The Players [singing]. Come away to London, Folly, come away! You’ll make your fortune Thrice in a day. Paddocks leave and winter byres, London has a thousand spires, A-chiming, a-rhyming, Oh, London Town! The snow will fall And cover all Without you, without you, And the world get on without you— Oh, London Town!
Shakespeare goes hurriedly to the table and picks up his books.
Anne. Will!
Shakespeare. For your needs You have the farm. Farewell!
Anne [catching at his arm] For pity’s sake! I’m so beset with terrors not my own— What have you loosed upon me? I’ll not be left In this black house, this kennel of chained grief, This ghost-run. Take me with you! No, stay by me! These are but dreams of evil. Shall we not wake Drowsily in a minute? Oh, bless’d waking To peace and sunshine and no evil done! Count out the minute—
Shakespeare. If ever I forget The evil done me, I’ll forget the spring, And Avon, and the blue ways of the sky, And my own mother’s face.
Anne. Do I say “forget”? I say “remember”! When you’ve staked all, all, Upon your one throw—when you’ve lost—remember! And done the evilest thing you would not do, Self-forced to the vile wrong you would not do, Me in that hour remember!
Shakespeare. Let me go!
Anne [she is on the ground, clinging to him]. Remember! See, I do not pray “forgive”! Forgive? Forgiving is forgetting—no, Remember me! Remember, when your sun Blazes the noon down, that my sun is set, Extinct and cindered in a bitter sea, And warm me with a thought. For we are bound Closer than love or chains or marriage binds: We went by night and each in other’s heart Sowed tares, sowed tears. Husband, when harvest comes, Of all your men and women I alone Can give you comfort, for you’ll reap my pain As I your loss. What other knows our need? Dear hands, remember, when you hold her, thus, Close, close—
Shakespeare. Let go my hands!