Sweet William
A fifth and final indelicate frivolity By Mihangel
Part 2
Sweet William
A play by Will Shakespeare
Cast in order of speaking
Sir Thomas Lucy, a landowner and justice
Another justice
Will Shakespeare, a boy
Hamnet Sadler, a friend of Will
Hugh Spencer, a Cambridge undergraduate
An officer of the town watch
A fornicator
Lady Lucy, Sir Thomas's wife
Toby, a youth
A second watchman
Benvolio Figino, a Milanese artist
A farmer
John Symons, leader of Lord Strange's Men
Non-speaking parts
Perkin, a farmhand, and his girl
Anne Hathaway
Sundry servants, schoolboys, townspeople and players
The play is set in and near Stratford-upon-Avon in the summer of 1579
ACT I SCENE 1
Church Street, outside the Guild Hall and Grammar School. At one side are the town stocks. Hugh Spencer, aged nineteen, finely dressed and golden-blond in hair, leans unobtrusively against a wall. Enter two men of the town watch escorting a prisoner, followed by Sir Thomas Lucy and another justice. Behind Lucy is a servant carrying a large basket which he sets down near the stocks.
Lucy. Soon shall we have him pinioned in the stocks.
Justice. For shame, Sir Thomas! Innocence is presumed
Ere guilt be proved.
Lucy. Pah! Guilt is in no doubt.
Why waste a precious hour in proving it?
Exeunt towards the Guild Hall, the servant making a rude gesture behind Lucy's back. The church clock strikes five. It is the end of term and satchelled boys spill out of school, laughing and larking. Most run off, but Hamnet Sadler and Will Shakespeare linger. Will is fifteen, with dark auburn hair. They do not notice Hugh.
Will. So, schooldays over! Tyranny no more!
An end to despot masters! "Parse it, boy!"
"Subjunctive follows always after cum!"
"Give me the gerund! Tush, if you think it so,
Your head's a colander! Hamnet, the rod for you!"
Hamnet bends over and Will pretends to thrash him.
Hamnet. There's but one reason, Will, why boys have bums --
To offer targets at which rods may aim.
To spare the rod, they say, is to spoil the child,
But spoiled I'd rather be, if rod be spared,
For bums heal slow when flesh is black and blue.
Will. Forget not, Hamnet, as we're well acquaint,
There is another rod which aims at bums.
But while that rod may hurt when first applied,
Continued plying soothes the sorenesses
And leads both parties straight to ecstasy.
Hamnet, chuckling. Prevent one hurt by sparing of the rod,
Prevent the other by more constant use!
Well, I applaud such constancy of sport
As we have followed for the past twelve months
And will I trust pursue as time allows.
What next for you, Will? Are you articled
Unto your father, as I am to mine?
Will. Nay. Since his illness struck he takes no more
Apprentices. But he has found me place
With an attorney, where I soon shall be
Engrossed with affidavits, testaments,
Ex alia parte, nolle prosequi.
But that new drudgery does not drag me in
Until next Monday. Meantime I am free.
Hamnet. But for this week I shall be occupied
At Alcester with my father. Once returned,
Let us two meet and ply our rods again!
Exit Hamnet. Hugh steps forward.
Hugh. Well met, young Master Shakespeare!
Will, eying him dubiously but bowing slightly. My lord?
Hugh, laughing. No lord am I, nor knight. My humble name
Hugo Despenser, or in more common tongue
Hugh Spencer, son of Pidley Hall hard by.
At your unstinted service here I stand.
He bows formally.
Will, puzzled. My service, sir? What would you do for me?
Hugh. Talk to you, Will, and listen. Here, let's sit.
They perch side by side on the stocks.
A further morsel, Will, about my state.
I am at Cambridge University,
A member of Christ's College, and it wants
Another term before I graduate.
There I have friends aplenty, but when here
Vacation time hangs heavy on my hands.
I would be friend to you, if you to me.
Will. Why me? I stand a league below your rank.
If not a knight, yet full esquire are you;
Yeoman am I, not even gentleman.
Hugh. What matters rank where friendship stands instead?
Will, I have heard much of a certain lad
And would know more about his temperament.
Will, cautiously. How have you heard?
Hugh. By asking round about,
And every Stratford gossip-tongue has spoke.
Shall I describe his jests, his bookish bent,
His skills and arts and venturous cast of mind,
And ask if you discern of whom I speak?
Will nods slowly.
Who knows his herbal like an apothecary,
And who devours all books that come his way?
Who when the players bring interludes to the town
Beleaguers them with questions on their craft?
Will coughs modestly.
Who chased the parson from the pulpit once
By penning there a piglet?
Will begins to grin.
Who at the butts
A pretty marksman is, and who has killed
Coneys past number in that termagant
Sir Thomas Lucy's fields -- yet, marvellously,
Without discovery or reckoning?
Will, slyly. And did you hear that he has coneys killed
In Spencer fields, without discovery?
Hugh, laughing. Nay, I did not, but I forgive him that.
. . . And who full three years since, his voice still shrill
And belly surely smooth, did lay a wench?
Will, defensively. But got her not with child. He had no seed.
And when it flowed, less than a twelvemonth since,
He laid no wenches more.
Hugh. And that because . . .?
Will. Wenches in passion oft conceal their months.
Who would wish bastards more on this teeming world?
Hugh. A wise young head with such philosophy!
. . . And who with Hamnet, as I heard but now,
Has learned the second cause why boys have bums?
Will jumps in alarm. Hugh lays a reassuring hand on his knee.
I too have wenches laid, my modest Will.
I too have plied my passioned rod on boys.
No censure then from me, but rather praise,
So it be done by full and free consent;
For youth, long injured by the master's rod,
Has earned the right to wield his own in joy.
. . . So, Will, may we be friends?
Will, wholly won over. Indeed we may!
Enter the watch dragging the same offender to the stocks. A crowd begins to gather.
Officer. Your pardon, sirs.
Hugh and Will stand aside as the man is locked in.
Will. For what crime is he here?
Officer. Fornication.
Will. Not adultery or rape?
Officer. Oh no, sir. Those are met with worse than stocks.
Enter Sir Thomas Lucy, who observes the scene with satisfaction.
Lucy, to the crowd. Behold a fornicator, and his just deserts!
(Pointing to the basket) Here, sirs, amuse yourselves with putrid pears.
Nobody makes a move, many shaking their heads and some, Will included, making rude gestures at Lucy behind his back. Lucy shrugs and himself flings a couple of pears at the fornicator's face. Exit with the watchmen. The crowd drifts away. Left alone, Will and Hugh go up to the fornicator. Will wipes the worst of the mess from his face, Hugh slips a coin into his pocket.
Hugh. Your only crime, my friend, was being found.
Fornicator. My thanks, kind sirs. And may you ne'er be found!
Hugh and Will move away.
Hugh, softly. If, Will, you're partial to my company,
Let us seek out a solitary spot
Such as the meadow by the river's brink.
There let us talk, and learn more of each other.
Will. And also swim, and see more of each other?
And having swum, try out each other's mettle
By preying coneys on Sir Thomas' land?
Hugh, laughing. Yea, all of those, and more, if so we may.
Will. Then let us first betake us to my house,
To arm ourselves against the coming fray.
Exeunt.
ACT I SCENE 2
A flowery meadow beside the River Avon. Enter Will and Hugh with bows and a quiver. Will has exchanged his school satchel for a bag with towels and cloaks. They sit down in the grass. Hugh, searching for a topic with which to break the ice, looks around.
Hugh. Of all these blooms I fear I know but few --
Such common ones as flourish everywhere --
The yellow pissabed and butterflower,
The purple thistle and the poppy red,
The white and golden daisy -- all distract
The eye of the beholder. For the rest,
Less gaudy, pray instruct my ignorance --
What virtues do they have medicinal?
Will. Were I to lecture you on all the rest
We would be here past sunset, for you've named
None but the largest and most evident.
For smaller blooms of rival brilliance
Search closer in the sward. Some please the eye
And salve the body -- this, the speedwell blue,
Cleanses the blood, and this red pimpernel
Smooths and enlivens the complexion.
Others, less bright, do rather please the nose --
Here, meadowsweet which, strewn upon the floor,
Suffuses a whole house with fragrances.
For the mouth, the humble sorrel's arrow-leaf
Gives spice to salads and allays the thirst,
And horehound bites more bitter on the tongue . . .
He crushes a leaf and holds his fingers out to Hugh.
Hugh, sniffing. Faugh! Noxious! Rank! A stench of stale sweat!
Will. Yet is a sovereign cure for coughs and gout.
But that's enough. Were I to persevere,
You'd mark me down as a narcotic herb
Whose only virtue is to summon sleep.
Hugh. No slumbers does your dulcet voice induce.
But of these flowers, which delights you most?
Will, pointing at Hugh. This above all, this golden flower de luce!
Hugh, much pleased. By eye, or nose, or mouth?
Will, grinning widely. I trust, by all.
Hugh abruptly seizes Will by the shoulders and gives him a quick kiss.
Hugh. I love your urchin face, your devil smile,
Your cherub curls, yea, I love every inch,
And fain would feast my eye on inches more.
He puts a tentative hand on Will's crotch.
Will, giggling. Inch? You debase me! Not by inchmeal I,
Whate'er your piddling Pidley pintle be!
Hugh. Inch and a half, then? May I measure you?
Will. Give you an inch and you shall find a yard!
Hugh. A yard?
He looks cautiously around.
Should someone pry, our yards being up,
Into the river straight. 'Twill cool us off.
A modesty curtain descends. Behind it, Will undresses. Hugh stands admiring him.
Hugh, impressed. A yard indeed! No yard in length, but yet
A noble weapon brandished high with pride.
Looks more closely.
And ere the spring these downy seedling-shoots
Shall burgeon into bushy thicket-patch
And make a full-blown man of you.
Will. And yours?
Your codpiece coppice? Let me make assay.
Hugh undresses.
Will. Oh god of woodlands! Ne'er a coppice here!
Forest of Arden, rather, dense and spread
Hither and yon as far as eye may see.
And in its midst a doughty trunk of oak,
A peerless heaven-pointing king of trees.
Hugo Despenser, you dispense delights!
Hugh. Dispense I would, but here I do not dare.
We must await some lonelier trysting-place
Within four walls. Come, let us cool our ardour.
Hand in hand they leap into the river. Loud splashes are heard, and much laughter. Hugh is seen lunging as he ducks Will, and vice versa. Curtain.
ACT II SCENE 1
A country road. Behind, a few trees and a signpost pointing to Stratford. The day is dying. Enter Will and Hugh cloaked and hooded, Hugh carrying the bows, Will two dead rabbits.
Will. Easy as robbing babies in the cradle!
Hugh. Of which I trust that you are innocent.
Will. I am, for what do babies have to rob?
And babies are all innocent of wrong
Whereas Sir Thomas' sins cry out . . . Oh heaven!
Speak of the devil and he will appear!
Enter, from the opposite direction, Sir Thomas Lucy.
Lucy. You, boy! Those coneys are not yours, I ween.
Will. Pardon, your honour, but they are mine now.
Lucy. Never have they been yours, and are not now.
Are not these acres and their coneys mine?
Hugh. Nay, sir, this highway is a common road,
That side lie your fields, this side Spencer lands.
Lucy. Even on this side they're not yours to take.
Hugh. They are, and most assuredly not yours.
May I not coneys kill on Spencer ground?
May I not those coneys give to whom I will?
Throws back his hood.
Lucy, nonplussed. Pardon, young sir. I knew not who you were.
Exit, reluctantly and suspiciously. Will and Hugh laugh.
Hugh. Pinch-penny niggard! What are two coneys lost
From all his thousands? Justly is he mocked.
Will. Even by his lady when she cuckolds him.
Their town-house butts on ours, and oft we hear
Her minions calling when he is from home.
Exeunt towards Stratford.
ACT II SCENE 2
Henley Street, with the Shakespeare and Lucy houses abutting. Each has a door, a shuttered window beside it, and an unshuttered window above. To one side, a water butt. Enter Will carrying the rabbits and Hugh the bows.
Will. Here must we part. Fain would I bring you in,
But should my father spy us entering
So late together, we would be undone.
Then farewell, gentle Hugh. We meet again
Tomorrow morning. May it tide as well
As has today.
Hugh, disappointed. Amen to that. Farewell!
They kiss furtively. Will goes in and shuts the door. Hugh sighs.
The choicest pearls are gathered, so men say,
In tropic seas of far Taprobane,
Yet blooms a choicer here on Avon's shore.
His soul I begin to know, and love it well,
But would I knew his body, knew it close.
My mounting passion frets at this delay.
A candle is lit upstairs in the Shakespeare house.
But soft! A light in yonder window breaks.
Is that his chamber? Will! Canst hear me? Will!
On one knee, he strikes the pose of a pleading lover.
Show yourself, star of Stratford! Let your glow
Irradiate this lesser planet's gloom!
Lady Lucy appears at her upper window, and Will at his.
Lady Lucy, puzzled. Toby, is't you?
Hugh, looking up at her. Nay.
Lady Lucy. Then begone, buffoon!
She throws the contents of a pisspot at him, and disappears. Hugh splutters. Will, giggling, drops a towel. Hugh dips it in the water butt and scrubs himself.
Hugh, whispering. I must come up!
Will. And I already am!
Hugh, looking around, spots a ladder lying on the ground outside the Lucy house.
Hugh. But this will open up the path to heaven!
He sets the ladder below Will's window, climbs up, and disappears inside. Grunts are heard. All lights go briefly off to indicate the passage of time. Enter surreptitiously Toby, an otherwise anonymous youth. Seeing the ladder and hearing the grunts, he grins.
Toby. So I am not the only one abroad!
He moves the ladder to Lady Lucy's window and climbs it.
My turtle-dove, my popinjay, 'tis I!
Lady Lucy, coming to her window. My peacock, oh my bird of paradise!
Toby disappears inside. Squeals are heard. The lights go briefly off. Enter the watch with lanterns. Under Will's window, hearing the noises, the second watchman grins knowingly, but the officer sniffs in disapproval. Under Lady Lucy's window, the same.
Officer. Take up this ladder! To the pinfold with it!
Second watch. And cast a dampening cloud on harmless play?
Officer. On sinful play. This ladder is a lure
Alike to felon and philanderer.
Take it, I say! Remove temptation!
The second watchman shrugs and picks up the ladder. Exeunt. The lights go briefly off again. Hugh and Will appear at their window. Hugh, now fully dressed, begins to climb out.
Hugh, looking down. The ladder which admitted me is gone,
Embezzled by some misbegotten thief!
But 'tis not far, 'tis not beyond my scope.
Farewell again, dear friend, yet dearer now
He lowers himself by his arms and drops to the ground. Hearing the noises from the Lucy window he points to it, grinning up at Will and thrusting with his hips. But, hearing footsteps, he hides behind the water butt. Enter Sir Thomas Lucy, who also hears the squeals.
Lucy, to himself. Who is it this time? Shall that wife of mine,
That so-called wife, in truth that courtesan,
Ne'er learn the virtues of the marriage bond
Or the sublime rewards of nuptial love?
He lets himself into his house. Soon are heard a bellow of rage, a gasp and a shriek. Toby appears at the window wearing only shirt and stockings. He throws out his breeches and tries to climb down but, finding the ladder missing, is grabbed by Lucy and hauled back inside.
Toby, pleadingly. Save me, your honour, I can all explain.
Lucy. You whoring milksop, beardless paramour,
More I demand than explanation.
Toby. Then restitution, sir -- I can pay well!
My purse is -- oh! My purse is on my belt
And lying with my breeches in the street!
Lucy. I'll fetch it up and you shall pay your all.
Lucy leaves the window. Hugh darts out, removes a purse from the breeches, hefts it so that it chinks, and jumps back into hiding. Enter Lucy from his door. He investigates.
Here are the breeches, but no purse is here.
(Shouting up at the window) False lying miscreant! You shall pass the night
Confined. Tomorrow is the court convened,
And though your guilt cries reeking up to heaven,
You there shall answer to the justices.
He spots Will listening.
And you, boy, spying on your neighbour's plight,
If e'er I find you plant a footstep wrong,
The stocks for you yourself, without defence!
Will shrugs. Lucy storms into his house and slams the door shut. Hugh emerges and throws the purse up to Will. They laugh delightedly.
Will. Tomorrow if Sir Thomas sits in court
Judging malfeasors and adulterers,
His lands lie open, and keepers he keeps not
Beyond his own mean self. Let us descend
Once more on his preserves, and raise the stakes.
This time, my Hugh, we shall a deer attempt.
Hugh, grinning. So shall we meet before the clock strikes eight,
At the far bridge end. I shall bring the bows
And some conveyance to lug home our spoils.
Blowing kisses to each other, Hugh leaves and Will withdraws. Curtain.
ACT III SCENE 1
The same country road near Stratford. Enter Will and Hugh, the latter pushing a handcart on which lies a dead deer covered by a blanket, its head and horns sticking out. A wheel is squeaking.
Will. A noble chase! The finger to Sir Thomas!
But the wheel squeaks over-loud. 'Tis hardly wise
To advertise our presence. Stop awhile.
Hugh, stopping. But now no Lucy lurks to ambush us.
Will. Nay, but the trees have ears. A drop of piss . . .
He turns his back to the audience and tries to piss on the axle, but fails.
I leaked too lately and am quite dried up.
Soon shall I be replenished. Wait a space.
Hugh, chuckling. If Lucy is risen from judgment in his court,
Perchance he lurks in ambush at his house,
Looking to snatch more lovers of his lady
Ere the young harridan cuckold him more.
Will, also chuckling. I once a ballad made to the dunderhead.
Sings, to the tune of Dove's Figary.
Sir Thomas was so covetous
To covet so much deer
When horns enough upon his head
Most plainly did appear.
Had not his worship one deer left?
What then? He had a wife
Took pains enough to find him horns
Should last him during life.
Hugh, laughing. A merry song! And now we have a deer
That once was his -- and surely not his last --
Let us to Pidley and the pantry there
To leave the carcass, having cut a haunch
To dress your family table. And, that done,
I would you sit to have your portrait painted.
Will, astonished. My portrait painted? But by whom? And why?
Hugh, smiling. At Pidley sojourns a painter from Milan,
By name Figino, who is picturing
My father's and my mother's likenesses
Wherewith to decorate our gallery.
'Twere foolish of me to let slip the chance
Of yours likewise, to adorn my chamber wall.
Not large -- a roundel -- and not long to sit --
A simple draft limned lightly out in coal
Which he will tincture in the coming days.
Will you allow it?
Will, hesitantly. Never have I seen
An Italian. Is he an . . . earnest man?
Hugh, smiling. Nay, hardly earnest. Full of foreign graces,
He produces some extravagantly courteous gestures..
A fashion-monger, with his yellow hose
Cross-gartered, and with hats fantastical.
Will, smiling with anticipation. Then I'll allow. And what shall follow on?
Hugh, hopefully. Before the day is out I deeply crave
To shoot an arrow in your butt once more,
Or more than once, and have you shoot in mine.
Will. I'd pass the whole long day in archery,
But not with safety at our house again.
This morn my father did close-question me --
The noises last night -- were they made by me?
Why, yea, I said, and nay. There was a stir
When Lady Lucy had a (coughs) visitor
And her lord discovered them. So I arose
To view the happenings, hence the stealthy noise
My father heard. Not so far from the truth!
Tush, lad, he said, poke not your twitching nose
Into adulteries -- you're too young for such!
Hugh, he's grown tetchy since his illness struck,
Suspicious too; we dare no more at home.
Welcome you are downstairs, but never up,
Welcome you are by daylight, not by dark --
Nocturnal visitors he equates with sin.
And sinned we have, in eyes of holy church,
Though not for me the sackcloth of remorse.
Hugh. Nor yet for me. Nor yet at Pidley Hall
Dare we to sin by morning, eve or dark.
But when we're done with our Italian,
I know the very place for daylight sin.
Will. A moment yet. This wheel must silenced be.
By now perchance I am no longer dry.
Back to the audience, he pisses on the axle.
'Twill screech no more, and still a drop remains
To water wilting flowers.
He bestows the rest on two flowers growing on the verge.
Hugh. And what are they?
Will. The yellow, fleabane, a right sovereign herb
Which, dried and powdered, banishes fleas and lice --
A remedy for lousy Lucy fit.
The purple, monk's hood, which dire poison yields.
It may with care be used when mixed with oil
As liniment against stiff aching joints.
But let it pass your lips, and you are dead.
Hugh. Then never let it pass your lips, or mine.
Will. Or even Lucy's, mock him as we will.
We all are mortal, and we all do sin.
They move on. The wheel squeaks no more. Exeunt, both singing Will's ballad.
ACT III SCENE 2
A room in Pidley Hall. Figino is seated at a small easel. He has a goatee beard and a fantastical hat and his yellow stockings are cross-gartered. Enter Will nervously, carrying a bag containing the venison, and Hugh guiding him by the shoulder.
Hugh. Signor Figino, here is my friend Will
For you to picture with a speedy draft.
Figino. Sir, I am honoured!
He makes an elaborate bow which Will closely imitates in return. Figino fusses round Will, inspecting him from various angles.
Ah! A face of youth!
A face of spirit and of features rare!
Yes, in profilo, looking to the left.
Pray sir, here seat yourself and gaze to front,
And from your shoulder slip your collar down.
He continues to fuss until Will is arranged to his satisfaction, when he sits at his easel and sketches rapidly with his charcoal. Will, however, is fascinated by his hat and his stockings, and keeps staring at them.
Nay, sir, look not at me, but face ahead.
(To Hugh) Your succour, sir, will expedite my task.
Hugh stands behind Will, and whenever he moves his head out of position twists it back again.
Ah! That is better!
Will shows further signs of impatience.
Sir, I bear two names,
Benvolio Figino, and the first
Signifies "goodwill". You being good, and Will,
Goodwill we share between us (titters). There! 'Tis done!
All I require now is liberty
To snip a sorrel curl from off your head
To give the hue exact.
He produces a pair of scissors and cuts off a curl.
I thank you, sirs.
Coloured it shall be by tomorrow night.
Will stands up and makes a Figino-style bow, which Figino returns.
Hugh, under his breath. Have you the meat? Then let us meet in sin.
Exeunt Will and Hugh, Will taking a lingering look at Figino's stockings.
ACT III SCENE 3
Inside a barn. A large pile of hay is heaving from some invisible cause. From its depths erupts a resounding fart. Hugh's head and naked shoulders emerge from the hay. He is gasping.
Hugh. The rankest goat were better than that blast!
Will bobs up beside him, grinning cheekily.
Will. 'Tis tit for tat. Into my bed you leapt
Reeking last night of Lady Lucy's piss.
Hugh pretends to clip his ear. Noise off, and they dive down. Enter the farmer, sniffing.
Farmer. What were that thunder? What this windy whiff?
He sees movement in the hay and nods sagely.
Ah, be our Perkin tumbling with his lass.
Exit. Will and Hugh surface, grinning at each other. Laughter off. They submerge again. Enter Perkin and his girl, hand in hand. Will and Hugh howl like banshees, at which Perkin and girl flee in panic. Laughter from within the hay, which heaves once more.
Hugh, from the hay. Why tarry, Will? It is your turn to work.
Will, panting. Tarry? I work with all the speed I may.
Can you not feel the pleasure I bestow?
A loud bleat from within the hay. Hugh and Will resurface in alarm, peer down, and pull up a sheep by its horns. It bleats again. Will looks from the sheep to Hugh in wild surmise.
Will. Shaggy-arsed both, and readily mistook.
Hugh drops the sheep and pounces on Will.
ACT III SCENE 4
Church Street again. Enter the two watchmen holding Will, who is struggling. With them, Sir Thomas Lucy. They stop at the stocks.
Lucy. Lock him in fast.
Officer. But by whose warrant, sir?
Lucy. By mine. Am I not justice? Lock him in!
The watchmen hesitate but, under Lucy's glare, obey.
Officer. For how long, sir?
Lucy. Until I give you word.
Exeunt, leaving Will sitting forlornly alone. Enter Hugh at a run, searching for Will.
Hugh. Will! What's afoot? What knave confined you here?
Will. Lucy, who else? For cause inscrutable
Other than that he does not like my face
And that I witnessed yesternight his shame.
Hugh, he knows nothing of the deer we took --
He made no such insinuation --
'Tis but my visage sets him in a rage.
Home I went, as you know, to give the meat
Unto my mother. Leaving, he pinioned me
And bade the watch confine me in the stocks
With no charge laid, and no consenting voice.
So bring, I pray, another justice hither
Who in a trice may unknot this tangled web.
Hugh. I go. Wait here.
Will, plaintively. Wait? What else may I do?
Exit Hugh to the Guild Hall. While he is gone, Will experiments with his hands and feet. Shortly enter Hugh, Sir Thomas Lucy, another justice, and the watch.
Hugh, ranting. Alderman Shakespeare's son, of tender years,
Uncharged, untried, confined without a cause,
Sits here, the victim of Sir Thomas' gall
And bent on claiming restitution.
Justice, to Lucy. And is this true? Why did you set him here?
Lucy gives no answer, but his face turns red.
Hugh, answering for him. One simple cause, as Martial did expound --
Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare;
Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.
The justice, pretending to understand, nods wisely.
Justice. Ah, those old Roman jurists ever had
A legal maxim fit for all events.
(To Lucy, aside) For yourself, sir, you have dug a pit profound
And, lest he sue for false imprisonment,
Methinks high recompense were not amiss.
(To Will) Would a sovereign satisfy your claim?
Will, with a show of reluctance. It would.
With the utmost ill grace Lucy hands the justice a sovereign and stumps off.
Justice, to the watch. Release him.
Will. Kind sir, thank you, but no need.
As the others gape, he frees himself. He is slender enough to pull his hands and feet through the holes. With a sweet smile he accepts the sovereign from the justice. Exeunt.
ACT III SCENE 5
The meadow by the Avon. Hugh and Will are lying on the grass.
Will. Tomorrow morn, my Hugh, the strolling players,
The men of my Lord Strange, do come to town.
First they attend the bailiff, whom they beg
For licence to perform and, if he grants,
In the Guild Hall they play their play before him
And all the worthies.
Hugh. And before us too?
Will. Why, yes. My father being alderman,
I may be there, and so, with me, may you.
And should the bailiff find no heresy
Or taint of treason, he allows them leave
For public show next day in a tavern yard.
But Hugh, do not you pin your hopes too high.
The fare they offer is but paltry stuff,
And surely you have better sustenance
At university.
Hugh. What, proper plays?
As Seneca or Roman comedies
Arranged and ordered into acts and scenes?
Why yes, we do, but most are full of wind --
As are your bowels -- or are gibberish.
Will. Few even of that kind are tasted here.
Horseplay the diet of these wandering troops --
Clowning and tumbling -- and the pleasureless
Sermons of obsolete moralities.
Hugh, I desire myself to write a play,
A proper play, on Plautus or Terence framed,
A play full not of wind or gibberish
But solid substance and high poetry.
Tragical, comic or historical,
I know not yet. Yea, all of those, one day,
But somewhere must I start and make attempt.
And when I'm older I'll to London go,
That teeming centre of experiment,
And write in earnest. London a theatre has,
No puny platform clapped up for the nonce
In the Guild Hall of some poor pelting town,
But a full theatre to the purpose built --
On such a stage shall I present my plays.
Hugh. Strength to your arm! But what pattern do you have
On which to model compositions?
Will. On mother wit! But I accept your drift --
I want examples. Wherefore I propose
To beard the leader of my Lord Strange's Men
And buy or borrow his unwanted stock
Of plays, to serve as touchstones for the gold
Which I transmute.
Hugh. Gold shall it surely be.
But till you hold that metal in your hand,
May I help you pay for books?
Will, hefting his purse. You do forget
The purse which flew to me from heaven above
And today's sovereign.
Hugh. I do not forget.
But I too have a purse at your command.
Will smiles in gratitude. Curtain.
ACT IV SCENE 1
Church Street. People are assembling, among them Will and Hugh. Distant music of cornett, pipe and drum, drawing closer. Enter the players, some playing instruments and some, in harlequin garb, jigging and turning cartwheels. Will approaches the leading musician who, seeing that he wishes to speak, silences the music.
Symons. Young master, may John Symons be of service?
Will. Pray tell me, sir, what you're about to play.
Symons, oleaginously. An interlude, The Seven Deadly Sins-
That most improving and right moral tale --
Enlivened with diverse activities --
A gallimaufry glut of gambolling!
Will.No play, then? No full play?
Symons. Alas, sir, no.
Good people here applaud not lengthy plays,
Nor pay to see them. We must needs supply
What they demand. No more full plays we'll do.
Will. Have you then play-books which I might acquire?
Symons, considering. I think I have four old and solid plays.
How much for all of them?
Will, chinking his purse. Two shillings.
Symons, slapping Will's hand. Done!
Meet here, young sir, when the performance ends,
And they shall be in your possession.
The players strike up and move off, followed by the rest of the crowd. The lights go off to indicate the passage of time. Sounds of applause. Re-enter Symons, bowing obsequiously to the worthies now leaving the Guild Hall. Re-enter Hugh and Will.
Will, grumbling. Oh Stratford burghers unsophisticate!
A fig, I say, for The Seven Deadly Sins!
May heaven protect us from its vanities --
"Forfend the fearful fiend that frights with fangs of flaming fire
And darting down the darksome dale dispenses danger dire" --
Oh Stratford, that you should endure such trash!
Symons beckons him, hands over four slim unbound quartos, and Will gives him some coins. Will rejoins Hugh.
Will. Alone now let us study these our spoils.
Exeunt.
ACT IV SCENE 2
The garden of the Shakespeare house. Flower beds behind. Hugh and Will lie on the grass, eating bread and cheese and drinking beer from a flagon. Will is reading a book and mumbles, his mouth full. Hugh removes the book from his hand, waits until he has swallowed, and gives it back.
Will. Ralph Roister Doister here, a comedy.
This in the prologue -- would the rest were better --
"Our comedy or interlude which we intend to play.
Is named Roister Doister indeed.
Which against the vainglorious doth inveigh,
Whose humour the roisting sort continually doth feed.
Thus by your patience we intend to proceed
In this our interlude by God's leave and grace,
And here I take my leave for a certain space."
No roistering there! Nothing but flatulence!
He swigs from the flagon.
Hugh. Agreed. Expel it.
Will belches. Hugh picks up another book.
Ah! but here is one
I know and love well, Gammer Gurton's Needle,
Writ by a Christ's man, William Stevenson,
And still performed there to our great delight -
"My Gammer sat her down on her cushion and bad me reach thy breeches,
And by and by -- a vengeance on it! -- or she take two stitches
To clap a patch upon thine arse, by chance aside she leers,
And Gib, our cat, in the milk pan she spied, over head and ears.
'Ah, whore! Out, thief!' she cried aloud, and slapped the breeches down;
Up went her staff and out leapt Gib at doors into the town."
Will, laughing. A play of little things, a play of promise.
There may be matter there for pondering.
Set it aside. I'll read it through.
He picks up a third book.
Oh heaven!
"A lamentable tragedy mixed full of pleasant mirth, containing the life of Cambyses King of Persia, from the beginning of his kingdom unto his death, his one good deed of execution, after that many wicked deeds and tyrannous murders committed by and through him, and last of all his odious death by God's justice appointed."
(Dubiously) Dare we adventure into this land?
Hugh. Try.
Will, reading. "My Council grave and sapient, with lords of legal train,
Attentive ears towards me bend, and mark what shall be sain;
So you likewise, my valiant knight, whose manly acts doth fly
By brute of Fame, that sounding trump doth pierce the azure sky.
(Groans) My sapient words, I say, perpend, and so your skill delate!
You know that Mors vanquished hath Cyrus, that king of state,
And I, by due inheritance, possess that princely crown,
Ruling by sword of mighty force in place of great renown."
-- Bombast and fustian! To be cast away!
Hugh picks up the last book.
Hugh. And here the tragedy of Gorboduc -
"My lords whose grave advice and faithful aid
Have long upheld my honour and my Realm
And brought me to this age from tender years,
Guiding so great estate with great renown.
(Gabbles ever faster) Now more importeth me the erst to use
Your faith and wisdom whereby yet I reign,
That when by death my life and rule shall cease,
The kingdom yet may with unbroken course . . ."
-- So on, and on, and on, with unbroken course.
Will. A tragedy, you say? Tragedy it were writ.
It hangs as heavy as when parsons preach,
In matter irksome and in phrases flat.
But the metre offers promise. All iambs --
Di dum di dum di dum di dum di dum.
Were that but looser, less reiterant
And ofter over-running line to line,
'Twould plod the less and skip more spirited.
This above all, it is not fettered down
By hampering chains of couplet and of rhyme.
Hugh. Blank verse they call it. It is somewhat new.
I read a version of the Aeneid
Done by my Lord of Surrey. Aeneas,
Warned by a god, if I remember well,
Determines thus his Dido to forsake --
"Aeneas, of this sudden vision
Adread, starts up out of his sleep in haste;
Calls up his feres: 'Awake, get up, my men,
Aboard your ships, and hoist up sail with speed;
A god me wills, sent from above again,
To haste my flight, and wreathen cables cut'."
Will. Hugh, there you have it! Blank verse, be it free
And tempered to the tone of him who speaks,
May suit the nature of all characters --
The speech of mighty monarchs, matters of state
And high resounding phrases on their lips --
Or of laconic soldiers, helmed and spurred,
Marshalling ranks, defiant of the foe --
Or of the seeker after truths profound,
Soliloquising his philosophies --
Or tragic lovers foiled of their intent
By unrespited grudge of destiny --
Or bumbling clowns and bibblers in their cups
Bawling obscenity across the ale --
Or humble folk like us, like me, who speak
Of ordinary deeds of small account,
Of homely things that happen every day.
Hugh. So, having found your metre, what your theme?
Will. A homely history first, of Hugh and Will
And all their doings since they first did meet
And love and be their little foolish selves;
A truthful tale without embroidery,
Without excision and without excuse.
Not to be acted on a public stage --
Oh no! -- two copies only, thine and mine,
Close to be cherished in our secret hoard
And never to be seen by other eye,
So that, when old and grey, we may look back
And may remember with advantages
How one time we did love. But when this task
Is over, I'll more weighty themes address
And open up a sampler of the world.
O god of theatre! May you with wit inspire
This dabbling scribbler, puppy playmonger,
To abjure dull sermons and cheap clownish tricks
And discover that which is, or which may be;
That all who see may see themselves alive,
A mirror of their own inconstancies;
That all who hear may hear themselves aloud,
An echo of their own desires and hopes,
Their fears and angers, malices, despairs,
And their own laughters. God but grant me this!
Hugh. And so he shall! But are there actors there
Skilful enough such qualities to portray?
Will. If not, then I must play them all myself.
Hugh laughs, then pauses for thought.
Hugh. Will . . . of your first play I must have my copy,
Hid, as you say, deep in my secret hoard,
Perused by me alone. And rightly so,
For our closest deeds, unexcised, unexcused,
If loosed abroad would all too ready prove
Tinder to spark. What hoards are truly safe?
At home, my parents are inquisitive,
And he with whom I share my Cambridge room
Is bloated up with righteous purity --
I dare not risk them setting eyes on it.
Will.What if the words were hidden and disguised?
Letter by letter pricked in a printed book
Itself beyond reproach -- a bible, say?
Harder by far to read than if writ plain,
But not so hard as cipher. Would that serve?
Hugh. Yea, 'twould be safe enough from prying eyes.
So be it . . . Meantime, Will, one question more --
What is to be the title of your play?
Will.I have not thought. What think you it should be?
Hugh thinks. Meanwhile Will idly investigates flowers in the bed behind. Hugh mutters occasional words and shakes his head.
Hugh. Suggestion fails me. Leave it. It will come.
Will plucks a red rose and sticks it in Hugh's doublet.
Will. Till then, a rose for passion. Not a bud --
We're well bepricked, and not too young to love.
Hugh, sniffing. It smells more sweet than you . . . when you break wind.
Roses I know, but to my shame as few
Flowers of garden can I call by name
As flowers of meadow. Therefore teach me more.
Will, impatiently. What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet . . .
(To himself) A happy phrasing, not to be forgot!
Hugh. But I would hear their names, so do you tell.
Forget-me-not, yes . . . lupin . . . hollyhock . . .
He points to a flower.
But how are these tall golden buttons known?
Will. As tansy. Bitter to eat. They purge the worms.
Hugh points to another flower.
Hugh. And this tight-clustered bloom of blushful hue?
Will, grinning. Of blushful Hugh?
Both laugh.
It is Sweet William.
Hugh. Why, there you have it, plain as plain may be!
The title of your play! Sweet William!
Will. Yea! Yet the matter is not Will alone
But also Hugh. Wherefore some further words
Should celebrate Hugh's bloom of lustihood.
Call it Sweet William and Blushful Hugh!
Hugh. No, no! You are the pith, the core, the heart,
And I would not in blushful mortal guise
Be made immortal. You it is should blush.
Sweet William let it be. It is enough,
As is sweet William himself enough . . .
And yet of him I ne'er can have enough.
He looks to see if anyone is watching, kisses Will, and adjusts himself.
Methinks the hay-barn beckons us to more.
Exeunt.
ACT IV SCENE 3
The parlour in the Shakespeare house, by night. Will is sitting at a table, writing by the light of two candles which are almost burnt down. On the table is a thick book. From time to time he looks into infinity for inspiration. After a while he lays down his quill and stretches.
Will. Enough for now! 'Tis well in hand. The tale,
More freely flowing than I dared to hope,
Advances well-nigh to the present time.
(Yawning) Tomorrow night I'll prick it in the bible.
He pats the book, and blows out the candles. Curtain.
ACT V SCENE 1
Church Street. People are passing by, including Will and Hugh. Hugh is ogling a pretty girl and Will slaps him on the wrist.
Will. Avert your eyes! It is with me you sin!
Enter two boys at a run, each carrying a dead rabbit, and hide among the bystanders. Enter Sir Thomas Lucy in hot pursuit.
Lucy, panting. Hold them!Despoilers of my private lands!
Robbers of warrens! Shameless plunderers!
(Pointing at Will) And hold him! Author of disturbances!
Nobody moves. Lucy lunges and grabs Will's breeches, which he yanks. The breeches tear in half. Will yelps and covers himself with his hands. Enter the two men of the watch. Lucy, appalled, pulls his hood over his head. The poacher boys melt away. Hugh points at Lucy.
Hugh. Constables, seize this man! He did pursue
Two boys, accusing them of stealing game,
The rights and wrongs of which I do not know.
But rather than apprehend them as he should,
He tore the breeches off my young friend here,
And wantonly exposed his privities
To public gaze, against all decency.
This lad is innocent of felony.
All day he's been with me, within my sight,
As I will vouch before the justices.
Officer, taking hold of Lucy. Come along, you. Answer to the justices.
(To Hugh and Will) And you, sirs, likewise come to testify.
They frogmarch Lucy off, still hooded. The bystanders applaud. Will and Hugh follow, Will covering his embarrassment with his cloak held like a skirt. He minces, and Hugh cuffs him.
ACT V SCENE 2
The same, half an hour later. Hugh is among the bystanders. Enter Will in haste.
Will, to Hugh. These my best breeches. Mother scolded me
For tearing the others, and was deep amazed
To learn that I would pay her for the loss.
He looks around.
Not here yet? Soon they'll come. Hugh, to the market,
And bring some rotten fruit.
Hugh runs off. Will addresses the audience.
Well, what a jest!
Lucy, behooded, stands before the court;
When asked his name he mumbles in his beard;
"Unhood him, watch!" they cry, and jaws drop down.
The watch recount his crime, and Hugh and I
Attest the truth. "How then, sir, do you plead?"
"Guilty, your honours." Item, he is condemned
To sit in stocks six hours, on market day!
Item, for that he did unveil my yard,
To pay to me a golden sovereign!
Item, to buy new breeches, shillings five --
The old were worn and thin, worth bare a groat!
Item, he is deprived of justiceship,
His wand of office broke before his eyes!
Music is heard. Hugh returns with two large baskets, which he sets down.
Hugh. The players come, to gambol at the tavern.
Will. Aha! With them we may improve the jest!
Enter the players. Will, holding up a coin, accosts John Symons.
Pray, Master Symons, may I your service beg
For a brief moment? Soon will come this way
A malefactor to the stocks condemned.
I would your good self and your company
Escort him, as if to the gallows bound,
With tragi-comic retinue before
And solemn drum-beat and funereal dirge,
And when he's pent, deride him cuckoldly
With frumpery and rustic capering.
Symons, taking the coin. A modest task. We can, and so we will.
Will, pointing off. But there they come, prisoner and guard alike.
The players leave. Re-enter first the musicians playing mournful music and then the clowns slow-marching, followed by the watch with a woebegone Lucy whom they lock in the stocks. The players switch to lively tunes and caper round him, bleating like goats. Exeunt players. The crowd pelts Lucy with fruit and vegetables. Hugh makes to join in, but Will, who has been watching with growing concern, puts a restraining hand on his arm. Lucy observes this.
Lucy, between his teeth. Throw, dandiprat, throw! Come, wreak your dear revenge!
Will shakes his head, and pulls Hugh to the front of the stage.
Hugh. Will, why so loath to vaunt your victory?
Will. My victory I've already crowed enough
And would not wish to counter spite with spite
Lest he return and counter it with more.
Victim is Lucy now. I pity him,
And do repent the players' mockery.
Lesson he's learned, if I compassion show
And now forbear to aggravate the smart.
He turns to Lucy and bows, hands spread, signifying an end to hostilities.
Hugh, shrugging. Well, such forbearance I can only praise.
This, though, the conclusion of his sorry tale.
Will, sighing. And near conclusion of our merry tale.
Next week I'll be a dusty attorney's drudge,
Tomorrow you shall be upon the road
To Cambridge, each out of the other's life.
Hugh. But not the other's thoughts. And still we have
An hour or two to spend of our today.
Will. An hour or two to frolic in the hay!
Exeunt.
ACT V SCENE 3
The parlour in the Shakespeare house. Will is sitting at the table pricking the play into the bible. A knock at the door, and enter Hugh dressed for riding. A certain constraint is apparent between them, Hugh unwilling to linger and Will to detain him, as if both know that a chapter has been closed. Hugh inspects what Will has been doing.
Hugh. The play's afoot! And how far have you reached?
Will, looking. The second chapter of Leviticus.
Hugh. No, doddipoll! How far into the play?
Will. It all is writ, except this final scene
Which can not be completed till you're gone.
But two acts only of the five are pricked.
Hugh. Therefore I can not take it with me now?
Will. No. Pricking is irksome toil. It will be
Another day or more or it is done.
But when the final jot is entered in,
Myself to Pidley I'll deliver it
That they may send it you by carrier.
Hesitates, as if searching for small-talk.
And what of you? How far go you today?
Hugh. Northampton, and tomorrow ride the rest.
Linger I must not. Servant and sumpter wait.
Will. Farewell then, Hugh, my blushful Hugh. Our love
Never shall vanish from my grateful heart.
Hugh. Nor yet from mine. So let me show you this.
From his satchel he takes a small round painting and hands it over.
Will. Figino's portrait! Is it a likeness fair?
Hugh. Justice it does not, for it fails to catch
The urchin face, the devil smile I know.
It grasps at fancy, not the real you.
But since I may not take the real you,
'Twill serve instead as a remembrancer.
It shall hang hallowed on my chamber wall
Where I shall daily worship at your shrine.
I'll read devotions from your holy book
And count the days till you, exalted high
In glorious majesty, shall come again.
He takes the painting back, stows it in his satchel, and pulls on his gloves.
Will, giggling. But meet we shall not ere next Christmas tide.
Long before then shall I have come again --
Perchance two hundred times shall I have come!
Hugh, laughing. And so shall I. Then shall we come together.
Farewell, sweet William. You alone are mine.
Without further words they hug and kiss. Will pushes Hugh out of the door and stands waving as the sound of hooves recedes. He shuts the door, sighs, and sits at the table to write the final scene. The lights go off. When they come on, it is night, with candles only. Will is now pricking out the rest of the play in the bible. The lights go off once more. When they come on it is daylight again. A lute is playing softly off-stage. Will reaches the end. He rubs his eyes and with a sigh he turns to the flyleaf on which he writes, reading out the words as he does so.
Will. H.S.
This holy book perused,
Each jot and tittle scanned,
The truth herein diffused
Plain shall you understand.
W.S.
August 1579
He puts down his quill and gazes into the distance.
"Farewell, sweet William. You alone are mine."
Yea, but for how long? Cambridge is under siege,
Invested round with cannon, engines, rams
Of dire temptation. Can he long withstand
Bombarding batteries of blandishments
From friends, from whores, from winsome choristers?
Nay, he will yield, and blame him I will not.
If well we've loved, that now is of the past,
An interlude in life's sad comedy
Before another act and scene unfold.
A Dido I, to pleasure Aeneas,
Encountered, deep enjoyed, and straight forsook.
And if Hugh sin elsewhere, why may not Will?
We both are young, and both deserve our fill.
He stands up, stretches, and sings to the accompaniment of the lute
Blossoms live a short sweet hour.
Love before you're twenty,
Passion still aplenty,
Pluck the darling springtime flower.
Youth is not for wasting,
Pleasures are for tasting
Ere the autumn turn them sour.
He opens the street door. A passing girl smiles invitingly at him.
(To himself) A beauteous lass, of mind and body fair!
A trusty lass, who will no bastard bear!
A willing lass, and eager for the fray!
(Shouts) Mistress, await me! Mistress Hathaway!
He runs out, leaving the door open. As the lute plays, a draught blows loose papers off the table and turns the pages of the bible over, one by one. Curtain.
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