The Death of Marlowe: A Tragedy in One Act

T.H. Lacy, 1870 - 23 Seiten

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Seite 22 - ... 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...
Seite 23 - Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough, That sometime grew within this learned man. Faustus is gone : regard his hellish fall, Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise Only to wonder at unlawful things, Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits To practise more than heavenly power permits.
Seite 8 - Master Marlowe hath too deep a reading i' the books of nature to nail his heart upon a gilded weathercock. He is only desperate after the fashion of a pearl diver. When he hath enough he will desist — breathe freely, polish the shells, and build grottoes.
Seite 11 - I want, but rightful favour; not silver, but sweet civility; not dross, but the due respect to my nonpareil value! Bethink thee, Cecil — bethink thee of many things! . Ay! am not I the true gallant of my time? the great Glow-worm and Will-o'the-wisp — the life, the fortune, and the favourite of the brightest among ye! Cecilia. Away ! Jacconot . Whither ? Cecilia.
Seite 23 - 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...
Seite 5 - Good Master Heywood, I prithee plague me not with what thou'st heard ; I've seen, and I do love her — and, for hearing, The music of her voice is in my soul, And holds a rapturous jubilee 'midst dreams That melt the day and night into one bliss. HEYWOOD. Beware the waking hour ! MARLOWE. In lovely radiance, Like all that's fabled of Olympus' queen, She moves — as if the earth were undulant clouds, And all its flowers her subject stars.

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