[_Stops in front of him._] Is it love or hate? Sometimes I hate her—sometimes she is coarse to me, obstinate and vain, soulless as a drab, sometimes [_Puts his hands to his face._] the rose of women. [_Throws himself in a seat._] I pass my time in waiting for her, thinking of her: I am degraded into a brute-desire. She writes, “I will be with you in an hour,” that is three hours agone; she is not here yet, and may not come to-day; damn her! JONSON: Why don’t you work; put her out of mind: forget her? SHAKESPEARE: Forget! work! That is the worst of her, she kills my work, and yet she quickens life in me. When we sacrifice ourselves for some one, Ben; when we give too much; we grow to hate her! ... Is it not shameful of her to tease me so? [_Goes to window again and looks out._] The slut! [_Sits down again._] JONSON: They say a man gets the woman he merits. I have a shrew, a scold, constant and jealous like the itch; you a wanton, mad with pride. Yet we could be free if we would; we are afraid to hurt them, Will; that’s it—afraid. What fools men are! SHAKESPEARE: [_Starting up._] I wish she were here, I’d hurt her—— JONSON: Hark; she comes! I’ll not spoil sport. [_Exit by door_, L. SCENE II. [_Some one knocks at door_, C.; _Miss Fitton enters dressed in a man’s cloak and hat._] MISS FITTON: Am I late? SHAKESPEARE: Late! I have been here for hours, walking up and down like a beast in a cage, listening for the step that never comes. When Hope has died and the ashes are cold, you come. MISS FITTON: Perhaps I should not have come: would that have been better? SHAKESPEARE: I don’t know: I am worn out with waiting. MISS FITTON: [_Half turning to door._] I can go. SHAKESPEARE: You fiend! [_Goes to her and takes her head in his hands, holds it back, and kisses her on the lips again and again._] Kiss me! Put your arms round me. Ah! [_Takes a long breath._] What a wretch you are! I was afraid you had forgotten altogether and would not come! MISS FITTON: It was hard to come. [_Throws open her cloak, shows her dress._] See, I was on duty. Jane Wroth was ill: I had to take her place: as soon as I was free I threw on this cloak and hat and came. I didn’t wait even to tire myself: [_Pats her hair._] I must be hideous. SHAKESPEARE: You were to have come on Monday and didn’t come: for hours I walked to and fro outside the Court—madness and I—a pretty pair—you would do well to fear us. But now—take off that hat and cloak. MISS FITTON: [_Takes off the hat; takes up a hand-glass and looks at herself; lays it down._] I must be gone soon. SHAKESPEARE: What? You are but come, and already speak of going. Come, then. [_Puts his arm around her and draws her towards the inner door, that, when open, shows a bedroom._] MISS FITTON: No, no; time fleets. I must go soon: it is impossible. Let us talk here. SHAKESPEARE: