(Coolly.) Thine? Indeed, 'tis very easy.

Hark 'ee? Dost know my name?

I canna say I do.

(Distinctly.) Master George Peele.

I thank thee, sir.

Player in my Lord Admiral's Company.

(His whole manner changes and he jumps up eagerly.) A player? Oh-I did not know. Pray, take the

seat.

(Amused.) Dost think players are as lords? Most men have other views. Sits. Will watches him, fascinated.

Nay, but-oh, I love to see stage-plays! Didst not play in Coventry three days agone, "The History of the Wicked King Richard"?

Aye, aye. Behold in me the tyrant.

Thou? Rarely done! I mind me yet how the humpbacked king frowned and stamped about-thus (imitating). Ha! Ha! 'Twas a brave play!

Thy supper is ready, Will.

(Amused.) The true player-instinct, on my soul!
(Flattered.) Dost truly think so? Anne plucks his
sleeve.

Will, where are thy wits? Supper waits.

(Apologetically.) Oh-I-I-did na hear thee. He tries to eat, but his attention is ever distracted by the player's words.

Is my reckoning ready, girl?

Reckoning now, sir? Wilt thou-?

Yes, yes, I go to-night. To-morrow Warwick, then the long road to Oxford, playing by the way-and London at last!

And then? Will listens intently.

Peele.

Anne. Peele.

Will.

Anne.

Will.

Peele.

Will.

Anne.

Giles.

Peele.

Anne.

Will.

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

(Interested.) And does the Queen ever come?
Nay, child, we go to her. Last Christmas I played be-
fore her at court, in the great room at Whitehall,
before the nobles and ambassadors and ladies-oh, a
gay time-and the Queen said-

(Starting up.) What was the play?
Eat thy supper, Will.

(Impatiently.) I want no more.

Will, a boy of
Thou shouldst

So my young cockerel is awake again.
thy stamp is lost here in Stratford.
be in London with us. By cock and pie, I have a
mind to steal thee for the company! Rises to pace
the floor.

(Breathlessly.) To play in London?

Nay, Will, he but jests. Thou'rt happier here than traip-
sing about wi' the players. Giles appears at back.
Nags be ready, zur, at sunset as thee'st bid. Shall I put
the gear on?
(Sharply.) Well fed and groomed? Nay, I will see
them myself. Giles vanishes. Peele turns at the
door. Hark'ee, lass. 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.
(Troubled.) Will, what is it?
Will, what is it? Thou'rt very strange

to-night.
(Wistfully.) I-I-Oh Anne, I want to go to London.
I am a-weary of rusting in Stratford, where I can

Anne.

Will.

Anne.
Will.

Anne.

learn nothing new, save to grow old, following my father's trade.

But in London?

(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 passes by, mad for knowledge and adventure. And then the stage-plays!

Oh Will, why long for them?

Think how splendid they must be when the Queen herself loves to see 'em. If I were like this playerfellow, 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 noble 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 passed 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 noble hearts ready to love a new comrade. (Disconsolately) And I must bide in Stratford?

(Gently.) Come now, Will. No need to be so feverish. Sit down by me. What canst thou know of playmaking? What canst thou do in London?

Will.

Anne.

Will.

Anne.

Will.

Anne.

Will.

Anne.

Peele.

Will.

Peele.

Will.

Peele.

Will.

Peele.

(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.

(Gladly.) Then thou dost not poach?

(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.

(Quietly.) And when thou'rt alone?

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.

But he only jested.

No jest to me! I'll take him at his word and go with
him to London. He starts up eagerly.

(Troubled.) Will, Will! Peele enters at the back.
Hark 'ee, Giles, I go in half an hour!
Master Peele! Catches at his arm.

Well, youngster?

(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.
(Taken all aback.) Go with me?
(Earnestly.) With the player's company-to London.
(Laughing.) 'S wounds! Thou hast assurance! Dost
think to become a great player at once?

Will.

Peele,

Will.

Giles.

(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 nobles' horses in the street-I'll do any-
thing!
(Seriously.) And go with us all over England on hard
journeys to play to ignorant rustics?
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.

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.

Mistress S. (Aghast.) To London. My Will?

Will.

Mistress S.

Will.

(Quietly.) Thou knowest, mother, what I ha' told thee, things I told to no other, and now the good time. has come that I can see more of England.

But I canna let thee go. Oh Anne, I knew the boy was restless, but I did not think for it so soon. He is only a boy.

(Coloring.) In two years I shall be a man-I am a man

now in spirit. I canna stay in Stratford. Mistress Shakespeare sinks down in a chair.

Mistress S. What o' me? And Will, 'twill break thy father's heart!

Will.

Will looks ashamed.

I know, he would not understand. 'Tis hard. He must not know till I be gone.