[_Affectedly_] And I love—women were made for love. LADY RUTLAND: Any song for a single voice. MARSTON: [_To Fletcher._] A song, Fletcher! FLETCHER: Most willingly; here’s a song: but young Hughes must sing it or Selden: my voice is rough. [_Young Hughes takes up the viol, and sings._] CHETTLE: [_After the first verse._] And now, ladies, what will ye drink—canary or sack? LADY JANE WROTH: I’ll take Charnikoe, I think; the wine of Bourdeaux, you know: ’tis all the fashion now. MISS FITTON: I ought to have been born a man and not a girl, for I like sack, it’s strong and sweet! [_Lady Rutland waives off the wine._] CHETTLE: Oh, she’s a rare one; what say you, Will, riggish, eh? SHAKESPEARE: [_To Chettle._] Hush! Hush! MISS FITTON: [_Calls Hughes to her._] Here, boy, Lady Jane says you’re pretty and your voice sweet. [_Aside._] Prove to her that your lips are as soft as her cheek. [_Hughes kisses Lady Jane Wroth. All laugh._] LADY WROTH: [_Affectedly._] No, no, I prithee! [_She yields to the kiss, and then to Miss Fitton._] I don’t know, Mary, how you dare. At your age I’d have died of shame to speak of lips and cheeks to a man. MISS FITTON: But you’d have thought all the more, eh, Jane? And thoughts leap to act without the aid of speech. Have I touched you there? Ha! ha! [_Hughes sings another verse._] [_Loud applause. Hughes comes across to Miss Fitton._] MISS FITTON: Be bold, boy; be bold always! If I had been a man I’d have kissed every woman that took my fancy, maid or matron. Even when they don’t love you, they’re proud of the tribute. [_Hughes bends suddenly, and kisses her on the lips. Disengaging herself._] By my faith, an apt pupil. [_Rising._] But I fear we must be going. [_To Southampton and Lacy._] We’ll come again, my lords, if we may. BURBAGE: Won’t you look at the other rooms, ladies, before you go? You should see everything! MISS FITTON: [_Looking at the others._] We shall be late, I fear; but a few minutes——[_Ladies follow Burbage._] SOUTHAMPTON: Why so silent, Shakespeare? Why would you not sing? You seem lost. SHAKESPEARE: Lost in finding Portia—— SOUTHAMPTON: Portia? What do you mean? Do you come with us? SHAKESPEARE: [_Shakes his head._] No, No! I’ll wait here. [_Southampton and others exeunt after the ladies: Shakespeare alone._] SCENE VII. HERBERT: [_Comes in hastily._] How was the end received? A success—I’m sure. SHAKESPEARE: A babel, Herbert, as usual. Not enough clowning, Chettle says, and the general echo him. HERBERT: The dull clods have no eyes for beauty, no ears for poetry. I had to go before the end; you forgive me? The play was splendid, one line a miracle—“How all the other passions fleet to air”—[_putting his hand on Shakespeare’s shoulder_]—but now I must be off to Court to persuade the old harpy to “order” the performance of the “Merry Wives.” But you’re not listening. SHAKESPEARE: