Come, then. You are not afraid of the dark with me.
[While speaking he puts his arm round her, kisses her and draws her towards entrance, C. There he takes cloaks; wraps her in one and puts the other on. They go. The stage darkens. A servant comes in, takes up something and goes away. The stage darkens; stars appear. Midnight sounds from some neighbouring clock. On the first stroke Shakespeare enters from L., moves to trysting-place and waits. No one comes. In the distance faintly he hears his own song growing clearer as if the singer were passing by: “I am my own fever, my own fever and pain.” He moves about restlessly while the song dies away.]
ACT III
Scene I.
In the Mitre Tavern.
Host:
[Wiping the table.] I can trust no more. I’m a poor man, Master Chettle.
Chettle: