CHETTLE:
[_To Shakespeare._] Did ye hear that?
SHAKESPEARE:
No! What?
CHETTLE:
The truth, Will—the truth in the mouth of a suckling! They all want an
English play and Falstaff. Without him, my lad, the spirit’s out of the
sack—all stale and flat.
SHAKESPEARE:
Would you have onions with every dish, Chettle, even with the sweets?
CHETTLE:
In faith ’tis a seasoning and healthy weed—and provokes thirst, go to!
But why can’t you be gay, lad, gay as you used to be and write us
another comedy with Falstaff and his atomy page?
SHAKESPEARE:
Laughter and youth go together, Chettle, and I am too old for comedies.
CHETTLE:
It makes my flesh creep to hear you; but I’ll not be sad: I’ll not think
of age and the end, I’ll not—. Ah, lad, you’ll never be popular without
Falstaff.
SHAKESPEARE:
And why not?
CHETTLE:
’Tis his wit pleases the many.
SHAKESPEARE:
Wit!—when wit buys popularity, honesty shall win fortune, and constancy
love: the golden days are long past, I fear. [_Turns from Chettle, who
goes out, taking Burbage and Selden with him._]