By merest accident) seizes your record,
And to the wind thus scatters all your will,
Or, rather, your will's object. Thus, our pride
Swings like a planet by a single hair,
Obedient to God's breath. More wine! more wine!
I preach—and I grow melancholy—wine!
Enter Drawer with a tankard.
A Gentleman (rising).
We're wending homeward—gentlemen, good night!
Marlowe.