Mr Collier[50] remarks, "Thomas Dekker, in partnership with William Haughton and John Day, was the author of 'The Spanish Moor's Tragedy,' which Malone, by a strange error, calls 'The Spanish Morris,' but he gives the right date, January 1599-1600. The mistake was more important than it may appear at first sight, as 'The Spanish Moor's Tragedy' was most likely the production called 'Lust's Dominion,' not printed until 1657, and falsely attributed to Marlowe. A Spanish Moor is the hero of it, and the date in Henslowe, of January 1599-1600, corresponds with that of a tract upon which some of the scenes are even verbally founded. That Marlowe, who was killed in 1593, and could not, therefore, be the author of it, requires no further proof." LUST'S DOMINION; OR, THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN. ACT I., SCENE 1. _Enter_ ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _two Moors, taking tobacco; music sounding within_. _Enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER OF SPAIN _with two_ PAGES. ELEAZAR, _sitting on a chair, suddenly draws the curtain_.[51] ELE. On me does music spend this sound! on me, That hate all unity! ah, Zarack! [ah,] Balthazar! QUEEN-M. My gracious lord. ELE. Are you there with your beagles! hark, you slaves! Did not I bind you on your lives to watch That none disturb'd us? QUEEN-M. Gentle Eleazar. ELE. There, off: is't you that deaf me with this noise? [_Exeunt two Moors._ QUEEN-M. Why is my love's aspèct so grim and horrid? Look smoothly on me; Chime out your softest strains of harmony, And on delicious music's silken wings Send ravishing delight to my love's ears, That he may be enamoured of your tunes. Come, let's kiss. ELE. Away, away! QUEEN-M. No, no says ay; and twice away says stay: Come, come, I'll have a kiss; but if you strive, For one denial you shall forfeit five. ELE. Nay, prythee, good queen, leave me; I am now sick and heavy, dull[52] as lead. QUEEN-M. I'll make thee lighter by taking something from thee. ELE. Do: take from me this ague and these fits That, hanging on me, Shake me in pieces, and set all my blood A-boiling with the fire of rage: away, away! Thou believ'st I jest, And laugh'st to see My wrath wear antic shapes! Begone, begone! QUEEN-M. What means my love? Burst all those wires, burn all those instruments; For they displease my Moor. Art thou now pleas'd? Or wert thou now disturb'd? I'll wage all Spain To one sweet kiss, this is some new device To make me fond and long. O, you men Have tricks to make poor women die for you. ELE. What, die for me? away! QUEEN-M. Away, what way? I prythee, speak more kindly; Why dost thou frown? at whom? ELE. At thee. QUEEN-M. At me! O, why at me? For each contracted frown A crooked wrinkle interlines my brow: Spend but one hour in frowns, and I shall look Like to a beldame of one hundred years. I prythee, speak to me, and chide me not. I prythee, chide, if I have done amiss; But let my punishment be this and this. [_Kiss._