“He can fly,” Hamnet says. “Now.”
“See...he’s looking for game!”
“Hamnet, is it true your father writes plays for our Queen? London plays?”
“You should see his Macbeth! That’s a play for you! Duel and all! We’ll go to London and see one of his plays. There’s one at the Palace soon.”
How I would like to rearrange life, bring happiness, bestow wealth, fix love, make well, foil crime, reverse ill luck. But only the stage can accomplish miracles and there custom stales the plot and disharmonies garble intention.
But, as evening galls, and candles go on, I hear Hamnet’s footsteps...he wants new gloves, new hood, new leash...
What’s past is prologue:
At Blackfriars, the chandeliers of candles are hugely lit and light streams upon Alleyn, who is speaking on stage; the boards are clean and shine; all actors are in their places; the seats are almost filled; I see a woman, in dark green velvet; accompanied by her maid, she takes a seat; rows of faces beseech the stage: oh kingdom, place of tempest and calm, engulf us again!