Ay, but what say you to Henry IV.! That’s the play for me. I warrant the Greeks had nothing like Falstaff. What d’ye say, Shakespeare? Stand for your own, my boy! JONSON: He lacks the language, the window through which the Greeks must be studied. CHETTLE: It’s wit, man, ye want, not knowledge. Come, Will. Put the Briton above the Greek: I’ll tarre you on. SHAKESPEARE: I think the Greeks are over praised. Fancy making Love an inferior goddess, born of salt water. [“Ho! Ho!” _laughs Chettle_.] Love’s born of summer air and light; flowers are her footprints and the stars sing to her coming: Venus, not Jupiter, reigns in Heaven and Earth. JONSON: [_Interrupting._] Good, old Knowell, good! But let’s have a toast, or you’ll talk us all to death. Here’s to the ever-sacred memory of our great Queen, who lets players and playwrights live in spite of Puritans and preachers. FLETCHER: To the Virgin who beat the Spaniards, and made Britain mistress of the seas. DEKKER: In the same way the dog made the dinner, for he looked on, while men feasted. SELDEN: Hush, hush! No disloyalty! CHETTLE: [_Puts down the empty pot._] I’ll drink to no virgin, my roaring boys, not even in name. Obstruction’s twin brother to Destruction—I’ll none of it. Long live life! Here’s to the Queen’s great father, Henry VIII. There’s a man for you: could eat like a man, and drink like a man, and love like a man. He was a king, if you like. Here’s to his memory! JONSON: You can have him all to yourself, Chettle, your many-wived hero. CHETTLE: Tut, man, he was the eighth Harry, and had a right to eight wives. ’Tis the Scripture. [_Drinks._] DEKKER: Chettle’s drunk. SHAKESPEARE: Chettle’s right: here’s to the memory of Henry VIII, who gave wine to the laity, and women to the clergy. [_All drink, laughing. Messenger enters, and speaks to Jonson, who rises hastily._] JONSON: Here’s my friend, Francis Bacon, come to see us. CHETTLE: Bring him in, lad: Shakespeare here’ll [_Exit Jonson_] teach him what he can’t find in law-books. [_Jonson meets Bacon at the door._] SCENE II. BACON: [_To Jonson, with hand outstretched._] Hearing of your discharge, I hastened to find you and share your joy, though alack! I was too weak to obtain your release. JONSON: That’s kind of you. Let me present my friends. This is young Fletcher, the poet, and Burbage whom you know, and Master Shakespeare, the best playwright of us all. And this, gentlemen, is Master Francis Bacon, the great philosopher. SHAKESPEARE: And friend to my lord of Essex. BACON: [_Turning to Shakespeare._] Yes: do you know the Earl? SHAKESPEARE: By the kindness of Lord Southampton, so far as a poor poet may. JONSON: He’ll win Lord Burghley’s place or fall to ruin. But I fear his violence and wild courses. BACON: