Mary. ’Ware thunder!
Shakespeare. Sweet, He envies and is dumb, Dumb as His dark. He was our audience. Now to His blinding centrum home He hies, Omnipotent drudge, to wind the clocks of Time And tend His ’plaining universes all— To us, to us, His empty theatre of night Abandoning. But we too steal away; For the play’s done, Lights out—all over—and here we stand alone, Holding each other in a little room, Like two souls in one grave. We are such lovers—
Anne’s Voice. As there’s no room for in the human air And green side of the grass—
Shakespeare. A voice! A voice!
Mary. No voice here!
Shakespeare. In my heart I heard it cry Like a sick child waked suddenly at night.
[Crying out]
A child—a sick child! Unlink your arms that hold me!
Mary. Never till I choose!
Shakespeare. Put back your hair! I am lost Unless I lose all gain. O moonless night, In your hot darkness I have lost my way! But kiss me, summer, once! On London Bridge At midnight—I’ll be there! Has the clock struck?