“Assuredly not,” said Peele.
“An arrest before noon would follow,” interrupted Shakespere, “and then, thy trial, in which, perchance, the true situation of affairs would come to light.”
“Wherein lieth safety?” asked Marlowe, raising his eyes and glancing from one face to the other of his friends.
“A life of obscurity,” answered Tamworth, “is all I can see for thee, unless thine efforts at concealment are undone; you deliver yourself up and stand trial. I cannot guarantee an acquittal, but it is not going too far to place firm hope in one.”
“No,” exclaimed Marlowe, “rather the concealment and obscurity than such course. The die has been cast; so far it worketh well, and even with an acquittal, this untried charge of blasphemy would stick in the burr. What is it? How far doth it reach? Hast thou a copy of the accusation?”
“I have,” said Peele, again producing the paper and handing it to Marlowe.
“The severity and falsity of the charges appall me,” exclaimed Marlowe, “nothing could be blacker. Are there no means to vindicate my name?”
“Your memory,” suggested Shakespere.
“True, that is all the world hath of me, but in all seriousness can not this false swearer, Bame, be punished?”
“He can, if you desire it,” answered Tamworth.