I do but pray thou wilt forgive your poor Will, faire gentiles, as I hath not penned an entry here of late. Your Will hath founde himself in Stratford, where the connection to your moderne internet doth wane as the crescent moon into the night sky. I prithee will finde some joy in your Will's delight in his babes, young Judith and Hamnet. I was supris'd to finde them wait for mine arrival on the stoop of our house, dressed in the moste foppish of Italian fashions. Their mother took suche pains to have them vested so, and they look'd at me so earnestlie, with such eagerness for kinde word, that I could not but laugh and pet their gentle faces.