SOUTHAMPTON: [_To Shakespeare._] A fine play, Shakespeare, but you seem cast down. Is all well with you in your home? SHAKESPEARE: Thanks to you: more than well. My father’s debts all paid; the best house in the village bought for my mother—— SOUTHAMPTON: Come, then, throw off this melancholy—’tis but a humour. LACY: And let the wit play like lightning against the clouds. Or, better still, exhort him, my lord, to seek a new love; ’tis love that lifts to melody and song, and gives the birds their music. SOUTHAMPTON: You are often with Herbert, are you not? SHAKESPEARE: Yes. SOUTHAMPTON: Don’t build too much on him! You’ll be deceived. SHAKESPEARE: To me he’s perfect. In beauty a paragon, in wit unfellow’d. SOUTHAMPTON: I would not trust him; he’s selfish. LACY: Most insensitive-hard. SHAKESPEARE: [_Turns to Lacy._] Youth, youth, my lord! We do not blame the unripe fruit for hardness; a few sunny days will mellow it, and turn the bitter to juicy sweet. SOUTHAMPTON: What a friend you are, Shakespeare! You find excuses for everyone. LACY: But those who trust too much are like the rathe flowers, frost-blighted. SOUTHAMPTON: Here comes Mistress Violet—we’ll take leave of you. I was telling Shakespeare, lady, how fair you are. SCENE IV. VIOLET: [_Curtseying._] I thank you humbly, my lord. [_Exit Southampton and Lacy bowing low._] SHAKESPEARE: [_Smiling._] At last, Violet. VIOLET: [_Moving to him and giving her mouth._] Am I so late? Did I wrong to come? SHAKESPEARE: No, no! VIOLET: There was such a crowd I did not dare to come at first, and yet I could not stay away; I could not. I wanted to tell you how wonderful it all was. SHAKESPEARE: I am glad it pleased you. VIOLET: “Pleased me!” What poor, cold words. The play was entrancing; but you were the Merchant, were you not? And so sad. Why are you always sad now? SHAKESPEARE: I know not. As youth passes we see things as they are, and our high dreams of what might be become impossible. VIOLET: Never impossible, or we could not dream them. SHAKESPEARE: I hoped so once; but now I doubt. How golden-fair you are! VIOLET: You are always kind; but it’s not kindness I want. I’d rather you were unkind and jealous. But you are never jealous, never unkind. SHAKESPEARE: You’d rather I were jealous—unkind? VIOLET: Much rather. ’Twould prove you care! SHAKESPEARE: Why do you shiver? VIOLET: We women feel the winter before it comes, like the birds. SHAKESPEARE: Women! You sensitive child. VIOLET: Not a child when I think of you. I used to look at myself and imagine that some day a man would kiss me and play with me and make a toy of me, and I wondered whether I should like it; but I never dreamed that I would ever want to touch a man. But now, I love to be near you; my King, how good it is to be with you. But the winter’s coming. [_Shivers._] SHAKESPEARE: