Upstart Crow

by Ben Elton

  KATE: Me too.

  WILL: Well, I must confess I have allowed myself one small romantic indulgence. I have commissioned Burbage and his players to recite my sonnets to my twin muses prior to publication. The first hundred and twenty-six to my Lord Southampton.

  KATE: Lord Southampton? Is he the fair youth? Good goss!

  WILL: Some might think it be him, but the identity will always remain ambiguous. And the other twenty-eight I will send to Emilia Lanier.

  KATE: Emilia Lanier! Daughter of the celebrated Venetian court musician? She’s the dark lady?

  WILL: Again, I have left the matter open, but between you and me, it’s definitely her.fn7

  BOTTOM: As if anyone will ever give a tosslington about it either way.

  WILL: And now I must journey to Stratford, where I keep the second copies which I intend for publication.

  KATE: Goodness, Mr Shakespeare. You keep copies of these passionate poems in Stratford? Aren’t you worried that Mrs Shakespeare might read them?

  WILL: No chance of that.

  KATE: They be too well hid?

  WILL: She can’t read.

  WILL’S STRATFORD HOME – DAY

  The family be assembled. Will entereth.

  WILL: Home am I. Mother, father, wife, daughter, bring ale and pie. Summon the twins from their dame school, your ever-loving husband, father and son is home. (The family be grimly silent as Will takes off his cloak) Yes, well, not a bad journey. Thanks for asking. Only half a day late. Coach crash at the Watford turnpike. Well, it wasn’t the crash that delayed us. Amazingly the local watch cleared that up with some efficiency. No, just the fact that all who then passed must slow to a snail’s pace to gawp at the wreck. Why do people do that? It occurred to me that there be good and bad in all of us and they be in constant conflict. I’ve been toying with a soliloquy on the subject. What do you think? ‘To gawp or not to gawp … that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler to ogle at a coachman squashed under a dead horse … or take arms against the urge to perv and by opposing feel a bit better about oneself.’ What do you think? Might be useful somewhere. I like the structure.fn8 (The whole family remaineth silent) Hello? I’m here! Returned with news of ever more success in London. My poetry is much noted.

  Now Anne doth turn on Will with thunderly countenance.

  ANNE: Oh I know all about your poetry, Will Shakespeare!

  SUSANNA: She found the sonnets, Dad. You’re so crap, you really are!

  WILL: The sonnets? But surely she couldn’t read them?

  SUSANNA: She made me read them to her.

  WILL: Why did I teach that girl to read?! Hoist am I by my own socially enlightened petard.

  MARY: I never thought a son of mine could be so base. My own fault for marrying beneath me.

  JOHN: The only thing beneath you when you got married was the bloody floor, woman! You didn’t have a pot to piss in.

  ANNE: Who’s this dark lady, Will?

  WILL: Dark lady? Is, is there a dark lady?

  ANNE: Oh, you know right well there’s a dark lady, forsooth.

  SUSANNA: Er, nobody says ‘forsooth’ any more, Mum. It’s medieval.

  WILL: Oh the, the dark lady in the sonnets?!

  ANNE: Yes, Will, the lady in the sonnets! The dark-eyed woman with the thick black hair you seem so fascinated with!fn9

  WILL: Well, perchance ’tis thee, Anne, for you have dark eyes and raven hair. In a certain light. Good poetry is never direct or literal. The imagery should be oblique.fn10

  ANNE: Read me those bits we marked, Susanna.

  Susanna doth read the pages out loud.

  SUSANNA: ‘Your love is as a fever, frantic mad with ever more unrest.’ Yuck, Dad! I mean, seriously, just yuck!

  ANNE: Is that about me, Will? Are you frantic mad with restless love for me?

  MARY: Is this really a proper conversation for the front parlour?

  ANNE: Mary, your husband’s taking a dump in the front parlour!

  John is revealed to be sat upon the privy pot before the fire.

  JOHN: It’s raining. An Englishman’s home is his privy.fn11

  ANNE: Are you having an affair, Will?

  WILL: No! No, I … I … I … swear, honestly, truly. You do hurt me with these churlish suspicions and bring to mine eye that which though ’tis water be not drunk, and though ’tis salted be not cod.

  SUSANNA: What?

  WILL: Tears, girl, tears!

  SUSANNA: Yeah, Dad, I know you mean tears. I’m just, like, aghast.

  WILL: Look, they can’t all be gold, it’s work in progress. Now, wife, please. I am a true and faithful husband. No other tufted lady grotto than thine hath given good shelter to the stranger in the purple helm that doth enter upstanding strong but departs a limp and shrunken weakling.fn12

  SUSANNA: I’m actually going to be sick.

  MARY: I shall certainly have to have a lie-down.

  WILL: I be married to thee.

  ANNE: You’re married to me, but you’re writing poems about some stinksome whoreslap.

  JOHN: And the fair youth. Don’t forget the fair youth.

  SUSANNA: Yeah, Dad, that is pretty weird.

  JOHN: And dangerous. There’s laws, son.fn13

  WILL: The fair youth is just a pal. Look, Anne, I … I admit that while in London, seen and admired have I many dainties of beauty and experience. And perhaps did idly pen some obscure and somewhat impenetrable verse about them, but I be faithful to thee.

  ANNE: Well, maybe you are and maybe you aren’t, but I shan’t share my bed with someone who’s thinking about fair youths and dark ladies. So, until you sort yourself out, you can either sleep in the cowshed with Mrs Moomoo or you can sod off back to London, because I don’t like you very much at the moment, Will Shakespeare. I don’t like you very much at all.

  Anne doth depart most angrily. All do look upon shamefaced Will. John doth speak from his perch upon the privy pot.

  JOHN: Do you wanna get in here? Oh no, you’re already up to your neck in it.

  THE RED LION THEATRE – DAY

  The players be rehearsing.

  BURBAGE: ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’ Oh, I do think that’s pretty.

  CONDELL: Yes.

  BURBAGE: Such a lovely image, one’s love like a beauteous August morn.

  CONDELL: Fresh, sparkling, sun drenched.

  KEMPE: Mm, yeah, unless it’s raining. Shall I say you’re a bit wet and soggy? Hmm, romantic, don’t think so. (Laughs)

  BURBAGE: Do stop doing that, Kempe.

  KEMPE: What? Stop what? Being brilliant? Can’t. Why? Cos I am brilliant. (Laughs)

  BURBAGE: That, that laugh. You keep doing it all the time! Now stop it.

  CONDELL: Yes, it doth rattle me to my very teeth.

  KEMPE: Oh right, yeah, the laugh. See, the thing is, I see comedy everywhere, yeah? I get stuff you couldn’t even begin to get. So …

  BURBAGE: I understand comedy very well, thank you!

  KEMPE: Hm hm! Quite well, Burbage, quite, but if you’re a genius like me, there’s another level.

  CONDELL: Another level, Kempe?

  KEMPE: Yeah, I see deep comedy, yeah? Beneath the ‘oh it’s a bit funny’ and beyond to the secret, very funny comedy that only I get. That’s why I do my massively annoying laugh. Yeah? To let you in on it. It’s a bit of a favour really.

  WILL’S LONDON LODGINGS – DAY

  Will, Marlowe and Kate be at their leisure.

  WILL: Now before I go to Lady Emilia’s I wanted your help, Kate. I’m in urgent need of your unique insight into the feminine mind. I’m looking for the understanding that only one woman can bring to the feelings of another.

  KATE: Oh … my … God! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you.

  Will be most confused at Kate’s protestations of gratitude.

  KATE: You’re finally going to let me be your Juliet.

  WILL: Don’t be ridiculous, girl! Whatever gave you that idea?

 
KATE: When you begged use of my unique feminine understanding I … naturally presumed—

  WILL: Naturally presumed?! God’s bodikins, girl, what nonsense! Look, I know we’ve discussed the idea but the more I think about it, the more I see that what is required to convincingly portray a woman on stage is not feminine understanding or girlish insight. It’s a squeaky voice, pouty lips and a couple of half coconuts.

  KATE: I just really, really feel that an actual girl would be more convincing. Plus, it’s my dream.

  WILL: Kate, be realistic. The law states that a woman may not attend university, take a profession, hold public office or own property.

  KIT MARLOWE: Men are better than women, by law.

  WILL: Exactly. It therefore follows that they must even be better at being women.fn14

  KIT MARLOWE: Well, that’s just obvious.

  WILL: Now please, forget these silly notions of becoming an actor and attend to me. I need advice.

  KATE: Advice. Be there no men left in Christendom to confide in? Surely even the most ignorant would be a better oracle than I, who, though I read Virgil and Cicero, in Latin, have no cod-dangle, which clearly be the font of all wisdom.

  KIT MARLOWE: Kate, do yourself a favour, wind in Mrs Smart-arse. Blokes can’t stand clever birds.

  WILL: Can we focus? My wife Anne is very angry with me because I’ve written one hundred and fifty-four love poems to people who are not her.

  KIT MARLOWE: Gah, women! I mean, they’re so bloody sensitive.

  WILL: I know, I know. The point is, Kate, how can I put it right?

  KATE: Well … I suppose the first question is – do you still love Anne?

  WILL: Yes. Definitely. I honestly do, ignorant illiterate milkmaid though she be. It’s just that, after thirteen years, I’d really like to lie with someone else.

  KIT MARLOWE: Well, duh!

  WILL: I’m not going to, I’d just like to. A lot. A really, really lot. Poetry helps me deal with these unworthy urges. I grab my trusty nib, my wrist starts to fly and within a few strokes relief pours out of me.

  KATE: Well, I’m sorry, Mr Shakespeare, but if ever things are to be right twixt you and Anne again, you’re going to have to stop loving whoever it is you’re writing these naughty poems to.

  WILL: Uh, if only it were so simple, but the fair youth and the dark lady are my twin muses. ’Tis they who empower my verse. Besides, once the two of them read my sublime and bewitching sonnets, I very much doubt that they’ll be able to stop loving me.

  EMILIA’S HOUSE – NIGHT

  The players do perform the sonnets before Emilia as Will and Marlowe look on.

  BURBAGE: ‘… and this by that I prove, love’s fire heats water, water cools not lo-ove.’

  KEMPE: Doesn’t rhyme.fn15

  BURBAGE: Your sonnets, my lady.

  Burbage doth hand Emilia the sonnets and the players take their leave.

  WILL: See how fervently she reads? How grateful she be to be the subject of such divine verse.

  EMILIA: Just reading the one about my eyes being nothing like the sun.fn16

  WILL: Ah yes, a brilliant opening image, don’t you think?

  EMILIA: The sun being bright, shining, radiant and above all hot.

  WILL: Yes, absolutely.

  EMILIA: But you are saying my eyes are not?

  KIT MARLOWE: It’s a bit of an own goal there, mate.

  WILL: Well, not as bright, shining, radiant or hot, obviously. We’re talking about the sun, Emilia!

  EMILIA: ‘If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun.’ Dun is an English word for grey-brown, no? As when you say, ‘dun cow’.fn17

  KIT MARLOWE: Ouch, two–nil.

  WILL: Well, yes, but the image is only partially bovine. I’m not suggesting you have but one bosom with four nipples.

  KIT MARLOWE: Will, you’re really digging a hole for yourself here, mate.

  EMILIA: ‘The breath of my mistress reeks.’ Were you happy with this as well, Mr Shakespeare?fn18

  WILL: I don’t know. Should it have been ‘stinks’?

  EMILIA: So this is supposed to be flattering? Just so I understand.

  WILL: I get it. Perhaps I should have explained. This love sonnet is particularly brilliant because besides being a love sonnet, it also satirizes love sonnets. You see? You’re getting double bubble.

  EMILIA: Ah! This is satirical.

  WILL: Yes! Conventionally, love sonnets are ridiculously flattering. They make absurdly overblown claims for the beauty of their subjects.

  EMILIA: Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?

  WILL: Exactly! The love I show you in my startlingly innovative a hundred and thirtieth sonnet is greater because it recognizes your flaws.fn19

  Emilia slams the pages down upon the table.

  EMILIA: Next time bring me sweets.

  KIT MARLOWE: Actually, I’ve written a poem for you as well. ‘Emilia, Emilia, by God I’d like to feel ya!’fn20

  EMILIA: Ah! At last! A poem with a proper rhyme. Good day, Mr Shakespeare.

  Emilia and Marlowe leave together.

  KIT MARLOWE: Perhaps you’ll have better luck with your boyfriend?

  WILL: Lord Southampton is a pal!

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON’S HOUSE – DAY

  Lord Southampton, a rich and vain young man, lounges with Will as the players read the sonnets.

  CONDELL: ‘A woman’s face with nature’s own hand painted hast thou—’

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON: Hang on! Stop there. So, you’re saying I look like a girl?

  WILL: Yes. I don’t mean it literally.fn21

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON: Oh, don’t you?

  Southampton takes the pages from the players.

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON: ‘For a woman wert thou first created.’

  WILL: Now that means—

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON: I’m so pretty that when God made me he actually intended to make a girl.

  WILL: Yes, but as I quickly add, ‘Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting … by adding one thing.’

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON: Which would be a cod-dangle. Hm.

  WILL: Well, I don’t actually say it, but …

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON: So I’m a Venus with a penis? A strumpet with a trumpet. A Miranda with a stander. A Judy with a protrudy.

  WILL: Put very simply.

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON: ‘And by addition me of thee defeated.’ So, to be clear, you think I’m pretty, but because I’m a man you can’t have sex with me.fn22

  WILL: I—

  LORD SOUTHAMPTON: Get thee hence to your milkmaid wife who is clearly but a beard to your bechambered whoopsidom and returneth not till ye be ready to celebrate God’s rich rainbow!

  Southampton slaps Will with his own sonnets and retreats. Kempe laughs.

  KEMPE: Not laughing at the word whoopsidom, laughing beyond the word whoopsidom so actually that’s not offensive.fn23

  CONDELL: Actually I find it deeply whoopsiphobic.fn24

  WILL’S LONDON LODGINGS – NIGHT

  Will and Marlowe quaff deeply. Kate doth pour their drinks.

  WILL: Blimey, you try and write a nice series of classic love poems and what do you get? The dark lady objects to the tiniest allusion to halitosis and the fair youth seems to have a problem with being told he looks like a girl. I don’t know why I bother.

  KATE: Twin muses not happy?

  WILL: No, Kate, they weren’t, which is really weird because all hundred and fifty-four of them are works of genius. And what’s more, once they’re published, the world will know. Bottom! I want Bottom!

  KIT MARLOWE: Yes, I think that’s clear from the first hundred and twenty-six sonnets.

  Bottom doth enter.

  WILL: Bottom, did you deliver my sonnets to Her Majesty’s Master of Print that they may be licensed for publication?

  BOTTOM: Yeah, I gave them straight over to Robert Greene this morning.

  WILL: Greene? Robert Greene?

  BOTTOM: Yeah. Looks like he’s oiled himself into another top job.
He’s the new print master.fn25

  WILL: Greene has my sonnets? This is terrible. He’ll probably deny me a licence out of spite.

  Robert Greene enters with guards.

  ROBERT GREENE: Oh, I think you’ll find it’s a little more serious than that, Mr Shakespeare. Guards! Arrest this man for incitement to hugger-tuggery.

  Will is taken in irons.

  A DUNGEON – NIGHT

  Will be chained to the rack. The Lord Inquisitor and Robert Greene attend.

  LORD INQUISITOR: Ah, Mr Greene, I am the Lord Inquisitor. Why lies this man upon the rack?

  ROBERT GREENE: Sodomy, my lord, sodomy. This inquisition will establish that Mr Shakespeare’s vile pornography is nothing more than an incitement to foul hugger-tuggery.

  WILL: They’re just poems.

  ROBERT GREENE: Sodomy is a crime for which circumstantial evidence is always allowable, there being rarely witnesses save the perpetrators, and one of them’s looking the wrong way.

  Marlowe doth enter in haste with Bottom.

  KIT MARLOWE: My lord, I wish to speak in Mr Shakespeare’s defence, assisted by my clerk, Ned Bottom. Don’t you worry, Will, Bottom and I have been working on a plan!

  WILL: Oh God!

  LORD INQUISITOR: Proceed.

  ROBERT GREENE: Well, I pluck a text at random. ‘Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious.’ My lord will, of course, understand in this context ‘will’ clearly denotes carnal desire.

  WILL: The man’s very business is literary criticism. He’s absolutely right.

  ROBERT GREENE: The couplet continues, ‘Vouchsafe to hide my will in thine.’ This second ‘will’ being quite obviously a deliberate pun on the word ‘willy’.fn26 And, er, uncouth slang for the male sexual organ.

  WILL: Damn, he’s good.

  ROBERT GREENE: I will quote the prisoner’s sonnet one hundred and twenty-nine, which addresses this fair youth. ‘Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame.’ Clearly in this context ‘spirit’ is an allusion to seminal fluid.

  WILL: He’s right. That is how the line is destined to be interpreted.fn27

  ROBERT GREENE: And thus we have an ejaculation in a waste of shame, which can only mean a man. Well, there is no more shameful place in which to expend one’s spirit. Apart from perhaps a donkey.