Scene X.
Herbert:
[Enters, R.; walks to Raleigh.] Was my name taken to the Queen, Captain?
Raleigh:
[Very courteously.] Yes, my lord, some time since, when first you entered.
Herbert:
An hour agone, surely!
Raleigh:
[Laughing.] Not half, my lord. Time lags when we wait.
Herbert:
Time! Time is for slaves: an hour for this, an hour for that. Curse time, a slut that lends herself to every basest use. [Throws himself into a seat. Insolently.] What was the answer?
Raleigh:
Answer! my lord!
Herbert:
[Insolently.] Yes, when my name went in.
Raleigh:
There was no answer. [Long pause, while Herbert beats his leg with his glove.]
Herbert:
[Rising.] Prithee send in again, Captain, to say I wait. I've ridden fast to be in time, and now-I'm chilled.
Raleigh:
The Queen's in Council, my lord, with Lord Burghley and the Spanish ambassador; I dare not interrupt her!
Herbert:
Dare is for a servant, not for a Raleigh.
Raleigh:
A Raleigh is proud to serve his Queen.
Herbert:
A very proper spirit in him. But prithee, send in my name again-I like not waiting.
Raleigh:
I pray you not to ask that.
Herbert:
[Rising.] But I do ask it, man, I do. I'm sick of waiting. On me be all the blame. I'll bear you out in it.
Raleigh:
I'm on duty here, my lord, and may not yield my office to another!
Herbert:
[Going to him.] Don't lesson me, but do your office.
Raleigh:
You may be sure I shall.
Herbert:
[Making as if to push past him.] Then remove, remove, or go in.
Raleigh:
[Bars the way.] I'm here to protect the Queen's privacy, not to annoy her.
Herbert:
Servants should obey, not talk.
Raleigh:
To be pert is a boy's privilege.
Herbert:
Damn your privilege. [Strikes him. Raleigh's sword flashes out: Herbert draws too. At this moment the door opens and discovers the Queen.]
Queen Elizabeth:
Fighting! Here! [Raleigh bows composedly, and steps back. Herbert flings his sword on the ground and throws himself on one knee before her.]
Herbert:
What better thing on earth to fight for, than a sight of you, my Queen! [Queen lifts him, smiling as the curtain falls.]
ACT II
Table of Contents Scene I.
At the Mermaid. Ben Jonson is standing at the end of the room, L., Fletcher and Lord Lacy near him. Marston and Dekker are with Chapman in the middle. Chettle is seated, R., facing Jonson. Shakespeare enters behind Chettle, door R.
Jonson:
[Stretching.] It's good to be free-free to feast, and not feed like a dog-free! That prison was killing me. [Calling out as Shakespeare enters.] Ho, Will! here's your chair, yawning till you come.
Chettle:
Here's one with jaws as thirsty-wide, my lad, and dry to boot. Will you fill 'em?
Shakespeare:
[Passing Chettle with a smile.] The stranger first, Chettle, then the drink. I've not seen Ben for months and months. [Goes to Jonson and takes both his hands.]
Ben Jonson:
[Pushing a chair towards Shakespeare.] And now little poet, what will you drink? Canary or sack. [Claps his hands.] Here, Drawer!
Shakespeare:
I'm ill with thirst, and for that disease there's no medicine like small beer.
Jonson:
[To drawer.] Bring beer.
Chettle:
Have sack, Shakespeare, sack's the drink: when sack goes in, wit comes out. Beer's cold and thin, fit for young girls, who quake to think of lovers; but sack's rich and generous, breeds courage and self-content; equals the poor man to kings, and kings to gods.
Shakespeare:
[To Jonson.] A little more, and he'd rise into measure.
Jonson:
Out of measure, you mean; the verse is my part. Curious how abstinence breeds desire, and desire song. Try prison for six months, Will, and your mouth will drip with longing for wine, women and good company. Ah, the leaden hours!
Chettle:
Ho! ho! my lad of the mountain. No prison needed by the godly. Without provocation or incitement I want women often, good company always, wine perpetually. It's very strange: I've often had too much sack, often; but enough, never. Read me that riddle, Shakespeare!
Shakespeare:
That desire, Chettle, still outlives performance, is no riddle. [Turning to Jonson.] Your punishment punished all of us, Ben.
Dekker:
And all for killing an actor.
Selden:
In fair duello, too: allowed since the Norman time.
Lacy:
[With gestures.] Was it a punto, Ben, or a reverso, an imbrocato or a montanto that reached the throne of life?
Dekker:
[Half maliciously.] Or did a mere downright passada thrust poor Spencer from the stage?
Jonson:
[Menacingly.] 'Twas a cudgel Downright used on Bobadill: don't forget that, Cobbler!
Dekker:
'Tis as good a trade as bricklaying, and gives more time for thought.
Marston:
Was it a Toledo, Ben, or a long Fleming gave the mortal wound?
[Jonson rises, crying "You dog!" Lord Lacy on one side, and Shakespeare on the other, hold him back, and constrain him to sit.]
Lacy:
Amity, friends, amity!
Shakespeare:
Every man in his humour, Ben; who should know that better than you?
Jonson:
[Sits again, grumbling.] The curs, who bark and run.
Lacy:
Let's have a hanap, friends, to cool the embers of strife.
Chettle:
One cup of sack, Shakespeare, to chase your melancholy and start your wit.
Shakespeare:
Not one. Sweet wine on bitter beer would make me Chettle. [Turns to Jonson.] So you became a Catholic in prison, Ben. Was it the loneliness, or fasting?
Jonson:
Loneliness, perhaps: in solitude one listens to the heart.
Marston [Interrupting.]
That's weak, Jonson, childish-weak. Solitude breeds religion as the dark breeds devils-out of fear.
Dekker:
Religion's a trade to the priest, an intrigue to women, to men a laughing-stock.
Chettle:
Don't say that, don't blaspheme, don't attack the Faith, mad lads! I always mean to repent, but put off the evil day of reformation so long as health lasts. Conscience and sack struggle in me for the mastery, and the conflict makes me thirsty and so sack wins. But no scorners or blasphemers, say I.
Shakespeare:
We're all godly at heart; eh, Chettle? We all wish other men virtuous, so that there'll be more frolic for us.
Chettle:
Ha! Ha! You're right, lad! [To the drawer.] Another cup, you bodkin, you radish, you-Ah, we are all sinners, Will, villainous sinners! [He drinks.]
Selden:
I incline to the new faith. These puritans are much in earnest, though they go too far. One of them told me of late that actors should be outlawed, for they were not mentioned in the Bible. [Laughs.]
Chettle:
[Interrupting.] Why didn't you reply that tailors weren't mentioned there, either, and so the crophead knave himself should go naked.
Marston:
Wonder of wonders! Chettle is learned in the Scriptures.
Lacy:
Our catechist in pious phrases, man, our doctor of divinity.
Dekker:
He knows more of tavern reckonings! He! He!
Chettle:
Why not, lad, why not? The animal man must keep a balance.
Selden:
Religion is like the fashion; one man wears his doublet slashed, another laced, another plain, but every man has a doublet and a religion.
Chapman:
[Pompously.] 'Tis easy to mock at things sacred; but without religion there'd be no society. Be Protestant or Catholic, as you will; but without either we'd fall into anarchia.
Jonson:
Hum! I don't know-What do you say, Shakespeare?
Shakespeare:
If all our rushlights went out, the sun would still be shining.
Lacy:
Oh, Shakespeare! What a blessed union of wit and poetry like virtue and beauty in a maid or a Toledo blade hafted to one Chrysolite.
Chettle:
I have a story, Ben, my bully boy, that you've not heard yet, a story of Will Shakespeare. Dick Burbage knows it. Ha! Ha!
Marston:
If new, let's hear it.
Dekker:
If old, it's better than Chapman's...
