Short Plays

pity’s sake⁠— Elizabeth Insolent dog⁠— Shakespeare Cutting them short. How know you that King Harry was indeed your father? Elizabeth Zounds! Now by⁠—She stops to grind her teeth with rage. The Dark Lady She will have me whipped through the streets. Oh God! Oh God! Shakespeare Learn to know yourself better, madam. I am an honest gentleman of unquestioned parentage, and have already sent in my demand for the coat-of-arms that is lawfully mine. Can you say as much for yourself? Elizabeth Almost beside herself. Another word; and I begin with mine own hands the work the hangman shall finish. Shakespeare You are no true Tudor: this baggage here has as good a right to your royal seat as you. What maintains you on the throne of England? Is it your renowned wit? your wisdom that sets at naught the craftiest statesmen of the Christian world? No. ’Tis the mere chance that might have happened to any milkmaid, the caprice of Nature that made you the most wondrous piece of beauty the age hath seen. Elizabeth’s raised fists, on the point of striking him, fall to her side. That is what hath brought all men to your feet, and founded your throne on the impregnable rock of your proud heart, a stony island in a sea of desire. There, madam, is some wholesome blunt honest speaking for you. Now do your worst. Elizabeth With dignity. Master Shakespeare: it is well for you that I am a merciful prince. I make allowance for your rustic ignorance. But remember that there are things which be true, and are yet not seemly to be said (I will not say to a queen; for you will have it that I am none) but to a virgin. Shakespeare Bluntly. It is no fault of mine that you are a virgin, madam, albeit ’tis my misfortune. The Dark Lady Terrified again. In mercy, madam, hold no further discourse with him. He hath ever some lewd jest on his tongue. You hear how he useth me! calling me baggage and the like to your Majesty’s face. Elizabeth As for you, mistress, I have yet to demand what your business is at this hour in this place, and how you come to be so concerned with a player that you strike blindly at your sovereign in your jealousy of him. The Dark Lady Madam: as I live and hope for salvation⁠— Shakespeare Sardonically. Ha! The Dark Lady Angrily.⁠—ay, I’m as like to be saved as thou that believest naught save some black magic of words and verses⁠—I say, madam, as I am a living woman I came here to break with him forever. Oh, madam, if you would know what misery is, listen to this man that is more than man and less at the same time. He will tie you down to anatomize your very soul: he will wring tears of blood from your humiliation; and then he will heal the wound with flatteries that no woman can resist. Shakespeare Flatteries! Kneeling. Oh, madam, I put my case at your royal feet. I confess to much. I have a rude tongue: I am unmannerly: I blaspheme against the holiness of anointed royalty; but oh, my royal mistress, am I a flatterer? Elizabeth I absolve you as to that. You are far too plain a dealer to please me. He rises gratefully. The Dark Lady Madam: he is flattering you even as he speaks. Elizabeth A terrible flash in her eye. Ha! Is it so? Shakespeare Madam: she is jealous; and, heaven help me! not without reason. Oh, you say you are a merciful prince; but that was cruel of you, that hiding of your royal dignity when you found me here. For how can I ever be content with this black-haired, black-eyed, black-avised devil again now that I have looked upon real beauty and real majesty? The Dark Lady Wounded and desperate. He hath swore to me ten times over that the day shall come in England when black women, for all their foulness, shall be more thought on than fair ones.To Shakespeare, scolding at him. Deny it if thou canst. Oh, he is compact of lies and scorns. I am tired of being tossed up to heaven and dragged down to hell at every whim that takes him. I am ashamed to my very soul that I have abased myself to love one that my father would not have deemed fit to hold my stirrup⁠—one that will talk to all the world about me⁠—that will put my love and my shame into his plays and make me blush for myself there⁠—that will write sonnets about me that no man of gentle strain would put his hand to. I am all disordered: I know not what I am saying to your Majesty: I am of all ladies most deject and wretched⁠— Shakespeare Ha! At last sorrow hath struck a note of music out of thee. “Of all ladies most deject and wretched.” He makes a note of it. The Dark Lady Madam: I implore you give me leave to go. I am distracted with grief and shame. I⁠— Elizabeth Go. The Dark Lady tries to kiss her hand. No more. Go. The Dark Lady goes, convulsed. You have been cruel to that poor fond wretch, Master Shakespeare. Shakespeare I am not cruel, madam; but you know the fable of Jupiter and Semele. I could not help my lightnings scorching her. Elizabeth You have an overweening conceit of yourself, sir, that displeases your Queen. Shakespeare Oh, madam, can I go about with the modest cough of a minor poet, belittling my inspiration and making the mightiest wonder of your reign a thing of nought? I have said that “not marble nor the gilded monuments of princes shall outlive” the words with which I make the world glorious or foolish at my will. Besides, I would have you think me great enough to grant me a boon. Elizabeth I hope it is