I've got the trick o' the eye and wrist-who was he? What's all his gods-his goddesses and lies?—the first a'nt worth a word; and for the two last, I was always a prince of both! "Caitiff!" and "beast!" and " thing!"-who was he?

CHIEF OFFICER.

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 !

JACCONOT (after a pause).

no

Then may Vice and I sit crown'd in heaven, while Law and Honesty stalk damned through hell! Now do I see the thing very plain !-treachery-treachery, my masters! I know the jade that hath betrayed me-I know her. 'Slud! who cares? She was a fine woman, too—a rare person-and a good 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 ochre on a sheet of Irish, and send it to Mistress Cecily for a deathwinder. I know what you've got against me—and I know you all deserve just the same yourselves—but lead on, my masters!

Exeunt JACCONOT and OFFICERS.

MIDDLETON.

O Marlowe ! canst thou rise with power no more?

What is't comes hither, like a gust of wind?

CECILIA rushes in.

CECILIA.

Where-where? O, 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'd 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 is the reward
Of Marlowe's love !-why, why did I delay ?
O, gentlemen, pray for me!

I have been

Lifted in heavenly air-and suddenly

The arm that placed me, and with strength sustain'd me, Is snatch'd up, starward: I can neither follow,

Nor can I touch the gross earth any more!

Pray for me, gentlemen !-but breathe no blessings-
Let not a blessing sweeten your dread prayers-

I wish no blessings-nor could bear their weight;
For I am left, I know not where or how:
But, pray for me-my soul is buried here.

(Sinks down upon the body.)

MIDDLETON.

"Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough!"

VOL. III.

Dark Curtain.

(Solemn music.)

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