Anne. Will, canst not see? Thou'rt better here—
Will [bravely]. I know—all this may wait me—but I must go.
Mistress S. [alarmed]. Must go, Will? [He kneels by her side.]
Will. [tenderly]. Hush, mother, I'll tell thee. 'Tis not entirely my longing, for this morning the keeper of old Lucy—
Giles. Ha, poaching again, young scamp!
Will. Brought me before him—I was na poaching, I'll swear it, not so much as chasing the deer—but Sir Thomas had no patience, and bade me clear out, else he would seize me. I—I—dare na stay.
Mistress S. I feared it; thy father forbade thee in the great park. And now—Oh, Will, Will—I know well how thou'st longed to go from here—and now thou must—what shall I do, lacking thee?
Peele [frankly]. Will, if thou must go, thou must. London is greater than Stratford, and there is much evil there, but thou'rt true-hearted, and—by my player's honor—I will stand by thee, till the hangman get me. But we must go soon. 'Tis a dark road to Warwick—I'll see to the horses. Is it a compact? [Will gives him his hands.]
Will [huskily]. A compact, sir—to the end. [Peele hurries out.]
Giles. Look at 'e now, breaking 'is mother's heart, and mad wi' joy to revel in London. 'Tis little 'e recks of she.