Anne [gladly]. Then thou dost not poach?
Will [hastily]. No, no—that is—sometimes I am with Hodge and Diccon and John a' Field, and 'tis hard not to chase the deer. Nay, look not so grave—I try to do no harm.
Anne [quietly]. And when thou'rt alone?
Will. Then I lie under the trees or wander through the fields, and make plays to myself, as though I writ them in my mind, and cry the lines forth to the birds—they sound nobly, too—or make little songs and sing them i' the sunshine. They are but dreams, I know, but splendid ones—and the player looked wi' favor on me, and said I might make a good player, and he would take me with him.
Anne. But he only jested.
Will. No jest to me! I'll take him at his word and go with him to London. [He starts up eagerly.]
Anne [troubled]. Will, Will! [Peele enters at the back.]
Peele. Hark 'ee, Giles, I go in half an hour!
Will. Master Peele! [Catches at his arm.]
Peele. Well, youngster?