Will

Who will want a play by William Shakespeare?

I can't spend the rest of my life making gloves.

We have three children.

A player is little better than a beggar.

They say in London, people cry the names of players

as if they were kings.

I dream this for us.

No, Will, your dreams are your own.

Trust me, Ann.

Hamnet:

Da?

Good morrow, Prince Hamnet.

Ma don't tell the stories proper.

Ah.

Then I will leave Queen Mab with thee.

What's she?

She is a fairy no bigger than a gnat,

and night by night, she creeps into boys' ears

and tells stories of...

what?

Dragons?

Aye.

Dragons.

Can you be satisfied with Mab 'til I return?

Hey.

None of this.

Go on.

One day, I'll buy us the biggest house in Stratford.

I swear it.

I'm to feed them, am I?

I'll send money within the month.

Do. Or I'll turn them into the street.

You must bear this to London... For your cousin Southwell.

Southwell's the most hunted man in England.

Father Southwell's a true Catholic.

Mary: Aye, Will, and a true writer.

You'd do well to follow his example.

Put your words to the service of God.

I have no care for politics.

This is no politics... This is your soul!

Never forget what those Protestant devils

did to our family.

Remember, Will.

Remember.

Leave it with John Wilkes at the Cross Keys tavern.

And your rosary.

Better to die righteous than to burn for fear.

Man: Pork here!

Pork here! Pork here!

Get out! Don't!

Hey! Get off me!

Are you trying to steal from me?!

I'll cut your bloody arm off!

Let me go! Let me go!

Piss off, you fat bastard!

Get out, you poxy street rat!

Ohh!

Guide, sir. New in town?

I-I'll show you all the sights, sir...

Bowling alleys, card dens, pistol shootin'...

Bears ripped apart by wild dogs...

Your horoscope read by a blind virgin!

With Presto as your guide, London's your oyster!

"London's your oyster."

Why did you write my words, sir?

Why, sir? I didn't say no treason.

I hope not... a treasonous oyster will run you through

quicker than a Spanish blade.

Ah. "Treasonous oyster"... That's good, sir.

Are you a poet, sir?

You're a great poet. I can tell.

Perhaps you're in London to make your fortune, sir?

Aye. Which means now, I have none, so farewell.

Sir, I want no money.

It makes me sick to hear you say it.

Where you heading, sir?

No charge.

The theatre...?

You're a theatre poet!

I've hit it, haven't I?

The best theatre in London's right 'ere, sir.

Come on!

Come on, sir.

Where?

Over here.

Come on, sir!

Right here, sir! Where is it?

And it's free.

The best theatre in London's right here, sir.

Hurry! This way! Puritan: Almighty Father...

Come on, sir!

Whose blessed son died

to destroy the works of the devil!

Man: Catholic traitor!

Catholic dog! Die, Catholic!

Go to hell, Catholic!

Hang, Catholic scum!

John: Watch, Will.

Watch these devils murder your uncle.

God have mercy on their souls.

God have mercy on their souls, Will.

Oi!

Kill you!

I'll kill you!

Catholic! Catholic!

Catholic!

Topcliffe: O God...

who knows us to be

in the midst of so many and great dangers

that by reason of the frailty of our nature,

we cannot always stand upright.

Grant us such strength and protection

as may support us

and carry us through all temptations...

Where is Southwell?

Hail Mary...

Hail Mary full of grace...

Spare me your Popish idolatry.

I believe in the holy Catholic Church.

Yes.

But our gracious queen and all who love her

believe in the one true Protestant faith

and will not rest until we wipe the Catholic filth from England.

You will burn in Hell.

Perhaps.

But you will get there sooner.

Hmm?

For the love of thy only son,

our savior, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

I'm gonna die!

Be still down there, you hear? It's slipping!

Sir, a pint for you? Please. Come on.

Richard: Thy brow is whiter than a dove, my love.

Brighter than all the stars in the heavens above.

I am a mere maid...

"I am a mere maid."

I am a mere maid,

unused to the ways of men!

Stinking, vile pig's wallow!

James: This mere mortal is stealing my fair maid!

I shall smite him with a mighty clap from Heaven!

Come away with me, my love!

Man: Boring!

Away! Who wrote this?

Come away with me, my love. Aaghhh! Rhythm!

Damn you, Richard! Rhythm!

Rhythm!!

Your son is ruining my play! Who are you?

I'll bloody ruin you!

It's a disaster!

Oh, really? I thought it was going quite well.

I told you to do no more Baxter plays!

Oh, the oracle speaks!

Ohhh!

Boxman: He's here.

Man: Get off the stage!

Where is it?

You said it was finished!

I've been far too busy on Her Majesty's secret service

to write.

Kit, please.

I need a Marlowe play.

Obviously.

But the unfortunate truth is,

I am now bound to Henslowe of the Rose.

Bound?

By exclusive contract.

Henslowe pays me not to write.

Not to write?!

It's very New Age.

New Age?

I paid you a fortune.

But Henslowe... Stuff Henslowe!

This is the Theatre, and I built it!

Without me, there would be no theatre in England,

and Christopher Marlowe

would be just another arse-swiving nobody.

As I said... An exclusive contract.

We're leaving.

Lord Hunsdon: Burbage!

Lord Hunsdon, leaving so soon? Burbage!

The Morris dance is yet to come.

Does your husband forget that his license

rests on my patronage?

Your Lordsh... Burbage!

Serve me something more appetizing than this excrement,

or I shall find a company more worthy of my name.

Poxy old prick.

Do something!

James, I don't...