Anne. But you I fear, O shrinking fate! what fate? What first and last fate? Show me your face, I say! She tears off the mask. The face revealed is the face of Anne. She screams. Myself! I saw myself! Will! Will!
The Child. kneeling at the hearth stirs the fire and a bright flame shoots up that lights the whole room. It is empty save for the few players gathering together their bundles and Shakespeare who has hurried to Anne. His hand, gripping her shoulder, steadies her as she sways.
Shakespeare. Still railing?
Child [to his father]. She’s a poor frightened lady and she cried. I like her.
Anne. Gone! Gone! Where are they? Call them back! I saw—
Shakespeare. What folly! These are players and my friends; You could have given them food at least and served them.
Anne. I saw—I saw—
Henslowe [coming up to them]. So, are you ready? The moon is high: we must be going.
Shakespeare. I’ll follow instantly.
The Players trail out by twos and threes. They pass the window and repass it on the further side of the hedge. They are a black, fantastic frieze, upon the yellow, winter sky. Henslowe goes first: the king’s crown is crooked, and the child is riding on his back: the masks come last.