[Gives her hand, which Shakespeare holds against his heart.]
Shakespeare:
[Taking out some tables in ivory.] I’ve brought you tables to mark our meetings in. Will you use them?
Miss Fitton:
How pretty, and here’s a posy too in golden letters:
[Reads.]
“Doubt that the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.”