Will

I'm happy for the first time in my life,

and it is because of thee.

Your wife's downstairs.

- Pa! - Will's brought his family.

I met the scribe at the Theatre.

Pretty, blonde.

She's real, and I've vanished.

You are more real to me than life itself.

I will never lie with Keenan because I don't love him.

We must go, now!

Seize him!

- I will answer any question. - The truth!

Do you have any idea what my life is like in Stratford?

- Come home. - You must believe in me.

I cannot believe in a dream.

What have you written recently, Kit? I'm still in the research phase.

No! Ahh!

- Wait! - I thought you wanted to die.

Bring it on.

- So you've come at last. - Sorry, my King.

I'll marry Keenan, and you will have Anne,

and together, we will bear it out.

I must write. I must stay in London.

I want us to be a family.

Will, I could at least start looking for a larger room.

Until I finish this new play,

there can be no more talk of moving.

Hamnet.

Come.

When do you think you will be done?

When it is done.

Papa! Papa!

Papa, can I have one? Please?

Another day, Peaseblossom.

Pa! Come look! There's a lady singing to a snake!

Just wait.

We need to make a decision about moving soon.

Catholics have been thrown into unsavory and dark dungeons...

Men: And brought so near starving

that some for famine have licked the very moisture off the walls.

- For you. - Want one?

Some have been so far consumed

that they were hardly recovered to life.

What unsufferable agonies we have been... Man: What is this blasphemy?!

It's Robert.

Men: It is not possible to express...

These are your cousin's words?

- Sit down, you pigs! - Traitors! Dogs!

- Rejoice in the true faith! - Bloody Catholics!

Man: No rest shall be found, no harbor reached,

nor crown expected before the combat is finished.

We must go. Come on.

Where's Hamnet? Hamnet!

- Wait here. I'll find him. - Hamnet! Come here, darling.

Hamnet?

- Have you seen my boy, Hamnet? - No.

Hamnet!

Let them draw us upon hurdles.

Unfoul us...

- Hamnet! - Hamnet! Hamnet!

Hamnet!

Such chariots do we triumph! - Hamnet!

Hamnet!

Hamnet!

Uhh!

Hamnet!

Papa!

Hamnet!

Such accomplished garments...

Uhh!

- Uhh! - Papa!

Papa!

Come! This way!

Let's kill all the lawyers!

Kemp: And the fountain shall spill with wine!

It appears that today, our stage imitates life.

I was there as it broke.

Mr. Cotton?

Aye.

There shall be no money!

Anne and the children... I couldn't find Hamnet.

He's safe?

Yes. They're all fine.

How goes Keenan?

Good.

Mother and Father adore him,

and I'm held up as the perfect example of daughter-dom.

Congratulations.

Thank you.

Just professional, nothing personal.

We're nothing if not professional.

Love is madness.

"Love is madness." That's good.

And I am driven to bedlam by that shining goddess before us.

Lord Hunsdon's new mistress, brother? Thou art truly mad.

I hear her mother was impoverished Moroccan royalty,

and her father a Venetian musician.

And she fancies herself a poetess.

You must write me a sonnet to bedazzle her with.

I'm too busy trying to write your next role.

Ah, the sequel.

How goes it?

I've got the title.

"Henry VI, Part 2: Return of the Roses."

That is a shithouse title.

Methinks if thou wishes to feed thy family,

you'll accept my commission...

A shilling for a goddess-wooing sonnet.

Me their lord!

- 5. - 2.

2 shillings, sixpence.

Done.

The pear of Anguish.

It blossoms like a flower.

Master Neemes, in a man's mouth...

it tears apart his jaw.

But that would make it rather difficult for you to speak, hmm?

I will speak only of the Holy Spirit...

the communion of the saints,

the resurrection of...

But there is another much darker,

much warmer, much more secret place

for my pear to bloom,

London streets are stained with blood.

Speak plainly. How does Southwell's book...

incite the Catholic scum?

When the Queen reads.

Father Southwell's entreaty to her... To her?

Her Majesty? Elizabeth?

The traitor dares to address his honeyed lies to my queen?

The problem with the sequel

is that Queen Margaret's emotional journey

doesn't make sense without the prior history.

Nonetheless, we need something new from you soon.

Part 1 has run eight times already this month.

I know.

Why must you write the plays in order?

Why can't you write the story that comes before Part 1?

Write the plays out of order?

Has that ever been done before?

There had never been a playhouse in London

before my father made it so.

Write the story that precedes "Henry VI."

Not the sequel, but the...

Prequel?

Prequel.

You're a genius.

Emerson: Wasp?

How are you, my King?

Better now I see you by my side.

Is it night yet?

Just barely.

Was there peace enough for you to work today?

Yes.

I've written copious amounts.

Nothing at all?

It's been too long, Wasp.

The world needs your brilliance, and you need to shine

or you'll gutter like a flame without air.

How can I shine when I have nothing inside me but darkness?

I pray I am not its cause.

No. Never.

You are my muse.

Will you have another?

Paulina! Another round.

Coming up, Will.

Anne.

What are you doing here?

I thought I should finally properly meet your friends.

Gentlemen, some of you may remember my wife,

Anne Shakespeare.

- Ah. - Come on.

It's nice to have a lovely new face at the table.

Autolycus: You get sick of these ugly mugs after a while.

Your husband's star is on the rise, Mistress Shakespeare.

Barnaby: You must be very proud.

Yes. Although we're all finding it a little difficult

to settle into London life.

Oh.

Did anyone see the price of fish this week?

"The Price of Fish"?

Is that the new one at The Rose?

How did you find our performance of "Henry VI"?

I, ah, actually, I haven't seen it.

But... But I will. Very soon.

Perhaps we should go.

Kemp: Good God.

And who is this fine specimen of woman?

Master Kemp, this is my wife.

Mistress Anne Shakespeare, of the Warwickshire Hathaways.

Young Will truly Hath-a-way with words.

Yet you should be free to Hath-your-wa with me.

Master Phillips?

Let us praise God for this merry year,

where flesh is cheap and women dear... Man: Oh!

And lusty lads roam there and here.

So merrily, heigh ho!

All: Merrily, heigh ho!

I am slain by a fair cruel maid... Man: Heigh!

With a horned owl to spend her days,