Child. It’s a pity. If you were a man you could act in the company. But women can’t act. Even Orpheus’ wife is a boy really. So are the three Fates. They’re friends of mine. Would you like to talk to them, the way we do in the play? Come on! I go first, you see. You must say just what I tell you.
He takes her hands and pulls her to her feet. She stares, bewildered, for the room has grown dim. The dying fire shines upon the shifting, shadowy figures of the Players. The crowd grows larger every moment and is thickest at the foot of the stairs. Shakespeare is seen coming down them.
Anne. The room’s so full. I’m frightened. Who are all these people?
Child. Hush! We’re in hell. These are all the dead people. We bring ’em to life.
Anne. Who? We?
Child. I and the singer. Look, there’s your husband coming down the stairs! That’s just the way Orpheus comes down into hell.
Anne. Will! Will!
Child. Hush! You mustn’t talk.
Anne. But it’s all dreams—it’s all dreams.
Child. It’s the players.