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,
personated            *    their cups of small beer. Their noses run. Some smell water, others blood;
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.



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