Voila! Finally, the Shakespeare In Love
script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Gwyneth Paltrow and
Joseph Fiennes movie. This script is a transcript that was painstakingly
transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Shakespeare In Love. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally
tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to
drop me a line. You won't
hurt my feelings. Honest.
Henslowe, do you know what happens
to a man who doesn't pay his debts ?
His boots catch fire !
Why do you howl...
when it is l who am bitten ?
- What am l, Mr. Lambert ?
- Bitten, Mr. Fennyman.
How badly bitten, Mr. Frees ?
Twelve pounds,
one schilling and fourpence,
Mr. Fennyman, including interest.
- Aaah ! l can pay you !
- When ?
Two weeks ! Three weeks at the most !
Oh, for pity's sake !
Take them out.
Where will you find...
Sixteen pounds,
five schillings and ninepence.
lncluding interest,
in three weeks ?
- l have a wonderful new play.
- Put them back in.
- lt's a comedy !
- Cut off his nose.
lt's a new comedy
by William Shakespeare.
- And his ears.
- And a share !
We will be partners,
Mr. Fennyman !
Partners ?
lt's a crowd-tickler.
Mistaken identities.
Shipwreck. Pirate king.
- A bit with a dog, and love triumphant.
- l think l've seen it.
l didn't like it.
- But this time it is by Shakespeare.
- What's it called ?
Romeo and Ethel,
the Pirate's Daughter.
Good title.
A play takes time.
Find the actors, rehearsals.
Let's say we open
in two weeks.
That's, what, groundlings
at tuppence a head.
ln addition, backsides at
threepence, a penny extra for cushions.
Call it, uh, cushions.
Say two performances for safety.
How much is that, Mr. Frees ?
- Twenty pounds
to the penny, Mr. Fennyman.
- Correct.
- But l have to pay
the actors and the author.
- Share of the profits.
- There's never any--
- Of course not.
Oh-- Oh, Mr. Fennyman, l think you
might have hit upon something.
Sign there.
So, Romeo and Ethel,
the Pirate's Daughter.
Almost finished ?
Oh, without doubt he's completing it
at this very moment.
Will. Will !
Where is my play ?
Tell me you have it nearly done.
Tell me you have it started.
Doubt that the stars are fire,
doubt that the sun doth move.
No, no, we haven't the time.
Talk prose.
Where is my play ?
- lt is all locked safe in here.
- God be praised.
Locked ?
- As soon as l find my muse.
- Who is she this time ?
She is always Aphrodite.
Aphrodite Baggot, who does it
behind the Dog and Trumpet ?
Henslowe, you have no soul,
so how can you understand
the emptiness that seeks a soul mate ?
Ow ! Will !
l am a dead man,
and buggered to boot.
My theater is closed by the plague
these twelve weeks.
My actors are forced to tour
the inn yards of England...
while Mr. Burbage and the Chamberlain's
Men are invited to court...
and receive ten pounds
to play your piece,
written for my theater,
by my writer, at my risk...
when you were green
and grateful.
- What piece ? Richard Crookback ?
- No ! lt's comedy they want.
Like Romeo and Ethel.
- Who wrote that ?
- Nobody. You were writing it for me.
- l gave you three pound a month since.
- Half what you owe me.
l'm still due for
One Gentleman of Verona.
What is money to you and me ?
l, your patron, you, my wordwright.
When the plague lifts,
Burbage will have a new play
by Christopher Marlowe for the Curtain.
- l will have nothing for the Rose.
- Mr. Henslowe.
- Will you lend me pounds ?
- Fifty pounds ?
- What for ?
- Burbage offers me a partnership
in the Chamberlain's Men.
For pounds, my days
as a hired player are over.
Oh, cut out my heart.
Throw my liver to the dogs.
No, then ?
Theaters are handmaidens of the devil !
The players breed lewdness in your wives
and wickedness in your children !
And the Rose smells
thusly rank by any name !
l say, a plague
on both their houses !
Where are you going ?
My weekly confession.
Words, words, words.
Once, l had the gift.
l could make love out of words
as a potter makes cups of clay.
Love that overthrows empires.
Love that binds two hearts together,
come hellfire and brimstone.
For sixpence a line,
l could cause a riot in a nunnery.
-But now--
-And yet you tell me you lie with women.
Black Sue,
Fat Phoebe,
Rosaline, Burbage's seamstress,
Aphrodite, who does it behind--
Yes, now and again.
What of it ?
l have lost my gift.
l am here to help you.
Tell me,
in your own words.
l-lt's as if
my quill is broken,
as if the organ
of my imagination has dried up,
as if the proud tower
of my genius has collapsed.
- lnteresting.
- Nothing comes.
Most interesting.
lt's like trying to pick a lock
with a wet herring.
Tell me, are you lately humbled
in the act of love ?
How long has it been ?
A goodly length in times past,
but lately--
No, no.
You have a wife, children ?
Aye.
l was a lad of .
Anne Hathaway was a woman
half as old again.
- A woman of property ?
- She had a cottage.
- One day she was three months
gone with child, so--
- And your relations ?
- On my mother's side, the Ardens.
- No, your marriage bed.
Four years and a hundred miles away
in Stratford.
A cold bed, too,
since the twins were born.
Banishment was a blessing.
- So, now you are free to love--
- Yet cannot love, nor write it.
Here is a-- a bangle...
found in Psyche's temple
on Olympus.
Cheap at fourpence.
Write your name on a paper
and feed it into the snake.
Will it restore my gift ?
The woman who wears the snake will
dream of you, and your gift will return.
Words will flow like a river.
See you next week.
- Now where ?
- To the palace at Whitehall.
All right.
Hello, Will.
Prithee, Mr. Kempe. Break a leg.
- You too, good Crab.
- Crab's nervous.
He's never played the palace.
When will you write me
a tragedy, Will ?
- l could do it.
- No, they would laugh at Seneca
if you played it.
There is no dog in the first scene,
Mr. Kempe, thank you.
- How goes it, Will ?
- l'm still owed money
for this play, Burbage.
Not by me.
l only stole it.
My sleeve wants for a button,
Mistress Rosaline.
Where were
my seamstress' eyes ?
- When are you coming over
to the Chamberlain's Men ?
- When l have pounds.
- You writing ?
- A comedy. All but done.
A pirate comedy.
- Wonderful.
- Bring it tomorrow.
- lt's for Henslowe.
He paid me. Ten pounds.
- You're a liar.
- He wants Romeo for Ned
and the Admiral's Men.
- Mmm. Ned's wrong for it.
Will ?
- Here's two sovereigns. l'll give you
another two when l see the pages.
- Done.
Burbage, l will see you
hanged for a pickpocket.
The queen has commanded it.
She loves a comedy.
And the Master of the Revels
favors us.
And what favor does Mr. Tilney
receive from you ?
- Ask him.
- She comes !
Cease to persuade,
my loving Proteus.
Home-keeping youth
have ever homely wits,
were it not affection
chains thy tender days...
When will you write me
a sonnet, Will ?
- l've lost my gift.
- You left it in my bed.
Come to look for it again.
Are you to be my muse,
Rosaline ?
Burbage has my keeping,
but you have my heart.
You see ?
The consumptives plot against me.
Will Shakespeare has a play.
Let's go and cough through it.
My father weeping; my mother wailing;
our maid howling;
our cat wringing her hands.
Yet did not this coldhearted cur...
shed one tear--
You see ? Comedy.
Love, and a bit with a dog.
That's what they want.
He is a stone, a very pebble stone,
and has no more pity in him
than a dog !
A Jew would have wept
to have seen our parting.
Now the dog all this while
sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word--
Well played, Master Crab !
l commend you !
What light is light...
if Silvia be not seen ?
What joy is joy...
if Silvia be not by ?
Unless it be to think
that she is by...
and feed upon the shadow
of perfection.
Except l be by Silvia
in the night,
there is no music
in the nightingale.
Unless l look on Silvia
in the day,
there is no day for me
to look upon.
Did you like Proteus or Valentine best ?
Proteus for speaking.
Valentine for looks.
Oh, l liked the dog
for laughs.
Silvia, l did not care for much.
His fingers were red
from fighting...
and he spoke like
a schoolboy at lessons.
Stage love will never be true love...
while the law of the land
has our heroines being played
by pipsqueak boys in petticoats.
- Oh, when can we see another ?
- When the queen commands it.
No, but at the playhouse.
Nurse !
Be still.
Playhouses are not for wellborn ladies.
Oh ! l'm not so wellborn.
Well-monied is the same
as wellborn,
and well-married
is more so.
Lord Wessex
was looking at you tonight.
All the men at court
are without poetry.
lf they see me, they see
my father's fortune.
l will have poetry
in my life,
and adventure.
And love.
Love above all.
Like Valentine
and Silvia ?
No, not the artful postures
of love,
but love that overthrows life.
Unbiddable, ungovernable,
like a riot in the heart,
and nothing to be done,
come ruin or rapture.
Love as there has never been
in a play.
l will have love,
or l will end my days as--
As a nurse ?
Oh, but l would be
Valentine and Silvia too.
Oh, good nurse,
God save you, and good night.
l would stay asleep
my whole life...
if l could dream myself
into a company of players.
Clean your teeth
while you dream, then.
Now spit.
This time the boots
are coming off.
- What have l done ?
- The theaters have all been
closed down by the plague.
- Oh, that.
- By order of the Master of the Revels.
Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain
about the theater business.
The natural condition is one
of insurmountable obstacles on
the road to imminent disaster.
- So what do we do ?
- Nothing.
- Strangely enough,
it all turns out well.
- How ?
l don't know.
lt's a mystery.
Shall l kill him, Mr. Fennyman ?
The theaters are reopened...
by order of
the Master of the Revels !
The theaters are reopened !
Mr. Fennyman.
Mr. Tilney has reopened
the playhouses.
lf you wouldn't mind.
Where's the play ?
Oh, it's coming.
lt's coming.
lt's coming.
Will !
Will, l have wonderful news.
So have l.
Romeo and Rosaline, scene one.
God, l'm good !
Rosaline ?
You mean Ethel.
Richard ?
Burbage !
Mr. Tilney.
Like you,
l found him not at home.
l would've made you immortal.
Tell Burbage he has lost
a new play by Will Shakespeare.
What does Burbage care of that ?
He's readying the Curtain
for Kit Marlowe.
- You've opened the playhouses ?
- l have, Master Shakespeare.
- But the plague--
- Yes, l know.
But he was always
hanging around the house.
The special today is a pig's
foot marinated in juniper berry vinegar,
- served on a buckwheat pancake--
- Will !
Have you finished ?
Yes, nearly.
- Good morning, Master Nol.
You will have a nice part.
- Yes !
- We'll need Ralph for the pirate king.
- Clear that bloody table !
None other than the Admiral's Men
are out on tour.
l need actors !
Those of you who are unknown
will have a chance to be known !
- What about the money, Mr. Henslowe ?
- lt won't cost you a penny !
Auditions in half an hour !
Ralph Bagswell,
l'd have a part for you,
but, alas, l hear you are
a drunkard's drunkard.
Never when l'm working.
Never when l'm working !
Get me to drink mandragora.
Straight up, Will ?
Give my friend a beaker
of your best brandy.
Kit.
- How goes it, Will ?
- Wonderful. Wonderful.
- Burbage says you have a play.
- l have, and the chinks to show for it.
l insist.
A beaker for Mr. Marlowe.
l hear you have a new play
for the Curtain.
Not new.
My Doctor Faustus.
Ah.
l love your early work.
''Was this the face that
launched a thousand ships...
and burnt the topless towers
of llium ?''
l have a new one
nearly finished, and better.
The Massacre at Paris.
- Whew. Good title.
- Mmm. Yours ?
Romeo and Ethel,
the Pirate's Daughter.
Yes, l know. l know.
What is the story ?
Well, there's this pirate--
ln truth, l have not written a word.
Romeo.
Romeo is ltalian,
always in and out of love.
Yes, that's good.
Until he meets--
- Ethel.
- Do you think ?
- The daughter of his enemy.
- The daughter of his enemy.
His best friend
is killed in a duel...
by Ethel's brother, or something--
His name is Mercutio.
Mercutio.
Good name.
- Will ! They're waiting for you !
- Yes, l'm coming.
Good luck with yours, Kit.
- l thought your play was for Burbage.
- This is a different one.
A different one
you haven't written ?
Was this the face...
that launched a thousand ships...
and burnt the topless
towers of llium ?
Thank you.
Was this the face that
launched a thousand ships...
- and burnt the top--
topless towers of llium ?
- Thank you !
Was this the face...
that launched a thousand ships
and burnt the topless--
l would like to give you something
from Faustus by Christopher Marlowe.
- How refreshing.
- ...the topless towers of llium ?
Sweet Helen,
make me immortal with a kiss.
W-Was this the f--
Very good, Mr. Wabash.
Report to the property master.
My tailor wants to be an actor.
l have a few debts
here and there.
Well, that seems
to be everybody.
- Did you see a Romeo ?
- l did not.
Well, l to my work,
you to yours.
Oh, God.
May l begin, sir ?
- Your name ?
- Thomas Kent.
l-l would like to do a speech
by a writer who commands
the heart of every player.
What light is light...
if Silvia be not seen ?
What joy is joy
if Silvia be not by ?
Unless it be to think
that she is by...
and feed upon the shadow
of perfection.
Except l be by Silvia
in the night,
there is no music
in the nightingale.
Unless l look on Silvia
in the day,
there is no day
for me to look upon.
She is my essence,
and l leave to be if l be not--
- Take off your hat !
- My hat ?
Where'd you learn
how to do that ?
- l--
- Let me see you. Take off your hat.
- Are you M-Master Shakespeare ?
- Wait there.
Wait there !
- Will, w-where are the pages ?
- Where is the boy ?
B-B-B-Break a leg !
Sir, will you buy
my sweet orange ?
Hey !
Everybody ready ? All away !
- Follow that boat !
- Right you are, governor.
l know your face.
Are you an actor ?
- Yes.
- Yes, l think l've
seen you in something.
- That one about a king.
- Really ?
l had that Christopher Marlowe
in my boat once.
- Do you know that house ?
- Sir Robert De Lesseps.
Where is she ? Our guests are upon us !
Lord Wessex, too,
bargaining for a bride.
My husband will have it
settled tonight.
Stamped, sealed
and celebrated.
Tomorrow he drags me off
to the country,
and it will be three weeks gone
before we return from our estates.
God save you, Mother.
Hot water, Nurse.
l seek Master Thomas Kent.
- Who, sir ?
- The actor.
- Who asks for him ?
- Will Shakespeare.
Poet, playwright of the Rose.
Master Kent...
is my nephew.
l will wait.
Much good may it do you.
''Romeo Montague,
a Young Man of Verona.''
Verona again ?
''A comedy
of quarreling families...
reconciled in
the discovery of Romeo...
to be the very same
Capulet cousin...
stolen from the cradle and fostered
to manhood by his Montague mother...
that was robbed of her own child
by the pirate king.''
Your mother and your father--
From tomorrow,
away in the country for three weeks !
ls Master Shakespeare not handsome ?
- He looks well enough for a charlatan.
- Oh, Nurse !
He would give Thomas Kent...
the life of
Viola De Lesseps' dreaming.
My lady, when your parents return,
l will tell.
You will not tell.
As l love you and you love me,
you will bind my breast
and buy me a boy's wig.
Master Plum.
What business here ?
The five schilling business, Will.
We play for the dancing.
Hyah ! Hyah, hyah !
l seek Master Thomas Kent.
Musicians don't eat.
Sir Robert's orders.
She's a beauty, my lord,
as would take a king to church
for the dowry of a nutmeg.
My plantations in Virginia
are not mortgaged for a nutmeg.
l have an ancient name
which will bring you preferment...
when your grandson is a Wessex.
- ls she fertile ?
- Oh, she will breed.
- lf she do not, send her back.
- ls she obedient ?
As any mule in Christendom.
But if you are the man to ride her,
there are rubies in the saddlebag.
l like her.
By all the stars in heaven.
Who is she ?
Viola De Lesseps ? Dream on, Will.
Master Shakespeare.
My lady Viola.
My lord.
l have spoken with your father.
So, my lord ?
l speak with him every day.
Good sir.
l heard you were a poet.
A poet of no words ?
Poet ?
l was a poet till now, but l've seen
beauty that puts my poems...
at one with the talking ravens
in the Tower.
- How do l offend, my lord ?
- By coveting my property.
l cannot shed blood in her house,
but l will cut your throat anon.
Do you have a name ?
Christopher Marlowe,
at your service.
Romeo. Romeo.
A Young Man of Verona.
A comedy by William Shakespeare.
- My lady !
- Who is there ?
- Will Shakespeare.
- Madam !
Anon, good nurse, anon.
- Oh, Master Shakespeare.
- The same, alas.
But why ''alas'' ?
- A lowly player.
- Alas, indeed.
For l thought you
the highest poet of my esteem...
and a writer of plays
that capture my heart.
- Oh, l am him too.
- Madam !
Anon !
l will come again.
Oh, l am fortune's fool.
l will be punished for this.
Oh, my lady, my love !
lf they find you here,
they will kill you.
- You can bring them with a word.
- Oh, not for the world.
- Madam !
- Anon !
Draw, if you be men !
Gregory, remember thy swashing blow !
Part, fools ! Put up your swords.
You know not what you do.
lt starts well, then it's all long-faced
about some Rosaline.
Where's the comedy, Will ?
Where's the dog ?
Do you think it's funny ?
l was a pirate king, now l'm a nurse.
That's funny.
We are six men short, and those we
have will be overparted ranters...
and stutterers who should be
sent back to the stews.
My Romeo's let me down.
l see disaster.
We are four acts short,
if you're looking for disaster.
- Sir !
- Who are you, master ?
l'm Ethel, sir,
the pirate's daughter.
l'll be damned if you are !
Your attention, please !
- Gentlemen, thank you !
- You are welcome.
- Who's that ?
- Nobody. He's the author.
We are about to embark
on a great voyage.
lt is customary to make a little speech
on the first day.
lt does no harm.
Authors like it.
You want to know what parts you are
to receive. All will be settled as we--
l'll do it.
Now listen to me, you dregs.
Actors are ten a penny,
and l, Hugh Fennyman,
hold your nuts in my hand.
Huzzah !
The Admiral's Men
are returned to the house !
Huzzah !
Henslowe !
Earl ! Good to see you.
Who is this ?
Silence, you dog !
l am Hieronimo.
l am Tamburlaine.
l am Faustus.
l am Barabbas,
the Jew of Malta.
Oh, yes, Master Will.
l am Henry the Sixth.
What is the play,
and what is my part ?
- Uh, one moment, sir--
- Who are you ?
l'm, um--
l'm the money.
Then you may remain,
so long as you remain silent.
Pay attention. You will see
how genius creates a legend.
- Thank you, sir.
- We are in desperate want
of a Mercutio, Ned.
A young nobleman of Verona.
- And the title of this piece ?
- Mercutio.
ls it ?
l will play him.
Mr. Pope. Mr. Philips.
Welcome.
George Bryan.
James Armitage.
Sam, my pretty one !
- Are you ready to fall in love again ?
- l am, Master Shakespeare.
Your voice.
Have they dropped ?
No ! No.
A touch of cold only.
Master Henslowe, you have your actors...
except Thomas Kent.
l, uh, l saw his Tamburlaine,
you know.
- lt was wonderful.
- Yes, l saw it.
Of course,
such mighty writing.
There's no one like Marlowe.
Better fortune, boy.
l was in a play.
They cut my head off
in Titus Andronicus.
When l write plays,
they'll be like Titus.
You admire it.
l liked it
when they cut heads off,
and the daughter
mutilated with knives.
- What's your name ?
- John Webster.
Here, kitty, kitty.
Plenty of blood.
That's the only writing.
l have to get back.
See, where he comes.
So please you step aside.
l'll know his grievance,
or be much denied.
l would thou wert so happy by thy stay
to hear true shrift. Come, madam.
- Cut around him for now.
- What ? Who ?
- Romeo.
- The one who came with your letter.
- What ?
- Good morrow, cousin.
ls the day so young ?
- But new struck nine.
- Ay me. Sad hours seem long.
What sadness
lengthens Romeo's hours ?
Not having that which having
makes them short.
- Good.
- ln love ?
- Out.
- Of love ?
- Out of her favor where l am in love.
- Don't spend it all at once.
Yes, sir.
- Do you understand me ?
- No, sir.
You're speaking about
a baggage we never even meet.
What will be left in his purse
when he meets his Juliet ?
- Juliet ? You mean Ethel.
- God's teeth !
Am l to suffer this constant stream
of interruption ?
What will he do in Act Two,
when he meets the love of his life ?
l-l'm very sorry, sir.
l have not seen Act Two.
Of course you have not.
l have not written it.
Go once more.
Will.
Where is Mercutio ?
Locked safe in here. l'll leave
the scene in your safekeeping, Ned.
l have a sonnet to write.
Sonnet ?
You mean a play !
For Lady Viola De Lesseps,
by the hand of Thomas Kent.
''Shall l compare thee
to a summer's day ?
Thou art more lovely
and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake
the darling buds of May--''
Two hours at prayer !
Lady Viola is pious, my lord.
Piety is for Sunday !
And two hours of prayer is not piety,
it is self-importance.
lt would be better
that you return tomorrow, my lord.
lt would be better if you'd
tell her to get off her knees
and show some civility...
to her six-day
lord and master !
Mmmph !
My lady Viola.
Lord Wessex.
You've been waiting.
l am aware of it.
But it is
beauty's privilege.
You flatter, my lord.
No. l have spoken
to the queen.
Her Majesty's consent is requisite
when a Wessex takes a wife,
and once given,
her consent is her command.
Do you intend to marry,
my lord ?
Your father should keep you
better informed.
He has bought me for you.
He returns from his estates to see us
married two weeks from Saturday.
You are allowed
to show your pleasure.
But l do not love you,
my lord.
How your mind hops about.
Your father
was a shopkeeper.
Your children will bear arms,
and l will recover my fortune.
That is the only matter
under discussion today.
You will like Virginia.
- Virginia ?
- Oh, yes.
My fortune lies in my plantations.
The tobacco weed.
l need pounds to fit out a ship
and put my investments to work.
l fancy tobacco
has a future.
We will not stay there long.
Three or four years.
But why me ?
lt was your eyes.
No, your lips.
Will you defy your father
and your queen ?
The queen has consented ?
She wants to inspect you.
At Greenwich, come Sunday.
Be submissive,
modest, grateful...
and brief.
l will do my duty, my lord.
''Master Will, poet dearest to my heart,
l beseech you
banish me from yours.
l am to marry Lord Wessex.
A daughter's duty...
and the queen's command.''
Gentlemen upstage
Ladies downstage
Gentlemen upstage
Ladies downstage
Are you a lady Mr. Kent
l'm very sorry, sir.
We're gonna have to do it again.
You did not like the speech ?
No, the speech is excellent.
''Oh, then l see Queen Mab
hath been with you.''
Excellent,
and a good length.
But then he disappears
for the length of a bible.
There.
You have this duel.
A skirmish of words and swords
such as l never wrote, nor anyone.
He dies with such passion
and poetry as you ever heard.
''A plague
on both your houses !''
He dies ?
- Ohh !
- Will !
Where are my pages ?
Did you give her my letter ?
And this is for you !
Oh, Thomas,
she has cut my strings.
l'm unmanned,
unmended and unmade,
like a puppet in a box.
- Writer, is he ?
- Row your boat !
She tells me to keep away.
She is to marry Lord Wessex !
What should l do ?
lf you love her,
you must do as she asks.
- And break her heart and mine ?
- lt is only yours you can know.
She loves me, Thomas !
- Does she say so ?
- No.
And yet she does where
the ink has run with tears.
- Was she weeping
when she gave you this ?
- Uh--
- Her letter came to me by the nurse.
- Your aunt.
Yes, my aunt.
But perhaps
she wept a little.
Tell me how
you love her, Will.
Like a sickness
and its cure together.
Oh, yes.
Like rain and sun.
Like cold and heat.
ls your lady beautiful ?
Since l came here from the country,
l have not seen her close.
Tell me, is--
is she beautiful ?
Thomas, if l could write
with the beauty of her eyes,
l was born to look in them
and know myself.
A-A-And her lips ?
Her lips ?
The early morning rose would whither
on the branch if it could feel envy.
And her voice,
like lark's song ?
Deeper, softer.
None of your twittering larks.
l would banish nightingales from her
garden before they interrupt her song.
- Ah, she sings too ?
- Constantly.
Without doubt. And plays the lute.
She has a natural ear.
And her bosom.
Did l mention her bosom ?
What of her bosom ?
Oh, Thomas,
a pair of pippins...
as round and rare
as golden apples.
l think milady is wise
to keep your love at a distance.
For what lady could live up
to it close to...
when her eyes and lips and voice
may be no more beautiful than mine.
Besides, can a--
can a lady of wealth
and noble marriage...
love happily with
a bankside poet and player ?
Yes, by God !
Love knows nothing
of rank or riverbank.
lt will spark between a queen and
the poor vagabond who plays the king.
Their love
should be minded by each,
for love denied blights
the soul we owe to God.
So tell my lady William Shakespeare
waits for her in the garden.
But what of Lord Wessex ?
For one kiss l would defy
a thousand Wessexes.
Oh, Will.
Thank you, my lady.
Lady ?
Viola De Lesseps.
Known her since she was this high.
Wouldn't deceive a child.
Strangely enough,
l'm a bit of a writer meself.
lt wouldn't take you long
to read it.
l expect you'd know
all the booksellers !
Can you love a fool ?
Can you love a player ?
Wait !
You're still a maid,
and perhaps as mistook in me
as l was mistook in Thomas Kent.
Are you the author of the plays
of William Shakespeare ?
l am.
Then kiss me again,
for l am not mistook.
l do not know
how to undress a man.
lt is strange to me too.
Go to. Go to.
l would not
have thought it.
There is something
better than a play.
There is.
Even your play.
Oh ?
And that was only
my first try.
Will.
You would not leave me.
l must.
Look how pale the window.
Moonlight.
Mmm, no.
The morning rooster woke me.
lt was the owl.
Come to bed.
Oh, let Henslowe wait.
Mr. Henslowe ?
Mmm, let him be damned
for his pages.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
There is time. Mmm !
lt is still dark.
- lt's broad day.
The rooster tells us so.
- lt was the owl.
Believe me, love, it was the owl--
You would leave us players
without a scene to read today ?
My lady ?
The house is stirring.
lt is a new day.
lt is a new world.
Good pilgrim,
you do wrong your hand too much,
which mannerly devotion
shows in this.
For saints have hands
that pilgrims' hands do touch,
and palm to palm
is holy palmers' kiss.
Have not saints lips,
and holy palmers too ?
Aye, pilgrim.
Lips that they must use
in prayer.
Oh, then, dear saint,
let lips do what hands do.
They pray.
Grant thou, lest faith
turn to despair.
Saints do not move,
though grant for prayers' sake.
lt's you.
Suffering cats !
Then move not...
while my prayer's effect
l take.
Thus from my lips,
by thine my sin is purged.
Then have my lips
the sin that they have took.
Sin from my lips ? Oh, trespass
sweetly urged. Give me my sin again.
Yes, yes !
Um, not quite right.
lt is more--
Let me.
Then have my lips
the sin that they have took.
Sin from my lips ? Oh, trespass
sweetly urged. Give me my sin again.
- You kiss by the book.
- Well, Will !
lt was lucky you were here.
- Why do not l write
the rest of your play--
- Yes, yes !
Uh, continue. Now the nurse.
Where is Ralph ?
Madam, your mother
craves a word with you.
- What is her mother ?
- Marry, bachelor,
her mother is the lady of the house,
and a good lady...
and a wise and virtuous.
l nursed her daughter
that you talked withal.
l tell you, he that
can lay hold of her...
shall have the chinks.
- ls she a Capulet ?
- Mmm.
Oh, dear account !
My life is my foe's debt.
Away. Be gone.
The sport is at the best.
Aye, so l fear.
The more is my unrest.
Come hither, nurse.
What is yon gentleman ?
The son and heir
of old Tiberio.
Let it be night.
- What's he that follows here
that would not dance ?
- l know not.
Go ask his name.
lf he be married,
my grave is like to be my wedding bed.
No, do not go.
l must. l must.
- The only son of your great enemy.
- Terrible.
Simply... terrible !
''But soft, what light
through yonder window breaks ?
lt is the east,
and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun,
and kill the envious moon...
who is already sick
and pale with grief...
that thou, her maid,
art far more fair than she.''
- Oh, Will.
- Yes, some of it's speakable.
''lt is my lady.
Oh, it is my love !
Oh, that she knew she were !
The brightness of her cheek
would shame those stars...
as daylight doth a lamp.''
Her eyes in heaven would
through the airy region...
stream so bright...
that birds would sing
and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek
upon her hand.
Oh, that l were a glove
upon that hand,
that l might touch
that cheek.
- Ay, me.
- ''Oh, Romeo.
Romeo.
Wherefore art thou, Romeo ?
- Deny thy father and--''
- Deny thy father and refuse thy name.
Or, if thou wilt not,
be but sworn my love,
and l'll no longer
be a Capulet.
Shall l hear more,
or shall l speak at this ?
''What man art thou that
thus bescreened in night...
so stumblest
on my counsel ?''
By a name l know not
how to tell thee who l am.
My name, dear saint, is hateful to
myself, because it is an enemy to thee.
Had l it written
l would tear the word.
''The orchard walls are high
and hard to climb...
and the place death,
considering who thou art,
if any of my kinsmen
find thee here.
lf they do see thee,
they will murder thee.''
Alack, there lies more peril
in thine eye than of their swords.
Look thou but sweet,
and l am proof against their enmity.
Would not for the world
they saw thee here.
l have night's cloak
to hide me from their eyes.
- And but thou love me
let them find me here.
- ''Good night.
Good night,
as sweet repose and rest
come to thy heart...
as that within my breast.
Oh, wilt thou leave me
so unsatisfied ?''
That's my line.
Oh. lt is mine too.
Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ?
What satifaction
canst thou have tonight ?
The exchange of thy love's
faithful vow for mine.
''My bounty is as boundless
as the sea.
My love is deep.
The more l give to thee,
the more l have,
for both are infinite.''
Madam ?
- l hear some noise within.
Dear love, adieu.
- Juliet !
- ''Anon, good nurse.''
- Anon, good nurse.
Sweet Montague, be true.
''Stay but a little.
l will come again.''
Stay but a little.
l will come again.
Oh, blessed, blessed night.
''l am afeared...
being in night,
all this is but a dream.
Too flattering sweet...
to be substantial.''
To cease thy strife
and leave me to my grief.
A thousand times,
good night.
A thousand times
the worse to want thy light.
l cannot move in this dress.
lt makes me look like a pig.
l have no neck in this pig dress.
- How is it ?
- lt's all right.
Ned, l know, l know.
- lt's good.
- Oh ?
The title won't do.
Ah.
Romeo and Juliet.
Just a suggestion.
Thank you, Ned.
- You are a gentleman.
- And you are
a Warwickshire shit-house.
- What o'clock tomorrow
shall l send to thee ?
- By the hour of nine.
l shall not fail.
'Tis year till then.
l have forgot
why l called thee back.
- You mean no dog of any kind ?
- Shh ! Silence.
The friar marries them in secret,
then Ned gets into a fight
with one of the Capulets.
Romeo tries to stop them and gets in
Ned's way. l mean, in Mercutio's way.
So Tybalt kills Mercutio,
then Romeo kills Tybalt.
Then the prince
banishes him from Verona.
That must be when he goes on the voyage
and gets shipwrecked...
on the island
of the pirate king.
For God's sake,
cease your prattling and get out !
Get out !
A thousand apologies.
Please.
And with a silken thread
plucks it back again,
so loving-jealous
of his liberty.
- l would l were thy bird.
- Sweet, so would l; yet l should
kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night.
Good night.
Parting is such sweet sorrow, that l
shall say good night till it be morrow.
Sunday.
'Tis Sunday.
l found something
in my sleep.
The friar who married them
will take up their destinies.
- But it will end well for love.
- ln heaven, perhaps.
lt is not a comedy
l'm writing now.
A broad river
divides my lovers.
Family, duty, fate.
As unchangeable as nature.
Yes.
This is not life, Will.
lt is a stolen season.
- Be patient, my lord.
- Patient ?
- Do you ask Her Majesty to be patient ?
- My Lord, l will go--
Sunday. Greenwich !
Now, pay attention, nursie.
The queen--
Gloriana Regina,
God's chosen vessel, the radiant one
who shines her light on us--
is at Greenwich today and prepared
during the evening's festivities...
to bestow her gracious favor
on my choice of wife.
And if we're late for lunch,
the old boot will not forgive !
So get you to my lady's chamber
and produce her with or without
her undergarments !
You cannot !
Not for the queen herself !
What will you have me do ?
Marry you instead ?
To be the wife
of a poor player.
Can l wish that for Lady Viola
except in my dreams ?
And yet l would if l were free to follow
my desire in the harsh light of day.
You follow your desire
freely enough in the night.
- So, if that is all, to Greenwich l go.
- Then l'll go with you.
- You cannot. Wessex will kill you.
- l know how to fight.
Stage fighting.
Oh, Will.
As Thomas Kent,
my heart belongs to you,
but as Viola,
the river divides us,
and l must marry Wessex
a week from Saturday.
l'll drag her down
by the queen's command !
Good morning, my Lord.
My lady. The tide waits for no man,
but l swear it would wait for you.
Oh, here we come at last, my lord !
Are you bringing
your laundrywoman ?
Her chaperone,
my lady's country cousin.
My, but you be
a handsome gallant,
just as she said.
You may call me
Miss Wilhelmina.
On a more fortuitous
occasion, perhaps.
Oh, my Lord, you will not shake me off.
Aye, she never needed me more.
l swear by your britches.
- Now ?
- Now.
The queen asks for you.
Answer well.
- ls there a man ?
- A man, my lord ?
There was a man, a poet.
A theater poet, l think.
- Does he come to the house ?
- A theater poet ?
An insolent penny-a-page rogue !
Marlowe, he said. Christopher Marlowe.
- Has he been to the house ?
- Marlowe ?
Oh, yes. He is the one.
Lovely waistcoat.
Shame about the poetry.
That dog !
Your Majesty.
Stand up straight, girl.
l've seen you.
You are the one who comes to all
the plays at Whitehall, at Richmond.
Your Majesty.
What do you love so much ?
- Your Majesty--
- Speak up, girl !
l know who l am.
Do you love stories
of kings and queens ?
Of feats of arms ?
Or is it courtly love ?
l love theater.
To have stories acted for me
by a company of fellows is indeed--
They're not acted for you;
they are acted for me. And ?
And l love poetry above all.
Above Lord Wessex ?
My lord,
when you cannot find your wife,
you better look for her
at the playhouse.
Playwrights teach us
nothing about love.
They make it pretty; they make
it comical; or they make it lust.
They cannot make it true.
Oh, but they can.
l mean, Your Majesty, they--
they do not, they have... not,
but l believe
there is one who can.
My Lady Viola is young in the world.
Your Majesty is wise in it.
Nature and truth are the very enemies
of playacting. l'll wager my fortune.
l thought you were here
because you had none.
- Well, no one will take
your wager, it seems.
- Fifty pounds.
Fifty pounds ?
A very worthy sum
on a very worthy question.
Can a play show us the very truth
and nature of love ?
l bear witness to the wager...
and will be the judge of it
as occasion arises.
l have seen nothing
to settle it yet.
Are there
no more fireworks ?
They would be soothing after the
excitements of Lady Viola's audience.
Have her, then,
but you are a lordly fool.
She's been plucked since l saw her last,
and not by you.
lt takes a woman to know it.
Marlowe.
Burbage ?
Huh ? Who's there ?
Marlowe.
You are playing
my Dr. Faustus this afternoon.
Don't spend yourself
in sport.
- What do you want, Kit ?
- My Massacre at Paris is complete.
- What ? You have the last act ?
- lf you have the money.
-Tomorrow.
-Then tomorrow you shall have the pages.
Oh, will you desist, madam !
- Oh !
- Twenty pounds on delivery.
Now, what is money to men like us ?
Besides, if l need a play,
l have another waiting--
a comedy by Shakespeare.
Oh, Romeo.
- Gave it to Henslowe.
- Never !
Well, l'm to Deptford.
l leave you my respects, Miss Rosaline.
l gave Shakespeare
two sovereigns for Romeo.
You did, but Ned Alleyn
and the Admiral's Men have
the playing of it at the Rose.
Treachery !
Traitor and thief !
Oh, no.
No !
By my head,
here comes the Capulets.
By my heel,
l care not.
Follow me close.
l will speak with them.
Gentlemen, good-den !
A word with one of you.
Are you going
to do it like that ?
Positions.
- By my head, here comes the Capulets.
- By my heel, l care not.
Follow me close.
l will speak to them.
Gentlemen, good-den !
A word with one of you.
And but one word with one of us ?
Couple it with something;
make it a word and a blow.
Where's that thieving hack that
can't keep his pen in his own ink pot ?
What is this rabble ?
Draw, if you be a man !
Wonderful.
Wonderful !
And a dog.
No !
Have privy, players ! Please !
Oh ! Not with my props !
Oh !
- Will ! What--
- A writer's quarrel.
Quite normal.
Stay here.
You are hurt.
l dreamed last night
of a shipwreck.
- You were cast ashore in a far country.
- Oh, not yet.
Not yet.
'Ey, we need that
for the balcony scene.
My investment !
Lambert !
Vengeance !
A famous victory !
Kegs and legs open,
and on the house !
Oh, what happy hour.
- This is a tavern !
- lt is also a tavern.
- l remember you. The poet !
- Yes, William the Conqueror.
One at a time. One at a time.
Oh, he's a pretty one. Tell me
your story while l tickle your fancy.
- lt's a house of ill repute.
- lt is, Thomas, but of good reputation.
Come.
There's no harm in a drink.
You are welcome to my best house.
Here's to the Admiral's Men.
- The Admiral's Men !
- The Admiral's Men !
The Admiral's Men !
Well, l--
l quite liked it.
Master Kent,
you have not yet
dipped your wick.
My ''wick'' ?
Mr. Fennyman,
because you love the theater,
you must have a part in my play.
l am writing an apothecary,
a small but vital role.
My heavens.
l thank you.
What's the play about, then ?
Well, there's this nurse--
Silence, silence, silence !
Master Shakespeare...
has asked me to play
the part of the apothecary.
The apothecary ?
What is this story ?
Where is the shipwreck ?
How does the comedy end ?
- By God, l wish l knew.
- By God, if you do not, who does ?
Let us have pirates,
clowns and a happy ending,
or we shall send you
back to Stratford to your wife.
Will ! Mr. Henslowe !
Gentlemen all !
A black day for us all !
There is news from a tavern in Deptford.
Marlowe is dead.
Stabbed.
Stabbed to death
in a tavern at Deptford.
What have l done ?
He was the first man among us.
A great light has gone out.
Forgive me.
God forgive me.
...Our Lord
Jesus Christ's sake.
One morning
in the month of May
From my cot l stray
Just at the dawning
of the day
l met with
a charming mai--
You look sad, my lady.
Let me take you riding.
- lt's not my riding day, my lord.
- Bless me, l thought it was a horse.
l'm going to church.
Of course. l understand.
lt is to be expected.
Yes, it is to be expected...
on Sunday.
And on a day of mourning.
l never met the fellow
but once at your house.
Mourning ?
Who is dead, my lord ?
Oh ! Dear God, l did not think
it would be me to tell you.
Great loss to playwriting
and to dancing.
My lady.
- He is dead ?
- Killed last night in a tavern.
Come then.
We'll say a prayer for his soul.
Who can remember sorrow
Spare me, dear ghost.
Spare me, dear ghost.
Spare me, for the love of Christ.
Spare me !
Will !
Oh, my love.
l thought you were dead.
lt is worse.
l've killed a man.
Marlowe's touch
was in my Titus Andronicus,
and my Henry Vl was a house built
on his foundations.
You never spoke
so well of him.
He was not dead before.
l would exchange all my plays to come
for all of his that will never come.
You lie.
You lie by this river
as you lied in my bed.
My love is no lie.
l have a wife, yes,
and l cannot marry the daughter
of Sir Robert De Lesseps.
You needed no wife come from Stratford
to tell you that,
and yet, you let me
come to your bed.
Calf-love.
l loved the writer and gave up
the prize for a sonnet.
l was the more deceived.
Yes, you were deceived,
for l did not know
how much l loved you.
l love you, Will,
beyond poetry.
Oh, my love.
- You ran from me before.
- When l thought you dead,
l did not care...
about all the plays
that would never come,
only that l would
never see your face.
l saw our end,
and it will come.
- You cannot marry Wessex.
- lf not you, why not Wessex ?
lf not Wessex, the queen
will know the cause,
- and there will be
no more Will Shakespeare.
- No. No.
But l will go to Wessex
as a widow from these vows,
as solemn as they
are unsanctified.
For killing Juliet's
kinsman Tybalt,
the one who killed
Romeo's friend Mercutio,
Romeo is banished.
- But the friar who married
Romeo and Juliet--
- ls that me ?
You, Edward. The friar who married
them gives Juliet a potion to drink.
lt is a secret potion.
lt makes us seeming dead.
She is placed in the tomb
of the Capulets.
She will awake to life and love
when Romeo comes to her side again.
l have not said all.
By maligned fate, the message
goes astray which would tell
Romeo of the friar's plan.
He hears only
that Juliet is dead.
And thus he goes
to the apothecary...
That's me.
and buys a deadly poison.
He enters the tomb to say farewell
to Juliet who lies there cold as death.
He drinks the poison.
He dies by her side,
and then she wakes
and sees him dead.
And so Juliet
takes his dagger...
and then kills herself.
Well, that will have them
rolling in the aisles.
Sad... and wonderful.
l have a blue velvet cap
that'll do well.
l've seen just such a cap
on an apothecary.
Just so.
Yes, it will serve.
But there's a scene missing.
Between marriage
and death ?
The play...
all written out for you.
l had the clerk
at Bridewell do it.
He has a good fist
for lettering.
There is a new scene.
- Will you read in for me ?
- ''Wilt thou be gone ?
lt's not yet near day.
lt was the nightingale,
and not the lark,
that pierced the fearful
hollow of thine ear.
Nightly she sings
on yon pomegranate tree.
Believe me, love,
it was the nightingale.''
''lt was the lark,
the herald of the morn;
no nightingale.
Look, love,
what envious streaks...
do lace the severing clouds
in yonder east.
Night's candles
are burnt out,
and jocund day
stands tiptoe...
on the misty mountaintops.
l must be gone and live,
or stay and die.''
''Yon light is not daylight;
l know it, l.
lt is some meteor
that the sun exhales...
to be to thee this night
a torchbearer...
to light thee
on thy way to Mantua.
Therefore, stay yet.
Thou needst not
to be gone.''
''Let me be ta'en,
let me be put to death;
l am content,
so thou wilt have it so.
l have more care
to stay...
than will to go.
Come, death, and welcome.
Juliet wills it so.''
You will go far, l fear.
l hope we work
together again.
''Such mortal drugs l have,
but Mantua's law...
is death, death to
any he that utters them.''
Then him. Then me.
''Put-- Put this...
- in any liquid thing you will and--''
- Hah !
What is it ? What is it ?
What is it ?
How silver sweet sound
lovers' tongues by night.
- Like soft music--
- Shakespeare !
Upstart inky pup !
l'll show you your place,
which is in hell !
- You're on my ground now !
- By God, l'll fight the lot of you !
l am more than enough !
Move !
Absent friends.
This is the murderer
of Kit Marlowe !
Will ?
l rejoiced in his death
because l thought it was yours !
That is all l know of Marlowe !
Will ? Uh, it's true.
lt was a... tavern brawl.
Marlowe attacked
and got his own knife in the eye.
A quarrel about the bill.
The bill ?
Oh, vanity, vanity !
Not the billing,
the bill !
Oh, God.
- l am free of it.
- Where is she ?
Close it.
- My Lord Wessex.
- The Rose harbors the ass
that shits on my name !
Take it down
stone by stone.
l want it plowed into the ground
and sown with quicklime !
Mr. Tilney,
what is this ?
Sedition and indecency.
Master of the Revels, sir.
She's over here.
- Where, boy ?
- There.
l saw her bubbies.
So, a woman on the stage !
A woman !
l say this theater is closed !
Why, sir ?
For lewdness
and unshamedfacedness !
And for displaying a female
on the public stage !
Not him, her !
That's who l meant.
- He's a woman.
- This theater is closed.
Notice will be posted !
Ned, l swear, l knew nothing of this.
- Nobody knew.
- He did.
l saw him kissing her bubbies.
lt is over.
l'm sorry, Mr. Henslowe.
l wanted to be an actor.
l'm so sorry, Will.
You were... w-w--
w-wonderful.
Thank you.
''Let me put this in any
liquid thing you will and--''
Everything all right ?
l would've been good.
- l would've been great.
- So would l.
We both would.
Lambert, kill him.
That can wait.
The Master of the Revels despises us all
for vagrants and peddlers of bombast.
But my father,
James Burbage,
had the first license to make a company
of players from Her Majesty,
and he drew from poets
the literature of the age.
We must show them
that we are men of parts.
Will Shakespeare has a play.
l have a theater.
The curtain is yours.
Will !
We'll be needing a Romeo.
Oranges !
Sweet oranges !
My ship is moored at bankside, bound for
Virginia on the afternoon tide.
Please do not weep, Lady De Lesseps.
You are gaining a colony.
And you, my lord,
are gaining pounds...
by these drafts in my hand.
Would you oblige me
with or so in gold...
just to settle my accounts
at the dockside ?
Ah, the bride !
Good morning, my lord.
l see you are... open for business,
so let's to church.
Be gone !
Hup, hup, hup !
Oh, my lord !
- Be good to her, my lord.
- l will.
Oh, God bless you !
Thank you. Uh, let go.
There's a good nurse.
The tide will not wait !
Farewell !
You'll all be welcome in Virginia !
Candy apples !
Candy apples !
Buy my apples !
Thank you, sir.
Apples !
ls this, uh--
ls this all right ?
Yeah.
Licentiousness is made a show !
Vice is made a show !
Vanity and pride
likewise made a show !
This is the very business
of show !
T-T-- T-Two--
T-T-T-T-- T-- T--
T-- T-T-Two households--
- We're lost.
- No, it will turn out well.
- How will it ?
- l don't know. lt's a mystery.
T-T-- T-- T-T--
T-- T--
Two households,
both alike in dignity,
in fair Verona,
where we lay our scene.
From ancient grudge break
to new mutiny,
where civil blood
makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins
of these two foes...
a pair of star-crossed lovers
take their life...
whose misadventured,
piteous overthrows...
doth with their death
bury their parents' strife.
...the which of you
with patient ears attend,
what here shall miss,
our toil shall strive to mend.
- Wonderful.
- Was it...
good ?
Gregory, on my word
we'll not carry coals.
No, for then
we should be colliers.
l mean, and we be
in choler we'll draw.
- Master Shakespeare.
- Luck be with you, Sam. Sam !
lt's not my fault.
l could do it yesterday.
Do me a speech.
Do me a line.
''Parting is such sweet sorrow.''
- Another little problem.
- What do we do now ?
- The show must-- You know.
- Go on !
Juliet does not come on for pages.
lt will be all right.
- How will it ?
- l don't know. lt's a mystery.
- Fear me not.
- No, marry, l fear thee !
- Let them begin.
- l will frown as l pass by.
- Let them take it as they list !
- Nay, as they dare.
l will bite my thumb at them, which is
disgrace to them if they bear it.
Do you bite
your thumb at us, sir ?
- l do bite my thumb, sir.
- Excuse me. Thank you.
- Thank you. Excuse me.
- Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ?
- Can we talk ?
- Shh !
- We have no Juliet.
- No Juliet ?
- No Juliet ?
- lt'll be all right, madam.
- What happened to Sam ?
- Who are you ?
- Thomas Kent.
Do you know it ?
- l serve as good a man as you.
- Every word.
Hyah ! Yah !
l'll go along,
no such sight to be shown,
but to rejoice in splendor
of mine own.
Nurse !
Where's my daughter ?
Call her forth to me.
Now, by my maidenhead
at years old,
l bade her come.
How now, who calls ?
What, ladybird !
God forbid !
Where's this girl ?
What, lamb !
What, ladybird !
What, Juliet !
How now, who calls ?
- We'll all be put in the Clink.
- See you in jail.
Your mother--
Your mother.
Madam, l am here. What is your will ?
This is the matter.
Nurse, give leave a while.
We must talk in secret.
Nurse, come back again. l have
remembered me; thou's hear our counsel.
Thou knowest my daughter's
of a pretty age.
- Faith, l know her age unto an hour.
- She's not .
Oh, l'll lay of my teeth.
And yet my teen be it spoken,
l have but four--
Tell me, daughter Juliet,
how stands your dispositions
to be married ?
lt is an honor
that l dream not of.
Hold, Tybalt ! Good Mercutio !
l-- l'm sped.
Courage, man;
the hurt cannot be much.
Ask for me tomorrow,
you shall find me
a grave man.
Yes !
Yah!
''Such mortal drugs l have,
but Mantua's law is death
to any he that utters them.''
Then him. Then me.
Romeo, away, be gone !
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
Stand not amazed !
The prince will doom thee death if thou
art taken. Hence, be gone, away !
Oh, l am Fortune's fool !
Why dost thou stay ?
Which way ran he that killed Mercutio ?
That murderer,
which way ran he ?
- There lies that Tybalt.
- Up, sir. Go with me.
l charge thee
in the Prince's name obey.
Where are the vile beginners
of this fray ?
''Oh, l am Fortune's fool.''
You are married ?
''lf you be married, my grave
is like to be my wedding bed.''
Art thou gone so,
love, lord,
aye, husband, friend ?
l must hear from thee
every day in the hour,
for in a minute
there are many days.
Oh, by this count
l shall be much in years ere again...
l behold my Romeo.
Farewell.
Oh, think'st thou
we shall ever meet again ?
Methinks l see thee,
now thou art so low,
as one dead
in the bottom of a tomb.
Either my eyesight fails,
or thou look'st pale.
Then trust me, love,
in my eyes, so do you.
Dry sorrow
drinks our blood.
Adieu.
Adieu.
Take thou this vial,
being then in bed,
and this distilling liquor
drink thou off.
No warmth, no breath,
shall testify thou livest.
And in this borrowed likeness
of shrunk death...
thou shalt continue
two and forty hours,
and then awake
as from a pleasant sleep.
What ho ! Apothecary !
Come hither, man.
l see that thou art poor.
Hold, there is ducats.
- Let me have a dram of poison--
- Such mortal drugs l have,
but Mantua's law is death
to any he that utters them.
- Art thou so--
- My poverty, but not my will, consents.
l pay thy poverty
and not thy will.
Eyes, look your last.
Arms, take your last embrace.
And, lips,
oh, you,
the doors of breath,
seal with
a righteous kiss...
the dateless bargain...
to engrossing death.
Come, bitter conduct.
Come, unsavory guide.
Thou, desperate pilot,
now at once...
run on the dashing rocks
thy seasick weary bark.
Here's to my love !
Oh... true apothecary !
Thy drugs are quick.
Thus with a kiss...
l die.
Where is my lord ?
l do remember well where l should be,
and there l am. Where is my Romeo ?
Dead !
What's this ?
A cup, closed
in my true love's hand ?
Poison, l see,
hath been
his timeless end.
Oh, happy dagger,
this is thy sheath.
There rest...
and let me die.
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 pardoned,
and some punished;
for never was a story
of more woe...
than this of Juliet...
and her Romeo.
Bravo !
- Yea ! Yea !
- Yea !
- Bravo !
- Yea ! Bravo !
- God save the queen !
- l arrest you in the name
of Queen Elizabeth !
Arrest who, Mr. Tilney ?
Everyone !
Admiral's Men,
the Chamberlain's Men...
and every one of you ne'er-do-wells
that stand in contempt...
of the authority vested
in me by Her Majesty !
Contempt ? You closed the Rose.
l have not opened it.
That woman is a woman !
What ?
A woman ?
You mean that goat ?
l'll see you all in Clink, in the name
of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth !
Mr. Tilney !
Have a care with my name.
You will wear it out.
The queen of England
does not attend...
exhibitions of public lewdness.
So something
is out of joint.
Come here, Master Kent.
Let me look at you.
Yes, the illusion
is remarkable.
And your error, Mr. Tilney,
is easily forgiven.
But l know something of
a woman in a man's profession.
Yes, by God,
l do know about that.
That is enough from you,
Master Kent.
lf only Lord Wessex
were here.
He is, ma'am.
Y-Your Majesty.
There was a wager
l remember...
as to whether a play could show
the very truth and nature of love.
l think you lost it today.
You are an eager boy.
Did you like the play ?
l liked it when she stabbed herself,
Your Majesty.
Master Shakespeare.
Next time you come to Greenwich,
come as yourself,
and we will speak
some more.
Your Majesty.
Why, Lord Wessex.
Lost your wife so soon ?
lndeed l am a bride short,
and my ship sails for the new world
on the evening tide.
How is this to end ?
As stories must
when love's denied--
with tears and a journey.
Those whom God
has joined in marriage...
not even l
can put asunder.
Master Kent.
Lord Wessex, as l foretold,
has lost his wife in the playhouse.
Go make your farewell
and send her out.
lt's time
to settle accounts.
- How much was that wager ?
- Fifty shillings.
Pounds.
Give it to Master Kent.
He will see it rightfully home.
Tell Master Shakespeare
something more cheerful next time...
for Twelfth Night.
Too late.
Too late.
My Lady Wessex.
A hired player
no longer.
Fifty pounds, Will,
for the poet of true love.
l'm done with theater.
The playhouse
is for dreamers.
Look what the dream
brought us.
lt was we ourselves
did that.
And for my life to come,
l would not have it otherwise.
l have hurt you,
and l'm sorry for it.
lf my hurt is to be
that you write no more,
then l shall be
the sorrier.
The queen commands
a comedy, Will,
for Twelfth Night.
A comedy.
What would my hero be ?
The saddest wretch in all the kingdom,
sick with love ?
lt's a beginning.
Let him be a duke,
and your heroine--
Sold in marriage
and halfway to America.
At sea, then.
A voyage to a new world.
A storm.
All are lost.
She lands... on a...
vast and empty shore.
She's brought to the duke--
- Orsino.
- Orsino ?
Good name.
But fearful of her virtue,
she comes to him dressed as a boy.
And thus is unable
to declare her love.
But all ends well.
How does it ?
l don't know.
lt's a mystery.
You will never age for me,
nor fade,
nor die.
Nor you for me.
Good-bye, my love.
A thousand times good-bye.
Write me well.
My story starts at sea,
a perilous voyage
to an unknown land.
A shipwreck.
The wild waters roar and heave.
The brave vessel
is dashed all to pieces,
and all the helpless souls
within her...
drowned.
All save one:
a lady...
whose soul is greater
than the ocean,
and her spirit,
stronger than the sea's embrace.
Not for her a watery end,
but a new life beginning
on a stranger shore.
lt will be a love story,
for she will be my heroine
for all time.
And her name will be Viola.