WILL [_kindling_]. In London one can learn more marvels in a day than in a lifetime here; for there the streets are in a bustle all day long, and the whole world meets in them, soldiers and courtiers and men of war, from France and Spain and the new lands beyond the sea, all full of learning and pleasant tales of foreign wars and the wondrous things in the colonies. My schoolmaster told me of it. You can stand in St. Paul's and the whole world passes by, mad for knowledge and adventure. And then the stage-plays--!
WILL. Think how splendid they must be when the Queen herself loves to see 'em. If I were like this player-fellow, and acted with the Admiral's company! He laughed that he would take me with him--to be a player and perchance _write_ plays, interludes, and noble tragedies! Think of it, Anne--to live in London and be one of all the rare company there, to write brave plays wi' sounding lines for all to wonder at, and have folk turn on the streets when I passed and whisper, "That be Will Shakespeare, the play-maker"--to act them even at court and gain the Queen's own thanks! Anne, London is so great and splendid! It beckons me wi' all its turmoil of affairs and its noble hearts ready to love a new comrade. [_Disconsolately_] And I must bide in Stratford?
ANNE [_gently_]. Come now, Will. No need to be so feverish. Sit down by me. What canst thou know of play-making? What canst thou do in London?
WILL [_he sits down by the hearth at her feet, looking into the firelight_]. I'll tell thee, Anne. Thy father and half the village call me a lazy oaf, that I stray i' the woods some days instead of helping my father. I canna help it. The fit comes on me, and I must be alone, out i' the great woods.
ANNE [_gladly_]. Then thou dost not poach?
WILL [_hastily_]. No, no--that is--sometimes I am with Hodge and Diccon and John a' Field, and 'tis hard not to chase the deer. Nay, look not so grave--I try to do no harm.
ANNE [_quietly_]. And when thou'rt alone?
WILL. Then I lie under the trees or wander through the fields, and make plays to myself, as though I writ them in my mind, and cry the lines forth to the birds--they sound nobly, too--or make little songs and sing them i' the sunshine. They are but dreams, I know, but splendid ones--and the player looked wi' favor on me, and said I might make a good player, and he would take me with him.