Anonymous Page #2

A gift?

Yes, Your Grace.

Though not from me.

Are you the gift,

my gracious little man?

No, no, my most majestic Majesty.

I am a free man. My gift is a play.

A play?

Plays are the work

of the devil,

born from a cesspool of plague,

whoredom, thievery,

fornication and heresy.

Tell your master that Her Majesty...

Will gladly accept.

That is, of course,

if Your Majesty so desires.

Comedy or tragedy?

Comedy, Majesty.

Comedy. By whom?

By Anonymous, Your Majesty.

Anonymous.

I so admire his verse.

Lead us to this play.

The woosel cock so black of hue

With orange-tawny bill

The throstle...

The throstle with his note so true

The Wren with little quill

What angel

wakes me from my flow'ry bed?

The finch, the sparrow and the lark

The plain-song cuckoo gray

If we shadows have offended,

think but this and all is mended.

That you have but slumber'd here

while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,

no more yielding but a dream.

Gentles, do not reprehend.

If you pardon, we will mend.

So good night unto you all.

Give me your hands,

if we be friends,

and Robin shall restore amends.

Wonderful, wonderful.

Most wonderful.

It was so funny.

She really loved the donkey.

Edward, Edward,

when can we do it again?

Ah. There he is.

Your father tells me you wrote

this evening's play yourself.

I did indeed, Your Majesty.

You sport with me.

Compose something.

Now?

Yes, now.

On what subject, Your Grace?

On truth.

For truth,

is truth,

though never so old,

and time cannot make that false

which once was true.

My Lord of Oxford,

it seems you have added a poet

to your family's line of warriors.

I am as accomplished with sword

and musket as I am in verse.

Are you indeed?

It is my only desire to be Your

Majesty's most trusted servant

in matters both of war and state,

if you will but have me.

Why, Lord Cecil, we may very well

have found your replacement.

We hope not too soon,

Your Majesty.

And what thought you

of our young lord's play, William?

If plays are indeed

such a sin, I pray that I do not find

my salvation until very late in life.

Jonson!

Benjamin Jonson!

You have been released.

Got powerful friends now,

don't you?

Ship oars!

Ahem. My lord.

The Tudor rose.

The most beautiful of flowers,

do you not think?

I assume I owe my freedom to you.

That is true.

And it was hard to come by.

One does not cross

my father-in-law lightly.

Lord William Cecil.

I have the questionable distinction

to be married to his only daughter.

It was helpful

when I wrote to your jailers

to release you

in my father-in-law's name.

My release was not

officially sanctioned?

Don't be an idiot. Of course it wasn't.

But you are free, are you not?

I enjoyed your little comedy, Jonson.

You have great potential.

Thank you, my lord.

But its politics did have

quite an effect on the Tower.

My father-in-law's men

felt it quite seditious.

Politics. My play has nothing

to do with politics.

It's just a simple comedy.

That showed your betters as fools

who would barely get food

from plate to mouth without

the cleverness of their servants.

All art is political, Jonson.

Otherwise, it would just be decoration.

And all artists have something to say.

Otherwise, they'd make shoes.

And you are not a cobbler,

are you, Jonson?

Francesco?

A play, my lord.

One you shall stage Bankside.

Stage?

Under your name.

My name, my lord?

I can't very well

use my name, can I?

I'm the 17th Earl of Oxford.

The Lord Great Chamberlain

of England, Viscount Bolebec,

Lord of Escales, Sanford

and Badlesmere, etc. No.

I have a reputation to protect.

In my world, one does not

write plays, Jonson.

People like you do.

Yes, my lord.

My lord, you wrote an entire play.

I know how difficult that is.

Not a play, Jonson.

I've written many.

No doubt many more

than you yourself.

A good number performed years ago,

others never seen by a living soul.

And you want me

to put my name to this play?

No, I mean you to put

your name to all of them.

All of them?

Don't look at me

like I just gutted your pet dog.

I mean to make you

the most popular,

and therefore most monetarily

successful playwright in London.

I wish you Godspeed

and good morrow.

My lord, I really...

This is for your trouble,

Signor Jonson.

And for your silence.

If you break that silence, mm,

not so good for Signor Jonson.

Tell me about this play.

It was an anonymous gift.

Essex insisted it be performed

just to spite me in front of court.

Of course he did.

What was it about?

Some nonsense about fairies

and cherubs.

And dancing asses.

Edward, our poet earl,

has returned to court.

Father,

it was just a play.

Know how long it took to

banish them from her presence?

She adores them!

And Edward knows it!

Mark my words,

he has done this to spite us.

Edward wishes to choose

the next king.

Haven't you convinced

the Privy Council

to crown James of Scotland

the next king?

Nobody has a better claim.

Except one of Elizabeth's bastards.

You mean Essex.

He despises us.

We shall lose all of our royal

licenses, our property!

I shall convince her

to send Essex to Ireland

to quell the Catholic rebellion.

Southampton will follow.

And if God is watching, neither will return alive.

And if he is not...

Robert!

Robert, come here!

I am sorry, my Lord of Oxford.

My son prefers

the company of himself.

May I present to you my wife,

Lady Cecil,

and my daughter, Anne?

I am sorry for your loss,

my lord.

The realm lost a great man

with your father's death.

We hope you will be happy

in our house.

Are you going to

live here forever?

No. Only until

I reach my maturity.

Why?

Because the queen has bade it so.

My lord, when we first met,

you said you wished to

become a great man of state.

The queen and I hope

to make that so.

To that end, I have the honor

of introducing you to your tutors.

From 7 to 8, you will be tutored

in French by Mr. Crane.

My Lord of Oxford.

Nine to 10 is Greek

with Mr. Simmons.

Is that Homer?

No. Plato.

- Then cosmography with Dr. Richards.

- My lord.

Two to 3 is geography

and history.

And 4 to 5, fencing.

And, uh, composition?

Poetry?

This is a Puritan home, my lord.

We believe such activities

to be the worship of false idols,

and therefore a sin

before the eyes of God.

A sin?

Surely there must be room for

beauty and art in life, my lord?

Not in this household.

You were losing anyway.

I was also winning.

Unh.

Really?

I think we can assume

I've mastered the Punta Riversa.

Now I think we should move on

to the Punta Sopramano.

Perchance with that,

you will best me.

Yes, my lord.

Apple for you, sir? There we are.

Was it any good?

How should I know?

You haven't read it?

I promised I'd finish Eastward Ho.

He's a nobleman, you say?

Well, is he powerful, rich?

Ooh. Then you have to

do it then, don't you?

Will, I came to London

to be a great and soaring poet.

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