Three Players in Masks [tapping at the window]. Let us in! Let us in! Let us in!
Anne. I will not let you in. Wait for your fellow On the high road! He’ll come to you soon enough.
She turns from them and seats herself by the fire.
A Player [dressed as a king, over Henslowe’s shoulder]. Are we never to come in? It’s as cold as charity since the sun set.
Anne. It’s no warmer here.
A Child [poking his head under the Player’s arm]. I can’t feel my fingers. [Anne looks at him. Her face changes.]
Anne. If the fire warms you, you may warm yourselves. The Players stream in. It does not warm me. Look! It cannot warm me. She thrusts her hand into the flame.
Henslowe. God’s sake! He pulls her back. The Players stare and whisper together.
Anne. Eyes! Needle eyes! Why do you stare and point? Like you I would have warmed myself. Vain, vain! It’s a strange hearth. You players are the first It ever warmed or welcomed. Charity? Who said it—“Cold as charity”? That’s love! But there’s no love here. Baby, stay away! You’ll freeze less out in churchyard night than here, For here’s not even charity.
The Child [warming his hands]. I’m not a baby. I’m nearly eleven. I’ve played children’s parts for years. I’m getting warmer. Are you?