Shakespeare in Love Page #5

and pale with grief...

that thou, her maid,

art far more fair than she".

-Oh, Will.

-Yes, some of its speak able.

It 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 I were a glove

upon that hand...

that I might touch that cheek.

Ay, me.

Oh, Romeo, Romeo!

Wherefore art thou, Romeo?

-Deny thy father and...

-and refuse thy name.

Or, if thou wilt not,

be but sworn my love...

and Ill no longer be a Capulet.

Shall I hear more,

or shall I speak at this?

What man art thou that

thus be screened in night...

so stumblest on my counsel?"

By a name I know not

how to tell thee who I am.

My name, dear saint, is hateful to

myself, because it is an enemy to thee.

Had I it written

I 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.

If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

Alack, there lies more peril

in thine eye than 20 of their swords.

Look thou but sweet,

and I am proof against their enmity.

Would not for the world

they saw thee here.

I have nights 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?

-Thats my line.

-Oh. It is mine too.

Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

The exchange of thy loves

faithful vow for mine.

My bounty is as boundless

as the sea.

My love is deep.

The more I give to thee...

the more I have...

for both are infinite.

Madam?

-I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu.

-Juliet!

Anon, good nurse.

Anon, good nurse

Sweet Montague, be true.

Stay but a little.

I will come again.

Stay but a little.

I will come again.

Oh, blessed, blessed night.

I am a feared...

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.

I cannot move in this dress.

It makes me look like a pig.

I have no neck in this pig dress.

-How is it?

-Its all right.

Ned, I know, I know.

-Its good.

-Oh?

The title wont do.

Ah.

"Romeo and Juliet".

Just a suggestion.

Thank you, Ned.

-You are a gentleman.

-And you are a Warwickshire sh*t-house.

-What oclock tomorrow shall I send to thee?

-By the hour of nine.

I shall not fail.

"Tis 20 year till then.

I have forgot why I 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

Neds way.

I 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 Gods 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.

I would I were thy bird.

-Sweet, so would I; yet I should

kill thee with much cherishing.

Good night.

Good night.

Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I

shall say good night till it be morrow.

Sunday.

"Tis Sunday.

I found something in my sleep.

The friar who married them

will take up their destinies.

-But it will end well for love.

-In heaven, perhaps.

It is not a comedy Im writing now.

A broad river divides my lovers.

Family, duty, fate.

As unchangeable as nature.

Yes.

This is not life, Will.

It is a stolen season.

Be patient, my lord.

-Do you ask Her Majesty to be patient?

-My Lord, I will go...

Sunday.

Greenwich!

Now, pay attention, nursie.

The queen...

Gloriana Regina...

Gods chosen vessel, the radiant one

who shines her light on us...

is at Greenwich today and prepared

during the evenings festivities...

to bestow her gracious favour

on my choice of wife.

And if were late for lunch,

the old boot will not forgive!

So get you to my ladys 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 I wish that for Lady Viola

except in my dreams?

And yet I would if I 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 I go.

-Then Ill go with you.

-You cannot. Wessex will kill you.

-I know how to fight.

Stage fighting.

Oh, Will.

As Thomas Kent,

my heart belongs to you...

but as Viola,

the river divides us...

and I must marry Wessex

a week from Saturday.

Ill drag her down

by the queens command!

Good morning, my Lord.

My lady. The tide waits for no man,

but I swear it would wait for you.

Oh, here we come at last, my lord!

Are you bringing your laundrywoman?

Her chaperone,

my ladys 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.

I swear by your britches.

-Now?

-Now.

The queen asks for you.

Answer well.

-Is there a man?

-A man, my lord?

There was a man, a poet.

A theater poet, I 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.

Ive 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, I know who I am!

Do you love stories

of kings and queens...

of feats of arms,

or is it courtly love?

I love theater.

To have stories acted for me

by a company of fellows is indeed...

Theyre not acted for you;

they are acted for me. And?

-And I 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.

I mean, Your Majesty, they...

they do not, they have... not...

but I 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.

-Ill wager my fortune.

-I thought you were here because you had none.

-Well, no one will take your wager, it seems.

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