SHAKESPEARE’S WOMEN Exciting. Fascinating. Eternal. London. 1613. The Globe Theatre has just burnt down. Shakespeare needs to write a new play for the reopening. He is burnt-­‐out himself and lacking inspiration. “It’s always about the women” he says to himself and in the process some of his timeless female characters appear and interact with him. They are both fantastical and complex and remain so after 400 years. He gave eternal life to Ophelia, Juliet, Rosalind, Beatrice, Cleopatra, Lady Macbeth and Cordelia -­‐ to name but a few. Shakespeare’s poetic quill laid open the depths of woman’s nature. Actors: Christiane Bjørg Nielsen, Linda Elvira & Ian Burns Director: Barry McKenna Written by Barry McKenna & Ian Burns Original music: Christiane Bjørg Nielsen Udarbejdet med støtte fra Undervisningsministeriets Tips-­‐ og lottomidler 1
Introduction SHAKESPEARES LANGUAGE In Shakespeare's words lie all the clues to character and situation that any reader or actor needs. It's simply a matter of knowing how to find them. The clues are not necessarily in the meanings of the words -­‐ the rhythms of the language and the patterns and sounds of the words contain a great deal of valuable information. Here are some suggestions for finding the clues in Shakespeare's language: Blank verse Both written and spoken language use rhythm -­‐ a pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables. Most forms of poetry or verse take rhythm one step further and regularise the rhythm into a formal pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables. A formal pattern of rhythm is called metre. Shakespeare writes either in blank verse, in rhymed verse or in prose. Blank verse is unrhymed but uses a regular pattern of rhythm or metre. In the English language, blank verse is iambic pentameter. Pentameter means there are five poetic feet. In iambic pentameter each of these five feet is composed of two syllables: the first unstressed; the second stressed. The opening line of Twelfth Night, is a perfect iambic line : 'If music be the food of love play on' With its unstressed and stressed syllables marked or 'scanned', it looks like this: / ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫ ﮞں‬ 'If mu sic be the food of love play on' ‫ =†ﮞں‬ weak / = strong The rhythm of blank verse is conversational and with its dee DUM, dee DUM, dee DUM, dee DUM, dee DUM rhythm, it imitates the heartbeat. In conversation, we often break the rhythmic pattern and this throws specific words into focus. Shakespeare does the same with blank verse: he often deviates from the perfect iambic line. When he does, it's a clue to a change in the character's feelings or thoughts or a change in situation or both. When the rhythm is changed, the energy and dynamic of the language have been changed. Feel how abrupt, uneven and ragged the rhythm is in the final scenes of Macbeth – here, Macbeth's last hope is dashed and Birnam Wood is seen to move to Dunsinane: / ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫ ﮞں‬ MACBETH Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it. / ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ / 2
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff. ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں†ﮞں‬/ / ‫†ﮞں†ﮞں‬/ Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me. / ‫ ﮞں‬ Come, sir, dispatch. King Lear's anguished protest against the murder of Cordelia (and perhaps of the Fool as well) reverses the rhythmic order of the syllables as Lear's world itself has been incomprehensibly upended: ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ KING LEAR Never, never, never, never, never. In addition to the repetition of 'never,' the emphasis on the first syllables of each foot suggests a blocking, a refusal to accept the unacceptable. The unstressed syllable ending each foot communicates a sense of hopelessness. When the line ends in an unstressed syllable rather than a stressed one, as is usual with iambic pentameter, this is sometimes called a feminine or weak ending. Several lines ending in unstressed syllables in a speech call for investigation on the part of the reader. Consider the opening lines of Othello's speech to the Venetian Senate: ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫ ﮞں‬ OTHELLO Most potent, grave and reverend signiors, ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫ ﮞں‬ My very noble and approved good masters, ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫ ﮞں‬ That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, / ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫ ﮞں‬ It is most true; true I have married her. ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫ ﮞں‬ The very head and front of my offending / ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫†ﮞں‬/ ‫ ﮞں‬ Hath this extent, no more... What accounts for this series of weak endings? Is Othello feeling defensive in putting his case to the senators? Or is he, with irony, subtly undermining their power and status? Or is there another 3
reason? This is an actor's choice, but a choice that will have vital implications for characterisation. Just as an actor will 'beat through' the verse (for example, by clapping), when looking for clues to his character's state of being, so students of Shakespeare can benefit from beating out the rhythms of the verse and considering what might explain deviations from the iambic line. Rhymed verse While blank verse forms the basis of Shakespeare's writing, he often uses rhyme. Frequently a rhymed couplet (a pair of lines whose end words rhyme) closes the scene and sometimes suggests what will come next: HAMLET The play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. Shakespeare uses rhyme and a variety of rhythm patterns to distinguish special characters such as the witches in Macbeth and Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream. 'Double, double, toil and trouble / Fire burn and cauldron bubble,' chant the witches. In addition to the rhyme, notice that this is not an iambic line, being only four feet long and with the stresses reversed from the iambic. Shakespeare has created a special musical rhythm for thesesupernatural characters. Shakespeare also uses rhyme to make comments and for special occasions such as songs and epilogues. Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream and Prospero in The Tempest say farewell to the audience in rhyme. Rhyme is a clue to character or situation. It is always helpful to ask why Shakespeare is usingrhyme at a particular point and what effect it has. Shakespeare's many songs use rhymed verse. Prose The convention in Shakespeare's time was to write plays in verse. His extensive use of prose is yet another sign of his inventiveness and capacity to break with custom when it served his plan. He uses prose for a variety of purposes. Often lower class or comic characters speak prose while the more socially or morally elevated characters speak in verse, but this is far from always the case. Some of Hamlet's most important speeches, such as his advice to the players, are in prose. In Julius Caesar, Brutus chooses prose over verse when he sets out to convince the citizens that the conspirators were right to murder Caesar. Why does Shakespeare shift from verse to prose? The conversational tone of prose can make a character seem more natural at a particular moment or it can indicate the degeneration of a noble nature as it does with Othello. A swift movement from prose to poetry or the reverse is always an indication that a change is taking place. Shakespeare is remarkably skillful in his flexible use of verse forms and prose. While verse is more formally structured than prose, prose is not necessarily more free from rules. In fact, prose can be more subtly and sometimes more artificially structured than verse. Shakespeare regularly uses a number of rhetorical devices to give his prose form and coherence. Important among these are alliteration, assonance, repetition, antithesis, lists and puns. These are described briefly below. These also appear in verse. Most of them are employed in Brutus's speech, which begins: 4
BRUTUS Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer: not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more… Shakespeare's tools for verse and prose Here (in alphabetical order) are brief explanations of some of the major language devices Shakespeare uses to make meaning in his verse and prose. Shakespeare did not necessarily give them the technical labels in bold below -­‐ he simply used these verbal strategies to great effect. It is perhaps not so important to know the technical terms as it is to appreciate how Shakespeare achieves his effects and to recognise the clues they offer us. Alliteration is the repetition of consonants in words close together. It commands attention, emphasises special words and helps to link ideas. It can be used for comic or satiric effect, as Beatrice does in Much Ado About Nothing. Hear how she tuts and taunts Benedick with her repetition of 't's: BEATRICE And men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too. Antithesis uses a parallel sentence structure to compare two opposing ideas. Shakespeare is very fond of this device and uses it often, for coherence and to point up the key ideas in the passage. Here are two examples: MACBETH This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good. RICHARD III And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous Antithesis is a major feature of Shakespeare's prose and always deserves our attention. It is a clue: what idea is being emphasised? Why? Notice how often Brutus uses antithesis in the speech from Julius Caesar cited above. Assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds in the same phrase or verse line. Again, this is done for emphasis. Vowels carry much of the music and feeling of the verse and the repetition of them strengthens the emotion, mood or atmosphere described. Ophelia's pain in reflecting on the change in Hamlet is captured in the repeated 'o', 'eh' and 'aw' sounds, almost like wail of grief: OPHELIA O, what a nOble mind is here O'erthrOwn. The cOUrtier's, sOldier's, schOlar's eye, tOngue, swOrd, Th'ExpEctation and Th'ExpEctation and rOse of the fAIr stAte, The glAss of fAshion and the mOUld of fOrm, Th'ObsErved of All ObsErvers, quite, quite dOwn. 5
A marked pause within a verse line is called a caesura. It is usually indicated with a full stop or a semi-­‐colon. It slows down the line and marks a change of some kind, often an emotional change. Shakespeare used it with increasing frequency as he developed his poetic technique. See how often Hermione uses it in this brief extract from The Winter's Tale, written late in Shakespeare's career: HERMIONE The Emperor of Russia was my father. O that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial! That he did but see The flatness of my misery; yet with the eyes Of pity, not revenge! What clues to Hermione's emotional state do these strong breaks give us? How would they help to guide an actor's way of speaking the lines? A verse line which only makes sense when it runs on and stops at a caesura in the following line is called enjambment, from the French word for 'to straddle'. It's the opposite of an end-­‐stopped line whose sense is contained within the line. Many more end-­‐stopped lines are to be found in Shakespeare's early plays, while enjambment is a feature of his later work. Enjambment can give emotional urgency to a thought by providing the energy to drive it on. It can also seem more natural than a more self-­‐contained verse line. Notice the examples of enjambment in Hermione's speech above and compare this passage from Romeo and Juliet, a much earlier play. PRINCE ESCALUS A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The sun for sorrow will not show his head. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished. Half and shared lines are deviations from the standard iambic pentameter line spoken by a single character. A half line can be anything from a single syllable to three or four iambic feet: it's anincomplete iambic line. Why, we need to ask, has the character not completed the line? What is the internal or external reason? Unless there is an interruption, a half line indicates a pause and we are invited to wonder what fills this pause. Two or more shared lines between two or more characters make up one line of verse. Here is a sequence from Macbeth which contains both shared and half lines. Why does Shakespeare write shared lines for the characters at this point in the play? What fills the pauses of the half lines? LADY MACBETH I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? MACBETH When? LADY MACBETH Now? MACBETH As I descended? 6
LADY MACBETH Ay. MACBETH Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber? LADY MACBETH Donalbain. Shakespeare's prose and poetry are full of lists and ladders. He uses these when characters are intensifying an idea or feeling -­‐ when they are raising the stakes. In prose especially, a list or ladder helps to give form and unity to the text. Here is Rosalind from As You Like It: ROSALIND There was never anything so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of I came, saw, and overcame. For your brother and my sister no sooner met, but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved, but they sighed; no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy… Onomatopoeia is the use of a word which sounds like what it means. Here are two examples of a device frequently found in Shakespeare's verse and prose: Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears… (The Tempest, Act 3 Scene 2) The moon shines bright. In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees… (The Merchant of Venice, Act 5 Scene 1) Shakespeare is a master at creating mood and atmosphere through the sounds of the words. Although only 'kiss' in the passage above may be strictly onomatopoetic, notice how the sounds of many of the other words contribute to the spirit of the speech together with its gentle rhythm. The length and quality of the vowel sounds are one tool Shakespeare uses; the sounds of consonants are another. Compare this line to the ones above: But since I am a dog, beware my fangs, The duke shall grant me justice 7
(The Merchant of Venice, Act 3 Scene 3) Hear the hisses, the bullet-­‐like monosyllables, the hard plosive consonants. Shakespeare can make music of infinite variety with his command of language. The Elizabethans were an aural society, good at listening, and they relished wordplay. Shakespeare's plays are full of wordplay in the form of puns. Shakespeare's puns can sometimes be more difficult for today's readers because many of them are topical, referring to events and attitudes of the time. A pun is a play on meaning of the same or two similar words, like this, from Twelfth Night: VIOLA Save thee, friend, and thy music! Dost thou live by thy tabor? FESTE No, sir, I live by the church. VIOLA Art thou a churchman? FESTE No such matter, sir. I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. Mercutio makes a more sombre pun when, dying, he says: MERCUTIO Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man. Notice how the effect of the pun exchange from Twelfth Night above depends upon repetition of words and phrases. Shakespeare uses repetition extensively in his plays and poetry to heighten dramatic effect, to comment ironically, to create wit, and to link situations, thoughts and feelings. Repetition of words and phrases is always worth investigating. Here is a famous instance of repetition, heavy with irony. Notice the shared line which, together with the repetition, tells us so much about the character relationships at this point in the play: OTHELLO Is he not honest? IAGO Honest, my lord? OTHELLO Honest? Ay, honest. Simile and metaphor are two ways of creating word pictures. In the Elizabethan theatre audiences were called on to use their imaginations to create the scenery of the play: the Elizabethan stage was relatively bare compared to most modern theatre practice. Shakespeare's word paintings can take us in a moment from Egypt to Rome, from England to France. They can enliven and illuminate private feelings and public debate. In a breath, Shakespeare can move from very plain language to the most extravagant similes and metaphors. Similes enrich description by comparing two seemingly unlike things using 'like' or 'as.' Metaphors do the same but miss out the comparative words. Notice how Macbeth moves from a simile in the first line into an extended metaphor in the rest of the passage: 8
MACBETH And pity, like a naked new-­‐born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye That tears shall drown the wind. Metaphors and similes like these offer us insight into the way a character thinks. They are avaluable clue. 9
SHAKESPEARE’S LIFE AND TIMES We know more about Shakespeare's life than any other Elizabethan writer or in fact anyone living at that time except royal courtiers. For centuries scholars have hunted through surviving documents for information about his life. They have unearthed references to him in local parish, court, tax and church records, property documents, inventories, wills, surviving letters from friends and associates, and published comments by other writers of his time. We have a fairly solid outline of his life. However, what we are left to wonder about are his feelings and his motives. Was his marriage a happy one? Why did he write the sonnets? Why did he go to London? What personal experiences inspired such plays as King Lear and Hamlet? We can only speculate about these and so many other questions, using what facts there are and the precious evidence of the plays and poems. Birth William Shakespeare was born to John and Mary Shakespeare around 23 April 1564 in Stratford-­‐upon-­‐
Avon. He was the third of eight children and the eldest of the five who survived into adulthood. Stratford in the mid sixteenth century was a small but busy market town in the rolling hills of Warwickshire's farmland. Both his mother and father came from farming families -­‐ his mother (Mary Arden Shakespeare) inherited her father's farm on his death. John Shakespeare was a respected citizen and successful businessman in his early married years, making and selling leather goods. In 1556 he bought a large house in Henley Street in Stratford where William was born. By this time John Shakespeare was an alderman, a member of the town council, and in 1568 he was appointed High Bailiff, the equivalent of Mayor of Stratford. School William would have attended the local 'petty' or small school at the age of four or five. He would have learned his alphabet from a hornbook, a sheet mounted on wood, bone or leather and protected by a cover of transparent horn. He would have learned to read, to write, and to do simple arithmetic. He would also have had lessons in religion and behaviour. At the age of seven he would have moved onto King Edward VI Grammar School with other boys of his age. Shakespeare would have studied Latin language, literature and history, and some Greek in upper school. He would have read Cato, Cicero, Ovid and Caesar. It is certain that Shakespeare did not go to university, but he must have paid attention in his years at grammar school for his plays regularly contain references to classical myths and history. By the time Shakespeare was fourteen his father was in financial difficulty. John Shakespeare seems to have been involved in illegal money lending and was unable to recoup some important loans. His reputation suffered and ultimately he lost his position as alderman. It is likely that Shakespeare left school at 14, possibly because of his father's decline in fortunes. 10
Shakespeare was fortunate to attend school because education was not open to everyone. Formal schooling for girls was not encouraged, but by the middle of the sixteenth century a few girls were allowed to attend grammar school. Marriage and children It is possible that Shakespeare worked in his father's craft shop when he left school. He married unusually early for the time, in 1582 when he was 18. His wife, Anne Hathaway was pregnant, eight years older than William and the eldest daughter of a family friend and successful farmer. They had three children: Susanna, born in 1583, and the twins Judith and Hamnet in 1585. Hamnet died 11 years later. Anne and the two surviving children lived in Stratford the rest of their lives. When William was established in London he made regular visits home to see his family. The lost years Very little is known about what Shakespeare did in the next few years. It is probable that he worked with his father and likely that he and his young family lived in the house in Henley Street. It is almost certain he saw the performances of traveling troupes of players who visited Stratford. These would have included some leading actors, possibly even Edward Alleyn, a very famous actor of the time. Did these experiences inspire him to seek his fortune in the theatre? London Sometime between 1587 and 1592 Shakespeare arrived in London. He may have toured with a troupe of players before going to the Capital. We know he was an established writer by 1592 because in this year Robert Greene, a playwright, attacked Shakespeare in print, calling him an 'upstart crow.' This ridicule brought a chorus of defense from other authors who praised Shakespeare's integrity, his graceful writing and his gentle nature. In these early years Shakespeare lived in the cheap suburb of Bishopsgate. By 1595 he was a member of the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later the King's Men, one of the two leading theatre companies. During his long relationship with this company he served as shareholder, actor and principle playwright. His works are chiefly associated with the Globe Theatre, built on the south bank of the Thames in London in1599, but they would also have been performed at court, at other public theatres, on tour and at the indoor Blackfriars Playhouse. Shakespeare may have written or collaborated on 40 or more plays. The First Folio includes 36 (Pericles and Timon of Athens are not included). Unusually for the time, Shakespeare wrote most of his plays alone. He also composed at least 154 sonnets and several longer poems, including Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece. These he dedicated to his patron, the Earl of Southampton. This patronage may have been particularly useful in providing the Shakespeare family with an income when the plague temporarily closed the theatres in 1593. Retirement Financially astute, Shakespeare began buying property in Stratford while he was still in London. It may always have been his plan to retire to his native countryside. Around 1610 he moved back to Stratford, now a prosperous country gentleman. He lived with his wife in New Place, one of Stratford's largest houses. His daughter Susanna and her husband Dr. John Nash lived next door. Colleagues visited from London, 11
including the playwright Ben Jonson, a close friend. Shakespeare died on 23 April 1616 and is buried in Holy Trinity Church where he was baptised 52 years earlier. The First Folio None of Shakespeare's play manuscripts survives. About half the plays were printed in 'quarto' or pamphlet form, often by unscrupulous publishers. Having sold his plays to his acting company, Shakespeare made no effort to preserve them for posterity. Thankfully, a consortium led by actors John Hemmings and Henry Condell of the King's Men published the First Folio in 1623. Because these men worked from the original play manuscripts, the First Folio contains more faithful versions of the plays than most of the quartos. Second, Third and Fourth Folios were published later in the seventeenth century. 12
Shakespeare’s Women Source Material 1.Sonnet 73 -­‐ ”That time of year thou mayst in me behold” 2. “The Coventry Carol” Lullay lullay, thou little tiny Child, 3. Song -­‐ “Roses their sharp spines being gone” – The Two Noble Kinsmen Act 1 Scene 1 4. That you have but slumbered here, Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 5 Scene 2 5. Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth? The Tempest Act 1 Scene 2 6. O sleep, O gentle sleep, Henry IV pt2 Act 3 Sc. 1 7. Song. Tell me where is fancy bred The Merchant of Venice Act 3 Sc. 2 8. These strewings are for their chamber -­‐ The Two Noble Kinsmen Act 2 Sc. 1 9. Song -­‐ Is she kind as she is fair? The Two Gentlemen of Verona Act 4 Sc. 2 10. How many women would do such a message? The Two Gentlemen of Verona Act 4 Sc. 4 11. O grim-­‐looked night! O night with hue so black! A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 5 Sc. 1 12. Sirrah, your father's dead;/And what will you do now? Macbeth Act 4 Sc. 2 13. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, King John Act 3 Sc. 4 14. Let all the dukes and all the devils roar -­‐ The Two Noble Kinsmen Act 2 Sc. 5 15. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face – Romeo and Juliet Act 2 Sc. 2 16. Gallop apace ye fiery footed steeds -­‐ Romeo and Juliet Act 3 Sc. 2 17. The raven himself is hoarse – Macbeth Act 1 Sc. 5 18. How now, my lord! why do you keep alone -­‐ Macbeth Act 3 Sc. 2 19. Give me an ounce of civet good apothecary… King Lear Act 4 Scene 6 20. Is it my father's will … The Winter’s Tale Act 4 Sc.4 21 Song -­‐ He is dead and gone, lady Hamlet Act 4 sc. 5 22. I went down to the river that morning -­‐ Hamlet Act 4 Sc. 7 23. I am very cold, and all the stars are out too -­‐ The Two Noble Kinsmen Act 3 Sc. 4 24. All's charred when he is gone. -­‐ The Two Noble Kinsmen Act 3 Sc. 2 25. It is to lie in cold obstruction and to rot – Measure for Measure Act 3 Sc. 1 26. Song -­‐ Fear no more the heat o’ the sun – Cymbeline Act 4 Sc. 2 27. My honoured lord! – Hamlet Act 2 Sc. 2 28. I dreamt a dream tonight -­‐ Queen Mab – Romeo and Juliet Act 1 Sc. 4 29. Like one lost in a thorny wood – Henry VI part 3 Act 3 Sc. 2 30. But let the frame of things disjoint – Macbeth Act 3 Sc. 2 31. Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there – Anthony and Cleopatra Act 5 Sc. 2 32. The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn – Hamlet Act 1 Sc. 1 33. Her distraction is more at some time of the moon -­‐ The Two Noble Kinsmen Act 4 Sc. 3 34. Our revels now are ended. – The Tempest Act 4 Sc. 1 35. Would you have me sing daughter? -­‐ The Two Noble Kinsmen Act 5 Sc. 2 13
SHAKESPEARE’S WOMEN
© THAT THEATRE COMPANY
Scene 1
The lights come slowly up on the scene of a deserted room on the top floor of The Elephant a
hostelry on the South Bank next to the Thames. The furniture is covered in dust cloths. There is
large leather travelling trunk centre stage. Whatever daylight there is, creeps in at the mullioned
window up stage centre behind this is a large print of Hollar’s panorama of the Thames. We hear
footsteps on the stairs and Nurse Dugmore, about 40 – looks older, struggles into the room with
baskets of provisions. She stops for a gasp of breath then looking around the room tuts in
disapproval, sets her baskets down then sits. We hear the sounds of Gentlemen talking on the stairs
Shakespeare:
(Off) Not now Master Fletcher I beg of you...
We hear an indistinct mumbling we assume to be Fletcher.
Fletcher:
You must be tired old fellow.
Shakespeare:
Tired? I’m exhausted
Nurse:
(Shouting) Leave him now young Master, he’s exhausted! (She looks about the
room again then resignedly gets to her feet again) No bloody rest for the wicked
I’d say. (She starts removing the dust sheets from the furniture then she notices
the mud on her shoes) Oh Lord, look at me feet! Tut, London! Streets paved with
gold! More like streets paved with...
She is interrupted by Shakespeare still remonstrating with Fletcher
Shakespeare:
(Off) John, I am weary from travel. I have much need of sleep. What is't o'clock?
Nurse:
(The Nurse goes to the door and shouts) It’s half past five! (Insistently) Come you
in Mr Shakespeare, here’s warm.
Shakespeare finally stumbles into the room. The image of him is not what we
expect. Firstly he is old for his years, hunched and huddled up like a small
monkey. Every step is agony, his face twisted in a grimace of pain as he hobbles
to the nearest point of rest, the travelling trunk.
Fletcher:
If I might just come in for a few moments…
Shakespeare:
(Shouts) Come see me on the morrow John!
Nurse:
Did you hear that, sir? On the morrow... though not too early!
14
Fletcher
Very well, a good night to you both!
She shuts the door in obvious triumph. We hear the plod of reluctant feet going
down the stairs
Shakespeare:
Thanks kind nurse.
Nurse:
No need for thanks. She ain’t kind fer kindness sake; she’s kind cause the
Mistress would have me guts for garters anything ‘appen to you. Why did you ‘ave
to ask for this room, eh? Up in the rafters it is. And I told you not to climb up here
till I got the room straight, Huh! Well, at least they ‘ad the decency to lay up a fire.
Here get that cloak off you!
She helps him out of his cloak and hangs it by the door
Shakespeare:
(Sighs regretfully) I never thought that I’d ever stand here again.
Nurse:
Never say never, Mr Shakespeare.
Shakespeare:
What am I doing here? It’s all Burbage’s fault. He can charm the birds from the
trees that man.
Nurse: Is that so?
Shakes: Lovely talented Richard Burbage. You should have seen his Hamlet
Nurse: ILovely,
Nurse:
(Pulls a face convinced he’s being rude) No thanks. I’ve seen enough of them to
last me a lifetime.
He goes to the wall hanging and stares at it. It displays a Renaissance scene of
primarily a Nymph in a rural landscape; Shakespeare is strangely moved by the
picture. He stands transfixed and mutters
She’s still here! How do you, pretty lady? (He touches the cloth, pause) So many
memories…
Nurse:
Goodly ones Mr Shakespeare.
Shakespeare:
Aye, in here perhaps, but not out there. (Over to window) London’s a cruel place,
Nurse. I’d almost forgotten how foul the stench is. That’s why I always preferred
this room, for the healthy air coming from the sweet Thames.
Nurse:
Sweet? Stinks like the Parstor’s arse today.
She finds a bottle of oil and a handkerchief in her basket, pours oil on the kerchief
15
Shakespeare:
When I first came to this City I trained myself to hold my breath for the best part of
a minute at a time - a very useful skill when walking through shit and piss. Not a
bad training to speak my verse either. I told Burbage, but he just laughed at me.
Dear Richard. (Starts coughing)
Nurse:
Here take this. (She hands him a kerchief that has been wrapped around an
orange stuffed with cloves.)
Shakespeare:
Thanks. (He sniffs the kerchief) Better…better. If only there was a similar way to
filter out all the bad deeds of one’s life.
Nurse:
Take a little rest now and maybe tomorrow we’ll find you a hot bath.
This startles Shakespeare his face twist in pain at the thought
Shakespeare:
Not a mercury bath Nurse. My body screams in agonies enough.
He falls into the chair, centre stage and weeps
Nurse:
(Stroking his hair. Comforting him) No, no, no. Not a mercury bath Pet. No nasty
mercury for my fine Gentleman. Here take those boots off I’ll find your slippers.
Shakes: (Causes pain) Leave them! Not now!
Shakespeare:
(Breathes deep on the cloth) How long have we known each other nurse?
Nurse:
Must be some seven and twenty year now. After old Dugmore died Mrs asked my
help of the raising of your children Susannah and the twins Judith and Hamnet…
She stops, eventually he speaks
Shakes: Seven and twenty years was it Nurse? Huh, what was I writing twenty
seven years ago?
Nurse:
(Sincerely) Wondrous things no doubt.
Shakespeare:
Not wondrous nurse. Hack work. Mr William Shakespeare –actor and mender of
bad plays was I. The Queen’s Men found out I was a scholar and took me on to
patch up old histories.
Nurse:
Like I’d patch up old undershirts?
Shakespeare:
Very like Nurse. The Tragedies of Henry the Sixth with the Death of the Good
Duke Humphrey. The Third Part of Henry the Sixth with the Death of the Duke of
York. Henry the Sixth part one with the death of Joan of Arc.
16
Nurse:
Lot o’ dying went on in them days didn’t it?
Shakespeare:
(Laughs) Ha, yes it did Nurse. Titus Andronicus… that was never quite right,
though it was popular. George Peele wrote it and I patched it. I was never content
working in harness, yoked to another playwright. I never felt that the characters
were quite my own.
Nurse:
(Not a clue) Oh, shame!
Shakespeare:
Burbage knows this and yet begs of me this “Last little favour, an’t please you!
You’re sick old friend. Let Fletcher shoulder some of the burden, you write so well
together!” says he… Christ… (Winces again)
Shakespeare:
It didn’t take a genius to realise the worthlessness of our first effort. A pox on the
Eighth Henry (with contempt) ‘Twas that accursed Henry burned my theatre down!
Nurse:
Now don’t work yourself up sir, you know what Doctor John did tell you, no yellin’
t’only brings on the fits. And that reminds me, you’re to have your syrup now.
Shakespeare:
(Childishly) No Nurse, I beg of you I can’t abide the poxy stuff.
Nurse:
(Fetching the bottle and spoon) You’re to have it says he; I don’t care if it tastes of
Satan’s crack! It calms you down.
Shakespeare:
She stands over him poised as if ready to perform an appendectomy
Nurse:
Here, open up!
Shakespeare:
(Refuses. Shuts his mouth tightly. She holds his nose. Eventually he has to open
his mouth to breathe.) AH!
She pops the spoon in his mouth which elicits from him a horrible gurgling sound
(Shouts) Sugar, sugar, sugar!
She pops a lump of cane sugar in his mouth which he sucks on
Christ on his bloody cross never tasted so bitter a concoction.
Nurse:
Language!
Shakespeare:
I’m convinced my Doctor son in law is trying to poison me.
Nurse:
Im ought to be grateful there’s a Doctor in the family. Why there’s poor families in
Stratford can’t afford…
17
Shakespeare:
(Sarcastically) Quack, quack, quack!
Nurse:
(Under her breath) Ignorant!
Shakes: Hag!
Shakespeare:
(Pause) Fetch me a stoup of good wine, good nurse.
Nurse: But, Doctor John did say…
Shakespeare: WINE!
Nurse:
What’s the word then Mr Shakespeare?
He stares at her vague… then realises his manners
Shakespeare:
I prithee good nurse!
Nurse:
Your Mam always taught you good manners Mr Shakespeare and as I always
says it do cost nothing… I’ll fetch that stoup of wine now.
The sun is going down in the west. This shines from the direction of the audience.
Shakespeare rises, not without pain, and hobbles as if towards a west facing
window. He scans the landscape and his eye falls upon the Globe.
Shakespeare:
The light changes to amber… he gives out a yell of pain
Oh, hell! Burned out solemn Temple of Art – The Great Globe itself! My muse, my
friend! That I should be brought to witness your destruction. Before ‘twas but a
tale borne to me on the wind. The sight of it infects mine eyes and makes too real
the pain of loss. My lost investment, tirings, props and costumes. But not least of
all the loss of my precious manuscripts, my writings. My chief handiwork and hard
crafted scribblings of five and twenty years within a little hour or so transformed to
ashes. They tell me not one page remains of all those hours of toil. Dark evenings
softly lit spent alone in silence with my lovely brood. With Falstaff, Richard,
Hamlet and great Lear. And the women I created, Portia, Rosalind, the swarthy
Cleopatra and pale Desdemona. (Goes to the tapestry and looks at it) The fair
Ophelia “Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!” This is why I
returned, for all Burbage’s entreaties for me to come. I must, in this paltry time left
to me by God think of my legacy. But how in this parlous state can I crank out a
masterpiece for this new Globe? It must be done…no turning back!
He starts rummaging in the baskets just a the Nurse returns
Nurse:
Here she comes with a bottle in hand. Landlord tried to fob me off with cesspit
sewage but she’s canny. “Gives me a taste!” says I. And sure enough ‘twas the
taste of arse water! So here’s house’s best sack for his worship!
18
Shakespeare:
Pen! Paper!
She sets down the jug and goes to him
Nurse:
You and me’s had a long journey. Mr Shakespeare. Rest.
She propels him back to the chair
Shakespeare:
Find me my papers… pen and ink. I would’st must write.
Nurse:
Save it for the morning, sir. Rest.
Shakespeare:
I’ll rest in my grave. Get me my papers!
A staring contest ensues. Eventually she reluctantly sets to gather what he
requires from the trunk
Nurse:
(Mumbling) Was a time when they listened to old Dugmore! Took ‘er advice. Not
no more. And what Mrs Anne will say I don’t know.
Shakespeare:
Then don’t tell her.
Nurse:
Conceit was always his middle name. All blasphemy and lies!
Shakespeare:
(Shouts beating his fist on the table) What Goodwife Scold! Hold your blabbering
tongue if you’ve a mind to keep it!
She continues, almost in silence, but can’t resist a mumbled complaint.
She sets his sheaf of papers and ink pot, 2 quills and dust box before him.
Shakespeare takes a gulp of wine, takes up a quill and stares at the paper
White as snow. Empty wasteland how shall I people it? Head sore! Thoughts
absent.
Nurse:
(Pouring more wine) Take another swig…thoughts come.
He looks up into her eyes with a face like a little boy’s
Shakespeare:
I’m afeard nurse. Look towards the bridge…
She goes to the window and peers out
What do you see?
Nurse:
A great multitude as the bible says. They do go about.
Shakespeare:
And above the South Gate?
Nurse:
(Laughs) Poles wave in the breeze with heads like poppets.
19
Shakespeare:
Not poppets they, but human heads, the heads of so-called traitors.
Nurse:
(In disgust) Ugh! Poor souls. (She crosses herself.)
Shakespeare:
What flies them round-about?
Nurse:
‘Tis birds.
Shakespeare:
They’re kites. They feast upon their flesh. And so it is with me. One word on the
street that Gentle Shakespeare has shown his face again in London and the kites
begin to circle. They would feed on the cadaver Shakespeare. Each haggard
hungers to gulp down the flesh of my verse, to feast on my prose. Fletcher was
the first but there’ll be others soon. The shareholders, my co-mates. They’ll not
be satisfied until the last morsel is stripped from my unwilling bones.
Nurse:
Such grim thoughts will lead to another sleepless night Mr Shakespeare.
Shakespeare:
I’ll not sleep until some poetry has formed itself upon this page.
Nurse:
Then best see this.
She produces a bundle of papers from the basket
I hid this from you, I beg his pardon. ‘Twas from yon gangly lad, young Fletcher…
said you was to…er… peruse it.
Shakespeare:
I thank thee, nurse. More wine and light the lamp.
She pours more wine and lights the small lamp on the table. He leafs through the
pages muttering to himself as he does. His lips move as he reads what’s there.
Then his stops in dissatisfaction
“The Two Noble Kinsmen!” What happened to “The Most Lamentable Tragic Tale
of Palamon and Arcite”? “Two Noble Kinsmen” poxy title! (reading from Fletcher’s
notes) “I think the piece best be a tragi-comedy of the sort the Company has had
so much success withal of late.” Well he’s probably right, no more Tragedies for
me, Lear was nearly my undoing! I’ve cried all my tears. Read on… “My dear
Shakespeare… I did fall to thinking after our short meeting at Stratford… (He
reads on) … Chaucer’s Knight’s Tale retold, two loving cousins torn apart by the
sight of a woman… (sigh) Cousins Arcite and Palamon are captured and
imprisoned by Theseus, duke of Athens … (sigh) Their cell is in the tower of
Theseus's castle which overlooks his palace garden. In prison Palamon wakes
early one morning to see Emily in the courtyard; his moan is heard by Arcite, who
then too wakes to see Emily, and falls in love with her as well… (groan)… The
competition brought about by this love causes them to hate each other…
(sarcastically)… Huh, a likely story! Fletcher why on earth did you pick this … old
chestnut? (sighs) Read on Shakespeare. After some years, Arcite is released
from prison and then returns to Athens. Palamon eventually escapes by drugging
the jailer and while hiding in a grove overhears Arcite singing about love and
20
fortune.
He groans loudly and drops the pages to the floor then heaves a weary sigh
Creaking artless plot. I dragged my aching bones over potholes for a hundred and
two miles for this? Where’s the comedy, where’s the magic? If we present this, the
players shall not scape a good pelting with rotten apples.
She picks up the fallen sheets and hands them back to him
Nurse:
Then you make it better Mr Shakespeare, add your magic.
Shakespeare tingles at this. The portrait of the Nymph flickers he stares at it
again.
Shakespeare:
The women, the women, it’s all about the women.
Nurse Dugmore pours him another cup
Nurse:
Women folk are canny Mr Shakespeare.
Shakespeare:
(Points at the tapestry) After my father died she was my inspiration. I sat in this
room and pondered the meaning of life…”To be or …”
Nurse: (Lost as to what to say) What?
Shakes: Never mind. A deep depression o’er came me and she appeared to me
to sooth my troubled mind.
Nurse:
Yes?
Shakespeare:
To me she was the fair Ophelia, fragile beauty, she kept me company and helped
me write the play.
Nurse:
(Her face drops) Is this place haunted then?
Shakespeare:
(Smiles at her) No Dugmore she kept me company in my mind’s eye.
Nurse:
(Under her breath) Let’s hope she do stay there!
Shakespeare:
That’s why I wanted this chamber. She has been my Muse; she was Ophelia then
Viola and the virginal Marina. All the fragile beauties of my later plays. I used to
imagine that they spoke to me and encouraged me to write.
Nurse:
(Looks heavenward) Dear Lord Jesus, forgive his foolishness.
Shakespeare:
And that’s how my play must begin! With the women! (He scribbles his first words
on the paper enthusiastically) The Two Noble Kinsmen… poxy title… enter…
Three Queens dressed in black…
21
He stalls, not a thought in his head. He stares emptily into space. Nothing comes
to him. As she tidies things the Nurse begins to sing “The Coventry Carol”
Nurse:
Lullay lullay, thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Thou little tiny Child.
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Shakespeare:
Of course. ‘Twould be finer if it began with music… The Duke’s wedding feast…a
magnificent masque!
(He scribbles again. As he does so we hear music based on “The Coventry
Carol”. The music changes as Shakespeare writes quickly.)
Music! Enter Hymen with a Torch burning, a Nymph in a white Robe encompassed in her
tresses, singing…”Roses..”
The lights change and from behind the hangings on the wall we discern a female
figure in simple Grecian robes, a rosy garland on her head singing
Nymph:
(Singing) Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue,
Maiden pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true,
Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry springtime's harbinger,
With harebells dim,
Oxlips, in their cradles growing,
Marigolds, on death-beds blowing,
Lark's-heels trim,
During the above Nurse Dugmore has disappeared. The lights snap back to as
they were before Shakespeare is dazed. Shakily Shakespeare pours another draft
looks toward the arras, sees nothing
Shakespeare:
Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth?
It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon
Some god o' the island.
He listens. Nothing.
(Softly)
That you have but slumbered here,
While these visions did appear.
Scene 2
Shakespeare has closed his eyes but is restless, he moans
22
Shakespeare:
O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
The church clock strikes six.
Six o’clock already! Fletcher will return on the morrow! No time to lose. Nurse!
He looks around and realises she’s gone. He picks up his pen his hand shakes
Shakespeare:
Why do I shake so?
Nymph:
No wonder, you’re William Shake-speare aren’t you? (There is laughter)
Shakespeare:
What’s that? Who’s there? Nothing! What was I writing?
He looks over Fletcher’s papers again and mutters
A poxy plot, a poxy plot. Nothing original, a well-worn, patched and cobbled
history.
Nymph:
Until you work your magic Will.
Shakespeare:
Who is that? Leave me be… I have to be allowed to think, I cannot think!
Nymph:
Take another swig…thoughts come.
Shakespeare:
Nurse?
He looks around the chamber. Swigs. Now we discern a shadowy figure moving
behind the curtains
Mmmm work my magic… I need t to work my alchemy, introduce something new
to this. Of course it’s all about the women. (Thumbs through the papers) Mmmm
(Reads) Palamon eventually escapes by drugging the jailer. Artless… he must
have help. A girl… Emilia? No, not logical to the plot. A girl but where from? A
scullion wench?
Nymph:
The Jailer’s Daughter.
Shakespeare:
Yes the Jailer’s Daughter I thank ye.
He scribbles eagerly, then stops. (Pause) He decides he’s just imagining the voice
23
and returns to his copy
The Jailer’s Daughter… what to call her?
Nymph:
No name! Do not name her. A poor lost soul, abandoned like Ophelia.
Shakespeare:
(Looking at the portrait) It is you isn’t it? My heart’s a racing, palms all a sweat.
Nymph:
Name her and the magic’s gone
Shakespeare:
How is it that I can hear you?
Nymph:
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Shakespeare:
Soft I did but dream. Dreams are the children of an idle brain,
( He takes up the pen again) To the task at hand.
He stares at the paper … silence
Shakespeare:
Why, what an ass am I! I stare like John-a-Dreams on snowy sheets of paper. No
footprints there appear! Poor Will it’s finally over. Not one stanza’s left in his
empty head. (He throws down the pen) Best pack for home and admit defeat.
The Nymph makes herself visible to Shakespeare
Nymph:
Infirm of purpose take up thy pen Will Shakespeare
Shakespeare:
(Frightened) Aaaargh!
Nymph:
Be not a-feared man. I am but a child of you own brain who begs you now give
not up the fight.
Shakespeare:
You’re real?
Nymph:
Will, who wrote “Is this a dagger that I see before me”?
Shakespeare:
(Squeaks) I did.
Nymph:
Then you of all mortal men should understand the existence of a shadow land that
lies twixt asleep and wake where fantasy is born and forever dwells.
24
Shakespeare:
But art thou not, fair vision a false creation, proceeding from my heat-oppressed
brain?
Nymph:
‘Tis very like but you have no time to ponder on that question. You need my help
Will.
Shakespeare:
Help to do what? I’m done for!
Nymph:
Far from it. You have already begun to form a unique creation that will make the
play your own!
Shakespeare:
(Groaning) But the well is run dry of the waters of inspiration. In The Tempest I
used up the last rivulets of my poetic heart and soul.
Nymph:
What of Henry VIII and Cardenio?
Shakespeare:
Fletcher’s mostly sprinkled o’er with the last droplets of my fevered sweat.
Nymph:
You must have one last good character left in you Will.
Shakespeare:
How can you know that?
Nymph:
Because I am part of you. Being in your mind I know your mind.
Shakespeare:
Mind’s decaying fast!
Nymph:
That’s why this is important! (He stares blankly at her) Concentrate Will before
that precious brain dissolves into second childishness and mere oblivion. Draw on
your former creations to give life to the Jailer’s Daughter.
Shakespeare:
Ah, ‘tis ten thousand pities my wealth of past imaginings lies in a pit of ashes a
cock’s stride from here. Dead and gone like my poor son.
Nymph:
We live still in your head will. As Hamnet liveth there within thy heart. But you
must write this Jailer’s daughter.
Shakespeare:
I must needs make this play my own.(Dips his pen in ink then groans) Thoughts
muddled, too tired to even think.
Nymph:
(Sings) Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
(Speaks) No?
He does not understand this riddle
It is engendered in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
25
In the cradle, where it lies.
Let us all ring fancy’s knell;
I’ll begin it – Ding dong bell.
Shakespeare:
(Croaks) Ding dong bell.
Nymph:
Write Will.
Shakespeare:
(Groans) How to begin?
Nymph:
Begin at the beginning.
Shakespeare:
(Writes) Enter Jailer’s Daughter…
These strewings are for their chamber;
tis pity they are in prison,
and t’wer pity they should be out:
I do think…
Another shadow appears and overlaps with Shakespeare taking the speech
Daughter:
I do think they have patience
to make any adversity ashamed;
the prison itself is proud of 'em;
and they have all the world in their chamber
He takes another swig of wine
Nymph:
A fine start will. Is she good? is she bad? A violet or a thornéd rose.
Shakespeare:
No name you said.
Nymph:
I give her no name, I but name her qualities.
Shakespeare:
Give her no name? I cannot see her face.
Nymph:
When you dreamed up Silvia could you see her face?
Shakespeare:
Only her eyes at first.
Nymph: (Sings)
Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness,
And, being helped, inhabits there.
Shakespeare:
Is she kind or is she evil? If kind then kind as who?
Nymph:
Julia was meek and kind.
26
Shakespeare:
(Mutters) Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Julia appears.
Julia:
How many women would do such a message?
Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain'd
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.
Alas, poor fool! why do I pity him
That with his very heart despiseth me?
Because he loves her, he despiseth me;
Because I love him I must pity him.
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. (Exit)
Shakespeare:
(Writing) Unrequited love… good…good!
Scene 3
(He scribbles franticly. Eventually he grinds to a halt. The Nymph has
disappeared. He sits for a while then he remembers.)
Take another swig…thoughts come…. (He drinks…pause… nothing) They don’t
come!
(The room darkens, He looks about him in the darkness)
O grim-looked night! O night with hue so black!
O night, which ever art when day is not!
O night, O night! alack, alack, alack,
Why did I not stay in Stratford? She urged me to, Anne! After all those years of
neglect she wanted me home! I want to go home! (sobs) She warned me, Anne
warned me! She always warned me
(A vision appears of Anne Shakespeare, hard and careworn.)
Anne:
Heed me William, if you do not quit this foolishness and return to Stratford
forthwith I’ll cut you out of our lives.
Shakespeare:
And how do that my Lady Anne? You have no capital, nothing. You and the
children rely on my hard earned shillings.
Anne:
But to throw good money after bad. £50 is a great sum William.
Shakespeare:
A surety for the future, woman! When I retire I have my sights set on Hugh
Clopton’s town house to comfort our old age.
Anne:
Clopton’s New Place? The Underhills will never sell it. ‘Tis a ponderous future we
can look forward to in the mean-time; Susannah, the twins and I stuck here with
27
your family on Henley Street!
Shakespeare:
Nonsense woman! I’ll see you well provided for.
Anne:
You hadn’t that in mind when you threw that £50 away on shares for the Globe
Theatre. How I hate that place and what it’s done to you! (Exits)
Shakespeare:
(Shouts) Come back wife! I haven’t finished with you yet. I did love you once! (He
reflects) How old you became in so little a time.
A boy appears, Hamnet, he swordfights with imaginary enemies. Gets killed and
dies dramatically. Anne re-enters and sits on the trunk
Anne:
Sirrah, your father's dead;
And what will you do now? How will you live?
Hamnet:
As birds do, mother.
Anne:
What, with worms and flies?
Hamnet:
With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
Anne:
Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime,
The pitfall nor the gin.
Hamnet:
Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
Anne:
Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?
Hamnet:
Nay, how will you do for a husband?
Anne:
Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.
Hamnet:
Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
Anne:
Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith,
With wit enough for thee.
Hamnet:
Was my father a traitor, mother?
Anne:
Ay, that he was.
Hamnet:
What is a traitor?
Anne:
Why, one that swears and lies.
Hamnet:
And be all traitors that do so?
Anne:
Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.
28
Hamnet:
And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?
Anne:
Every one.
Hamnet:
Who must hang them?
Anne:
Why, the honest men.
Hamnet:
Then the liars and swearers are fools,
for there are liars and swearers enow to beat
the honest men and hang up them.
Anne:
Now, God help thee, poor monkey!
But how wilt thou do for a father?
Hamnet:
If he were dead, you'ld weep for
him: if you would not, it were a good sign
that I should quickly have a new father.
Anne:
Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!
Anne exits, Hamnet remains looking at Shakespeare in silence
Shakespeare:
(Stretches his hand out after him)
Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?
(Hamnet exits)
Fare you well. My boy, my Hamnet, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My age’s comfort and my sorrows' cure!
Hamnet disappears into darkness
Shakespeare:
All, all I created for you in the vain hope you would follow me to London. Take up
my share; perhaps become a player poet like your dad. Inherit the golden fortune
I’d amassed and maybe one day own a Theatre that the Shakespeare name
would live on in you. Vain hope! Cruel fates, you hand me fame and fortune,
create me Gentleman, only to rob me of my darling boy and my posterity.
Scene 4
The Nymph appears
29
Nymph:
Think on happier times Will, you did love Anne once. Remember at Shottery?
Shakespeare:
(Reminded) When I first saw her working in the fields, she was radiant, glowing.
Nymph:
Put that in your play.
He writes again and the Daughter appears once more
Shakespeare:
Jailer’s Daughter:… Let all the dukes and all the devils roar;
He…
Daughter:
He is at liberty! I have ventured for him,
And out I have brought him. To a little wood
A mile hence I have sent him, where a cedar
Higher than all the rest spreads like a plane,
Fast by a brook, and there he shall keep close,
Till I provide him files and food, for yet
His iron bracelets are not off. O love,
What a stout-hearted child thou art! My father
Durst better have endured cold iron than done it.
I love him beyond love, and beyond reason,
Or wit, or safety; I have made him know it.
I care not, I am desperate. Farewell, father;
Get many more such prisoners, and such daughters,
And shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him.
As she fades Will, inspired, is writing furiously
Nymph:
She is fair then?
Shakespeare:
She has a face.
Nymph:
And a pleasing shape?
Shakespeare:
She betrays her father.
Nymph:
You like not that?
Shakespeare:
‘Tis the way of the world.
Nymph:
Is she honest then?
Shakespeare:
Mmmm is she honest?
Nymph:
Does this fair maid turn out to be a whore?
Shakespeare:
Not a whore.
Nymph:
A murderous villain? An innocent maid?
30
Shakespeare:
Innocent maid?
Juliet appears. He stares up at her. Becomes Romeo.
Juliet:
Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush be-paint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.
Shakespeare:
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops
Juliet:
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable
Shakespeare:
What shall I swear by?
Juliet:
Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Shakespeare:
Good, good. I can easily draw on the pure innocence of Juliet for The Jailer’s
Daughter. (He returns to his desk to write.) Pure innocence…
Juliet now appears at his side in a changed sort, she has become very selfassured and sexually aware she performs for Shakespeare
Juliet:
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
(She lies across Shakespeare’s lap on the chair)
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
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Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Shakespeare: Hmm, Innocence but tempered o’er with the first stirrings in her of
sexual awareness.
She gets up and walks away. Shakespeare writes on
Scene 5
Engrossed in his papers he doesn’t notice the light fading to ominous murkiness.
There is a flash of lightning followed by the sound of distant thunder. He writes
Storm and tempest, (more thunder) Fanfare sounds within… (Fanfare)… er
hounds… (We hear the baying of dogs.)Owls! (To whit to woo) Wolves! (Wolves
howl) Enter The Jailer’s Daughter!
Lady Macbeth swoops onto stage
Lady M:
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry 'Hold, hold!'
Shakespeare: MACBETH
We will proceed no further in this business:
He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
Not cast aside so soon.
LADY MACBETH
Was the hope drunk
Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
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At what it did so freely? From this time
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valour
As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,
And live a coward in thine own esteem,
Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,'
Like the poor cat i' the adage?
MACBETH
Prithee, peace:
I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more is none.
LADY MACBETH
What beast was't, then,
That made you break this enterprise to me?
When you durst do it, then you were a man;
And, to be more than what you were, you would
Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you
Have done to this.
MACBETH
If we should fail?
LADY MACBETH
We fail!
But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
And we'll not fail.
Shakespeare:
(Shouts) Hold! Hold! Hold my lady! ‘Tis not a tragedy I write.
She takes up his papers and skims through them
Lady M:
How now, my lord! (Trying to seduce him)
Shakespeare:
I’ll not give you leave to plague me this night! You are not the character I write!
Exit! Exit!(He writes) Exit pursued by a bear!
We see the shadow of a bear approaching behind the curtain she shrieks and
runs off. He gets up and goes to the Nurse’s medicine chest he fumbles about
Scene 6
Give me an ounce of civet good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination.
He finds some dried flowers, this sparks a memory and he sinks onto the bench
Judith, Judith! Did you give these to the Nurse? Thinking of your fool of a father!
Perdita:
Is it my father's will I should take on me
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The hostess-ship o' the day?
Shakespeare:
What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low- an excellent thing in woman.
I thought I’d lost you. You were my poor perdu,
Little lost one… my Perdita.
Judith appears as Perdita
Perdita:
You're welcome, sir.
Give me those flowers there, Father. Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!
Shakespeare:
Shepherdess,
A fair one are you—well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Perdita:
Sir, the year growing ancient,
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest
flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
Shakespeare:
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
Perdita:
For I have heard it said
There is an art which in their piedness shares
With great creating nature.
Shakespeare:
Say there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean
But nature makes that mean: so, over that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock,
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race: this is an art
Which does mend nature, change it rather, but
The art itself is nature.
Perdita:
So it is.
Shakespeare:
Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,
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And do not call them bastards.
Perdita:
I'll not put
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;
No more than were I painted I would wish
This youth should say 'twere well and only therefore
Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun
And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer, and I think they are given
To men of middle age. You're very welcome.
Shakespeare:
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
Perdita:
Out, alas!
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.
She turns her attention to the audience
Now, my fair'st friend,
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might
Become your time of day; O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength. O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er!
Shakespeare:
Perdita:
(Frowning) What, like a corpse? (Laughs. Sees that it was the wrong thing to do)
No, like a bank for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corpse; or if, not to be buried,
But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:
Methinks I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine
Does change my disposition!
(She exits)
Shakespeare:
As springtime follows harsh Winter. My daughter too shall live on in The Jailer’s
Daughter as much as she already hath in Perdita, Imogen and Miranda. Find it in
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your heart to forgive me my girl. You lost a brother in Hamnet as much as I a son
forgive me my neglect. I must write this down lest I forget.
Scene 7
The figure of Ophelia appears, in a mask
Ophelia:
(Sings)
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.
Shakespeare writes on oblivious
Ophelia:
Did you weep for my cruel fate Will Shakespeare?
Shakespeare:
(Sees her) Why who are you, wench?
Ophelia:
How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.
Shakespeare:
Soft you now, the fair Ophelia.
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass green turf,
At his heels a stone.
Shakespeare:
Poor wretched fool; did you feel the pain I filled you with?
Ophelia:
Aye I did will it did burn me and destroyed me. It destroys me every time my lines
are spoken.
Shakespeare:
Alas poor ghost.
Ophelia:
I went down to the river that morning…
There, on the pendent boughs my coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down the weedy trophies and myself
Fell in the weeping brook. My clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore me up:
Which time I chanted snatches of old tunes.
Voice: (off)
(Sings) He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone… etc.
Ophelia:
As one incapable of her own distress,
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Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that my garments, heavy with her drink,
Pull'd this poor wretch from my melodious buy
To muddy death.
Voice: (off)
(Echoes) Muddy death!
Shakespeare:
(Looking at his papers) Perhaps she dies, like Ophelia a form of madness o’er
takes her. But how? (reads his jottings) Ha! Unrequited love like Julia. (Scribbles
frantically and dismayed Ophelia leaves) She falls in love with Palamon, frees him
and they elope together into the dark and thorny wood.
Voices: (Off)
Into the dark and thorny wood.
Shakespeare:
But are split up… Palamon then comes across Arcite and they vow to fight…She
appears but her love she thinks has played her false so she runs mad (a mad little
laugh)…Ha, ha! She has a form!
The Jailer’s Daughter appears during the following
Daughter:
I am very cold, and all the stars are out too,
The little stars and all, that look like aglets.
The sun has seen my folly. Palamon!
Alas no; he's in heaven. Where am I now?
Good night, good night.
Ophelia: (off)
Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet ladies. Good night, good night.
Daughter:
You're gone. I am very hungry.
Would I could find a fine frog; he would tell me
News from all parts o'th' world; then would I make
A carrack of a cockleshell, and sail
By east and north-east to the King of Pygmies,
Tomorrow morning; I'll say never a word.
(She sings)
For I'll cut my green coat, a foot above my knee,
And I'll clip my yellow locks, an inch below mine eye;
Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny.
The Daughter continues, Ophelia appears behind the curtain disturbed by what
she hears
Daughter:
Food took I none these two days; sipped some water.
I have not closed mine eyes,
Save when my lids scoured off their brine. Alas,
Dissolve, my life; let not my sense unsettle,
Lest I should drown, or stab, or hang myself.
O state of nature, fail together in me,
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Since thy best props are warped! So, which way now?
The best way is the next way to a grave;
Each errant step beside is torment. Lo,
The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech owl
Calls in the dawn. All offices are done,
Save what I fail in; but the point is this,
An end, and that is all.
The vision fades
Ophelia:
Will you have no idea the pain she will feel and continue to feel time and time
again. You asked the greatest question in the life of man and put it in the mouth of
my forsworn lover. Well I am a “traveller returned” from death’s realm and I tell
thee it is better to be than not.
Shakespeare:
What is death like?
Ophelia:
It is to lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those that lawless and incertain thought
Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!
The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment
Can lay on nature is a paradise
To what I know of death.
Scene 8
We hear the bell of St Mary Overie strikes the hour as it tolls seven. The light dims
as she goes Shakespeare speaks
Shakespeare:
The iron tongue of the great bell of St Mary Overie tolled the day we laid our
brother Edmund in the ground. He was but twenty seven, a fine actor. The plague
took him...”For he being dead, with him is beauty slain/ And, beauty dead, black
chaos comes again.” My mother never forgave me. She died the following year!
During the above two cloaked figures have appeared to the sound of drums and a
funeral dirge they march side by side, as they pass Shakespeare he dons his
cloak and joins them
All:
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
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Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
(Repeat)
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
At the end of the obsequies they have reached the trunk he lays the sprig of
flowers top of it. The figures throw off their hoods they appear to be two men
Guildenstern:
My honoured lord!
Rosencrantz:
My most dear lord!
Shakespeare greets them heartily, then they all do the College salute
All:
Wit-ten-berg!
Shakespeare:
My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good
lads, how do ye both?
Rosencrantz:
As the indifferent children of the earth.
Guildenstern:
Happy in that we are not over-happy. On Fortune’s cap we are not the very
button.
Shakespeare:
Nor the soles of her shoe?
Rosencrantz:
Neither, my lord.
Shakespeare:
Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours?
Guildenstern:
Faith, her privates we.
Shakespeare:
In the secret parts of Fortune? O! Most true! She is a strumpet!
Shakespeare gazes at them for a moment with suspicion
You should be women, and yet your beards forbid me to interpret that you are so.
Guildenstern:
Women are we my lord. But we appear to you in this mannish gear.
Rosencrantz:
‘Tis our little protest for you write us and then condemn us to be played by boys.
Guildenstern:
In time your women shall be played by women. In the meantime we are satisfied
to portray the men!
Shakespeare:
Curious! What news Guildenstern?
Rosencrantz:
None, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest.
39
Shakespeare:
Then is doomsday near! But your news is not true. Let me question more in
particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune that
she sends you to prison hither?
Guildenstern:
Prison, my lord?
Shakespeare:
Denmark’s a prison.
Rosencrantz:
Then is the world one.
Shakespeare:
A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark
being one o’ th’ worst.
Rosencrantz:
We think not so, my lord.
Shakespeare:
Why, then ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking
makes it so. To me it is a prison.
Rosencrantz:
Why, then your ambition makes it one. ’Tis too narrow for your mind.
Shakespeare:
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space,
were it not that I have bad dreams.
Guildenstern:
Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is
merely the shadow of a dream.
Shakespeare:
A dream itself is but a shadow.
Guildenstern:
I dreamt a dream to-night.
Rosencrantz:
And so did I.
Guildenstern:
Well, what was yours?
Rosencrantz:
That dreamers often lie.
Guildenstern:
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
Rosencrantz:
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
Guildenstern drags Shakespeare to the bench where they take him on a
nightmarish coach ride. We hear the increasing sound of galloping horses
Guildenstern:
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman
Rosencrantz:
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep;
40
Guildenstern:
Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders’ legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
The traces of the smallest spider’s web,
Rosencrantz:
The collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film.
Guildenstern:
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
Rosencrantz:
O’er ladies ‘ lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Guildenstern:
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Rosencrantz:
Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Guildenstern:
This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night
Rosencrantz:
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
Guildenstern:
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
Rosencrantz:
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Both:
Making them women of good carriage
Rosencrantz:
This is she—
Shakespeare:
(Shout) Peace! Thou speak’st of nothing! ‘Tis madness that you speak!
Scene 9
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have fallen lifeless to the floor and the room is now
very dark
Soft! Methinks I scent the morning air! I have no time! The Jailer’s Daughter cold
and hungry still runs as mad as I do –
Like one lost in a thorny wood,
That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way and straying from the way;
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling desperately to find it out.
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,
Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams
That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,
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Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy.
Shakespeare has collapsed in the chair. One of the figures has crawled towards
him as if she is a part of his distracted mind. The other has made her way to the
travelling chest which is now caught by the light, she scrabbles franticly in the
chest looking for something
Cleopatra:
Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there,
That kills and pains not?
Shakespeare:
Cleopatra?
Cleopatra:
Hast thou the worm?
Shakespeare:
Truly, I have him: but I would not be the party
that should desire you to touch him, for his biting
is immortal; those that do die of it do seldom or
never recover.
During this Shakespeare goes to the cupboard and reverently takes a wicker work
container and gives it her
Cleopatra:
Rememberest thou any that have died on’t?
Shakespeare:
Very many, men and women too. (Quietly to himself) I’ll send the Jailer’s
Daughter into peace, to gain my peace, she must die.
Cleopatra:
Get thee hence; farewell.
Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me: now no more
The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist this lip:
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath: husband, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements
I give to baser life. So; have you done?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.
Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
If thou and nature can so gently part,
The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,
Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still?
If thus thou vanishes, thou tell’st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.
42
Shakespeare:
Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say,
The gods themselves do weep! (He takes up his pen again)
Cleopatra:
This proves me base:
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He’ll make demand of her, and spend that kiss
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou
mortal wretch,
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie…
The Nymph has been at Shakespeare’s feet all this time leaps up and snatches
the pen from his hand
Scene 10
Nymph:
No! Don’t Will!
Cleopatra dissolves into the scenery
Will, I beg of you do not kill the Jailer’s Daughter. Cleopatra was a tragedy.
Shakespeare:
I am very sick and tired… But there is no rest for poor Will until he find a fitting
conclusion to her story.
Nymph:
Well end it now but I pray you Will; give the Daughter a happy ending…it’s to be a
tragi-comedy remember?
Shakespeare:
“Of the sort the Company has had so much success withal of late?”
Nymph:
Come I’ll help you create a bridge from her downcast state unto her happy end.
Outside in the courtyard we hear a cock crowing she goes to the window U.S.
Will look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill.
Shakespeare:
Then there’s no time to lose. If the Jailer’s daughter is not discovered dead in a
ditch then someone has to find her alive. Who? (Thinks) Her Father! Good. He
takes her to see the Doctor.
(He writes) Doctor says…”Her distraction is more at some time of the moon than
at other some, is it not?” Jailer says… (Falters) What is her state of mind?
Nymph:
(Helping) She sleeps little, altogether without appetite; dreaming of another world,
the name Palamon is all to her.
The Daughter appears behind the curtain playing with flowers
Shakespeare:
Yes! Yes! Jailer’s Daughter says….
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Daughter:
I have forgot it quite; (sings) the burden on’t was ‘down-a, down-a.’
Shakespeare:
(Still writing)Doctor says… What stuff’s here! Poor soul… Jailer says … E’en thus
all day long.
Daughter:
Now for this charm that I told you of, you must bring a piece of silver on the tip of
your tongue, or no ferry; then if it be your chance to come where the blessed
spirits are – there’s a sight now! We maids that have our livers perished, cracked
to pieces with love, we shall come there, and do nothing all day long but
pick flowers with Proserpine. Then will I make Palamon a nosegay; then let him
mark me. Alas, ‘tis a sore life they have I’th’ tother place, such burning, frying,
boiling, hissing, howling, chattering, cursing! If one be mad, or hang or drown
themselves, thither they go and there shall we be put in a cauldron of lead and
usurers’ grease and there boil like a gammon of bacon that will never be enough.
(Sings) I will be true my stars, my fate. I will be true my stars! …
The vision of the Daughter disappears once more Shakespeare writes on
feverishly
Shakespeare:
Jailer: What think you of her, sir? Doctor: I think she has a perturbed mind, which I
cannot minister to. Jailer: Alas, what then? (the flow stops) What follows, what
follows?
Nymph:
Had she ever a lover afore she first beheld this Palamon?
Shakespeare:
(Not looking up) Of course! Let us give her a foresworn lover, a young man who
wanted to marry her earlier in the story! (engrossed he writes quicker now) He
returns. Pretends to be Palamon. She’ll fall in love with him. You have your happy
ending. She is complete.
(Jailer’s daughter enters the stage)
44
45
Daughter:
How far is it to the end of the world?
Shakespeare:
Why, a day’s journey, wench.
46
Daughter:
Will you go with me?
Shakespeare:
What will we do there?
Daughter:
We shall be content.
Shakespeare:
Daughter:
By this fair hand I will come with thee
.
We’ll to bed then?
Shakespeare:
For ever. For eternity.
Daughter:
Shall we have many children?
Shakespeare:
As many as pleases you fair maid.
Daughter:
And shall we kiss too? Shakespeare:
A hundred times.
Daughter:
And twenty? Shakespeare:
Aye and twenty.
Daughter:
And then we’ll sleep together? Shakespeare:
Yes, marry, will we.
Daughter:
But you shall not hurt me.
Shakespeare:
I will not, sweet.
Daughter:
If you do, love, I’ll cry.
She disappears through the curtain, Shakespeare gazes lovingly after her
Shakespeare:
If you do love I’ll cry. Good reply. Must write that down.
Nymph: Put down thy pen Will and rest. It’s almost morn and the Jailer’s daughter
has been born. Time to rest. (She takes the quill from his fingers. Eases him back
into a comfortable position in his chair. Snuffs out the candles and exits)
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Now I have something of worth to show Fletcher…Send for him!
Dugmore:
(Enters with breakfast) Singing “Lullay. Lullay thy little tiny child”
(Tries to wake Shakespeare) Mr.Shakespeare? Mr. Shakespeare?
(Bangs wooden platter down on the desk.)
(Shakespeare wakes)
Dugmore: Ah, you’re awake then? Thought you might sleep till doomsday!
Shakespeare:
Good morrow beauteous Dugmore!
Dugmore: What’s happened to you Mr Shakespeare, I don’t recognise you.
Shakespeare: That’s because old Shakespeare’s been re born Nurse. A ruin
rebuilt from the ashes of his past. You can’t teach old dog new tricks, Dugmore,
but you can certainly get him to perform some of the old ones if you but give him
something to live for. This Jailer’s Daughter will live on after me and thanks to my
fellow players all Shakespeare’s children will be remembered. Go and fetch
Master Fletcher. (Pause) Make haste Nurse go and fetch Master Fletcher!
Dugmore: (She throws him a look.) What’s the word then Mr.Shakespeare?
Shakespeare: I prithee good nurse.!
She goes to fetch her cloak and wraps in round herself as Shakespeare sits at the
table, rubs his hands and begins to devour his breakfast… Blackout
THE END
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