 passion hath destroy'd me!

JACCONOT.

No such matter; it was my doing. You shouldn't ha' ran at me in that fashion 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.)