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"Ay pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."
"Oh then, dear saint, let lips do what hands to: They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."
"Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd."
"Then have my lips the sin that they have took."
"Sin from my lips? Oh trespass sweetly urg'd. Give me my sin again."
"The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars As daylight doth a lamp. Her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek.
"Ay me."
"She speaks.
I would not for the world!
I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes; And but thou love me, let them find me here.
"O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?"
"What satisfaction can'st thou have tonight?"
"The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine."
Mr. Pope! Mr. Phillips! Welcome, George Bryan! James Armitage! Sam! My pretty one! Are you ready to fall in love again?
I am, Master Shakespeare.
But your voice Have they dropped?
No, no, a touch of cold only. We suspect he is lying but WILL has turned away.
Master Henslowe, you have your actors.
Master Shakespeare
Luck be with you, Sam. Sam?
It is not my fault, Master Shakespeare. I could do it yesterday.
Sam! Do me a speech, do me a line.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow"
When will you write me a sonnet, Will?
I have lost my gift.
You left it in my bed. Come to look for it again.
Are you to be my muse, ROSALINE?
Burbage has my keeping but you have my heart.
Will!
I would have made you immortal. Tell Burbage he has lost a new play by Will Shakespeare.
"I know not."
"Go ask his nameIf he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed."
"All my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee my lord throughout the world."
"Madam!"
"I come, anonBut if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee"
"Madam!"
By and by I come to cease thy strife and leave me to my grief. A thousand times good night!"
Your Majesty
There was a wager, I rememberas to whether a play can show the very truth and nature of love. I think you lost it today. You are an eager boy. Did you like the play?
Your Majesty!
Why, Lord Wessex! Lost your wife so soon?
Indeed I am a bride short. How is this to end?
As stories must when love's deniedwith tears and a journey. Those whom God has joined in marriage, not even I can put asunder.
Lord Wessex, as I foretold, has lost his wife in the play housego make your farewell and send her out. It's time to settle accounts. How much was the wager?
Fifty shillings. Pounds.
Give it to Master Kent. He will see it rightfully home. WESSEX gives his purse to VIOLA.
Your Majesty.
Stand up straight, girl.
I have seen you. You are the one who comes to all the playsat Whitehall, at Richmond.
Your Majesty.
What do you love so much?
Your Majesty
Speak out! I know who I am. Do you love stories of kings and queens? Feats of arms? Or is it courtly love?
I love theatre. To have stories acted for me by a company of fellows is indeed
They are not acted for you, they are acted for me.
And?
And I love poetry above all.
Above Lord Wessex?
But playwrights teach nothing about love, they make it pretty, they make it comical, or they make it lust. They cannot make it true.
Oh, but they can!
Did you like Proteus or Valentine best? Proteus for speaking, Valentine for looks.
I liked the dog, for laughs.
But Silvia I did not care for much. His fingers were red from fighting and he spoke like a schoolboy at lessons. Stage love will never be true love while the law of the land has our heroines played by pipsqueak boys in petticoats! Oh, when can we see another?
When the Queen commands it.
But at the playhouse. Nurse?
Be still.
Playhouses are not for wellborn ladies.
I am not so wellborn.
Wellmonied is the same as wellborn and wellmarried is more so. Lord Wessex was looking at you tonight.
All the men at court are without poetry. If they look at me they see my father's fortune. I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all.
Like Valentine and Silvia?
No . . . not the artful postures of love, but love that over throws life. Unbiddable, ungovernable, like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture. Love like there has never been in a play. I will have love or I will end my days as a . . .
As a nurse.
But I would be Valentine and Silvia too. Good Nurse, God save you and good night. I would stay asleep my whole life if I could dream myself into a company of players.
He sees himself in me! Romeo Montague, a young man of Verona.
Verona again.
A comedy of quarreling families reconciled in the discovery of Romeo to be the very same Capulet cousin stolen from the cradle and fostered to manhood by his Montague mother that was robbed of her own child by the Pirate King!
Your mother, and your father
From tomorrow, away in the country for three weeks! Is Master Shakespeare not handsome?
He looks well enough for a mountebank.
Oh, Nurse! He would give Thomas Kent the life of Viola De Lesseps's dreaming.
My lady, this play will end badly. I will tell.
You will not tell. As you love me and as I love you, you will bind my breast and buy me a boy's wig!
Two hours at prayer!
Lady Viola is pious, my lord.
Piety is for Sunday! And two hours at prayer is not piety, it is self importance!
It would be better that you return tomorrow, my lord.
It would be better that you tell her to get off her knees and show some civility to her sixday lord and master.
Not ready? Where is she?
Be patient, my lord, she is dressing.
Will you ask Her Majesty to be patient?!
Be good to her, my lord!
I will.
God bless you!
Thank you. Let go, there's a good nurse.
"Good morrow, cousin."
"Is the day so young?"
"But new struck nine."
"Ay me, sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast?"
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?"