Mrs. Hathaway. I saw her come from this room—off her guard. I know how a woman looks when a man has pleased her. Oh, please her if you must! I am old. I do not judge. And I think you will not always. But that’s not my news.
Shakespeare. I can’t hear it now. I am pressed. This is not every night. I’ll see you to-morrow, not now.
Mrs. Hathaway. My news may be dead to-morrow.
Shakespeare. So much the better. I needn’t hear it.
Mrs. Hathaway. Son, son, son! You don’t know what you say.
Shakespeare. That is not my name. And I know well what I say. You are my wife’s mother and I’ll not share anything of hers. But if she needs money, I’ll send it. To-night makes me a rich man.
Mrs. Hathaway. Richer than you think—and to-morrow poorer, if you do not listen to me.
There is a roar of applause.
Shakespeare. Listen to you? Why should I listen to you? Can you give me anything to better that?
Mrs. Hathaway. But if she can? Sixty years I have learned lessons in the world; but I never learned that a city was better than green fields, friends better than a house-mate, or the works of a man’s hand more to him than the child of his own flesh.