Henslowe. The sun’s down. The sky’s as yellow as a London fog. Well, what’s it to be?
Shakespeare. London! The future in a golden fog!
Henslowe. Come then!
Shakespeare. I’ll fetch my bundle. Wait for me! What voices?
Henslowe. The rest of us, the people of the plays. We’re all here waiting for you.
Shakespeare. Come in, all! all!
Henslowe. Does your wife say to us—“Come in!”?
Shakespeare. What wife?
He hurries up the stairs and disappears.
Henslowe [opening the outer door]. May we come in?