Elizabeth. How often have you come to me in those twelve years?
Henslowe. Four times, Madam!
Elizabeth. Have I helped or hindered?
Henslowe. I confess it, Madam, I have lived on your wits.
Elizabeth. Then who’s your man?
Henslowe. You’ll not trust me. He has done little before the world.
Elizabeth. Shakespeare?
Henslowe. Madam, you know everything. Will you see him? He and Marlowe are among our petitioners.
Elizabeth. H’m! the Stratford boy! I have not forgotten.
Henslowe. Who could have promised better? He came to town like a conqueror. He took us all with his laughter. You yourself, Madam—