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!”
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?