Spinning across the hollows of mine eyes A web of dusty thought. Sweet, brush him off! Death’s a vile dreg in this intoxicant, This liquor of the gods, this seven-hued life. Sometimes I pinch myself, say—“Can you die? Is it possible? Will you be winter-nipped One day like other flies?” I’m glad you came. Stay with me, stay, till the last minute of life! Let the court go, the world go, stay with me! Mary [her arms round him]. So—quiet till the dawn comes, quiet! Hark! Who called? Did you hear it?
Marlowe. Birds in the ivy.
Mary. No. Twice in the road I stopped and turned about Because I heard my name called. There was nothing; Yet I had heard it—Mary—Mary—Mary!
Marlowe. You heard your own heart pound from riding.
Mary. Again! Open the window! [Marlowe rises and goes to the window.] Do you see anything?
Marlowe. All’s sinister. The moon fled out of the sky Long since, and the black trees of midnight quake.
Mary. And the wind! What a wind! It tugs at the window-frame Like jealousy, mad to break in and part us. Could you be jealous?
Marlowe. If I were a fool I’d let you guess it.
Mary. Wise, you’re wise, but—jealous? Too many men in the world! I’d lift no finger To beckon back the fool that tired of me, Would you? But he, he glooms and says no word, But follows with his eyes whene’er I stir. I hate those asking eyes. Look thus at me But once and—ended, Marlowe! I’ll not give But when I choose. [He sits beside her.]
Marlowe. But when I choose.