Act 4 — Scene I.
Reading edition
Shakespeare’s bedchamber in his house at Stratford. The master is seated in a large chair close to the bed. A small table stands near the head of the bed. His daughter Judith is in the room; as the curtain goes up she goes to the door and admits Jonson and Drayton. She will scarcely look at them, and soon after leaves the room.
Jonson:
[Going quietly to bed.] We came to see you, Shakespeare, before we return to town.
Drayton:
We were so sorry to hear you were ill. But what’s the matter?
Shakespeare:
My joy at seeing you both: the cup of wine last night; our great talk—have set the old candle guttering.
168Jonson:
It isn’t what you drank; you were most temperate.
Shakespeare:
I have poor unhappy brains for drinking: one cup, you know, was always too much for me.
Drayton:
It must have been the talk, Shakespeare; you drank nothing. But I never dreamt you were so weak; you used to seem strong enough.
Shakespeare:
I was never strong, I think. Even as a youth any excitement robbed me of sleep and made me fanciful, and of late years I have only been well when very quiet—when the thin flame is lanterned from every breath [with a gesture]. But what matters it? If the candle goes out there’s an end.
Jonson:
I blame myself for having overtired you. But you talked wonderfully—as no one ever talked before, I think, and I could not pull you up; now I blame myself.
169Shakespeare:
There’s no blame possible. It was a great night; one of the greatest nights of my life. But give me more news: I seem to have heard nothing; are the boy-players still followed?
Drayton:
No: the fashion’s changed. There’s some talk of having girl-actresses to play the girls’ parts on the stage, as they do in France.
Jonson:
A mad proposal. It would bring the theatre into worse repute than ever, and give the Puritans a handle for attack.
Shakespeare:
[Smiling.] The pretty children! Now at sixteen they all wish to be nuns or nursing sisters: then they would not know whether to be nuns or actresses, and they would be sure to confuse the duties: if they acted they’d try to do good to their hearers, and if they tended the sick they would want pretty dresses and a crowd of spectators to admire their devotion.
Jonson:
Ha, ha! Excellent.
170Drayton:
Come to London soon, Shakespeare. We all miss our gentle peacemaker and his wit.
Shakespeare:
[With deprecating gesture.] Tell me everything. Are there any new poets, new theatres? Do the Puritans disturb you? Here in my house my daughter puts preachers to lodge as soon as I go away for a week or so: to purge the air, I suppose, of my sinful presence.
Jonson:
There’s no great change. Pembroke is in greater favour than ever; he’s Lord Chamberlain now, and sends me money each year to buy books.
Shakespeare:
Alms to escape oblivion.
[Leans back wearily and closes eyes as daughter re-enters room.]
Drayton:
[To the daughter in a whisper.] He’s not dangerously ill, is he?
Judith Shakespeare:
[Tartly.] Doctor Hall says father is very ill.
171Jonson:
[Holds out his hand.] Oh, I am sorry, too sorry. Our visit has done you harm.
Shakespeare:
No need for grief. Our life is but a breath— A rack of smoke that at the topmost height Dislimns and fades away.
Jonson:
Not so, dear friend: the work remains. And of all men you should be content, for your work has already put you among the immortals.
Shakespeare:
We are immortal only when we die;
It is the dead who steer the living—
Judith Shakespeare:
[To Jonson.] Oh, please! you must not make him talk; it was the talk last night gave father the fever. Doctor Hall says talk excites him even more than wine.
Jonson:
Then we must go, Shakespeare, but I never thought we’d go so sadly. I can only hope now 172that the illness will be short and that you will soon be yourself again.
[Shakespeare droops and does not answer.
Judith Shakespeare:
I must get your medicine, father. [She goes out.
Shakespeare:
[Half wandering.] So she’s well and married. I’m glad!
Jonson:
Who?
Shakespeare:
Mary—Mary Fitton. A great woman.
Drayton:
And beautiful!
Shakespeare:
When she left me my hopes went down for ever. Strange! At first I didn’t suffer much; it’s the scratches hurt, not the death-wound; but as the years went on I suffered: it was always ill with me here about my heart—
Yet I see now she was a wonderful piece of work—a great woman—she made me sound the depths.
173Jonson:
And Pembroke? He didn’t touch you so nearly?
Shakespeare:
No. His was the poison of daily life; the small, hard nature, the low betrayal. It was well to forget him. But she was too great to be forgotten. There was something immortal in her, and I loved her.
Jonson:
I wonder you did not kill them both.
Shakespeare:
No, no, Jonson: that is your nature, your violent nature. We all must suffer through the best in us: the mother through her child; the lover through his love; the wise through his wisdom—these are the growing pains of our humanity.
Judith Shakespeare:
[Enters again with medicine in her hand.] Now, father, you must take this medicine. Sir [to Drayton], the doctor says that father must be kept very quiet.
174Jonson:
[Taking Shakespeare’s hand.] Then, Shakespeare, all good wishes and we go. Farewell, old friend, farewell.
Drayton:
[Also taking Shakespeare’s hand.] Good-bye, dear friend, good-bye! I shall have news of you from my brother who passes this way next week, and will tell us in London how you do. Farewell.
Shakespeare:
Farewell. Farewell! I thank you both for coming, and all your offices of friendship and your courtesy. Keep me in loving memory.
Drayton:
We shall, indeed! [Exit.]
Jonson:
Always. Always. [Going out he adds.] So long as this machine lasts.
175