Thinking. You might do something else for me at Court. HERBERT: Anything, at Court or in Hades, ’tis only another name for the same place. SHAKESPEARE: There was here but now a Maid-of-Honour, Mistress Mary Fitton; do you know her? HERBERT: A Maid-of-Honour, here! Alone? [_Laughs._] SHAKESPEARE: No, Lady Rutland, Sidney’s sister, and Lady Jane Wroth were with her. HERBERT: She must be new, I don’t know her. Was she dark or fair? Tall or short? SHAKESPEARE: Eye to eye with me. Dark as night, and as night mysterious, wonderful. HERBERT: This at first sight! But what can I do? SHAKESPEARE: Speak for me to her. Say what you can: that motley is not my proper wear, that I’m not all an actor lost to shame and dignity, that—but you will find a thousand better words. Had I to plead for you in such a cause, the unsentient and inconstant air should ache for love of you. HERBERT: I’ll do my best. Had Southampton any news? SHAKESPEARE: That Raleigh still inflames the Queen against the Irish. HERBERT: We’ll make short work of him; he’s staled with use. The Queen laughs at him. I want her to hear your play, and to give you a place with the Lord Chamberlain as Master of the Revels—Judge accredited of plays and players! Leave it to me, my friend! I’ll kiss her lips and praise her legs till she does all we want. Our star is climbing up—up! SHAKESPEARE: Your old loving thought for me—but who climbs should go light, and not be burdened with another’s weight. HERBERT: You’re easily carried! I’ll bring you tidings later, if I encounter with your gipsy—Ha! Ha!—Farewell. [_Turns at the door and comes back._] But why should you not plead your own cause? SHAKESPEARE: How? Where? This stage is far from Court. HERBERT: That’s nothing; desire will bridge the broadest river. There’s to be a masque at Court to-morrow afternoon. Come, then, and meet your fair. SHAKESPEARE: Without right—or command? HERBERT: The Lord Chamberlain will send an invitation to any friend of mine: I need not name you. SHAKESPEARE: But if by chance it becomes known—— HERBERT: ’Twill not be known. Half the guests will be masked; some of the girls, I hear, will be dressed as pages, foresters; I know not what. You will not be noted. Now I must be gone. Farewell, masker, may you have merry hours. [_Exit Herbert._] [_Enter, crossing stage from_ L. _to_ C., _the ladies, still accompanied by Southampton, Lacy and Burbage_.] SOUTHAMPTON: [_While the ladies are cloaking at the door._] What think you of our Court ladies, Shakespeare? SHAKESPEARE: [_Gazing at Mistress Fitton._] What pride and— SOUTHAMPTON: You mean the tall, dark girl? Mary Fitton; a rare wench. Do you think her beautiful? Some say she’s too dark. SHAKESPEARE: She is all the beauty extant! SCENE VIII.