Shakespeare. Fear not, I’ll be there. D’you think so ill of me? I could have been a good father to my own son—if I had known. If I had known! This is a woman’s way of enduring a wrong. Oh, dumb beast! Could she not send for me—send to me? Am I a monster that she could not come to me? “Buy him gingerbread”! To send me no word till he’s dying! Would any she-devil in hell do so to a man? Dying? I tell you he shall live and not die. There was a man once fought death for a friend and held him. Can I not fight death for my own son? Can I not beat death off for an hour, for a little hour, till I have kissed my only son?
Marlowe’s Voice. Shakespeare! The Queen—the Queen has asked for you, And sent her woman twice. Will Shakespeare! Will!
Shakespeare. At midnight then.
Mrs. Hathaway goes out.
Voice. Will Shakespeare!
Shakespeare. Coming! Coming!
Mary [in the doorway, followed by Marlowe]. Is Shakespeare—?
Shakespeare. Oh, not now, not now, not now!
Mary. Are you mad to keep her waiting? She has favours up her sleeve. You are to write her a play for the summer revels. Quick now, ere the last act begins! Off with you! [Shakespeare goes out.] Look how he drags away! What’s come to the man to fling aside his luck?
Marlowe. He has left it behind him.