SHAKESPEARE. Like torches quenched in water, suddenly, Because they loved too well. MARY. Oh, write it down! Ah, could you, Will? I think you could not write it. SHAKESPEARE. I can write Romeo. Teach me Juliet! MARY. I could if I would. Was that her name--Juliet? SHAKESPEARE. Poor Juliet! MARY. Not so poor if I know her. Oh, make that plain--she was not poor! And tell them, Will, tell all men and women-- SHAKESPEARE. What, my heart? MARY. I will whisper it to you one day when I know you better. Oh, it’ll be a play! Will you do it for me, Will? Will you write it for you and for me? Where do they live? SHAKESPEARE. Verona. Italy. MARY. Come to me daily! Read it to me scene by scene, line by line! How many acts? SHAKESPEARE. The old five-branched candlestick. MARY. But a new flame! Will it take long to write? It must not. SHAKESPEARE. Shall not. MARY. What shall we call it, Will? The Tragical Discourse? The Famous End? The Lovers of Verona? SHAKESPEARE. No, no! Plain. Their two names married--Romeo and Juliet. _As they lean towards each other still talking_ THE CURTAIN FALLS. ACT II. SCENE II. _The first performance of Romeo and Juliet: the end of the fourth act. The curtain rises on a small bare dusty office, littered with stage properties and dresses. When the door at the back of the stage is open there is a glimpse of passage and curtains, and moving figures, with now and then a flare of torchlight. There is a continuous far-away murmur of voices and, once in a while, applause. As the curtain goes up_ MARY FITTON _is opening the door to go out_. SHAKESPEARE _holds her back_. MARY. Let go! Let me go! I must be in front at the end of that act. I must hear what the Queen will say to it. SHAKESPEARE. But you’ll come back? MARY. That depends on what the Queen says. I’ve promised you nothing if she damns it. _The applause breaks out again._ SHAKESPEARE. Listen! Is it damned? MARY. Sugar-sweet, isn’t it? But that’s nothing. That’s the mob. That’s your friends. They’ll clap you. But the Queen, if she claps, claps your play. SHAKESPEARE. Your play! MARY. Is it mine? Earnest? SHAKESPEARE. My earnest, but your play. MARY. Well, good luck to my play! SHAKESPEARE. Give me-- MARY. Oh, so it’s not a free gift? SHAKESPEARE. Give me a finger-tip of thanks!