Albeit the world think[s Maxwell]... is dead,
Yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps,
And, now the Guise is dead, is come from France
To view this land and frolic with his friends.
To some perhaps my name is odious,
But such as love me guard me from their tongues,
And let them know that I am...[Maxwell],
And weigh not men, and thereafter not men's words.
Admired am I of those that hate me most.
Though some speak openly against my books,
Yet will they read me thereby attain
To Peter's chair, when they cast me off,
Are poisoned by my climbing followers.
I count religion [not]... a childish toy...
Marlowe, C. (2003 [1590]) Christopher Marlowe: The Complete Plays, Penguin, London, p.248.
[abridged, amended: The Jew of Malta, prolouge.]
Max.