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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Take off your hat.
My hat?
Where did you learn how to do that?
I . . .
Wait there.
Are you Mr. Shakespeare?
Let me see you. Take off your hat.
Yes, sir.
Do you understand me?
No, sir.
He is speaking about a baggage we never even meet! What will be left in your purse when he meets his Juliet?
I am very sorry, sir, I have not seen Act Two.
Of course you have not! I have not written it!
She tells me to keep away. She is to marry Lord Wessex. What should I do?
If you love her, you must do what she asks.
And break her heart and mine?
It is only ours you can know.
She loves me, Thomas!
Does she say so?
No. And yet she does where the ink has run with tears. Was she weeping when she gave you this?
I Her letter came to me by the nurse.
Your aunt?
Yes, my aunt. But perhaps she wept a little. Tell me how you love her, Will.
Like a sickness and its cure together.
Yes, like rain and sun, like cold and heat. Is your lady beautiful? Since I came to visit from the country, I have not seen her close. Tell me, is she beautiful?
Oh, if I could write the beauty of her eyes! I was born to look in them and know myself.
And her lips?
Oh, Thomas, her lips! The early morning rose would wither on the branch, if it could feel envy!
And her voice? Like lark song?
Deeper. Softer. None of your twittering larks! I would banish nightingales from her garden before they interrupt her song.
She sings too?
Constantly. Without doubt. And plays the lute, she has a natural ear. And her bosomdid I mention her bosom?
What of her bosom?
Oh Thomas, a pair of pippins! As round and rare as golden apples!
I think the lady is wise to keep your love at a distance. For what lady could live up to it close to, when her eyes and lips and voice may be no more beautiful than mine? Besides, can a lady born to wealth and noble marriage love happily with a Bankside poet and player?
Yes, by God! Love knows nothing of rank or riverbank! It will spark between a queen and the poor vagabond who plays the king, and their love should be minded by each, for love denied blights the soul we owe to God! So tell my lady, William Shakespeare waits for her in the garden!
But what of Lord Wessex?
For one kiss, I would defy a thousand Wessexes!
Oh!it'sit'soh, it's a house of ill repute!
It is, Thomas, but of good reputation. Come, there is no harm in a drink.
My lady Viola.
My lord.
I have spoken with your father.
So my lord? I speak with him every day.
My lady VIOLA.
Lord Wessex. You have been waiting.
I am aware of it, but it is beauty's privilege.
You flatter, my lord.
No. I have spoken to the Queen. Her majesty's consent is requisite when a Wessex takes a wife, and once gained, her consent is her command.
Do you intend to marry, my lord?
Your father should keep you better informed. He has bought me for you. He returns from his estates to see us married two weeks from Saturday. You are allowed to show your pleasure.
I do not love you, my lord.
How your mind hops about! Your father was a shopkeeper, your children will bear arms, and I will recover my fortune. That is the only matter under discussion today. You will like Virginia.
Virginia?!
Why, yes! My fortune lies in my plantations. The tobacco weed. I need four thousand pounds to fit out a ship and put my investments to workI fancy tobacco has a future. We will not stay there long, three or four years . . .
But why me?
It was your eyes. No, your lips.
Will you defy your father and your Queen?
The Queen has consented?
She wants to inspect you. At Greenwich, come Sunday. Be submissive, modest, grateful and brief.
I will do my duty, my lord.
Good morning, my lord!
Ah! My lady! The tide waits for no man, but I swear it would wait for you!
I meanYour Majesty, they do not, they have not, but I believe there is one who can
Lady Viola isyoung in the world. Your Majesty is wise in it. Nature and truth are the very enemies of playacting. I'll wager my fortune.
You look sad, my lady! Let me take you riding.
It is not my riding day, my lord.
Bless me, I thought it was a horse.
I am going to church.
I understand of course. It is to be expected.
It is to be expected on a Sunday.
And on a day of mourning. I never met the fellow but once at your house.
Mourning? Who is dead, my lord?
Oh!dear God, I did not think it would be me to tell you. A great loss to playwriting, and to dancing.
He is dead?
Killed last night, in a tavern! Come, then, we'll say a prayer for his soul
My lady!
Who is there?
Will Shakespeare!
Anon, good nurse. Anon. Master Shakespeare?!
The same, alas.
Oh but why "alas?"
A lowly player.
Alas indeed, for I thought you the highest poet of my esteem and a writer of plays that capture my heart.
OhI am him too!
Oh my lady, my love!
If they find you here they will kill you.
You can bring them with a word.
Oh, not for the world!
Can you love a fool?
Can you love a player?
Wait! You are still a maid and perhaps as mistook in me as I was mistook in Thomas Kent.
Answer me only this: are you the author of the plays of William Shakespeare?
I am.
Then kiss me again for I am not mistook.
I do not know how to undress a man.
It is strange to me, too.
I would not have thought it. There is something better than a play.
There is.
Even your play.