Chapter V: Act III: Scene I

SHAKESPEARE’S _lodging. It is the plain but
well-arranged room of a man of fair means and
fine taste. The walls are panelled: on them hang
a couple of unframed engravings, a painting,
tapestry, and a map of the known world. There is
a four-post bed with a coverlet and hangings of
needlework, and on the window-sill a pot of early
summer flowers. There is a chair or two of oak
and a table littered with papers_. SHAKESPEARE
_is sitting at it, a manuscript in his hand. On
the arm of the chair lolls_ MARLOWE, _one arm
flung round_ SHAKESPEARE’S _neck, reading over
his shoulder._

SHAKESPEARE. Man, how you’ve worked! A whole act to my ten lines!
You dice all day and dance all night and yet--how do you do it?

MARLOWE. Like it?

SHAKESPEARE. Like it? What a word for a word-master! Consider,
Kit! When the sun rises like a battle song over the sea: when the
wind’s feet visibly race along the tree-tops of a ten-mile wood:
when they shout “Amen!” in the Abbey, praying for the Queen on
Armada Day: when the sky is a brass gong and the rain steel rods,
and across all suddenly arch the seven colours of the promise--do
I _like_ these wonders when I stammer and weep, and know that God
lives? Like, Marlowe!

MARLOWE. Yes, yes, old Will! But do you like the new act?

SHAKESPEARE. I like it, Kit! [_They look at each other and
laugh_].

MARLOWE. And now for your scene, ere I go.

SHAKESPEARE. My scene! I give you what I’ve done. Finish it
alone, Kit, and take what it brings! I’m sucked dry.

MARLOWE. I’ve heard that before.

SHAKESPEARE. I wish I had never come to London.

MARLOWE. Henslowe’s back. Seen him?

SHAKESPEARE. I’ve seen no-one. Did the tour go well?

MARLOWE. He says so. He left them at Stratford. Well, I must go.

SHAKESPEARE. Where? To Mary?

MARLOWE. Why should I go to your Mary?

SHAKESPEARE. Because I’ve asked you to, often enough. Why else?
You’ve grown to be friends. You could help me if you would.

MARLOWE. Never step between a man and a woman!

SHAKESPEARE. But you’re our friend! And they say you know women.

MARLOWE. They say many things. They say we’re rivals, Will--that
I shall end by having you hissed.

SHAKESPEARE. Let them say! But have you seen Mary? When did you
last see Mary?

MARLOWE. I forget. Saturday.

SHAKESPEARE. Did you speak of me, Kit? Kit, does she speak of me?

MARLOWE. If you must have it--seldom. New songs, new books, new
music--of plays and players and the Queen’s tantrums--not of you.

SHAKESPEARE. I have not seen her three days.

MARLOWE. Why, go then and see her!

SHAKESPEARE. She has company. She is waiting on the Queen. She
gives me a smile and a white cool finger-tip, and--“Farewell, Mr.
Shakespeare!” Yet a month ago, ay and less than a month--! Did
you give her my message? What did she say?

MARLOWE. She laughed and says you dream. She never liked you
better.

SHAKESPEARE. Did she say that?

MARLOWE. She says you cool to her, not she to you.

SHAKESPEARE. Did she say that?

MARLOWE. Swore it, with tears in her eyes.

SHAKESPEARE. Is it so? I wish it were so. Well, you’re my good
friend, Marlowe!

MARLOWE. Oh, leave that!

SHAKESPEARE. Kit, do you blame me so much?

MARLOWE. Why should I blame you?

SHAKESPEARE. That I’m here and not in Warwickshire.

MARLOWE. I throw no stones. Why? Have you heard aught?

SHAKESPEARE. No, nor dared ask--nor dared ask, Marlowe. The
boy’s dead. I know it. But I will not hear it. Marlowe, Marlowe,
Marlowe, do you judge me?

MARLOWE. Ay, that putting your hand to the plough you look back.
Would I comb out my conscience daily as a woman combs out her
hair? I do what I choose, though it damn me! Blame you? The round
world has not such another Mary--or so, had I your eyes, I should
hold. For this prize, if I loved her, I would pay away all I had.

SHAKESPEARE. Honour, Kit?

MARLOWE. Honour, Will!

SHAKESPEARE. Faith and conscience and an only son?

MARLOWE. It’s my own life. What are children to me?

SHAKESPEARE. Well, I have paid.

MARLOWE. But you grudge--you grudge! Look at you! If you go to
her with those eyes it’s little wonder that she tires of you.

SHAKESPEARE. Tires? Who says that she tires? Who says it?

MARLOWE. Not I, old Will! Not I! Why, Shakespeare?

SHAKESPEARE [_shaken_]. I can’t sleep, Kit! has come to me? I
think I go mad. [_He starts._] Was that the I can’t write. What
boy on the stairs? I sent him to her. I wrote. I have waited her
will long enough. She shall see me to-night. I’ll know what it
means. She plays with me, Kit. Are you going?

MARLOWE. I shall scarce reach Deptford ere dark.

SHAKESPEARE. How long do you lodge in Deptford?

MARLOWE. All summer.

HENSLOWE [_pounding at the door_]. Who’s at home? Who’s at home?

MARLOWE. That’s Henslowe.

SHAKESPEARE. Why does the boy stay so long?

HENSLOWE [_in the doorway_]. Gentlemen, the traveller returns!
For the last time, I tell you! My bones grow too old for
barnstorming. Do you go as I come, Kit? Thank you for nothing!

MARLOWE. Be civil, Henslowe! ‘The Curtain’ ’s on its knees to me
for my next play.

HENSLOWE. Pooh! This man can serve my turn.

MARLOWE. You see, they’ll make rivals of us, Will, before they’ve
done. I’ll see you soon again. [_He goes out._]

HENSLOWE. Well, what’s the news?

SHAKESPEARE. I sit at home. You roam England. You can do the
talking. How did the tour go?

HENSLOWE. You’re thin, man! What’s the matter? Success doesn’t
suit you?

SHAKESPEARE. How did the tour go?

HENSLOWE. By way of Oxford, Warwick, Kenilworth--

SHAKESPEARE. I said “how” not “where.”

HENSLOWE. --and Leamington and Stratford. We played ‘Romeo’ every
other night--and to full houses, my son! I’ve a pocketful of
money for you. They liked you everywhere. As for your townsfolk,
they went mad. You can safely go home, boy! You’ll find Sir
Thomas in the front row, splitting his gloves. He’ll ask you to
dinner.

SHAKESPEARE. Were you there long?

HENSLOWE. Two nights.

SHAKESPEARE. Did you see--anyone?

HENSLOWE. Why not say--

SHAKESPEARE. I say, did you pass my house?

HENSLOWE. I had forgot the way.

SHAKESPEARE. As I have, Henslowe!

HENSLOWE. Should I have sought her?

SHAKESPEARE. No.

HENSLOWE. Yet I did see her.
Making for London, not a week ago,
Alone on horseback, sudden the long grey road
Grew friendly, like a stranger in a dream
Nodding “I know you!” and behold, a love
Long dead, that smiles and says, “I never died!”
Then in the turn of the lane I saw your thatch.
Summer not winter, else was all unchanged.
Still in the dream I left my horse to graze,
And let ten years slip from me at your gate.

SHAKESPEARE. Is it ten years?

HENSLOWE. The little garden lay
Enchanted in the Sunday sloth of noon:
In th’ aspen tree the wind hung, fast asleep,
Yet the air danced a foot above the flowers
And gnats danced in it. I saw a poppy-head
Spilling great petals, noiseless, one by one:
I heard the honeysuckle breathe--sweet, sweet:
The briar was sweeter--a long hedge, pink-starred--

SHAKESPEARE. I know.

HENSLOWE. There was a bush of lavender,
And roses, and a bee in every rose,
Drowning the lark that fluted, fields away,
Up in the marvel blue.

SHAKESPEARE. Did you go in?

HENSLOWE. Why, scarce I dared, for as I latched the gate
The wind stirred drowsily, and “Hush!” it said,
And slept again; but all the garden waked
Upon the sound. I swear, as I play Prologue,
It watched me, waiting. Down the path I crept,
Tip-toe, and reached the window, and looked in.

SHAKESPEARE. You saw--?

HENSLOWE. I saw her; though the place was gloom
After the sunshine; but I saw her--

SHAKESPEARE. Changed?

HENSLOWE. I knew her.

SHAKESPEARE. Who was with her?

HENSLOWE. She was alone,
Beside the hearth unkindled, sitting alone.
A child’s chair was beside her, but no child.
Her hands were sleepless, and beneath her breath
She tuned a thread of song--your song of ‘Willow.’
But when I tapped upon the window-pane,
Oh, how she turned, and how leaped up! Her face
Glowed white as iron new lifted from the forge:
Her hair fled out behind her in one flame
As to the door she ran, with little cries
Scarce human, tearing at the bolt, the key,
And flung it crashing back: ran out, wide-armed,
Calling your name: then--saw me, and stood still,
So still you’d think she died there, standing up,
As a sapling will in frost, so desolate
She stood, with summer round her, staring--

SHAKESPEARE. Well?

HENSLOWE. I asked her, did she know me? Yes, she said,
And would I rest and eat? So much she said
To the lawn behind me--oh, to the hollyhock
Stiff at my elbow--to a something--nothing--
But not to me. I could not eat her food.
I told her so. She nodded. Oh, she knows
How thoughts run in a man. No fool, no fool!
I spoke of you. She listened.

SHAKESPEARE. Questioned you?

HENSLOWE. Never a question.

SHAKESPEARE. She said nothing?

HENSLOWE. Nothing.

SHAKESPEARE. Not like her.

HENSLOWE. But her eyes spoke, as I came
By way of London, Juliet, ‘The Rose,’
And the Queen’s great favour (“And why not?” they said)
Again to silence; so, as I turned to go
I asked her--“Any greeting?” Then she said,
Lifting her chin as if she sped her words
Far, far, like pigeons flung upon the air,
And soft her voice as bird-wings--then she said,
“Tell him the woods are green at Shottery,
Fuller of flowers than any wood in the world.”
“What else?” said I. She said--“The wind still blows
Fresh between park and river. Tell him that!”
Said I--“No message, letter?” Then she said,
Twisting her hands--“Tell him the days are long.
Tell him--” and suddenly ceased. Then, with good-bye
Pleasantly spoken, and another look
At some wraith standing by me, not at me,
Went back into the house and shut the door.

SHAKESPEARE. Ay, shut the door, Henslowe; for had she been this she
Ten years ago and I this other I--
Well, I have friends to love! Heard Marlowe’s news?
He’s three-part through Leander! Oh, this Marlowe!
I mine for coal but he digs diamonds.

HENSLOWE. Yet fill your scuttle lest the world grow chill! Is the
new play done?

SHAKESPEARE. No.

HENSLOWE. Much written?

SHAKESPEARE. Not a line.

HENSLOWE. Are you mad? We’re contracted. What shall I say to the
Queen?

SHAKESPEARE. What you please.

HENSLOWE. Are you well?

SHAKESPEARE. Well enough.

HENSLOWE. Ill enough, I think!

SHAKESPEARE. Write your own plays--bid Marlowe, any man
That writes as nettles grow or rain comes down!
I am not born to it. I write not so.
Romeo and Juliet--I am dead of them!
The pay’s too small, good clappers! These ghosts
need blood
To make ’em plump and lively and they know it,
And seek their altar. Threads and floating wisps
Of being, how they fasten like a cloud
Of gnats upon me, not to be shoo’d off
Unsatisfied--and they drink deep, drink deep;
For like a pelican these motes I feed,
And with old griefs’ remembrance and old joys’
Sharper remembrance daily scourge myself,
And still they crowd to suck my scars and live.

HENSLOWE. Now, now, now--do I ask another ‘Juliet’ of you? God
forbid! A fine play, your ‘Juliet,’ but--

SHAKESPEARE. Now come the “buts.”

HENSLOWE. Man, we must live! Can we fill the theatre on love and
longing, and high words? Ay, when Marlowe does it to the sound
of trumpets. But you--you’re not Marlowe. You know too much.
Your gods are too much men and women. Who’ll pay sixpence for a
heart-ache? and in advance too! Give us but two more ‘Romeo and
Juliet’'s and you may be a great poet, but we close down. Another
tragedy? No, no, no, we don’t ask that of you! We want light
stuff, easy stuff. Oh, who knows as well as you what’s wanted?
It’s a court play, my man! The French Embassy’s to be there and
the two Counts from Italy, and always Essex and his gang, and you
know _their_ fancy. Get down to it now, there’s a good lad! Oh,
you can do it in your sleep! Lovers and lasses, and quarrels and
kisses, like the two halves of a sandwich! But court lovers, you
know, that talk verse--and between them a green cress of country
folk and country song, daffodils and valentines, and brown
bowls of ale--season all with a pepper of wit--and there’s your
sandwich, there’s your play, as the Queen likes it, as we all
like it!

SHAKESPEARE. Ay, as you like it! There’s your title pat!
But I’ll not serve you. I’m to live, not write.
Tell that to the Queen!
_A boy enters whistling and stops as he_
_sees_ SHAKESPEARE.
Well, Hugh, what answer?

BOY. None, sir!

SHAKESPEARE. What? No answer?

HENSLOWE. See here, Will! If you do not write me this play you
have thrice promised, I’ll to the Queen--sick or mad I’ll to the
Queen this very day for your physic--and so I warn you.

SHAKESPEARE [_to the boy_]. Did you see--?

BOY. The maid, sir!

HENSLOWE. I’ll not see ‘The Rose’ in ruins for a mad--

SHAKESPEARE [_to the boy_]. But what did I bid you?

BOY. Wait on the doorstep till Mistress Fitton came out, though
I waited all night. But indeed, sir, she’s gone; for I saw her,
though she did not see me.

HENSLOWE. Oh, the Fitton! Now I see light through the wood!

SHAKESPEARE. What’s that you say?

HENSLOWE. I say that the Queen shall know where the blame lies.

SHAKESPEARE. You lie. _I_ heard you. _I_ saw you twist your lips
round a white name.

HENSLOWE. Will! Will! Will!

SHAKESPEARE. Did you not?

HENSLOWE. Why, Will, you have friends, though you fray ’em to the
parting of endurance.

SHAKESPEARE. What’s this?

HENSLOWE. I say you have friends that see what they see, and are
sorry.

SHAKESPEARE. Yes, I am blessed in one man and woman who do not
use me as a beast to be milked dry. I have Marlowe and--

HENSLOWE. Marlowe? And I said, God forgive me, that you knew men
and women! Marlowe!

SHAKESPEARE. You speak of my friend.

HENSLOWE. Ay, Jonathan--of David, the singer, of him that took
Bathsheba, all men know how. [SHAKESPEARE _makes a threatening
movement._] No, no, Will! I am too old a man to give and take
with you--too old a man and too old a friend.

SHAKESPEARE. So you’re to lie and I’m to listen because you’re an
old man!

HENSLOWE. Lie? Ask any in the town. I’m but a day returned and
already I’ve heard the talk. Why, man, they make songs of it in
the street!

SHAKESPEARE. It? It? It?

HENSLOWE. Boy?

BOY. Here, sir?

HENSLOWE. What was that song you whistled as you came up the
stairs?

BOY. ‘Weathercock,’ sir?

HENSLOWE. That’s it!

BOY. Lord, sir, I know but the one verse I heard a drayman sing.

HENSLOWE. How does it go?

BOY. It goes--[_singing._]
Two birds settle on a weathercock--
How’s the wind to-day--O?
One shall nest and one shall knock--
How’s the wind to-day--O?
Turn about and turn about,
Kit pops in as Will pops out!
Winds that whistle round the weathercock,
Who’s her love to-day--O?

It’s a good tune, sir!

HENSLOWE. Eh, Will? A good tune! A rousing tune!

SHAKESPEARE [_softly_]. “For this prize, if I loved her, I would
pay all I had! I do what I choose though it damn me!”

BOY. May I go, sir?

SHAKESPEARE. Go, go!

BOY. And my pay, sir? Indeed I’d have stopped the lady if I
could. But she made as if she were not herself, and rode out of
the yard. But I knew her, for all her riding-coat and breeches.

HENSLOWE. What’s all this?

SHAKESPEARE [_to the boy_]. You’re dreaming--

BOY. No, sir, there was your ring on her finger--

SHAKESPEARE. Be still! Take this and forget your dreams!
[_He gives him money._] Henslowe, farewell! If you’ve lied to me
I’ll pay you for it, and if you’ve spoken truth to me I’ll pay you
for it no less.

HENSLOWE. Pay? I want no pay. I want the play that the Queen
ordered, and will have in the end, mark that! You have not yet
served the Queen.

SHAKESPEARE. Boy! Hugh!

BOY. Sir?

SHAKESPEARE. Which way did she ride?

BOY. Am I asleep or awake, sir?

SHAKESPEARE. Which way did she ride?

BOY. Across the bridge, sir, as I dreamt it, along the Deptford
road.

SHAKESPEARE. Marlowe! The Deptford road! The Deptford road!
[_He rushes out._]

BOY [_showing his money_]. Dreaming pays, sir! It’s gold.

HENSLOWE. Boy, boy! Never trust a man! Never kiss a woman! Work
all day and sleep all night! Love yourself and never ask God for
the moon! So you may live to be old. This business grows beyond
me. I’ll to the Queen.

_He trots out, shaking his head. The boy skips after him,
whistling his tune._

THE CURTAIN FALLS.