Act 4 — Scene III.
Reading edition
Shakespeare:
[While Shakespeare stands at gaze Ben Jonson enters.] It is the end, I think—the end. [Turns to the room.] What weak curs we are, Ben: I beg her to come soon; yet I wish she were dead!
Jonson:
A proud patch, that; she’s not likely to die soon: the devil takes care of his own.
Shakespeare:
She’s proud, indeed; but why do you miscall her?
Jonson:
We were there in the yard as she passed, three or four of us: the yard was dirty: she picked up her clothes and walked past us as if we were posts. Shapely legs she’s got.
148Shakespeare:
Shapely, indeed. Damnation!
Jonson:
Why did she go so soon?
Shakespeare:
Duty at Court, she said.
Jonson:
A convenient excuse. Why came she so far for so little? I’d seek another reason.
Shakespeare:
Another reason? Speak plainly, man, like a friend.
Jonson:
Plainly, then, it’s said she visits Herbert in that horseman’s cloak. ’Twas Hughes spread the thing: he knows.
Shakespeare:
Herbert! Damn her!
Jonson:
Put her out of your head, man. Violet’s worth a dozen of her. Put her out of your head and think of weightier things. You are to play at 149Court this afternoon, and Burbage says the Queen will make you Master of the Revels if you ask for it. I wish ’twere mine for the asking.
Shakespeare:
It irks me to ask favours of her: her hands are red with blood.
Jonson:
For your friends’ sake, Will, if not for your own: Burbage wants it, all of us; it would strengthen us, and we need it. The preachers grow louder against us every day, and the old cat is breaking fast; she won’t last long. Burleigh and all of them are in weekly letters with James. Ask boldly, man; once in the place you are there for life.
Shakespeare:
I will do my best. But I am glad I’m not on the stage. I hate the public show: I am in no mood to play bear or dog.
[The clock strikes one.]
Jonson:
Well, I must be gone or my vixen will bite. Good luck, Will, and don’t forget you must be 150our Master under the Lord Chamberlain. Your friends expect it of you. [Exit Jonson.]
Shakespeare:
[Takes out a copy of “The Merry Wives,” reads it for a few moments, then throws it down.] It is all sickening to me. I can write nothing. The love of the work has left me: the love of life, too: when she went, all went—ambition, hope, everything.... Damn her! How maimed and sore I am!...
[After a few moments the clock strikes two; a moment later the door opens and Miss Fitton comes in; he starts up as she enters.]
Miss Fitton:
Have you heard? Herbert’s in the Tower.
Shakespeare:
For what crime?
Miss Fitton:
For loving me, I suppose.
Shakespeare:
You don’t expect me to weep?
151Miss Fitton:
I thought you might do something; get Southampton or one of your friends to ask for his release. It is only her temper!
Shakespeare:
And you? What will you do.
Miss Fitton:
I am banned from Court; supposed now to be on my way home. If she knew I was still here and for what purpose, there is no suffering she’d spare me. Yet I stay for pride, I think, and for the danger.
Shakespeare:
And to see him again.
Miss Fitton:
No, that’s done with. But I want him free, not punished.
Shakespeare:
You love him still; why do you pretend to love me? You can’t love two men.
Miss Fitton:
Can’t I? I don’t know. You are so different.
152Shakespeare:
What do you mean? You can’t love us both.
Miss Fitton:
He dominates me and I you. He hurts me and I hurt you, and yet I can’t bear you not to love me. I do love you, Will, really; you heal me when he has bruised me. You make me proud again and he humiliates me. I don’t want to see him ever again. But I don’t want him in prison, and I know I can ask you to help him. I wouldn’t ask any other man; but you I can ask; you are the soul of kindness.
Shakespeare:
Why did you give him my tablets?
Miss Fitton:
I gave him more—much more. And now I have to face——
Shakespeare:
“More?”
Miss Fitton:
More than men dare or dread; we women always lose more than men.
153Shakespeare:
So you know love’s penalty—you poor child!
Miss Fitton:
I suffer, if that’s what you mean; but the suffering will pass. My courage rises to the need: the world is wide; the roads run free. What will be, will be. One mistake never ruins a man’s life, and one mistake shall never ruin mine. Next summer the sun will shine again and the air be young and quick; I have no fear. [Turns to go.] Farewell, I’m for the road. [Mistress Fitton turns to go.]
Shakespeare:
You will come back. We shall meet again!
Miss Fitton:
[Turns to the door, and turns back again.] It is hard to say; we’ve played at cross-purposes, Will; but we all wound and are wounded in love’s lists; yet, after all, love is the soul of life.
Shakespeare:
A great game; and you are a great player, the greatest I shall ever know. [Takes her hand and kisses it.] Of many thousand kisses this poor last. [Exit Miss Fitton.]
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