MARLOWE. I’ve heard that before. SHAKESPEARE. I wish I had never come to London. MARLOWE. Henslowe’s back. Seen him? SHAKESPEARE. I’ve seen no-one. Did the tour go well? MARLOWE. He says so. He left them at Stratford. Well, I must go. SHAKESPEARE. Where? To Mary? MARLOWE. Why should I go to your Mary? SHAKESPEARE. Because I’ve asked you to, often enough. Why else? You’ve grown to be friends. You could help me if you would. MARLOWE. Never step between a man and a woman! SHAKESPEARE. But you’re our friend! And they say you know women. MARLOWE. They say many things. They say we’re rivals, Will--that I shall end by having you hissed. SHAKESPEARE. Let them say! But have you seen Mary? When did you last see Mary? MARLOWE. I forget. Saturday. SHAKESPEARE. Did you speak of me, Kit? Kit, does she speak of me? MARLOWE. If you must have it--seldom. New songs, new books, new music--of plays and players and the Queen’s tantrums--not of you. SHAKESPEARE. I have not seen her three days. MARLOWE. Why, go then and see her! SHAKESPEARE. She has company. She is waiting on the Queen. She gives me a smile and a white cool finger-tip, and--“Farewell, Mr. Shakespeare!” Yet a month ago, ay and less than a month--! Did you give her my message? What did she say? MARLOWE. She laughed and says you dream. She never liked you better. SHAKESPEARE. Did she say that? MARLOWE. She says you cool to her, not she to you. SHAKESPEARE. Did she say that? MARLOWE. Swore it, with tears in her eyes. SHAKESPEARE. Is it so? I wish it were so. Well, you’re my good friend, Marlowe! MARLOWE. Oh, leave that! SHAKESPEARE. Kit, do you blame me so much? MARLOWE. Why should I blame you? SHAKESPEARE. That I’m here and not in Warwickshire. MARLOWE. I throw no stones. Why? Have you heard aught? SHAKESPEARE. No, nor dared ask--nor dared ask, Marlowe. The boy’s dead. I know it. But I will not hear it. Marlowe, Marlowe, Marlowe, do you judge me? MARLOWE. Ay, that putting your hand to the plough you look back. Would I comb out my conscience daily as a woman combs out her hair? I do what I choose, though it damn me! Blame you? The round world has not such another Mary--or so, had I your eyes, I should hold. For this prize, if I loved her, I would pay away all I had. SHAKESPEARE. Honour, Kit? MARLOWE. Honour, Will! SHAKESPEARE. Faith and conscience and an only son? MARLOWE. It’s my own life. What are children to me? SHAKESPEARE. Well, I have paid. MARLOWE. But you grudge--you grudge! Look at you! If you go to her with those eyes it’s little wonder that she tires of you. SHAKESPEARE. Tires? Who says that she tires? Who says it? MARLOWE. Not I, old Will! Not I! Why, Shakespeare?