by Ben Elton
KIT MARLOWE: Pardon?
BOTTOM: He means crap. You get used to him over time.
KIT MARLOWE: Well, we’ll see. No hard feelings. Right, I’m for the tavern. I love you loads.
Marlowe departeth for the pub.
WILL: I hated saying no. He’s such a great bloke.
BOTTOM: He uses you.
WILL: He’s a mate.
BOTTOM: You’re his bitch.
WILL: I am not his bitch!fn21
BOTTOM: You are. You can’t see it cos you’re too nice. What’s more, he gave up too easy. He’s up to something. I don’t trust him.
WILL: Nonsense, Bottom. Kit’s my mate. He would never plot against me.
KATE’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Marlowe doth machinate against Will and has appeared in Kate’s bedchamber.
KIT MARLOWE: It’s time you stood up for yourself, Kate.
KATE: Mr Marlowe, Mr Shakespeare is my friend. I can’t betray him.
KIT MARLOWE: Would you rather betray your own sex? (Doth approach the maid with oily, persuasive countenance) If Will’s play were mine, I’d defy the law and let you play the frog-jock queen.
KATE: You’d really make me an actor?
KIT MARLOWE: Absolutely. Imagine it. The curtain calls, the lovely little suppers. The licence to bang on endlessly about poverty and inequality whilst trousering a golden purse.
KATE: And … even more important than that, the chance to be a strong woman and prove that women are strong.
KIT MARLOWE: Absolutely.
KATE: Particularly women actors, who I imagine will be very, very strong indeed and believe strongly in the fact that women are strong.
KIT MARLOWE: For sure. Totally.
KATE: I’ll do it.
KIT MARLOWE: Good girl.
KATE: But where will I put the coconuts?
KIT MARLOWE: One problem at a time.
WILL’S LONDON LODGINGS – DAY
Will doth gorge and quaff with great satisfaction.
WILL: Well, Bottom, today’s the day.
BOTTOM: Eh?
WILL: The poet Robert Greene, who is Master of the Queen’s Revels, is coming to collect my brilliant play, ‘Frog-Jock Mary, Queen of Gingery Savages in Skirts’.fn22
There entereth the odious Robert Greene.
ROBERT GREENE: Ah, Master Shakey-talent. I’m sorry, did I say Shakey-talent? I meant, of course, Shakespeare. Although oft the tongue will tattle what the heart would hide.
WILL: Oft indeed, you preening supercilious plague pustule. Oops! You see, I’m doing it now. (They laugh)
ROBERT GREENE: But enough of such merriment. Sirrah, the third Sunday after Lamington Eve approaches. You sent word that you have written a play. Not even a collaboration, but all by yourself.
WILL: You sound surprised, Master Greene.
ROBERT GREENE: Well, ’tis only that all of London’s poets are university men – Kyd, Nash, Beaumont, Marlowe, mine own humble self. Whilst you, sir, are a country bumsnot. An oik of Avon. A town-school spotty grotty.fn23
WILL: And so am I like the fulsome cleavage of a buxom saucing wench.
ROBERT GREENE: Meaning?
WILL: Much looked down upon.
BOTTOM: I like that one, master. That works.
WILL: Woe to Albion. This sceptred isle doth burst with talent and yet a gaggle of snootish pamperloins from just two universities snaffle all the influence, jobs and cash.
ROBERT GREENE: It is as it should be and as it ever will be, sirrah.
WILL: Ever will be, Greene? I hardly think that centuries hence a tiny clique of Oxbridge posh boys will still be running everything.
ROBERT GREENE: Come now, the appointed day approaches. I would fain have sight of your play to ensure the Queen’s person be not offended.
WILL: Offended? My play’s a eulogy. Liz will love it.
ROBERT GREENE: If she sees it. Christopher Marlowe, a university man of proven genius, has also promised a play.
WILL: Kit? He wrote a play after all? Damn, that was quick!
ROBERT GREENE: Come now, I’m a busy man. Give me your play.
WILL: Absolutely. Here it is. (Doth search his desk drawer in vain) Erm, I have it but, er, I thought I might, er, drop it off later.
ROBERT GREENE: Later, sirrah? Why later, pray?
WILL: Just want to give it a final polish, you know. Dotting i’s, crossing t’s.
ROBERT GREENE: At Cambridge we tend to dot our i’s and cross our t’s as we go along.fn24
WILL: I still have a few days.
ROBERT GREENE: But a few, sir. The Queen has taken to her bed with a chill. She wants this play to cheer her up.
WILL: And she shall have it.
ROBERT GREENE: Good day.
Greene doth departeth.
WILL: It’s gone! My play, it’s gone!
KATE: Oh no! Oh no! Woe!
WILL: We must search every inch of this room!
KATE: Bye.
Kate leaves, clearly with something to hide. Will and Bottom begin to search. Time passes while Bard and servant searcheth.
WILL: It must be here somewhere!
BOTTOM: Well, if it is, we can’t find it.
WILL: True, it is beyond our skill. But there is a mystical species that can find anything.
BOTTOM: Wood nymphs!
WILL: Don’t be ridiculous.
BOTTOM: Sorry.
WILL: Wood nymphs are treacherous creatures and would find my play only to put it on the fire to warm the toes of their sweethearts, the elves. But there is another enchanted species that will serve.
BOTTOM: Who’s that then?
WILL: Why, to find it we have only to take a man and add woe. Know you of what creature I speak?
BOTTOM: Er … someone sad? Are sad people good at finding things?
WILL: Why, a man’s woe is his wife. And add ‘woe’ to ‘man’ and you have … woeman.
BOTTOM: Woeman.
WILL: Woman!
BOTTOM: Woman.
WILL: My wife, Bottom! Mistress Anne. She can find anything.
BOTTOM: Honestly, master, it’d be so much easier if you just said Anne.
WILL: It’s what I do! Now, hie thee to the coaching house and send word for Stratford.
WILL’S LONDON LODGINGS – DAY
Anne has joined the search.
ANNE: Well, I’ve found six old quills, three sets of eye glasses and two penneth three farthing down a crack.
BOTTOM: Bit of a relief that. I thought it were piles.
ANNE: But no papist-baiting play.
WILL: But this is terrible! Greene will take Marlowe’s play to the Queen in my stead!
ANNE: Marlowe? You mean that bloke you’ve let take credit for your plays cos he’s a posh boy and makes you feel inadequate?
WILL: He does not make me feel inadequate. I just happen to think he’s a really great guy.
ANNE: When did you last see the play?
WILL: On the day I returned from Stratford, Marlowe had come over to quaff wine and have a ladsy chat. Kate was here, she will bear witness.
ANNE: Kate, the landlady’s daughter? Who’s always banging on about being a star? By St Cuthbert’s codpiece, husband, do you not know anything about human nature?
WILL: Actually I have a unique and timeless insight into the very heart of what it is to be human. It’s absolutely what I do!fn25
ANNE: Well, you must see that Marlowe’s got your play, pinched by false Kate. It’s bleedin’ obvious.
WILL: Kate and Marlowe? You’re saying they’ve stitched me up like a pair of winter drawers?
BOTTOM: I’d expect it of him, but I’m very disappointed in her.
ANNE: Oh, you’re too nice, Will. We all know that. But now it’s time to use your unique and timeless insight into conjuring some trick to get the play back.
WILL: I will, wife. I will. In fact, I have!
ANNE: Already?
WILL: Yes. And it’s a corker. (Doth write a note) Bottom, t
ake this to Burbage at the Red Lion and await me there. If Kate be false, this will sound her out. The play’s the crucial factor to catch the conscience of our girly actor.fn26
THE RED LION THEATRE – DAY
The players have assembled. Bottom is also present.
BURBAGE: Well, this is most peculiar. All ready were we to begin rehearsal on Marlowe’s brilliant ‘Mary The Frog-Jock Queen’.
CONDELL: Such a wonderful part for me. The traitor Queen. Half French, half Scottish. A dialect challenge indeed. Bonjour, Jimmy! Comment allez-vous, ya dirty wee bastard?
BURBAGE: Yes. But now Will Shakespeare does insist upon our old friendship that we must post-haste rehearse this fragment of his. You, Mr Condell, will play Katie, a beautiful young lady.
CONDELL: Ah, typecasting, darling.
BURBAGE: And I am Sir Christopher Stooplow, a spy and a charlatan. A comic role, I think.
KEMPE: Uh, comedy? Yeah, that’s right, you do a bit of comedy, don’t you, Burbage? English comedy. Boring comedy. In Italy, where I’m big, we do proper comedy. Yeah? Ground-breaking. Modern.
BURBAGE: You shut up, Kempe. You play one Shakepike, a genius.
KEMPE: Ah, so no acting required then?
Will arrives.
WILL: Good morrow, sirrahs, I see you have my new pages.
Marlowe arriveth with Kate.
KIT MARLOWE: Will, you sent word you had verse to show us.
WILL: Indeed I do, Kit. Come, friends, be seated and let the play begin.
BURBAGE: Places, everybody, places.
Bottom, Kate and Marlowe do sit and watch as the players take the stage. Will offereth directions.
WILL: Now, remember, speak the speech as I have writ it and don’t wave your arms about and try to be funny.fn27
BURBAGE: I beg your pardon?
WILL: And don’t shout. Frankly, if you’re going to shout I might as well get Mr Shouty the town shouter to shout my verse.
CONDELL: Cheeky sod!
WILL: And please don’t do that actor thing of adding one not very funny grunt and then going around saying you made up the whole thing in rehearsal. And so, let us begin.fn28
Will takes his seat, the play beginneth.
BURBAGE: The lamentable tragedy of the false maid and the stolen muse!
KATE: Eek!
WILL: Mark Kate, Bottom, see how she doth squeak in fear.
The play continues. Kempe doth enter.
KEMPE: I’m Bill Shakepike. Greatest writer in London and writ have I my finest work, so …
Now Condell joins the play.
CONDELL: What ho? Here come I, young Katie, who doth reside with Shakepike.
In the audience Kate is shocked.
KATE: It’s me! It’s me!
KIT MARLOWE: Stay cool, pretty lady, stay cool!
CONDELL: Hast thou written a brilliant new play, Bill?
KEMPE: Have I? Er, yeah, just a bit.
From his seat the Bard doth protest.
WILL: Stick to the bloody script, Kempe!
KEMPE: Just helping you out, mate.
Burbage walks on.
BURBAGE: It is I, Sir Christopher Stooplow. A spy and a false friend. And I will have Shakepike’s play for my own!
Marlowe looks most uncomfortable.
BURBAGE: Steal the play, Katie! Steal the play, Katie! Steal the play!
Kate leapeth up in distress.
KATE: I can’t bear it! I’m sorry, Mr Shakespeare, but I stole your play and I hate myself. But Mr Marlowe promised me the female lead and I just wanted it so much, because it’s my dream!
CONDELL: A girl to play a girl? It’s outrageous! Where would you put the coconuts?
KIT MARLOWE: Well, Will, nice trick. You are a clever little bastard, I’ll give you that. Here’s your play back and no hard feelings, eh?
WILL: Oh, so does this mean we can still be mates, then?
BOTTOM: Bloody hell, master, why don’t you just send him flowers?
KIT MARLOWE: Of course we can still be mates. You too, Kate, although you are gonna have to toughen up if you wanna cut it in a man’s world. Can’t be getting all teary and collapse over a bit of overacting.
BURBAGE: I beg your pardon?
CONDELL: Such an outrage.
KEMPE: Actually, I was brilliant. Fact.
ROBERT GREENE’S OFFICE – DAY
Greene is about to bustle out as Will and Bottom entereth.
WILL: I’ve got it! I’ve got my play for the Queen’s feast. I only pray I’m not too late.
ROBERT GREENE: Play? Play! You talk of plays? The Queen’s chill has grown worse and she is like to die. The kingdom is in crisis. We will have a new monarch by eventide and I must hasten to insert my nose betwixt the next set of royal buttocks before other oily courtiers fill the gap. Be gone, sirrah, with your play.
WILL: But, Master Greene, if you hope to be Master of the new monarch’s Revels, surely you’ll need a play for the celebration feast.
ROBERT GREENE: Actually, that’s true. No other courtier will have a play so soon! Guards, see that Mr Shakespeare doesn’t leave!
The guards stand firm as Greene doth bustle out.
BOTTOM: That were quick thinking, master. Your play’ll be the first of a new reign. Pretty posh way to kick off your solo career.
WILL: Yes, it really is a brilliant opportunity.
BOTTOM: I wonder who the next king’ll be? Unless it’s another bird. Oh bloody hell, I hope not! It’s just wrong.
WILL: No chance of that. The succession has been settled since the Queen passed child-bearing age. There survives a great-great-grandson of Henry the Seventh, James the Sixth of Scotland. In fact, he’ll be James the First of England.
BOTTOM: James of Scotland. Master …
WILL: Yes, Bottom?
BOTTOM: I’m just thinking. I may be wrong cos I’m a groundling and it’s all crap for us whoever’s on the throne – but isn’t he a Stewart?
WILL: Yeah, that’s right. Son of Mary Stewart.
BOTTOM: Mary Stewart, who your play slags off as a frog-jock queen and traitorous Catholic whoreslap.
WILL: Oh God. I’m on the wrong branch of the family tree!
BOTTOM: A new head on the coins.
WILL: And a new head in the waste-heads basket. I’ve got to run!
The guards blocketh the way.
WILL: We must burn the play!
BOTTOM: No fire. It’s summer.
WILL: Then dissolve it in quick lime.
BOTTOM: Yeah, cos obviously I’ve got a wheelbarrow full of that in my bag.
They sit.
WILL: Don’t suppose you’ve got any salt and pepper either?
Will and Bottom do eat the manuscript.fn29 Time passes, the play be eaten. Greene returneth.
ROBERT GREENE: Glorious news! The Queen is recovered. The doctors think her like to live another twenty years. And, Master Shakespeare, you have more luck than you deserve. For the first thing the Queen has asked for is a play.
WILL: I had it but it’s been stolen by wood nymphs.
ROBERT GREENE: Master Shakespeare, Her Majesty is promised a play and you must provide one. Now!
Bottom has an idea. He pulls a piece of paper from his satchel and giveth it to Will, who in his turn hands it to Greene.
ROBERT GREENE: ‘The Lamentable Tragedy of the False Maid and the Stolen Muse’. Hmm, interesting title. Where’s the play?
WILL: Erm, that’s it. It’s on the back.fn30
WILL’S STRATFORD HOME – NIGHT
Will and Anne sit before the fire with their pipes.
WILL: The Queen said my play lacked plot, wit, grace and poetry. There was one thing she liked.
ANNE: Well, that’s promising. What?
WILL: That it was only ninety-seven seconds long. I fear I’ve missed my chance.
ANNE: And eaten a masterpiece. I still can’t believe that little minx Kate stole your play.
WILL: I’ve forgiven her. Kate is a sweet girl really, and Marlowe
is so persuasive with the ladies.
ANNE: And the blokes. I hope this little incident has cooled your bromance.fn31
WILL: I like Kit, Anne. He’s cool, he’s confident, he’s everything I’m not.
ANNE: You don’t wanna be like that. You’re a fartsome baldie-boots, doll. Own it! Kit Marlowe’ll probably die in some bleeding tavern fight somewhere. Whereas you will die in your own bed with me, your loving wife.fn32
WILL: You’re right, Anne. I’d certainly rather be dull than dead.
ANNE: Hmm … Besides, you showed him, eh? Oh, that was such a clever idea. Putting on a play to prick a guilty conscience.
WILL: Yes, it did work rather well.
ANNE: You should put that in a play.
WILL: A play within a play? That’s not gonna work.
EPISODE 3
THE APPAREL OFT PROCLAIMS THE MAN
Malvolio’s cross garters in Twelfth Night are regarded as the second funniest visual gag in Shakespeare’s canon (the first being of course the big donkey-head reveal in A Midsummer Night’s Dream – see here). This episode from the First Folio suggests that it was drawn from real life.
WILL’S LONDON LODGINGS – NIGHT
Will and Marlowe do quaff their ale, which be served by the maid Kate. Bottom sweeps the floor.
WILL: Well, Kit, not so dusty, eh? Things are looking up for me and no mistake. Already I have not one but three plays in Burbage’s repertoire, and what’s more they’re all called Henry the Sixth, which must surely be some sort of record.fn1
KIT MARLOWE: No doubt about it, Will, you’re absolutely ripping London theatre a new arseington. Big respect, cuz.
WILL: Feels good. Can’t deny. And there’s more. See here? I have an invitation to Lord Southampton’s saucy prancings. Think of it, me, a Stratford bumshankle, a-hobbing and a-nobbing with the cock-snobbled folderols.
KIT MARLOWE: Hell of a step up for you. And one in the eye for Robert Greene. Him and his varsity wits think the Southampton prancings their own private literary salon. Huh! He’s gonna crap a dead cat when he hears you’ve been invited! Which is, of course, brilliant. I salute you.