Old tricks, New Year

 

Greetings, fair groundlings! Will hopes that thou hast a wondrous fair New Year.

Will passed the eve with Richard Burbage, that sour toad Ben Jonson, and Kit Marlowe, who did not drink sack after sack with us in celebration this night but poured as he were Bacchus. 'Twas passing strange, methought, until we stumbled us out of the Mermaid as Phoebus raced his chariot from the East.

For there stood Kit, with a plate of eels steeped in cheap port for us, what ye moderns might call a "hair o' the dog." Poor Burbage took sick at once and disembowléd him in the nearest barrel. Ben turned away and heaved mightily. "Similia similibus curantur!" Kit bellowed, meaning "Like cures like." I do but think that cur Marlowe planned this outcome and worse, called us eels.

:-/

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

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?

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!