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?