ELIZABETH. Then, Henslowe, we must serve him up the moon. Mary!
MARY [_rising and coming down to them_]. Madam?
MARY. I was playing the new song that the Earl set for you.
ELIZABETH. You go to all the plays, do you not? Which is the coming man, Mary, Shakespeare or Marlowe.
MARY. If you ask me, Madam, I’m all for the cobbler’s son.
HENSLOWE. Mistress Fitton should give us a sound reason if she have it, but she has none.
MARY. Only that I don’t know Mr. Marlowe, and I know my little Shakespeare by heart. I’m an Athenian--I’m always asking for new tunes.
ELIZABETH. Which is Shakespeare? The youngster like a smoking lamp, all aflare?
MARY. No, Madam! That’s Marlowe. Shakespeare’s a lesser man.
HENSLOWE. A lesser man? Marlowe the lamp, say you? He’s conflagration, he’s “Armada!” flashed From Kent to Cornwall! But this lesser man, He’s the far world the beacons can out flare One little hour, but, when their flame dies down, High o’er the embers in the deep of night Behold the star!
HENSLOWE. Madam, if ever you saw him, you would not forget-- A small, a proud head, like an Arab Christ, And noble, madman’s fingers, never still-- The face still though, mouth hid, the nostril wide, And eyes like voices calling, shrill and sad, Borne on hot winds from fairyland or hell; Yet round the heavy lids a score of lines All criss-cross crinkle like a score of laughs That he has scribbled hastily down himself With his quick fingers. No, not tall--
MARY. He came like a boy to apples. Marlowe now--
ELIZABETH. More than a man, less than a man, but not As yet a man then? Well, I’ll see your Shakespeare: Marlowe--some other time.
MARY. O Madam, spare me! It’s a stiff instrument and once, I think, has been ill-tuned.
ELIZABETH. I wish it. Marlowe can wait--and Pembroke.
ELIZABETH. I am blind, deaf, dumb, so long as you practise your new tune. But the Earl of Pembroke goes to Ireland.
ELIZABETH. Young or old, not for your wearing. Strip your hand and finger your new tune!
ELIZABETH. Why not? Why do I dress you and keep you at court? Here’s Spain in the ante-room and France on the stairs--am I to keep them waiting while I humour a parcel of players?
MARY. Indeed, Madam, I wonder that you have spared half an hour.