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.Raleighis a little better: I can Like the man for his ideals, at Least, which areintellectual & inquisitive, but he is a popinjay.(Those are not sentimentsto be repeated, sweet Will, Lest you withal blacken my name further than mineenemies have already.)More dangerous are Poley & Baines (& I now think Thomas Walsingham), who havemade themselves so seeming indispensable that their word be taken even overmine, & I have proven my worth to Gloriana in great extremis.I read with great delight the pages of yr.Merchant you included with thebooks, & have returned some suggestions along with mine own current project.Also, I am quite engaged with your character of Beatrice she reflects yourAnnie, does she not? but feel Hero could be stronger or mayhap more delicateof constitution; her speeches now show nowt but woman scorned, & women (evenscorned) are no force to be trifled with.You may wish if you can so contriveto seek Her Majesty s approval.Gloriana fancies herself something of a poet,& was of infinite service making that infamous she-wolf Isabella more abreathing woman than the Dragon of Legendry.FurtherIt went on for a page and a half, line-by-line comments on the play, endingwryly,have enclosed some notes for the play or more Like masque my mistress hascommissioned of me, something of an orgy & something of a revel, & I amfeared only half-suited to my poor talents.I wish you would examine themwith some haste, & return post to me through the usual channels.I think on thee & London daily.With all Love & affection, your dear friendLeander.Will read the letter over again, permitting himself a few more smiles.Verywell then, if Her Majesty will sully her hand with playmaking, I will offerher mine own poor words to dirty herself on.He stopped, and frowned, andlooked up at the darkened window.And then he fetched quills the stained onefor the irongall, and the white one for the invisible ink and sat down at thetable and composed himself to write.Beloved companion of mine artWill stopped, brushing the nub of vane that lingered on his quill against hisupper lip.He glanced at the stack of pages beside his elbow, the ink onKit s manuscript so black it gleamed, and frowned.Have a care not to be associated too plainly with Hunsdon, Burghley, Oxford &Kit, how do I write to tell thee that Lord Hunsdon has claimed Burbage, Kempand I withal into an playing company, now that Strange is dead? That we arebecome the Lord Chamberlain s Men?He ran a hand through his hair, streaking it for once with lemon juiceinstead of ink.And then he pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward himself, andwrote Dearest Annie instead.Three days later, Will and Burbage trudged through a cloying summer rain tothe Spread Eagle, a tavern near the bearbaiting pits that could be forgiven acertain lack of charm for the virtue of its pies, although for safety s sakeWill wouldn t drink anything weaker than ale.A filthy floor and walls darkwith smoke and grease did nothing to brighten its face, but Will hadforgotten to eat through the afternoon, and his stomach grumbled painfullywhen the wench another attraction of the Eagle slid his supper under hisnose.Burbage looked up at the sound and laughed, pushing bread through bloodyjuices, then stuffing the soaked sops into his mouth.You ll waste away to aghost, he said.Will broke the pie open and scooped aromatic meat and onions to his mouth.Gravy trickled into his beard; he wiped it on the back of his hand.Oxford s help isn t help, he said in a low voice.If I suspected he were competent,I d believe he meant to impede rather than assist.At least Jew and Merchant are showing a success, for all I m hard-put to believe we staged them soswiftly as we did.Has there been word of Lopez?Burbage, chewing thoughtfully, only turned his head from side to side.He ll hang, for all Burghley can do.We may be lucky enough that our work will fendoff riots and worse, however.And the hunt is on for Papists.I marked adozen recusants in stocks today.Tis a time to keep your hand in yoursleeve, methinks.Mayhap.Will busied himself with pie and ale, unwilling to meet Burbage seye.Rain still rattled the shutters, and all London smelled of damp.Allsummer, the rain had barely lifted long enough for a man to wring the waterfrom his cloak before descending again.I ve a play in mind that might catchHer Majesty s fancy.A tale of two warring houses.Another tragedy.We could use a comedy for the Theatre.Now that the plague has liftedthat we ve lifted the plagueaye, well, yes.People want happy things.Can you write me a comedy by AllSaint s Day, Will?I wot.A shadow fell across the table as a stocky figure, cloak dripping rain,passed between Will and Burbage and the light.William Shakespeare.A sonorous voice spoke in educated tones.You re going bald on top, Will [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]