Chapter 2

_Public Gardens--Liberty of the Clink, Southwark._

_Enter_ MARLOWE _and_ HEYWOOD.

HEYWOOD.

Be sure of it.

MARLOWE.

I am; but not by your light.

HEYWOOD.

I speak it not in malice, nor in envy Of your good fortune with so bright a beauty; But I have heard such things!

MARLOWE.

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.

HEYWOOD.

Proceed.

MARLOWE.

Smile not; for 'tis most true: the very air With her sweet presence is impregnate richly. As in a mead, that's fresh with youngest green, Some fragrant shrub, some secret herb, exhales Ambrosial odours; or in lonely bower, Where one may find the musk plant, heliotrope, Geranium, or grape hyacinth, confers A ruling influence, charming present sense And sure of memory; so, her person bears A natural balm, obedient to the rays Of heaven--or to her own, which glow within, Distilling incense by their own sweet power. The dew at sunrise on a ripened peach Was never more delicious than her neck. Such forms are Nature's favourites.

HEYWOOD.

Come, come-- Pygmalion and Prometheus dwell within you! You poetise her rarely, and exalt With goddess-attributes, and chastity Beyond most goddesses: be not thus serious! If for a passing paramour thou'dst love her, Why, so, so it may be well; but never place Thy full heart in her hand.

MARLOWE.

I have--I do-- And I will lay it bleeding at her feet. Reason no more, for I do love this woman: To me she's chaste, whatever thou hast heard. Whatever I may know, hear, find, or fancy, I must possess her constantly, or die.

HEYWOOD.

Nay, if't be thus, I'll fret thine ear no more With raven voice; but aid thee all I can.

MARLOWE.

Cecilia!--Go, dear friend--good Master Heywood, Leave me alone--I see her coming thither!

HEYWOOD.

Bliss wait thy wooing; peace of mind its end! (_aside_) His knees shake, and his face and hands are wet, As with a sudden fall of dew--God speed him! This is a desperate fancy! _Exit._

_Enter_ CECILIA.

CECILIA.

Thoughtful sir, How fare you? Thou'st been reading much of late, By the moon's light, I fear me?

MARLOWE.

Why so, lady?

CECILIA.

The reflex of the page is on thy face.

MARLOWE.

But in my heart the spirit of a shrine Burns, with immortal radiation crown'd.

CECILIA.

Nay, primrose gentleman, think'st me a saint?

MARLOWE.

I feel thy power.

CECILIA.

I exercise no arts-- Whence is my influence?

MARLOWE.

From heaven, I think. Madam, I love you--ere to-day you've seen it, Although my lips ne'er breathed the word before; And seldom as we've met and briefly spoken, There are such spiritual passings to and fro 'Twixt thee and me--though I alone may suffer-- As make me know this love blends with my life; Must branch with it, bud, blossom, put forth fruit, Nor end e'en when its last husks strew the grave, Whence we together shall ascend to bliss.

CECILIA.

Continued from this world?

MARLOWE.

Thy hand, both hands; I kiss them from my soul!

CECILIA.

Nay, sir, you burn me-- Let loose my hands!

MARLOWE.

I loose them--half my life has thus gone from me!-- That which is left can scarce contain my heart, Now grown too full with the high tide of joy, Whose ebb, retiring, fills the caves of sorrow, Where Syrens sing beneath their dripping hair, And raise the mirror'd fate.

CECILIA.

Then, gaze not in it, Lest thou should'st see thy passing funeral. I would not--I might chance to see far worse.

MARLOWE.

Thou art too beautiful ever to die! I look upon thee, and can ne'er believe it.

CECILIA.

O, sir--but passion, circumstance, and fate, Can do far worse than kill: they can dig graves, And make the future owners dance above them, Well knowing how 'twill end. Why look you sad? 'Tis not your case; you are a man in love-- At least, you say so--and should therefore feel A constant sunshine, wheresoe'er you tread, Nor think of what's beneath. But speak no more: I see a volume gathering in your eye Which you would fain have printed in my heart; But you were better cast it in the fire. Enough you've said, and I enough have listened.

MARLOWE.

I have said naught.

CECILIA.

You have spoken very plain-- So, Master Marlowe, please you, break we off; And, since your mind is now relieved--good day!

MARLOWE.

Leave me not thus!--forgive me!

CECILIA.

For what offence

MARLOWE.

The expression of my love.

CECILIA.

Tut! that's a trifle. Think'st thou I ne'er saw men in love before? Unto the summer of beauty they are common As grasshoppers.

MARLOWE.

And to its winter, lady?

CECILIA.

There is no winter in my thoughts--adieu!

_Exit._

MARLOWE.

She's gone!--How leafless is my life!--My strength Seems melted--my breast vacant--and in my brain I hear the sound of a retiring sea.

_Exit._