Christopher Marlowe

Thy worth, sweet friend, is far above my gifts:
Therefore, to equal it, receive my heart

And, since I went from hence, no soul in hell
Hath felt more torment than poor Gaveston.

It shall suffice me to enjoy your love;
Which whiles I have, I think myself as great
As Cæsar riding in the Roman street,
With captive kings at his triumphant car

these, thy amorous lines
Might have enforc'd me to have swum from France,
And, like Leander, gasp'd upon the sand,
So thou wouldst smile, and take me in thine arms

Such reasons make white black, and dark night day

For nowhere else seeks he felicity

BARABAS. Now I remember those old women's words,

Who in my wealth would tell me winter's tales,

And speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night

About the place where treasure hath been hid:

And now methinks that I am one of those;

For, whilst I live, here lives my soul's sole hope,

And, when I die, here shall my spirit walk.

Who in my wealth would tell me winter's tales,

And speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night

About the place where treasure hath been hid:

And now methinks that I am one of those;

BARABAS. Now I remember those old women's words