Speak for me to her. Say what you can: that motley is not my proper wear, that I’m not all an actor lost to shame and dignity, that—but you will find a thousand better words. Had I to plead for you in such a cause, the unsentient and inconstant air should ache for love of you.
Herbert:
I’ll do my best. Had Southampton any news?
Shakespeare:
That Raleigh still inflames the Queen against the Irish.
Herbert:
We’ll make short work of him; he’s staled with use. The Queen laughs at him. I want her to hear your play, and to give you a place with the Lord Chamberlain as Master of the Revels—Judge accredited of plays and players! Leave it to me, my friend! I’ll kiss her lips and praise her legs till she does all we want. Our star is climbing up—up!
Shakespeare:
Your old loving thought for me—but who climbs should go light, and not be burdened with another’s weight.
Herbert: