Curled up on the lakeshore, holding cold breath, covered in moss.
Expecting to find a train station or a secluded pond.
The year is 1547 and there is a playhouse in Bankside where there wasn't one before.
brackish puddles, & casting no reflection(shadows?
It is a tall, thin building, crowded between a butcher's and a soap maker's.
,the brickwork, though, quite solid-
* "Strange place for a theatre," some of the link-boys say, but they know
O goddess, of * money when they see it and there are many gentlemen come here tonight.
horrified form! *
Oh Chandika!eat * "they pay well",shillings, &(once) a guinea
,devour, such a * mysseth the hande & falleth to the grounde.
one my enemy.O *
consort of Fire *
To admit each, the door opens. The boys wait in the street. For shillings
salutation * they are Buddhas of patience. But do you hear that? asks one, listening.
to fire.This is * They are chanting inside. Like Benedictines? Yes, just so.
the enemy who *
has done me * They extinguish their fine torches—reluctantly, it is so cold;
mischief , * February and still so cold?—and think of their cots, their haylofts,
* their cups of small beer. Their noses run. Some smell water,
by an animal * none can hear the bells.
—destroy him *
, O Mahamari! *
spheng, spheng! *
eat, devour. *
On the inside looking out.
I can hear angry voices somewhere ahead.