“Alas, your grace, my characters are the moulders and the masters of me!”
The Queen was perplexed by so paradoxical a saying.
“I confess,” said she, “I should ever have thought it to be otherwise. Now is it that you would have us believe that although you have yourself devised the characters and the plot of your new interlude, you have so little hold upon them that you know not until your play is written whether it will be in the tragic or the comic vein?”
“It may not always be so, your grace, to the extent that it is in this particular case. But in this instance, I will confess that I have but little hold upon the destiny of the characters in the story.”
“That seems very odd, Master Shakespeare. And our counsel to you is to take a very speedy and secure hold upon your characters unless you would court our grave displeasure.”
“Alas, your grace!” The playwright sighed heavily.
“Tell me, sirrah, what is your perplexity?”
“To tell my perplexity, your grace, would involve the whole plot of the story, and a recital of that your grace would doubtless find tedious.”
The Queen, however, in the expansiveness of her mood, assured the author that he need have no fears upon that account. On the contrary, she professed herself delighted at the prospect of hearing it. She avowed, besides, that her ladies would be immensely diverted by hearing the argument of the new play fresh from the mint of the poet’s invention.
“Do you tell us the story, I beseech you, Master Shakespeare!” said the Queen. “And although I cannot pretend that an unlearned woman such as myself has it in her power to resolve your perplexity, there are about us those of quick parts who shall hear it, who, I doubt not, will be able to give you valuable advice upon the conduct of your play.”