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"Who's there?" called the voice of the quiet man. "'Tis I, Tom Heywood. there's to-do for players at the Falcon Inn. Gaston Carew hath stabbed Fulk Sandells, for cheating at the dice, as dead as a door-nail, and hath been taken by the watch!" It was Monday morning, and a beautiful day. Master Will Shakspere was reading a new play to Masters Ben Jonson and Diccon Burbage at the Mermaid Inn.
All I wish to read in this case is what my own hand wrote upon that scoundrel Sandells. It was soon over. When the judge pronounced his doom, all Carew asked was for a friend to speak with a little while aside. This the court allowed; so he sent for me we played together with Henslowe, he and I, ye know.
"When Gaston Carew, lately master-player of the Lord High Admiral's company, was arraigned before my Lord Justice for the killing of that rascal, Fulk Sandells, there was not a man of his own company had the grace to lend him even so much as sympathy. But there were still some in London who would not leave him totally friendless in such straits."
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