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!

ANNE. And then? [_WILL listens intently._]

PEELE. Then back to the old Blackfriars, where all the city will flock to our tragedies and chronicles--a long, merry life of it.

ANNE [_interested_]. And does the Queen ever come?

PEELE. Nay, child, we go to her. Last Christmas I played before her at court, in the great room at Whitehall, before the n.o.bles and amba.s.sadors and ladies--oh, a gay time--and the Queen said--

WILL [_starting up_]. What was the play?

ANNE. Eat thy supper, Will.

WILL [_impatiently_]. I want no more.

PEELE. So my young c.o.c.kerel is awake again. Will, a boy of thy stamp is lost here in Stratford. Thou shouldst be in London with us. By c.o.c.k and pie, I have a mind to steal thee for the company! [_Rises to pace the floor._]

WILL [_breathlessly_]. To play in London?

ANNE. Nay, Will, he but jests. Thou'rt happier here than traipsing about wi' the players. [_GILES appears at back._]

GILES. Nags be ready, zur, at sunset as thee'st bid. Shall I put the gear on?

PEELE [_sharply_]. Well fed and groomed? Nay, I will see them myself.

[_GILES vanishes. PEELE turns at the door._] Hark'ee, la.s.s. Thy lad could do far worse than become a player. Good meat and drink, gold in 's pouch, favor at court, and true friends. I like the lad's spirit.

[_He goes. ANNE drops into his chair by the fire. Twilight is coming on rapidly. WILL stands silent at the window looking after the player._]

ANNE [_troubled_]. Will, what is it? Thou'rt very strange to-night.

WILL [_wistfully_]. I--I--Oh, Anne, I want to go to London. I am a-weary of rusting in Stratford, where I can learn nothing new, save to grow old, following my father's trade.

ANNE. But in London?

WILL [_kindling_]. In London one can learn more marvels in a day than in a lifetime here; for there the streets are in a bustle all day long, and the whole world meets in them, soldiers and courtiers and men of war, from France and Spain and the new lands beyond the sea, all full of learning and pleasant tales of foreign wars and the wondrous things in the colonies. My schoolmaster told me of it. You can stand in St. Paul's and the whole world pa.s.ses by, mad for knowledge and adventure. And then the stage-plays--!

ANNE. Oh, Will, why long for them?

WILL. Think how splendid they must be when the Queen herself loves to see 'em. If I were like this player-fellow, and acted with the Admiral's company! He laughed that he would take me with him--to be a player and perchance _write_ plays, interludes, and n.o.ble tragedies!

Think of it, Anne--to live in London and be one of all the rare company there, to write brave plays wi' sounding lines for all to wonder at, and have folk turn on the streets when I pa.s.sed and whisper, "That be Will Shakespeare, the play-maker"--to act them even at court and gain the Queen's own thanks! Anne, London is so great and splendid! It beckons me wi' all its turmoil of affairs and its n.o.ble hearts ready to love a new comrade. [_Disconsolately_] And I must bide in Stratford?

ANNE [_gently_]. Come now, Will. No need to be so feverish. Sit down by me. What canst thou know of play-making? What canst thou do in London?

WILL [_he sits down by the hearth at her feet, looking into the firelight_]. I'll tell thee, Anne. Thy father and half the village call me a lazy oaf, that I stray i' the woods some days instead of helping my father. I canna help it. The fit comes on me, and I must be alone, out i' the great woods.

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 n.o.bly, 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?

WILL [_slowly_]. Thou--thou saidst I had a good spirit and would do well in London--in a stage company. Thou wert in jest, but--I will go with thee, if I may.

PEELE [_taken all aback_]. Go with me?

WILL [_earnestly_]. With the player's company--to London.

PEELE [_laughing_]. 'S wounds! Thou hast a.s.surance! Dost think to become a great player at once?

WILL [_impatiently_]. Oh, I care not for the playing. Let me but be in London, to see the people there and be near the theatre. I'll be the players' servant, I'll hold the n.o.bles' horses in the street--I'll do anything!

PEELE [_seriously_]. And go with us all over England on hard journeys to play to ignorant rustics?

WILL. Anywhere--I'll follow on to the world's end--only take me with you to London! [_As he speaks GILES and MISTRESS SHAKESPEARE, a kindly faced woman of middle age, dressed in housewife's cap and gown, appear at the door._]

GILES. There 'e be, Mistress Shixpur.

MISTRESS S. [_as she enters_]. Oh, Will. [_He turns sharply._]

WILL [_confusedly_]. Mother! I--I--did not know thou wert here.

MISTRESS S. Why didst not come home--and what dost thou want with this stranger?

ANNE. He would go to London with him.