Mary. Then I will not. Not to-night.
Shakespeare [standing by the window]. Why not to-night, my lover and my friend? He comes down into the room as they start up. Will you not give me wine and welcome me? Sit down, sit down—we three have much to say! But tell me first, what does that hand of yours Upon her neck, as there were custom in it? Part! Part, I say! Part! lest I couple you Once and for all!
Mary. He’s armed!
Marlowe. He shall not touch you!
Shakespeare. You, Marlowe! You!
Marlowe. Stand out of her way!
Shakespeare. You! You!
Marlowe. Why then—
Marlowe darts at Shakespeare and is thrown off. He staggers against the table, knocking over the candle. As he strikes the second time his arm is knocked up, striking his own forehead. He falls across the bed. There is an instant’s pause, then Shakespeare rushes to him, slipping an arm under his shoulder.
Mary. Dead? Is he dead? Oh, what an end! I never saw a dead man. Will—to me!