Ask Young Will

Dear Young Will,

I'm suffering from early onset male pattern baldness.
Toupee or not toupee, that is the question.

Signed,

Baldilocks

Dear Baldilocks,

Hast gazéd upon the image of Will?  Thou dost ask this of a man whose pate couldst bear the imprint of the Old Testament?  Will advises thee not to fret if many leaves, or none, or few do hang upon those boughs.  ‘Tis also shrewd that thou observest how the vain French fops do scratch about their wigs.  If thou wouldst toupee, thou will find thy head is home to more lice than any hairs thou once had upon thy head. 

Eternally Yours,

Young Will

Dear Young Will,

Will, I have been struck forthwith by Puck's arrow, so to speak. A young lady hath caught my fancy, and I inquire: which of thy works would be most helpful in th' process of wooing said strumpet?

Signed,

Lysander

Dear Lysander,

If thy lady-to-be be strumpet, and if by “woo,” thou meanst to lie with, Will knows of no better words than these: “Methinks thy friend Emily is beauteous.  Canst get me her digits?”

Eternally Yours,

Young Will

The three stages of man

Ask Will

My beloved Baird,

My query be simple. Dist thy truly love kind Lady Hathaway?
Signed,
Curious Cat
...
Dear Curious,

‘Tis a question for the ages you ask. Will understands that there is much curiosity about beds and babes, and the dark lady, and whether his love can transcend the distance ‘twixt London and Stratford. I am loathe to quash the mystery, my sweet Curious Cat, but I shall let thee muse on these lines:

Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken…
And mine sonnet 145:

Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate',
To me that languished for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom;
And taught it thus anew to greet;
'I hate' she altered with an end,
That followed it as gentle day,
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
'I hate', from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying 'not you'.

Eternally Yours,
Will

Dear Young Will,
To be or not to be that is the question.

Signed,
Wavering

Dear Wavering,

Let your epitaph show that while life was yet in thee, thou didst “be,” that thou were not scoured to nothing in fleet passing sadness. Let not Death brag that he hath lead thee too soon under his shade. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,/So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Eternally Yours,

Will

Dear Young Will,

Wherefore doth Juliet ask "Wherefore art thou Romeo?" Be the problem not with his name being Montague?

Signed,

The Devil is in the Details

Dear Devil,

‘Tis an honest fair question, to be sure, young Devil. The answer is not so difficult since young Romeo was one of twelve Montagues: Filippo, Niccolò, Franco, Marco, Antonio, Matteo, Tomaso, Leonardo, Bartolomeo, Iacopo, and Piero. Had Juliet but cried for a Montague, how quickly would her bright love have fallen to confusion.

Eternally Yours,

WillSee More

A gift for thee

If thou be'est like Will, thou hast precious few enemies, but many flies that swarm about thee and test thy patience. For Will, these are those fustian knaves Ben Jonson and Robert Greene. For such milk-livered men or women, I give thee this glove, crafted by mine own father John, and an insult worthy of a king's fool. Have your Gower or your Caxton to print it for thee, so ye may avoid all violence but swat at the insects that torment thee.

ASK YOUNG WILL: The Untamned Shrew

 

Dear Young Will,

Whether Padua or Mantua,
Elsinore or Rome,
In England or in Scotland
... wherever one calls home.
And even tho Love's Labor's Lost
or Nothing's Much Ado,
just tell now, O youthful Will
what writeth next will you?

~An eager fan

Dear Eager,

As't happens, Will was at the Boar's Head Saturday with Kit and that fusty nut Ben Jonson. The gentle mistress of the house, that noble vessel Eleanor, was with her mallet at the tap. When I tell thee she hath continents on the globe that is her back end, Will does not lie. As she bent over, poor John Brewer, her noble lord, played the jest and pinchéd her somewhere near India. How she did howl with fury! All the shades of hell ne'er sounded so enraged. John leapt out of the tavern and ran, his legs a-flurry, whilst his goodwyfe did scramble right behind with her mallet. How we did howl! Even Ben could not suppress his amusement. 'Twas a merry sight, one that makes Will want to write about how shrewish these damnable dames can be.

Eternally Yours,
Will

The young critic

As I strode towards the theatre this morn, some littel urchen approached me and asked, 'Art thou that Shakeaspearing Jack?' 'Am I a Jack, you Jack of the hewes?' I ask in turn.

Replied he, 'What's the hewes?'

'Household servants,' saith I.

'Who talkes like that?" he askes.

'Chaucer and Gower spoke like that.'

'Who're they?'

I loosed a sighe and straighten'd up. 'What didst thou want?'

'My da' says he lyked that Titus fellow, the one who cook'd up those jacks so their mum could eat 'em,' saith he.

'Ah,' I thynk. 'A fanatike.'

'Well, thy da' has goode taste,' I say, patting him on his pate.

'Ah thought it was a bit grosse,' saith he.

I left the urchen there in the street and headed towardes the Mermaide, fynding myself in need of a good ale after little Jack.

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!