ELIZABETH. Then he too was at Deptford last night.
ELIZABETH. That’s well! But was it he, Henslowe--he?
HENSLOWE. He’s dazed, he will say anything--yes--no-- Just as you prompt him, as if one blow had struck His soul and Marlowe’s body. Madam, he’s not his witness! Yet, if t’were true, if he has lost us Marlowe, Must we lose him? Then has the English stage Lost both her hands and cannot feed herself, Starves, Madam!
ELIZABETH. You’re honest, Henslowe! Your son’s son one day May help a king to thread a needle’s eye. But do you think he did it?
HENSLOWE. No, though he says it, For he loved him.
ELIZABETH. Loved him, but a woman better.
HENSLOWE. Not his face. He was past me in a flash, crying “Hurry!”
ELIZABETH. I thread my own needles, Henslowe, being a woman. [MARY FITTON _enters._] Send Mr. Shakespeare to me! [_Then, as_ MARY _turns to go_--] Mary!
ELIZABETH. Bid him hurry! [MARY _turns to the door._] Mary!
HENSLOWE [_recognising the voice_]. “Hurry!”
ELIZABETH. Wait. Daylight, Henslowe? Girl, you’re slow. You go heavily. Have you not slept? Let Henslowe do your errand! [_To_ HENSLOWE.] Let him wait at hand!
ELIZABETH. No hurry now. [HENSLOWE _goes out._] D’you guess why I send for your teller of tales?
ELIZABETH. He has told a tale, it seems, that I’d hear told again.
ELIZABETH. Why are you not in black, Mary?
ELIZABETH. Then I tell you wrong. He is alive and has told all.
MARY. Alive? They lie to you, Madam! What has he told? Who says it?
ELIZABETH. You, Mary Fitton! For by your dark-ringed eyes Your dreaming service and those blind hands of yours Seeking a hold, I think you saw him die, Ere you passed Henslowe in the dark, crying “Hurry!”
MARY. Madam, it was your errand. For this Shakespeare, This quill you thrust on me to sharpen up, Jealous of Marlowe, though he had no cause (What! must I live his nun, his stay-at-home? Your servant and a lady of the court!), Sent me a letter--
MARY. I tore it! --so inked in threat that I post-haste for Deptford--
MARY. I know! I followed my first fear. --rode to warn Marlowe. Shakespeare following, Spying upon us, spying upon us, Madam! Found us in counsel. Then, with a hail of words That Marlowe would not bear, with “stale” and “harlot,” He beat me down, till Marlowe flung ’em back; Then like two dogs they struggled. Marlowe fell.