THE PLAYERS [_singing_]. Come with us to London, Folly, come away! We’ll make your fortune On a summer day. Leave your sloes and mulberries! There are riper fruits than these, In London, in London, Oh, London Town! For winds will blow And barley grow Without you, without you, And the world get on without you-- Oh, London Town! _The voices drop to a low hum_. HENSLOWE _thrusts his head in at the window._ HENSLOWE. The sun’s down. The sky’s as yellow as a London fog. Well, what’s it to be? SHAKESPEARE. London! The future in a golden fog! HENSLOWE. Come then! SHAKESPEARE. I’ll fetch my bundle. Wait for me! What voices? HENSLOWE. The rest of us, the people of the plays. We’re all here waiting for you. SHAKESPEARE. Come in, all! all! HENSLOWE. Does your wife say to us--“Come in!”? SHAKESPEARE. What wife? _He hurries up the stairs and disappears._ HENSLOWE [_opening the outer door_]. May we come in? ANNE. You heard him. HENSLOWE. We ask you. ANNE. It’s his house. HENSLOWE [_humming_]. While fortune waits Within the gates Of London, of London-- He must be quick! ANNE. Am _I_ to tell him so? HENSLOWE. The new moon’s up and reaping in a sky Like corn--that’s frost! A bitter travelling night Before us-- ANNE [_going to the window_]. So it is. HENSLOWE. Not through the glass! You’ll buy ill luck of the moon. ANNE. I bought ill fortune Long months ago under the shifty moon, I saw her through the midnight glass of the air, Milky with light, when trees my casement were, And little twigs the leads that held my pane. I’m out of luck for ever. HENSLOWE. Did I not tell you you feared your fortune? But there are some in the company can tell you a better, if you’ll let ’em in. THREE PLAYERS IN MASKS [_tapping at the window_]. Let us in! Let us in! Let us in! ANNE. I will not let you in. Wait for your fellow On the high road! He’ll come to you soon enough. _She turns from them and seats herself by the fire._