Mid morning. Gordan is at his computer, his head rests on the desk as he sleeps.

A single spot illuminates center stage as Will comes out to speak.

(Trumpets sound – optional)

WILL

Come gather groundlings at my behest,

To hear a tale of love’s lost quest,

Good poet Gordon doth yonder rest,

To welcome soon a distant guest.

(exit Bard as phone on Gordon’s desk starts ringing and lights come up)

GORDON

(answers the phone groggily)

Hello…oh, hi sis….no I was working