Chapter V: Act IV

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SCENE I.

_In the “Mitre” Tavern._

SHAKESPEARE:

[_To Ben Jonson, whom he finds sitting._] Good morning, Ben. Has Burbage left?

JONSON:

He’s gone to the theatre; he will be back, anon. You’re all to go to Court, he says. Do you play?

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Indifferently._] I don’t know: I hope not. [_Drawer enters and gives Shakespeare a letter._] Will you forgive me?

JONSON:

[_Shakespeare reads._] I’ll wager that’s from Chettle, asking you to pay his reckoning. [_Shakespeare nods._] But you won’t do it. No one deserves help less.

SHAKESPEARE:

Those who deserve it least, Ben, often need it most.

JONSON:

Need! He is all needs; he but uses you—shamelessly.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Looking at the letter and smiling._] He signs himself “the old roisterer who won’t trouble you long.”

JONSON:

“The old roisterer” at your expense.

SHAKESPEARE:

I owe him what money can never pay [_takes out his purse_] his jokes and humoured laughter. He warms me with his hot love of life, and living.

[_Gives Drawer gold; exit Drawer._

JONSON:

I’ve no patience with you. You play prince-fool with everyone and you’ll suffer for it yet.

SHAKESPEARE:

Prince-fool, indeed. Which is the better title, I wonder:—prince or fool? [_Shakespeare goes to window; opens lattice and looks out._] Hush; hark! [_Opens the door, listens; shuts it again._] Curse her!

JONSON:

Be careful of your money, man, and the world will let you play both parts at will.

SHAKESPEARE:

Money! What is money to me?

[_Returning into the room again and moving about and then going to the casement._]

JONSON:

Everything, Will, shield and sword; back and front piece. [_Shakespeare turns round listening._] You are love’s plaything, Will.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Stopping in front of him._] Love lives on love, Ben; the less she gives me the less I crave. When I saw her every day it was too little, and now I see her twice a month, I’m no longer her slave. ’Tis not worth while to befool oneself for so little.

JONSON:

[_Shrugging his shoulders._] H’m. You’re not cured yet!

SHAKESPEARE:

Hush! [_Hastens to door and listens, opens it;_ _drops his hands in despair, shuts it again, turns into the room._] Damn her!

JONSON:

Love, you know——

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Stops in front of him._] Is it love or hate? Sometimes I hate her—sometimes she is coarse to me, obstinate and vain, soulless as a drab, sometimes [_Puts his hands to his face._] the rose of women. [_Throws himself in a seat._] I pass my time in waiting for her, thinking of her: I am degraded into a brute-desire. She writes, “I will be with you in an hour,” that is three hours agone; she is not here yet, and may not come to-day; damn her!

JONSON:

Why don’t you work; put her out of mind: forget her?

SHAKESPEARE:

Forget! work! That is the worst of her, she kills my work, and yet she quickens life in me. When we sacrifice ourselves for some one, Ben; when we give too much; we grow to hate her! ... Is it not shameful of her to tease me so? [_Goes to window again and looks out._] The slut! [_Sits down again._]

JONSON:

They say a man gets the woman he merits. I have a shrew, a scold, constant and jealous like the itch; you a wanton, mad with pride. Yet we could be free if we would; we are afraid to hurt them, Will; that’s it—afraid. What fools men are!

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Starting up._] I wish she were here, I’d hurt her——

JONSON:

Hark; she comes! I’ll not spoil sport.

[_Exit by door_, L.

SCENE II.

[_Some one knocks at door_, C.; _Miss Fitton enters dressed in a man’s cloak and hat._]

MISS FITTON:

Am I late?

SHAKESPEARE:

Late! I have been here for hours, walking up and down like a beast in a cage, listening for the step that never comes. When Hope has died and the ashes are cold, you come.

MISS FITTON:

Perhaps I should not have come: would that have been better?

SHAKESPEARE:

I don’t know: I am worn out with waiting.

MISS FITTON:

[_Half turning to door._] I can go.

SHAKESPEARE:

You fiend! [_Goes to her and takes her head in his hands, holds it back, and kisses her on the lips again and again._] Kiss me! Put your arms round me. Ah! [_Takes a long breath._] What a wretch you are! I was afraid you had forgotten altogether and would not come!

MISS FITTON:

It was hard to come. [_Throws open her cloak, shows her dress._] See, I was on duty. Jane Wroth was ill: I had to take her place: as soon as I was free I threw on this cloak and hat and came. I didn’t wait even to tire myself: [_Pats her hair._] I must be hideous.

SHAKESPEARE:

You were to have come on Monday and didn’t come: for hours I walked to and fro outside the Court—madness and I—a pretty pair—you would do well to fear us. But now—take off that hat and cloak.

MISS FITTON:

[_Takes off the hat; takes up a hand-glass and looks at herself; lays it down._] I must be gone soon.

SHAKESPEARE:

What? You are but come, and already speak of going. Come, then.

[_Puts his arm around her and draws her towards the inner door, that, when open, shows a bedroom._]

MISS FITTON:

No, no; time fleets. I must go soon: it is impossible. Let us talk here.

SHAKESPEARE:

You are the bellows and the fan to my desire: yet as soon as you see the flame, you shrink and leave me.

MISS FITTON:

[_Regarding him curiously._] It is hard to please you now.

SHAKESPEARE:

You don’t try often—nor long.

MISS FITTON:

[_Shrugs her shoulders._] You make it hard for me to come again.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Goes and kneels at her feet as she is sitting, and puts his hands on her waist._] Why don’t you try to cure me another way? Why not come and give yourself to me, till, surfeited with sweet, the appetite may die? That is the cure of love. Cure me like that!

MISS FITTON:

It might take long. But I like you better as you are now.

SHAKESPEARE:

Do you! Ah! [_Putting his head back._] If you knew the maddening hours I spend, longing, waiting, hoping, fearing, you would pity me. There is a martyrdom in love. I live in purgatory; burning now with hell’s fevers, and now my fiend comes and my dungeon, flame-lit, is more lovely-fair than Heaven. When you have gone the air will sing of you; I close my eyes and hear the rustle of your garments, and [_putting his hands to his face_] on my hands there lingers the perfume of your beauty. [_He buries his face in her dress, then rises gravely._] You once said love would keep love; I love you, Mary, to madness.

MISS FITTON:

[_Rises, too._] I am fond of you, too; do not doubt it.

SHAKESPEARE:

Come, then [_putting his arm round her and drawing her towards the inner room_], and I will be what you like; one short half-hour——

MISS FITTON:

[_Frees herself._] No, no; I must be gone. What time is it? I must be back before the dinner; I must.

SHAKESPEARE:

You make me hate you! To be refused and shamed.... My first thought was right.

MISS FITTON:

Your first thought?

SHAKESPEARE:

That damned boy!

MISS FITTON:

Herbert! [_Hurriedly._] I have not seen him for days and days. Has he been here?

SHAKESPEARE:

He’s not likely to come here. Damn him!

MISS FITTON:

[_Takes up her hat and begins to put it on; she puts her hair right with the hand-glass and then moves to the door and takes up her horseman’s coat from the settle; all this while Shakespeare sits with his head on his hand. She moves across and stands beside him, and then puts her hand on his shoulder._] You make it hard for me to come! You are so moody-sullen. What would you have me do?

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Looking down._] Love me, that’s all [_As if to himself._]—it isn’t much. Give me love’s ecstasy, the joy that beggars thanks; the life that is divine. Love is my mortal sickness, love!

MISS FITTON:

You should rouse yourself: you are moody.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Looks up smiling._] Mad, you would say; why not? It goes with “bad” and “glad” and “sad”—good words all! Do you know how first I came to it? I will tell you. Sit there and let my eyes feed on you. [_Miss Fitton sits near him._] Strange; you are more desirable now than when I first knew you. Then I saw faults in you; now your faults all sharpen appetite. As I look at you it all comes back—that first day in Whitehall when the morning air was warm like milk and the wavelets danced in the sun. Do you remember how we sat and kissed, each kiss longer than the last? [_Mistress Fitton bows her_ _head._]... I went the other day to the same spot by the river—I was alone and desolate—but of a sudden you came—[_she turns to him in wonder_] yourself, of grace and pride compounded, like a queen, and I touched your hair, and every separate hair a sin of multiple desire; I drew down your face and your lips clung and kissed as no lips ever kissed before. Then of a sudden you were gone, and I was awake—alone. Since then I have prayed to go mad again, to hold you, and so be mad for ever, lips on lips——[_Mistress Fitton rises._] What are you doing?

MISS FITTON:

[_Takes up cloak._] I must go, Will; I must, indeed. I am late now. [_Holds the cloak to him._]

SHAKESPEARE:

What! Now! You have been but a moment... [_He drapes her in the cloak._] Perhaps it is best so. [_She turns to the door._] You will come again soon?

MISS FITTON:

Soon. But I want to hear you laugh as you used to laugh and turn all things to humour and gaiety!

SHAKESPEARE:

Come soon, and I will clown it—soon! [_She goes, nodding to him from the door._] Soon.

SCENE III.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_While Shakespeare stands at gaze Ben Jonson enters._] It is the end, I think—the end. [_Turns to the room._] What weak curs we are, Ben: I beg her to come soon; yet I wish she were dead!

JONSON:

A proud patch, that; she’s not likely to die soon: the devil takes care of his own.

SHAKESPEARE:

She’s proud, indeed; but why do you miscall her?

JONSON:

We were there in the yard as she passed, three or four of us: the yard was dirty: she picked up her clothes and walked past us as if we were posts. Shapely legs she’s got.

SHAKESPEARE:

Shapely, indeed. Damnation!

JONSON:

Why did she go so soon?

SHAKESPEARE:

Duty at Court, she said.

JONSON:

A convenient excuse. Why came she so far for so little? I’d seek another reason.

SHAKESPEARE:

Another reason? Speak plainly, man, like a friend.

JONSON:

Plainly, then, it’s said she visits Herbert in that horseman’s cloak. ’Twas Hughes spread the thing: he knows.

SHAKESPEARE:

Herbert! Damn her!

JONSON:

Put her out of your head, man. Violet’s worth a dozen of her. Put her out of your head and think of weightier things. You are to play at Court this afternoon, and Burbage says the Queen will make you Master of the Revels if you ask for it. I wish ’twere mine for the asking.

SHAKESPEARE:

It irks me to ask favours of her: her hands are red with blood.

JONSON:

For your friends’ sake, Will, if not for your own: Burbage wants it, all of us; it would strengthen us, and we need it. The preachers grow louder against us every day, and the old cat is breaking fast; she won’t last long. Burleigh and all of them are in weekly letters with James. Ask boldly, man; once in the place you are there for life.

SHAKESPEARE:

I will do my best. But I am glad I’m not on the stage. I hate the public show: I am in no mood to play bear or dog.

[_The clock strikes one._]

JONSON:

Well, I must be gone or my vixen will bite. Good luck, Will, and don’t forget you must be our Master under the Lord Chamberlain. Your friends expect it of you. [_Exit Jonson._]

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Takes out a copy of “The Merry Wives,” reads it for a few moments, then throws it down._] It is all sickening to me. I can write nothing. The love of the work has left me: the love of life, too: when she went, all went—ambition, hope, everything.... Damn her! How maimed and sore I am!...

[_After a few moments the clock strikes two; a moment later the door opens and Miss Fitton comes in; he starts up as she enters._]

MISS FITTON:

Have you heard? Herbert’s in the Tower.

SHAKESPEARE:

For what crime?

MISS FITTON:

For loving me, I suppose.

SHAKESPEARE:

You don’t expect me to weep?

MISS FITTON:

I thought you might do something; get Southampton or one of your friends to ask for his release. It is only her temper!

SHAKESPEARE:

And you? What will you do.

MISS FITTON:

I am banned from Court; supposed now to be on my way home. If she knew I was still here and for what purpose, there is no suffering she’d spare me. Yet I stay for pride, I think, and for the danger.

SHAKESPEARE:

And to see him again.

MISS FITTON:

No, that’s done with. But I want him free, not punished.

Shakespeare:

You love him still; why do you pretend to love me? You can’t love two men.

MISS FITTON:

Can’t I? I don’t know. You are so different.

SHAKESPEARE:

What do you mean? You can’t love us both.

MISS FITTON:

He dominates me and I you. He hurts me and I hurt you, and yet I can’t bear you not to love me. I do love you, Will, really; you heal me when he has bruised me. You make me proud again and he humiliates me. I don’t want to see him ever again. But I don’t want him in prison, and I know I can ask you to help him. I wouldn’t ask any other man; but you I can ask; you are the soul of kindness.

SHAKESPEARE:

Why did you give him my tablets?

MISS FITTON:

I gave him more—much more. And now I have to face——

Shakespeare:

“More?”

MISS FITTON:

More than men dare or dread; we women always lose more than men.

SHAKESPEARE:

So you know love’s penalty—you poor child!

MISS FITTON:

I suffer, if that’s what you mean; but the suffering will pass. My courage rises to the need: the world is wide; the roads run free. What will be, will be. One mistake never ruins a man’s life, and one mistake shall never ruin mine. Next summer the sun will shine again and the air be young and quick; I have no fear. [_Turns to go._] Farewell, I’m for the road. [_Mistress Fitton turns to go._]

SHAKESPEARE:

You will come back. We shall meet again!

MISS FITTON:

[_Turns to the door, and turns back again._] It is hard to say; we’ve played at cross-purposes, Will; but we all wound and are wounded in love’s lists; yet, after all, love is the soul of life.

SHAKESPEARE:

A great game; and you are a great player, the greatest I shall ever know. [_Takes her hand and kisses it._] Of many thousand kisses this poor last. [_Exit Miss Fitton._]

SCENE IV.

[_Burbage, Marston, Dekker and Fletcher burst in._]

BURBAGE:

Great news, Will, great news! The Queen’ll hear us in “The Merry Wives of Windsor” to-night in full Court. Now use your wit, my lad, and you’ll be Master of the Revels, and our licence’ll be safe and we’ll all come to honour and riches!

DEKKER:

He counts his hens in the shell always.

FLETCHER [_To Shakespeare, humming._]:

“Why so sad, singer, why so sad?
Girls were deceivers ever—
One foot in Court and one on Stage,
To one love constant never!”

SCENE V.

_The Throne Room at Court._

[_The Queen enters, with train of ladies, lords, and counsellors, and takes the throne; Burghley, small and deformed, dressed in black, is on her right._]

THE QUEEN:

The play was well enough. [_Turning to Burghley._] My Lord Burghley, have you heard from our cousin James? Has he punished those raiders yet?

LORD BURGHLEY:

He’ll give us every satisfaction, your Majesty, except what costs him money.

THE QUEEN:

A mean spirit and a long tongue; he had the one from his father, the other from his mother. And Essex? How does he bear his disgrace?

LORD BURGHLEY:

He chafes and talks loud; it’ll all end in talk. But he should not be strengthened, Madame; the time’s unsettled and for that reason I’d pray your Majesty to release Lord Herbert; he’s young and well liked of the common——

THE QUEEN:

Keep to your own business.

LORD BURGHLEY:

[_Bows low._] Shall I write to the King of Scots imposing a penalty? He’s responsible for disorder.

THE QUEEN:

I’m tired to-night.

LORD BURGHLEY:

Your complexion’s brilliant; you look your best.

THE QUEEN:

Ah! You think so. What’s this?

[_Lord Lacy and Lady Joan come forward and bow low. Lord Lacy advances holding Lady Joan’s hand._]

THE QUEEN:

[_To Lacy._] What is it? Speak.

LACY:

Oh, Dazzling Luminary, Glorious Orb of Britain whose radiant beams diffuse in all our hearts the light of loyalty, the warmth of admiration: most gracious, wisest Mistress, permit your most obedient, loyal servitor to approach your throne with humblest imprecation.

THE QUEEN:

If the prayer, my lord, be worthy of its dress, ’Twill need our realm to content you. But give it words, man, plain words.

LACY:

Most Mighty Regent, you distress me! I approach your queenly presence robed in vestments of State out of reverence for Britain’s Majesty, and in the same spirit I would use orphrey’d phrases sewn with pearls of speech, and you ask me plain words.

THE QUEEN:

Let’s have ’em jewelled if you will; but what’s your want?

LACY:

The jewel of this realm, indeed: the prize of all this nether world, the diamaunt of distinction——

[_Bows and waives to Lady Joan._

THE QUEEN:

What! That Chit!

LACY:

Oh, Arbitress of Fate! I supplicate your Sovereign Power! enrich me with a word; set joy-bells ringing with a gest of grace and fill my heart with heavenly gratitude.

THE QUEEN:

[_To the girl._] And you? Shall he wear you? It misdoubts me the gift’s already given!

LADY JOAN:

[_Curtseying to the ground._] Oh Fairest Vestal, Mirror of Beauty, Pink of Perfectness: I would requite my Lord with dutiful affection——

THE QUEEN:

I was sure you would, and with a dozen brats as well.

LADY JOAN:

’Tis only stars and our great Queen can live alone.

THE QUEEN:

[_To Burghley._] I hate women’s praises; they’re always feigned and false! [_To Lacy._] Do you hold the wedding in our Court, my lord?

LACY:

Rectress of Action! On bended knees and with a lowly heart I implorate your Majesty, let us withdraw from the blinding light of this world’s Sun and hide our joys in sylvan shade where hours go softly by.

THE QUEEN:

The wedding should be here; afterwards you can go to your estates; does that please you, girl?

LADY JOAN:

My beseechings flow to my lord’s desire——

THE QUEEN:

By God’s Body, they are both mad; have it as ye will; [_To Lady Joan_] but when you come again your beseechings, as you call them, may flow in another direction. [_To Burghley._] Did ever Christian hear such phrases?

[_Lacy and Lady Joan bow and retire._

LORD BURGHLEY:

The girl’s worse than the man!

THE QUEEN:

Saw you any fashion, my lord, which my sex does not exaggerate? The woman has taken the infection from the man, but in the weaker body the fever rages most wildly——

SCENE VI.

THE QUEEN:

“Her beseechings” forsooth—I’m very weary! [_The Players enter and stand grouped by the servants at the end of the Hall._] Ah! there are our players. Well, let that one approach who wrote the piece—I mean—Ach! I forget his name! [_Turns to Lord Burghley._] Those common names are so hard to remember.

[_The servant goes down the Hall and brings Shakespeare to the Queen. As Shakespeare bows low the Queen looks at him, but doesn’t speak for some time._]

THE QUEEN:

[_Breathing heavily, as if tired._] You wrote the piece?

SHAKESPEARE:

To please your Majesty!

THE QUEEN:

[SLOWLY AND WITH DIFFICULTY.] I did say something about it; I’ve forgotten what—I—Yes—Oh, I wanted to see the fat Knight in love, and you wrote this “Wives of Windsor” to show it: ’tis not ill done, but the Knight was better in the earlier piece, much better; the story better too. Still, I wished it, and now—They say you’re witty, and rhyme well, and would make a good Master of the Revels to save my Lord Chamberlain there—some labour——

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Bows low._] I thank your gracious Majesty with all my heart, and should be proud to serve in any place; but——

THE QUEEN:

[_Starting up._] But!—But! The fools are all mad to-night. But what?

SHAKESPEARE:

I would prefer to private gain what our great Queen herself desires—

THE QUEEN:

[_Leaning back again._] And that is? He, he! You’d be more than wizard to divine what I don’t know.

SHAKESPEARE:

I had a friend, your Majesty, most dear——

THE QUEEN:

What’s that to do with me, man? Say what you want and make no speeches; I’ve heard enough speeches to-night to last me a lifetime.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Kneeling._] I beg for freedom, your Majesty, for my Lord Herbert: mercy for his youth——

THE QUEEN:

[_Sitting bolt upright._] Did ever one hear the like? My dog will school me next! You forget your place, man.

SHAKESPEARE:

I am nothing, gracious lady, but a voice to the pity in your heart: the meanest born may beg for mercy——

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes; ’Tis mightiest in the mightiest.

THE QUEEN:

[_Laughs loud._] Ha! ha! ha! The player’s turned preacher. Ha! ha! Hark you [_She beckons him nearer._] Your tongue’s too long; I’ll have it cut if it wag so boldly.

SHAKESPEARE:

He loved you well, ma’am, and often spoke of all your greatness. His faults are youth and madcap daring.

THE QUEEN:

I care not. When we’re hurt, we strike. He was kind to you, you say, and so you speak for him; he cheated me——

SHAKESPEARE:

And me of all I loved and left me desolate.

THE QUEEN:

Ha! And you plead for him. Faugh! Even the cur snarls at those who beat him. Learn spirit from your dog!

SHAKESPEARE:

Ah! madam, we learn sympathy from suffering, pity from pain!

THE QUEEN:

[_Wearily leaning back in her throne._] Do we? I don’t. [_Pause._] I’m weary! You can go now, man; go, I say! [_Shakespeare bows and moves towards the body of the hall; after a pause the Queen rises and takes Lord Burghley’s arm._] I’m weary—weary! [_All bow; Queen goes out on Burghley’s arm._] Very weary!

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THE EPILOGUE

SCENE I.

_Shakespeare’s bedchamber in his house at Stratford. The master is seated in a large chair close to the bed. A small table stands near the head of the bed. His daughter Judith is in the room; as the curtain goes up she goes to the door and admits Jonson and Drayton. She will scarcely look at them, and soon after leaves the room._

JONSON:

[_Going quietly to bed._] We came to see you, Shakespeare, before we return to town.

DRAYTON:

We were so sorry to hear you were ill. But what’s the matter?

SHAKESPEARE:

My joy at seeing you both: the cup of wine last night; our great talk—have set the old candle guttering.

JONSON:

It isn’t what you drank; you were most temperate.

SHAKESPEARE:

I have poor unhappy brains for drinking: one cup, you know, was always too much for me.

DRAYTON:

It must have been the talk, Shakespeare; you drank nothing. But I never dreamt you were so weak; you used to seem strong enough.

SHAKESPEARE:

I was never strong, I think. Even as a youth any excitement robbed me of sleep and made me fanciful, and of late years I have only been well when very quiet—when the thin flame is lanterned from every breath [_with a gesture_]. But what matters it? If the candle goes out there’s an end.

JONSON:

I blame myself for having overtired you. But you talked wonderfully—as no one ever talked before, I think, and I could not pull you up; now I blame myself.

SHAKESPEARE:

There’s no blame possible. It was a great night; one of the greatest nights of my life. But give me more news: I seem to have heard nothing; are the boy-players still followed?

DRAYTON:

No: the fashion’s changed. There’s some talk of having girl-actresses to play the girls’ parts on the stage, as they do in France.

JONSON:

A mad proposal. It would bring the theatre into worse repute than ever, and give the Puritans a handle for attack.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Smiling._] The pretty children! Now at sixteen they all wish to be nuns or nursing sisters: then they would not know whether to be nuns or actresses, and they would be sure to confuse the duties: if they acted they’d try to do good to their hearers, and if they tended the sick they would want pretty dresses and a crowd of spectators to admire their devotion.

JONSON:

Ha, ha! Excellent.

DRAYTON:

Come to London soon, Shakespeare. We all miss our gentle peacemaker and his wit.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_With deprecating gesture._] Tell me everything. Are there any new poets, new theatres? Do the Puritans disturb you? Here in my house my daughter puts preachers to lodge as soon as I go away for a week or so: to purge the air, I suppose, of my sinful presence.

JONSON:

There’s no great change. Pembroke is in greater favour than ever; he’s Lord Chamberlain now, and sends me money each year to buy books.

SHAKESPEARE:

Alms to escape oblivion.

[_Leans back wearily and closes eyes as daughter re-enters room._]

DRAYTON:

[_To the daughter in a whisper._] He’s not dangerously ill, is he?

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE:

[_Tartly._] Doctor Hall says father is very ill.

JONSON:

[_Holds out his hand._] Oh, I am sorry, too sorry. Our visit has done you harm.

SHAKESPEARE:

No need for grief. Our life is but a breath— A rack of smoke that at the topmost height Dislimns and fades away.

JONSON:

Not so, dear friend: the work remains. And of all men you should be content, for your work has already put you among the immortals.

SHAKESPEARE:

We are immortal only when we die;
It is the dead who steer the living—

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE:

[_To Jonson._] Oh, please! you must not make him talk; it was the talk last night gave father the fever. Doctor Hall says talk excites him even more than wine.

JONSON:

Then we must go, Shakespeare, but I never thought we’d go so sadly. I can only hope now that the illness will be short and that you will soon be yourself again.

[_Shakespeare droops and does not answer._

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE:

I must get your medicine, father. [_She goes out._

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Half wandering._] So she’s well and married. I’m glad!

JONSON:

Who?

SHAKESPEARE:

Mary—Mary Fitton. A great woman.

DRAYTON:

And beautiful!

SHAKESPEARE:

When she left me my hopes went down for ever. Strange! At first I didn’t suffer much; it’s the scratches hurt, not the death-wound; but as the years went on I suffered: it was always ill with me here about my heart—

Yet I see now she was a wonderful piece of work—a great woman—she made me sound the depths.

JONSON:

And Pembroke? He didn’t touch you so nearly?

SHAKESPEARE:

No. His was the poison of daily life; the small, hard nature, the low betrayal. It was well to forget him. But she was too great to be forgotten. There was something immortal in her, and I loved her.

JONSON:

I wonder you did not kill them both.

SHAKESPEARE:

No, no, Jonson: that is your nature, your violent nature. We all must suffer through the best in us: the mother through her child; the lover through his love; the wise through his wisdom—these are the growing pains of our humanity.

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE:

[_Enters again with medicine in her hand._] Now, father, you must take this medicine. Sir [_to Drayton_], the doctor says that father must be kept very quiet.

JONSON:

[_Taking Shakespeare’s hand._] Then, Shakespeare, all good wishes and we go. Farewell, old friend, farewell.

DRAYTON:

[_Also taking Shakespeare’s hand._] Good-bye, dear friend, good-bye! I shall have news of you from my brother who passes this way next week, and will tell us in London how you do. Farewell.

SHAKESPEARE:

Farewell. Farewell! I thank you both for coming, and all your offices of friendship and your courtesy. Keep me in loving memory.

DRAYTON:

We shall, indeed! [_Exit._]

JONSON:

Always. Always. [_Going out he adds._] So long as this machine lasts.

SCENE II.

_His will is outspread now on the table by the bed._

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE:

[_To Shakespeare._] My sister’s downstairs and wants to know if you have altered the will.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Wearily lying back._] Yes—yes. Ask her to come up. [_Judith goes to door and calls._]

MISTRESS HALL:

[_Comes in. To Judith._] How tired he looks! Run at once for my husband, see if you can bring him: I think he’s very ill. [_Judith hurries to the door and goes. Shakespeare lies with his eyes shut. Mistress Hall goes to him._] Do you hear me, father?

SHAKESPEARE:

[_With closed eyes._] Yes.

MISTRESS HALL:

You have altered the will?

SHAKESPEARE:

[_He bows his head._] Yes.

MISTRESS HALL:

I hope you have given something good to mother in it. She’s been so good to us.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Opens his eyes._] Yes.

MISTRESS HALL:

Years ago she may have been jealous; but she has never left us for an hour. You must forgive, you know, if you hope for forgiveness.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Very low voice._] I know.

MISTRESS HALL:

And you must think we love her as you loved your mother.

SHAKESPEARE:

[_Half wandering._] Ah! My mother! The gentlest, sweetest—the noblest mother in the world! I often call to her as if she were still here, and feel her hands upon my forehead. I think I’ll sleep now. The long day’s work is done! [_Closes his eyes in death._]

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE:

[_Enters._] The doctor’s coming.

MISTRESS HALL:

[_Looking at Shakespeare._] I am afraid he’s dead, Judith.

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE:

[_Sobbing on her knees._] O! Father, dear, dear, dear— [_Rises from her knees at the bedside._] Oh, Susanna, look! he’s happy; look! he’s smiling.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

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=The
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=BY FRANK HARRIS=

AUTHOR OF “MONTES THE MATADOR,” “THE BOMB,” ETC., ETC.

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● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that:
was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_);
was in bold by is enclosed by “equal” signs (=bold=).