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    writ my deeds with the twinkling of a bed-post ; and as ttj sword and dagger-play , I ' ve got the trick o * the eye and wrisisl —rwko ¥# g , he ? v What ' s afl his gods , and goddesses anal

    lies ?—the first a ' nt w < ftth ^ a word ; and for the latter , I waaJ always a prince of both ! flaitiff ! ap / i beast ! and nothing !—who was he ? Ch . Offi . You ' re ours , for sundry villanies committed , Sufficient each to bring your vice to an end : The law hath got you safely in its grasp . Jac . Then let Vice and Me sit crotvn'd in heaven—while *

    Law and Honesty stalk damned through hell ! Now do I see th « thing very plain—treachery—treachery , my masters ! I known

    the jade that hath betrayed me—I know her . 'Slud ! whoJ cares ? She was a fine woman , too—a rare person—and a goodll spirit ; but there ' s an end of all now—she ' s turned foolish and ! virtuous , and a tell-tale , and I am to be turned to dust through

    it—long , long before my time ; and these princely limbs must . go make a dirt-pie—build up a mud-hut- —or fatten an alderman ' s garden ! There ! calf-heads—there ' s a lemon for your mouths ! Heard ' st ever such a last dying speech and confession ! Write it in red ocre on a sheet of Irish , and send it

    to Mistress Cecily for a death-winder . I know what you ' ve got against me—and I know you all deserve just the same yourselves—but lead on , my masters ! [ Exeunt Jacccmot and Officers . Mid . Oh , Marlowe ! can ' st thou rise with power no more ? Can greatness die thus ? Hey . Miserable night !

    { A shriek outside the house . ) Mid . That cry !—what may that mean ? Hey . I hear no cry ! Mid . What is ' t comes hither , like a gust of wind ? Cecilia rushes in . Cec . Where—where ? Oh , then , ' tis true—and he is dead !

    All's over now—there ' s nothing in the world—For he who raised my heart up from the dust , And show ed me noble lights in mine own soul , Has fled my gratitude and growing love—I never knew how deep it was till now ! Through me , too!—do not curse me!—I was the cause—Yet do not curse me—No ! no ! not the cause ,

    But that it happen'd so . This the reward Of Marlowe ' s love!—why , why did I delay ? Oh , gentlemen , pray for me ! I have been Lifted in heavenly air—and suddenly The arm that placed me and with strength sustain'd me ,

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    The Heath of Marlowe . 133 |

• Citation
  • Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Aug. 1, 1837, page 133, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1834/page/67/