Godmother nodded. “There are many more, but let us keep to the four men you’ve mentioned. Out of those four, three of them are play-writers, Shakespeare, Marlowe, and Ben Jonson. When you see a Shakespeare play now, you go to a big theatre, don’t you, where according to what you can afford, you sit either in the stalls or dress circle, or upper circle, or pit, or gallery? Facing you, is a large stage, with scenery arranged to represent the different scenes of the play as they pass, and sometimes this scenery is very beautiful. Curtains go up and down to hide, or to reveal the stage at the right moments, and the audience sits in comfort in what is often a fine building.” “Yes,” said Betty, nodding her head. “Now, remembering our modern theatres, come and see the places in which Shakespeare’s plays are acted in this sixteenth century in which we find ourselves!” They went on over the bridge to that part of Southwark lying along the shore of the river, which is now called Bankside. But instead of the modern warehouses and breweries lining the river, with the streets of South London stretching away and away beyond, Betty saw only a single row of small gabled houses along the top of a mound. “Before that bank was thrown up, all the ground on this south side of the river was under water at high tide,” explained Godmother. “Now, as you see, meadows and gardens stretch behind these houses and it is all fertile land.” “What are those funny-looking buildings dotted about in the fields?” Betty asked. “I don’t mean the inns, because I remember them, from the time of Richard the Second. There’s the _Tabard_, where we saw the pilgrims. But there are two or three buildings sticking up like towers. Do you see?” “Those are the theatres. Come and see one of them. We’ll go into one that has just been built—_The Globe_, as it is called.” Betty followed the old lady wonderingly as she led the way to the right, along a path by the river till they came close to a curious, tall, six-sided building. Over its door was an inscription in Latin. “What does it mean?” Betty asked, as she gazed at this strange “theatre.” “Well, we may translate it ‘_All the world’s a stage_.’” “Why, that’s in ‘Shakespeare!’” “Yes, and no doubt Shakespeare had that very inscription in mind when he wrote the line a few years ago—remember we are in Elizabeth’s reign!—in _As you Like It_.” “Are they acting now? The play can’t have begun yet. There’s such a noise going on inside.” Betty glanced about her at the crowd entering the theatre. Every now and then a boat rowed across from the opposite shore, would land a company of richly-dressed young men who, laughing and swaggering, pushed their way through the throng and went into the building. “We’ll go too,” said Godmother.