Elizabeth. Loved him, but a woman better.
Henslowe. There was no woman with them.
Elizabeth. So I hear; but a boy!
Henslowe. Unknown.
Elizabeth. Did you see him?
Henslowe. Not his face. He was past me in a flash, crying “Hurry!”
Elizabeth. Well, I’ll see Shakespeare.
Henslowe. Madam—
Elizabeth. I thread my own needles, Henslowe, being a woman. [Mary Fitton enters.] Send Mr. Shakespeare to me! [Then, as Mary turns to go—] Mary!
Mary. Madam?