Henslowe. Man, we must live! Can we fill the theatre on love and longing, and high words? Ay, when Marlowe does it to the sound of trumpets. But you—you’re not Marlowe. You know too much. Your gods are too much men and women. Who’ll pay sixpence for a heart-ache? and in advance too! Give us but two more ‘Romeo and Juliet’'s and you may be a great poet, but we close down. Another tragedy? No, no, no, we don’t ask that of you! We want light stuff, easy stuff. Oh, who knows as well as you what’s wanted? It’s a court play, my man! The French Embassy’s to be there and the two Counts from Italy, and always Essex and his gang, and you know their fancy. Get down to it now, there’s a good lad! Oh, you can do it in your sleep! Lovers and lasses, and quarrels and kisses, like the two halves of a sandwich! But court lovers, you know, that talk verse—and between them a green cress of country folk and country song, daffodils and valentines, and brown bowls of ale—season all with a pepper of wit—and there’s your sandwich, there’s your play, as the Queen likes it, as we all like it!
Shakespeare. Ay, as you like it! There’s your title pat! But I’ll not serve you. I’m to live, not write. Tell that to the Queen! A boy enters whistling and stops as he sees Shakespeare. Well, Hugh, what answer?
Boy. None, sir!
Shakespeare. What? No answer?
Henslowe. See here, Will! If you do not write me this play you have thrice promised, I’ll to the Queen—sick or mad I’ll to the Queen this very day for your physic—and so I warn you.
Shakespeare [to the boy]. Did you see—?
Boy. The maid, sir!
Henslowe. I’ll not see ‘The Rose’ in ruins for a mad—
Shakespeare [to the boy]. But what did I bid you?
Boy. Wait on the doorstep till Mistress Fitton came out, though I waited all night. But indeed, sir, she’s gone; for I saw her, though she did not see me.