CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
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In a public house in Deptford
He lies dead upon the floor
The blood streams down his lovely face
His eyes, which saw so clearly, shine no more
Now I did love this godless youth
And, oh, he loved me well
Whose wit, they say, was lent by God
Whose vices sent from hell
But there is no God, just gelded priests
Who keep all men in awe
No god of love, just cruel games
To play upon the poor
In a public house in Deptford
He lies dead upon the floor
The blood streams down his lovely face
His eyes, which saw so clearly, shine no more