Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1902-11-20

ter Kit Marlowe, & of ''Dr. Faus-
tus" and Edward H." all of which
tragedies they had seen enacted at the
Fortune theater in Golden lane, Grip
plegate, where Edward Alleyn did
roar as one inspired. And from that
hour sweet Audrey began to dream;
and it was Tom Quincy himself that
had set her thoughts a-roaIiiilg with
yon wild eyed poet.
On the Tuesday she walked by the
riverside and there by chance walked
Christopher Marlowe. Audrey was
by turns merry and soft as any dove
when he spoke with her. On the
Wednesday they watched the ships
again. He told her of Leander who
lad swum the Hellespont to reach the
tower of Hero, his beloved. He spoke
of many things beyond poor Audreys
ken, and yet his voice was music. She
heard him and but understood half,
and for that her delight was the more.
| When he kissed her she lay in his
arms like some white bird pionioned.
Tom Quincy dwelt in Deptford with
| a heavy heart those springtide weeks.
At Easter Audrey had greeted, him
with smiles and mods; now she had no
word for him, and her thoughts were
strayed. He followed her dumbly,
like a neglected hound, and twice he
spied upon her as she went forth to
meet his careless rival. "Thy poet
will go with the fine weather, but
am always here" said honest Tom
Quincy, reproaching her he loved.
AYE, Tom, thou art always here
answered Audrey with a pout, and
then escaped Rlm.
The next week Tom Quincy buckled
on a sword and swore to play the
man. He would go to the Rose and
Crown that night and force an issue
with him who had crossed his suit;
| for even death were preferable to this
vile life.
| Kit Marlowe was seated at table
with Mol Oldham, who ate and drank
at his cost, and whose voice was
coarse as Marlowe's was fine silver.
| He took no shame to be seen in such
| company-he who had vowed his easy
| love to gentle Audrey but some few
hours since! Quincy called for flask
of wine and faced the two black
| browed.
The playwright took no heed of this
stern neighbor; but Mol cried, "Puri-
TAM" whereat Marlowe laughed aloud
and pinched her plump, red cheek.
Quincy said no word, but waited.
Twas then that Francis Archer,
lusty serving man, came in and called
Moll to him. Kit held her fast and
would not let her rise.
The other called again, and Mol
flung Kit Marlowe off.
| Gurney's hand was on his sword, but
he looked on spellbound.
For Marlowe had sprung up with an
oath and dagger unsheathed, and
Francis Archer had parted the stroke.
A second followed, and the serving
mans weapon was now drawn. 1t
took Kit Marlowe clear in the throat,
and he fell back, the blood rushing
from his mouth and nostrils, and lay
there, with vague words on his witch
ing lips and the beauty dimming in his
! glazing eyes. Tom Quincy staggered
| homeward like q drunken man.
But the next morning he was about
and in the best clothes of his press.
Gay he was, out and inward, for now
he had no rival; and when Audrey
knew what manner of fight this had
been, she would for certainty give him
her plighted word and forget so evil
thing as this Kit Marlowe.
| Young Master Quincy cut roses for
her a whole sweet smelling bunch
tied with broad blue ribbon of
watered silk. Early in the forenoon
he was at the house and had told his
| story and had pressed his suit.
| Stabbed by serving man." sobbed
Audrey, choking over her sour sweet
memories.
| Torn Quincy took her hand and said
he would make good her loss.
She was not softened.
He krelC to her, holding his bunch
Of roses.
She gave him one scornful glance.
u
Better a dead lion," she said. than
a live iackass."
And with that she trailed upstairs
to her chamber, and took down a gown
of mournful black, the one she had
worn the day they buried her mother
In the churchyard of st. Nicholas.
Those that passed by saw young
Master Quincy, the fustian weaver's
son, sitting moody and forlorn. on the
oaken bench before the house. a large
bunch of red roses in his hand. tied
by a broad blue ribbon.
Better dead lion," he repeated.
staring blindly before him; better a
dead lion than live lackass."
That was her answer; and it was
one on which Tom Quincy pondered
many year.