Chapter 3
ANNE [_indignantly, dropping a dish_]. It's not true! He is no poacher.
PEELE [_grinning_]. What a touchy la.s.s! No poacher, eh?
ANNE. Nay, sir, but the brightest lad in Stratford. He hath learning beyond the rest of us--and if he likes to wander i' the woods, 'tis for no ill--he loves the open air--and you should hear the little songs he makes!
PEELE. Do all the lads find in you such a defender, or only--? [_She turns away._] Nay, no offense! I should like to see this Will.
GILES [_grumpily_]. 'E 'ave noa will to help 'is father in these sorry times, but ever gawks at stage-plays. 'E 'ull come to noa good end.
[_The player starts up._]
PEELE. Stage-plays--no good end? Have a care, man!
GILES. Nay, zur--noa harm, zur! I--I--canna bide longer. [_Backs out._]
ANNE [_at the window, wonderingly_]. He should be here. He hath never lingered till sunset before. [_PEELE comes up behind her._]
PEELE. Troubled, la.s.s?
ANNE. Nay, sir, but--but--[_Suddenly_] Listen!
PEELE [_blankly_]. To what? [_A faint singing without._]
ANNE [_eagerly_]. Canst hear nothing--a lilt afar off?
PEELE [_nodding_]. Like a May-day catch? I hear it.
ANNE. 'Tis Will! Cousin, Will is coming. [_GILES comes back._]
GILES [_peevishly_]. I canna help it. Byunt 'e later'n common?
A VOICE. [_The clear, boyish singing is coming very near._]
When springtime frights the winter cold, 5 (Hark to the children singing!) The cowslip turns the fields to gold, The bird from 's nest is winging--
PEELE. Look you! There the boy comes.
ANNE [_leaning out the window_]. Isn't he coming here? Will! Will!
[_He pa.s.ses by the window singing the last words_
Young hearts are gay, while yet 'tis May, Hark to the children singing!
_and leaps in
ANNE [_reproachfully_]. Will! Thy mother was so anxious!
WILL. I did na' think. I ha' been in the woods all day and forgot everything till the sun set.
ANNE. All the day long? Thou must be weary.
WILL [_frankly_]. Nay, not very weary--but hungry.
ANNE. Poor boy. He shall have his supper now.
GILES [_protesting_]. 'E be allus eating 'ere, and I canna a-bear it.
Let him sup at his own whoam.
WILL [_shaking his head_]. I dare na go home, for na doubt my father'll beat me rarely. I'll bide here till he be asleep. [_He places himself easily in the armchair by the fire._]
GILES [_going sulkily_]. Thriftless young loon!
ANNE [_laying the table_]. Hast had a splendid day?
WILL [_absently_]. Aye. In the great park at Charlecote. There you can lie on your back in the gra.s.s under the high arches of the trees, where the sun rarely peeps in, and you can listen to the wind in the trees, and see it shake the blossoms about you, and watch the red deer and the rabbits and the birds--where everything is lovely and still.
[_His voice trails off into silence. ANNE smiles knowingly._]
ANNE. Thou'lt be making poetry before long, eh, Will?--Will? [_To PEELE_] The boy hath not heard a word I spoke.
PEELE [_coming forward_]. Would he hear me, I wonder! Boy!
WILL [_starting_]. Sir? [_PEELE looks down on him sternly._]
PEELE. Dost know thou'rt in my chair?
WILL [_coolly_]. Thine? Indeed, 'tis very easy.
PEELE. Hark 'ee! Dost know my name?
WILL. I canna say I do.
PEELE [_distinctly_]. Master George Peele.
WILL. I thank thee, sir.
PEELE. Player in my Lord Admiral's Company.
WILL. [_His whole manner changes and he jumps up eagerly._] A player?
Oh--I did not know. Pray, take the seat.
PEELE [_amused_]. Dost think players are as lords? Most men have other views. [_Sits. WILL watches him, fascinated._]
WILL. Nay, but--oh, I love to see stage-plays! Didst not play in Coventry three days agone, "The History of the Wicked King Richard"?
PEELE. Aye, aye. Behold in me the tyrant.
WILL. Thou? Rarely done! I mind me yet how the hump-backed king frowned and stamped about--thus [_imitating_]. Ha! Ha! 'Twas a brave play!
ANNE. Thy supper is ready, Will.