SOUTHAMPTON:
The play was excellent.
LACY:
A carcanet of diverse colours—of absolute favour.
SOUTHAMPTON:
But the playwrights are not your friends.
SHAKESPEARE:
I have befriended most of them.
LACY:
A double reason for repugnance—ingratitude the point, envy the barb!
SOUTHAMPTON:
[_To Shakespeare._] A fine play, Shakespeare, but you seem cast down. Is
all well with you in your home?
SHAKESPEARE:
Thanks to you: more than well. My father’s debts all paid; the best
house in the village bought for my mother——
SOUTHAMPTON:
Come, then, throw off this melancholy—’tis but a humour.
LACY:
And let the wit play like lightning against the clouds. Or, better
still, exhort him, my lord, to seek a new love; ’tis love that lifts to
melody and song, and gives the birds their music.
SOUTHAMPTON:
You are often with Herbert, are you not?
SHAKESPEARE:
Yes.
SOUTHAMPTON:
Don’t build too much on him! You’ll be deceived.
SHAKESPEARE:
To me he’s perfect. In beauty a paragon, in wit unfellow’d.
SOUTHAMPTON:
I would not trust him; he’s selfish.
LACY:
Most insensitive-hard.
SHAKESPEARE:
[_Turns to Lacy._] Youth, youth, my lord! We do not blame the unripe
fruit for hardness; a few sunny days will mellow it, and turn the bitter
to juicy sweet.
SOUTHAMPTON:
What a friend you are, Shakespeare! You find excuses for everyone.
LACY:
But those who trust too much are like the rathe flowers, frost-blighted.
SOUTHAMPTON:
Here comes Mistress Violet—we’ll take leave of you. I was telling
Shakespeare, lady, how fair you are.