A merrie crewe

Greetings, fair groundlings! Will doth wish he couldst write to tell you he hath been faithful scribe to Thaila or her sister Melpomeme of late, but as thou knowest me so well, 'tis best Will be but honest. And if Will be not honest, then he lies with unwelcome bedfellows indeed. Here is a portrait of my brothers in sack, my companions in arms of tankards at the Mermaid with your Will. We are but a merrie crewe, too merrie, it seems, when I should take up my quill.

Yon pooby fools

So, friends, I found myself once again at the olde publike house, complayning to a wench on this Anonymous nonsense, when I heare behynd me that scourge Jonson laugh. The rogue entered stealthfully and overhear'd my complaints and found th' whole affair entirely too amusing. He ducked out though to avoid the tanckerd flying towards his heade.

Otherwise, earlier in the day I spied several rude me...chanicals apeing some entertainement they had seen of late: Feversham, methinks. (One kept shouting in a loude voice: "FEVERSHAM! FEVERSHAM!" as if he were some vengeful yet farcical ghost.) The incident hath spurr'd me to include, somewhere, such a group performing with all the soul and wyt of a group of carpenters prating in York one of the mystery playes. Let the publike see what a true play-wright can craft compared to the travesties of some pooby fools' Pyramus and Thisbie! Or even an Oxford, hmm?

This I do for thee, groundlings

I am practicing mine signature. After my Comedy of Errors is performed, methinks many fans will be seeking it.  (Ignore the fourth. I didst sneeze whilst writing it.)

Hallow's Eve Contest!

Oh, groundlings! As Hallow's Eve doth approach, foul creatures will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. Or, mayhap Will thinks on that crusty batch of nature Ben Jonson. Both make the heart to quiver.

We hath two more Zombieshakespeare posters to givest to thee! For this game, email the correct number of spirits that do haunt Richard III on Bosworth Field. EMAIL your answer to dr.faustus@dulcevenenum.com. (Prithee, do not post the answer here). Will shall pluck out two champions from the correct responses on Hallow's Eve!

'Tis pity she's a whore

O.M.'Zwounds. Markest thou the Queen's relationship status? "Single and virginal"? Bwahaha! Her cheeks do flush when the courtiers dance! Her loins are inflamed at the very sight of a codpiece! Thou didst not hear this from me, but she hath lain with those encircled in this portrait. Methinks her majesty is fond of coining new words as I am.

Ingredients for Comedy

Last night, whilst I was drinking sack, I didst have a vision for my first play. As I drank more, I shaped mine vision. I shall have two set of twins who knows't not of the existence of the other! What confusion shall ensue! What ribaldry! This comedy shall be all the talk of London. Mark me.
(I shall have to work on mine MS Paint Skills.)

Mine next project

Today, I didst let my mind wander whilst I thought of what comedy I shouldst next scribe. As I twirled my quill and looked out on upon the light, I took me back to my youth, when my mind wandered at the King's New School in my belovéd Stratford. One April morn, Will couldst not ignore the call of the warm sunshine, so I braved the schoolmaster's whip, hied me from the school, and ran to the near...by forest.

No sooner had poor Will thrown himself under the shade of the arbor when I didst hear a tiny "Eeek!" I leaped me up and inspected the earth. My heart trembled to find that I hadst smooshéd a fairy! Before I could even utter a cry of grief, a swarm of the poor creature’s brethren were upon me, their wings beating with such ferocity that I couldst hear them break the stillness of the woods.

Will was not so portly then; my legs were young and strong. I ran me directly to the church and confessed to the prior there. He dragged me back to the schoolroom, where I received lashes from the Master, ten for leaving, ten for lying about the angry fairies.

And alas, my mother didst box mine ears for the curious rose stain that she never managed to remove from my shift.

Check us out on Facebook!

If you follow us here, you might want to check us out on Facebook as we update more frequently there.  In the next few days, we'll be moving over older items from our Facebook posts to here, with the goal being to update simultaneously. 

More than a youth, less than a man

OM'Zwounds, groundlings! As I cleaned my chamber this morn, I didst find a portrait from my youth. Is't not amusing? I couldst not fill out my beard for all the world, and so longed my whiskers would grow that I did scrawl this bristle with a burned cork! LOL! Poor Will was more than a youth, less than a man.

Ask Young Will

Dear Will,

My betrothed has hied me off to a nunnery. I am so forlorn I think I should go into the pond. What should I do?

--"Drowning in my tears"
...
Dear Drowning,

Methinks thy betrothed may drive thee mad. Yet, consider: in the nunnery, thou wouldst not be mending his hose or sweeping up mud he wouldst track into thy estate. Ergo: in this matter I agree/Get thee to a nunnery.

Dear Will,

The 'Cobbe portrait' is no longer considered actually be William Shakespeare.

--"Get the facts straight"

Dear Facts,

If we bloggers have offended, think but this, and all is mended: we mean not to cause ye any friction (besides, this be but only fan fiction).

On the matter of this Anonymous nonsense

I walked into the theatre this morning to find Will Kempe sniggering with George on the stage. "What, friends, hath thee found to laugh so?" I asked. Kempe tossed me a playbill for a forthcoming "playe" produced by some rogue named Emmerich to be called "Anonymous." "Was Shakespeare a Fraud?" the bill asked in monstrously inked letters. O Emmerich! Thou hast conspired with that toade Greene to defame my name and my craft! I must away to the publike house to conspire as well! All the while I fume, Kempe capers and laughs. Bah!

Kit loses his bung

Forgive me, Bill. My bung was lifted in the thrust of the crowd. Alas, I had no money for mine tab yesterday eve at the Mermaid. I shall pay thee back on the morrow.

October games!

‎'Tis that time of year when yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang upon the boughs. Strange creatures do venture from the churchyard or the halls of Parliament. For this game, rewrite any part of mine witches' scene from Macbeth 4.1 and tell me about thy modern monsters. Contest shall end at noon on Oct. 14, champion to receive this ghoulish illumination!