It irks me to ask favours of her: her hands are red with blood. JONSON: For your friends’ sake, Will, if not for your own: Burbage wants it, all of us; it would strengthen us, and we need it. The preachers grow louder against us every day, and the old cat is breaking fast; she won’t last long. Burleigh and all of them are in weekly letters with James. Ask boldly, man; once in the place you are there for life. SHAKESPEARE: I will do my best. But I am glad I’m not on the stage. I hate the public show: I am in no mood to play bear or dog. [_The clock strikes one._] JONSON: Well, I must be gone or my vixen will bite. Good luck, Will, and don’t forget you must be our Master under the Lord Chamberlain. Your friends expect it of you. [_Exit Jonson._] SHAKESPEARE: [_Takes out a copy of “The Merry Wives,” reads it for a few moments, then throws it down._] It is all sickening to me. I can write nothing. The love of the work has left me: the love of life, too: when she went, all went—ambition, hope, everything.... Damn her! How maimed and sore I am!... [_After a few moments the clock strikes two; a moment later the door opens and Miss Fitton comes in; he starts up as she enters._] MISS FITTON: Have you heard? Herbert’s in the Tower. SHAKESPEARE: For what crime? MISS FITTON: For loving me, I suppose. SHAKESPEARE: You don’t expect me to weep? MISS FITTON: I thought you might do something; get Southampton or one of your friends to ask for his release. It is only her temper! SHAKESPEARE: And you? What will you do. MISS FITTON: I am banned from Court; supposed now to be on my way home. If she knew I was still here and for what purpose, there is no suffering she’d spare me. Yet I stay for pride, I think, and for the danger. SHAKESPEARE: And to see him again. MISS FITTON: No, that’s done with. But I want him free, not punished. Shakespeare: You love him still; why do you pretend to love me? You can’t love two men. MISS FITTON: Can’t I? I don’t know. You are so different. SHAKESPEARE: What do you mean? You can’t love us both. MISS FITTON: He dominates me and I you. He hurts me and I hurt you, and yet I can’t bear you not to love me. I do love you, Will, really; you heal me when he has bruised me. You make me proud again and he humiliates me. I don’t want to see him ever again. But I don’t want him in prison, and I know I can ask you to help him. I wouldn’t ask any other man; but you I can ask; you are the soul of kindness. SHAKESPEARE: Why did you give him my tablets? MISS FITTON: I gave him more—much more. And now I have to face—— Shakespeare: “More?” MISS FITTON: More than men dare or dread; we women always lose more than men. SHAKESPEARE: So you know love’s penalty—you poor child! MISS FITTON: