Explore "Marlowe" by Bernard Capes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Prithee, Kit, pay me the pound you owe me. "
Mr. Christopher Marlowe, Master of Arts, playwright and rakehell, sprawled his arms upon the tavern table, and leered inebriously across it at the speaker. Behind him an open red lattice gave upon a sunny street alive with swarthy gold-ear-ringed mariners; before his sleepy eyes glowed, framed in the end of a black passage, like a picture in a diorama, a square of green banks and flashing waters webbed with rigging. The waters were the waters of Deptford Creek, and the tackle, or at least part of it, belonged to Drake's ship, the _Golden Hind_, already, in this June of the year 1593, laid by for perpetuity at her Majesty's command, as a memorial of her nation's characteristic prowess.