THE PLAYERS _trail out by twos and threes. They pass the window and repass it on the further side of the hedge. They are a black, fantastic frieze, upon the yellow, winter sky._ HENSLOWE _goes first: the king’s crown is crooked, and the child is riding on his back: the masks come last._ THE PLAYERS [_singing_]. Come away to London, Folly, come away! You’ll make your fortune Thrice in a day. Paddocks leave and winter byres, London has a thousand spires, A-chiming, a-rhyming, Oh, London Town! The snow will fall And cover all Without you, without you, And the world get on without you-- Oh, London Town! SHAKESPEARE _goes hurriedly to the table_ _and picks up his books._ ANNE. Will! SHAKESPEARE. For your needs You have the farm. Farewell! ANNE [_catching at his arm_] For pity’s sake! I’m so beset with terrors not my own-- What have you loosed upon me? I’ll not be left In this black house, this kennel of chained grief, This ghost-run. Take me with you! No, stay by me! These are but dreams of evil. Shall we not wake Drowsily in a minute? Oh, bless’d waking To peace and sunshine and no evil done! Count out the minute-- SHAKESPEARE. If ever I forget The evil done me, I’ll forget the spring, And Avon, and the blue ways of the sky, And my own mother’s face. ANNE. Do I say “forget”? I say “remember”! When you’ve staked all, all, Upon your one throw--when you’ve lost--remember! And done the evilest thing you would not do, Self-forced to the vile wrong you would not do, Me in that hour remember! SHAKESPEARE. Let me go! ANNE [_she is on the ground, clinging to him_]. Remember! See, I do not pray “forgive”! Forgive? Forgiving is forgetting--no, Remember me! Remember, when your sun Blazes the noon down, that my sun is set, Extinct and cindered in a bitter sea, And warm me with a thought. For we are bound Closer than love or chains or marriage binds: We went by night and each in other’s heart Sowed tares, sowed tears. Husband, when harvest comes, Of all your men and women I alone Can give you comfort, for you’ll reap my pain As I your loss. What other knows our need? Dear hands, remember, when you hold her, thus, Close, close-- SHAKESPEARE. Let go my hands!