Peele. Aye, aye. Behold in me the tyrant.
Will. Thou? Rarely done! I mind me yet how the hump-backed king frowned and stamped about—thus [imitating]. Ha! Ha! 'Twas a brave play!
Anne. Thy supper is ready, Will.
Peele [amused]. The true player-instinct, on my soul!
Will [flattered]. Dost truly think so? [Anne plucks his sleeve.]
Anne. Will, where are thy wits? Supper waits.
Will [apologetically]. Oh—I—I—did na hear thee. [He tries to eat, but his attention is ever distracted by the player's words.]
Peele. Is my reckoning ready, girl?
Anne. Reckoning now, sir? Wilt thou—?
Peele. Yes, yes, I go to-night. To-morrow Warwick, then the long road to Oxford, playing by the way—and London at last!