Upstart Crow

"Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?"

Sorry, Dad. How old's this sad weirdo supposed to be?

The maid be 13, my sweet.

Yeah, cos I'm 13.

Exactly.

I thought it might be fun to hear my Juliet spoke in her true voice

before a middle-aged man with two half-coconuts down his bodice

gets hold of it.

I don't say stuff like this, Dad.

I'd sound like a complete turnip!

Yes, dear.

'Tis thy sweet and useful timbre I would feign here,

not the monosyllabic series of grunts that passes for your conversation.

Oh, what?!

I take the view that having my romantic ingénue say,

"Uhh, what, shut up, Romeo, you're so weird, uhh, shut up, I hate you,"

would be slightly less effective than mine own timeless poetry.

Timeless is the word,

as in "feels like goes on for bloody ever".

You've never given it a chance.

You've only seen Henry VI, Part 1.

Part 1? What, you mean there's more?!

I mean, don't take this the wrong way, son, but, God, I was bored!

I thought I was actually outside my own body watching meself die.

He sat there cracking his nuts in the quiet bits.

I tried to shush him, but he would not be shushed.

He's a stubborn man, your father, William. A stubborn, common man.

Which is why you married me. Posh birds love a bit of rough.

I married beneath me, and now you've done the same, William.

And what's that supposed to mean?

It means that he was 17

and he got a scheming little 26-year-old tithe farm milking-slap

up the duffington, that's what!

Oh, you think you're so posh, Mary Arden.

Like you ain't sewn into your winter knickers like everybody else.

I'm trying to work!

I've come from London to hear Sue read my Juliet.

Well, I'm not happy, doll.

Burbage pays you as an actor, not a writer.

It's fine. I've sent word to the theatre

that the two tunnels which lie beneath the bridge be blocked.

Pardon?

The two tunnels which lie beneath the bridge be blocked.

Two tunnels?

Beneath a bridge? Anyone?

Nose, my loves. Nose!

I've told Burbage that my nose be snotted and I would not work this week or next.

Why didn't you just say "nose"?

It's what I do!

Now, Susanna, again.

All right, if I have to.

"Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?"

Dad, nobody talks like this!

It's poetry.

Sometimes I regret teaching you to read.

I do think it could be a little less flowery, love.

I mean, why doesn't she just say, "Where are you, Romeo?"

Because, my love, it doesn't mean, "Where are you?"

It means, "Why are you Romeo?"

That's a bit weird.

Yeah. Romeo is just his name.

Well, exactly.

Juliet is saying, "Why are you a member of a family that I hate?"

People will definitely think you mean, "Romeo, where are you?"

That's what I thought it meant.

Yeah. I did, too.

It's bloody obvious.

I think, to be clear, you're going to have to have Juliet say,

"Romeo, Romeo! Why are you called Romeo?"

"A member of a family that I hate?"

That'd do it. Although if I was being really picky,

Romeo is just his Christian name, isn't it? And that's not the issue.

It's his surname that's the problem.

Well, yes. Actually, I was sort of hoping people wouldn't notice that.

I think they might. - Duh!

So you think she should say, "Montague, Montague! Wherefore art thou Montague?"

No. Cos that'd sound like she's lost her cat.

Look, it's... probably best if you leave this to me, my love.

I'm-I'm on a bit of a roll.

I'm particularly pleased with the comedy scene where a group of rival serving men

exchange a series of increasingly obscure insults.

Will, I've told you.

Don't do comedy.

It's not your strong point.

It is my strong point, Wife.

It's just requires lengthy explanation and copious footnotes.

If... If you do your research,

my stuff is actually really funny.

So excited to hear about Mr Shakespeare's teen romance.

Such a good idea for a story.

Yeah, it's all right, I suppose.

Better than his usual stuff.

Has he let slip any hints about the romance plot?

Er, this lad falls in love with this lass,

and she falls in love with him...

and they live happily ever after.

Nice and short, which makes a change from his Henrys.

- And an amazing part for a girl. - Kate,

you've got to drop that. Just cos your mum rents rooms to my master

don't mean he's going to put you in one of his plays.

It just seems so unfair that the theatre employs men to perform female roles

when I, a real woman, am ready and eager.

Ah, Kate, splendid!

Store these new pages in my bureau, would you? And, Bottom,

bring ale and pie.

A "good morrow" would be nice.

I'm famished!

The coach promised a refreshment cart, but, oh, not on this particular service,

you'll be stunned to hear

I hate it when they do that.

Plus, they were filling ruts 'twixt Stokenchurch and Chipping Norton

and had laid on replacement donkeys.

In fact, one donkey for six of us, plus bags.

Of course, the snortish brute guffed its last after but three furlongs

and they had to send for another from Birmingham.

We spent two nights in a hedge.

And did we see a single rut being filled?

Oh, no, I was forgetting! This is England.

One wouldst more likely see a toothless crone with a tooth

than an English rut-filler actually filling a rut!

Fortunately, I had my quill and ink and was able to make passing use of the time.

Oh, my God, Mr Shakespeare, it's brilliant.

Timeless. Deathless!

"The Most Tragical History Of Romeo And Julian."

Oh, yes...

That should be Juliet, obviously. Romeo And Julian was but a working title.

Early exploratory stuff. It meanteth nothing.

Yeah, right

What? - Well, come on, master.

We live in same house.

I've heard you reading out your sonnets.

Especially 1 to 126.

Those poems are about a platonic hierarchical relationship.

God's naughty etchings!

Why does everybody presume

that just because I write 126 love poems to an attractive boy, I must be...

I must be some kind of bechambered hugger-tugger.

Juliet is an utterly amazing part.

Yes, I really think I've got her voice.

You have, you have. She's perfect.

The real challenge will be to find an actor to do her justice.

Master Condell was quite brilliant as Queen Margaret in my Henrys.

But I fear he'd be too old to play the ingénue.

On the other hand, I don't want a boy.

These downy-scrotumed squeakers lack depth.

Ahem.

Pardon, Kate?

Leaping amphibian caught in the ruby pipe

which starts with a swallow but knows naught of birds.

Pardon?

I think he means, have you got a frog in your throat?

But you can never be sure with him.

I'll get it.

As if anyone else was ever going to!

Yes, Bottom. Or, alternatively, I could get it and you could write a play

and use the money you earn to pay me.

Except, hang on, no, that wouldn't work, because you can't read or write.

So perhaps our current distribution of labour is the sensible and equitable one.

That's just mean, that is.

Ahem.

What?

I was hinting that the answer to your Juliet dilemma could be...

Oh, Kate, don't go there.

Lady-acting is illegal.

Besides which, girls can't act.

Just as they cannot practise law, cure the sick,

handle financial matters or stand for any office.

But no woman has ever been allowed to try any of those things.

Because they can't do them!

God's bodikins, Kate, what's not to get?

Now, please, forget this nonsense and let me focus.

It's not Juliet I'm worried about, it's Romeo.

I can't seem to get a handle on him.

His character eludes me.

Master Robert Greene is without.

Rob Greene... who doth hate my gutlings?

What does he want?

Ahh... Master Shaky Poet!

A word, if you please.

Shakespeare, Master Greene. My name is Shakespeare.

I know your name, sirrah.

I was addressing you by trade.

Shaky Poet.

Just as I would address a house-builder as Master Builder

or a ship's carpenter as Master Carpenter.

What would you call a bear-baiter, Mr Greene?

Master Baiter.

- See what I did there? - Brilliant. Loved it.

I am come on a mission of great delicacy.

My nephew, Florian Greene, has fallen for a most unsuitable girl -

the Lady Rosaline, daughter of a mere country knight.

There can of course be no question of such a lowly match,

so the boy must be kept from her.

And what part of this unedifying tale of upper-class entitlement

is of interest to me?

Florian travels to Cambridge next week to take his place at the university.

You must keep him here till then.

You see, this lowly boarding house is far from court.

And Miss Rosaline will never find him here.

I am a busy writer, sirrah. Why should I do this?