Heywood.
See! his face changes—lift him up!
(they raise and support him)
Here—place your hand upon his side—here, here—
Close over mine, and staunch the flowing wound!
Marlowe (delirious.)
Bright is the day—the air with glory teems—
And eagles wanton in the smile of Jove:
Can these things be, and Marlowe live no more!
O Heywood! Heywood! I had a world of hopes