Will you, Shakespeare, sing first? [Shakespeare, as if speechless, with a gesture of the hand, draws back, still gazing at Miss Fitton. Southampton turns to Miss Fitton.] Shall it be a song of love or war?
Miss Fitton:
I prefer fighting or laughing to languishing.
Lady Jane Wroth:
[Affectedly] And I love—women were made for love.
Lady Rutland:
Any song for a single voice.
Marston:
[To Fletcher.] A song, Fletcher!
Fletcher: