Groom. Let me talk A minute! It's a dozen lifetimes since We met. The luck of some! the luck! Old gag, The luck! It seems but yesterday that I Beheld the Parthenon, one towering wave Of wild delight from stalls to gallery, break At my feet, the vanguard of a tide Of triumph, governed by the moon of hearts, The world's applause, that should have borne me on To the trade winds and harbours of success. One season--only one in London town! Two failures after, and with finer parts Than that that seemed to place me, cast me out Provincial and suburban derelict. Nightly to play upon the blood and brain Of London!--Tristram! Martha!--On the best, Most beautiful and bravest folk on earth!-- Ah, let them sneer that fail! I never fail Although I seem to, for I love the world, And all that's in it, and what's best I love The best!--To play on London's sense and heart With passion and emotion, tears and flame, Laughter and anguish, terror, splendour, might-- As you do, Tristram, and as I could do: Is there vocation, mission, martyrdom That equals it? Oh, every night to act A part of power, and feel a thousand hearts Beat stroke for stroke with yours, in heaven, in hell, In London--nowhere else!--in London town, The core of the world: ten years of that--three--one, Then any death in rags and hospitals, Garrets and dens and drunkenness, disgraced, Forgotten, but my inmost will achieved! Sir T. Your pulses hum with youth, and scarce two years Between us! Lady S. Scarce a year! Groom. And that makes less Than nothing 'twixt the tropics where we are, The equatorial forties. Sir T. Less than nothing. Lady S. This, then, is Troilus, Tristram? Sir T. Troilus? Yes! Off to the theatre; dress; rehearse all day, And fire the town at night. Groom. I'll play the part As ne'er I played! Thanks from my soul, deep thanks, Tristram and Martha. Till the call-boy calls! [Goes out.] Sir T. Still more excitable, more frenzied. Not----? Lady S. Oh, no! the febrile genius of the man. Some wine he had from me, so worn he seemed: One glass; it lit him like a torch. Sir T. [At the telephone] (Yes. Groom: He takes the part. My great regret express To all the principals, because to-day I break their well-earned rest: pick out your words: Summon them promptly to rehearse with Groom. What? Surely. Fifty. See him when he comes. No; extra: mornings, extra. Tut! I can't give less. Yes; keep the understudy under arms. Myself? At three. Box-office; libraries? That's good ... Ah! ... Dubious: time will tell.) Booked for a week, and there it stops! Lady S. Oh, Tristram! Let me see! [She presses one hand to her eyes and grasps the copy of "Troilus and Cressida" tightly in the other.] Clear! Yes; if Groom plays Troilus! Sir T. If Groom plays----