The Two Noble Kinsmen – “Roses their sharpe spines being gone, not royal in their smells alone, but in their hew…”

The Two Noble Kinsmen – “Roses their sharpe spines being gone, not royal in their smells alone, but in their hew…”

As the sun rose on the hexagonal shadow of the Globe on Saturday June 29^th, ‘Henry VIII’ was to have its most memorable performance and its last at the original Globe (although a performance would take place of the play on June 29^th 1628 in the new rebuilt Globe Theatre). 

From an hour or two after sunrise at 5am, stalls of all sorts would have started to set up outside the Globe and beside where the punts crossed the river to arrive on the south bank of the Thames. Around 9am the red flag would have been raised above the towers of the Globe Theatre to tell people that a History play was to be performed later that day and soon after, boys would have been sent out with flyers telling audiences that today’s play would indeed be another performance of ‘The Famous History of the Life of King Henry the Eight’. Around 12 noon, when they heard the church bells chime from Southwark Cathedral, the actors, musicians and stage helpers would wander over to the theatre and start climbing the stairs to the third storey of the tiring house where the dressing rooms, costume store and props room were housed. 

John Lowin, Richard Burbage and Robert Gough probably arrived latest at about 2pm after drinking most of the night celebrating John Lowin’s triumph as Henry VIII the previous day. They would check the sundial near the back entrance and because it was a sunny day, they would have a fair idea that they had an hour to go until their performance.

At around 2.30pm the groundlings would have started to drift into the theatre, each dropping their penny in the box as they moved into the Globe Theatre. A stage hand boy would check the sundial one more time just after this before climbing the stairs to start to get the actors down ready for the play’s opening. A final visit was probably made up the stairs to get Richard Burbage who probably started the play with his Prologue speech. Little did they all know that about 15-25 minutes into this performance, at either the beginning of Act I Scene ii (when John Lowin entered as Henry VIII for the first time in this performance) or during the masque scene at Cardinal Wolsey's house in Act 1 Scene iv when King Henry VIII arrives, that the canon set off to herald his arrival as King Henry VIII, would set fire to the thatch roof and send them all running for their lives as the Globe Theatre, built in 1599 and the centrepiece for over 1000 performances of some 120 plays, would burn to the ground.

An eye-witness account of the Globe Theatre fire on June 29^th, 1613 written by Sir Henry Wotton in a letter dated July 2, 1613 describes the fire in the following words:

"... I will entertain you at the present with what happened this week at the Banks side. The King's players had a new play called All is True, representing some principal pieces of the reign of Henry the Eighth, which set forth with many extraordinary circumstances of pomp and majesty even to the matting of the stage; the knights of the order with their Georges and Garter, the guards with their embroidered coats, and the like: sufficient in truth within awhile to make greatness very familiar, if not ridiculous. Now King Henry making a Masque at the Cardinal Wolsey's house, and certain cannons being shot off at his entry, some of the paper or other stuff, wherewith one of them was stopped, did light on the thatch, where being thought at first but idle smoak, and their eyes more attentive to the show, it kindled inwardly, and ran round like a train, consuming within less than an hour the whole house to the very ground. This was the fatal period of that virtuous fabrick, wherein yet nothing did perish but wood and straw, and a few forsaken cloaks; only one man had his breeches set on fire, that would perhaps have broyled him, if he had not by the benefit of a provident wit, put it out with a bottle of ale."

When the Globe Theatre burnt down on June 29^th 1613, it was the end of an era. Shakespeare already was probably spending more time at Stratford upon Avon than in London and his investments in the country and in London were reaping him rewards so the burning of the Globe was not so much a financial blow (it was rebuilt and re-opened the next year in 1614) but a psychological one. It probably felt like the end of an era for Shakespeare. With the belief (at least amongst the actor's of the company) that the play ‘Henry VIII’ might be a bit jinxed, the actors of the King’s Men moved back over to the Blackfriars Theatre to probably do reruns of ‘The Tempest’ and ‘The Winter’s Tale’ while Shakespeare parked himself in the lodgings he owned in the Blackfriars’ Priory and started work with John Fletcher on what was to become his last play, ‘The Two Noble Kinsmen’.

After seeing Richard Edwarde's adaptation of ‘The Knight’s Tale’ from Chaucer’s ‘The Canterbury Tales’, Shakespeare probably thought that he and Fletcher could whip up a better version with some original twists in no time at all. With the weather heating up, Shakespeare and Fletcher probably set themselves the task of writing the play by the end of July so that they could have the play premiere on the Blackfriars Theatre stage in mid-August. Even for Shakespeare and Jacobean playwrights, this was a cracking pace.

It would seem that many of the first scenes of each Act of ‘The Two Noble Kinsmen’ have Shakespeare’s touch all over them, so it is not unlikely that Shakespeare would have burnt the candle late at night and have one or two scenes written for Fletcher in the morning. Fletcher probably then took these scenes back to his lodgings and would take a few days to write up the rest of the scenes for the Act before he would bring them back to Shakespeare for revision and pick up Shakespeare’s opening scenes for the next Act. After about three weeks of this process, the play was virtually complete and handwritten copies of individual actor’s parts were probably copied off the originals (locked in Shakespeare’s lodgings) by Shakespeare and Fletcher themselves and one or two trusted copy-writers. Around the first week in August, the actors would have started to rehearse their parts in the mornings (since many would be playing in afternoon performances) and by mid-August 1613, ‘The Two Noble Kinsmen’ would have premiered at the Blackfriars Theatre.

The Prologue of ‘The Two Noble Kinsmen’, informs the audience that the play is based on a story from Chaucer. The play opens with a scene where three queens come to petition King Theseus and Queen Hippolyta of Athens to take revenge for the deaths of their husbands by King Creon of Thebes, who will also not allow the proper burial of the three queens husbands.

“We are three, Queenes, whose Soveraignes fell before

The wrath of cruell Creon; who endured

The Beakes of Ravens, Talents of the Knights,

And pecks of Crowes, in the fowle fields of Thebs.

He will not suffer us to burne their bones,

To urne their ashes, nor to take th' offence

Of mortall loathsomenes from the blest eye

Of holy Phoebus, but infects the windes

With stench of our slaine Lords.  O pity, Duke:

Thou purger of the earth, draw thy feard Sword

That does good turnes to'th world; give us the Bones

Of our dead Kings, that we may Chappell them;

And of thy boundles goodnes take some note

That for our crowned heades we have no roofe,

Save this which is the Lyons, and the Beares,

And vault to every thing.”

Theseus listens to their story and is so moved that he agrees to mount a war on Creon and the city of Thebes.

The next scene then switches to Thebes where we meet the two noble kinsmen of the title. They are two friends and cousins, Palomon and Arcite, who are revolted by the tyranny and actions of Creon, decide that they will still stay and they will fight for Thebes not for Creon:

“He, a most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes

Makes heaven unfeard, and villany assured

Beyond its power there's nothing, almost puts

Faith in a feavour, and deifies alone

Voluble chance; who onely attributes

The faculties of other Instruments

To his owne Nerves and act; Commands men service,

And what they winne in't, boot and glory; on(e)

That feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let

The blood of mine that's sibbe to him be suckt

From me with Leeches; Let them breake and fall

Off me with that corruption…

Nothing truer:

I thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea'ft

The eares of heav'nly Iustice: widdows cryes

Descend againe into their throates, and have not

Due audience of the Gods…

Our services stand now for Thebs, not Creon,

Yet to be neutrall to him were dishonour;

Rebellious to oppose: therefore we must

With him stand to the mercy of our Fate,

Who hath bounded our last minute.”

At the gates of Athens, Hippolyta and Emilia bid farewell to Theseus’ forces and wish them success. They contemplate the nature of war, power, men and what women must endure with war.

“In's bosome:

We have bin Soldiers, and wee cannot weepe

When our Friends don their helmes, or put to sea,

Or tell of Babes broachd on the Launce, or women

That have sod their Infants in (and after eate them)

The brine, they wept at killing 'em; Then if

You stay to see of us such Spincsters, we

Should hold you here for ever…

With much labour,

And I did love him fort: they two have Cabind

In many as dangerous, as poore a Corner,

Perill and want contending; they have skift

Torrents whose roring tyranny and power

I'th least of these was dreadfull, and they have

Fought out together, where Deaths-selfe was lodgd,

Yet fate hath brought them off: Their knot of love,

Tide, weau'd, intangled, with so true, so long,

And with a finger of so deepe a cunning,

May be outworne, never undone.  I thinke

Theseus cannot be umpire to himselfe,

Cleaving his conscience into twaine and doing

Each side like Iustice, which he loves best…

Now, alacke, weake Sister,

I must no more beleeve thee in this point

(Though in't I know thou dost beleeve thy selfe,)

Then I will trust a sickely appetite,

That loathes even as it longs; but, sure, my Sister,

If I were ripe for your perswasion, you

Have saide enough to shake me from the Arme

Of the all noble Theseus, for whose fortunes

I will now in, and kneele with great assurance,

That we, more then his Pirothous, possesse

The high throne in his heart…”

The battle then begins and although Palomon and Arcite fight valiantly, Thebes is defeated by Theseus and his forces. Theseus knows the cost of war and prepares to take Palomon and Arcite and others prisoner:

“Then like men use 'em.

The very lees of such (millions of rates)

Exceede the wine of others: all our Surgions

Convent in their behoofe; our richest balmes

Rather then niggard, waft: their lives concerne us

Much more then Thebs is worth: rather then have 'em

Freed of this plight, and in their morning state

(Sound and at liberty) I would 'em dead;

But forty thousand fold we had rather have 'em

Prisoners to us then death.  Beare 'em speedily

From our kinde aire, to them unkinde, and minister

What man to man may doe--for our sake more,

Since I have knowne frights, fury, friends beheastes,

Loves provocations, zeale, a mistris Taske,

Desire of liberty, a feavour, madnes,

Hath set a marke which nature could not reach too

Without some imposition: sicknes in will

Or wrastling strength in reason.  For our Love

And great Appollos mercy, all our best

Their best skill tender.  Leade into the Citty,

Where having bound things scatterd, we will post 

To Athens for(e) our Army.”

Act One of ‘The Two Noble Kinsmen' ends with the three queens taking possession of their husbands. They progress across the stage in a solemn funeral procession with the bodies of their husbands.

“Vrnes and odours bring away,

Vapours, sighes, darken the day;

Our dole more deadly lookes than dying;

Balmes, and Gummes, and heavy cheeres,

Sacred vials fill'd with teares,

And clamors through the wild ayre flying.

Come all sad and solempne Showes,

That are quick-eyd pleasures foes;

We convent nought else but woes.

We convent nought else but woes.”

The Two Noble Kinsmen Act Two– “By him, like a shadow
, I'll ever dwell.”

Act Two starts with a Wooer approaching a Jailor to get his permission to marry his daughter. The Jailor says that he will think more about this match. The Jailor’s Daughter then enters and waxes lyrical about the conduct, charm and nobleness of the two prisoners. She is obviously in love with them. Palamon and Arcite enter. They have resigned themselves to their imprisonment but Arcite in particular seems to suggest that they make the most of their time as they also swear eternal friendship to one another:

“No, Palamon,

Those hopes are Prisoners with us; here we are

And here the graces of our youthes must wither

Like a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us,

And, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried;

The sweete embraces of a loving wife,

Loden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids

Shall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us,

No figures of our selves shall we ev'r see,

To glad our age, and like young Eagles teach 'em

Boldly to gaze against bright armes, and say:

'Remember what your fathers were, and conquer.'

The faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Banishments,

And in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune,

Till shee for shame see what a wrong she has done

To youth and nature.  This is all our world;

We shall know nothing here but one another,

Heare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes.

The Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it:

Sommer shall come, and with her all delights;

But dead-cold winter must inhabite here still…

Yet, Cosen,

Even from the bottom of these miseries,

From all that fortune can inflict upon us,

I see two comforts rysing, two meere blessings,

If the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,

And the enjoying of our greefes together.

Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish

If I thinke this our prison…

Shall we make worthy uses of this place

That all men hate so much?

… Let's thinke this prison holy sanctuary,

To keepe us from corruption of worse men.

We are young and yet desire the waies of honour,

That liberty and common Conversation,

The poyson of pure spirits, might like women

Wooe us to wander from.  What worthy blessing

Can be but our Imaginations

May make it ours?  And heere being thus together,

We are an endles mine to one another;

We are one anothers wife, ever begetting

New birthes of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;

We are, in one another, Families,

I am your heire, and you are mine: This place

Is our Inheritance, no hard Oppressour

Dare take this from us; here, with a little patience,

We shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seeke us:

The hand of war hurts none here, nor the Seas

Swallow their youth: were we at liberty,

A wife might part us lawfully, or busines;

Quarrels consume us, Envy of ill men

Grave our acquaintance; I might sicken, Cosen,

Where you should never know it, and so perish

Without your noble hand to close mine eies,

Or prayers to the gods: a thousand chances,

Were we from hence, would seaver us…”

While they are talking in their prison cell, Emilia (Hippolyta’ sister) and her gentlewomen enter the garden below both men are attracted to Emilia, who is the sister of Hippolyta, wife of Theseus. The eternal friendship they so recently swore to seems to go by the wayside as they profess they will both try to woo Emilia. Palamon claims that since her saw her first that he has first claim on her affections but Arcite claims he love her more deeply. They argue and even threaten to knock one another’s brains out. The Jailor arrives and they stop their fighting for the moment. Arcite is taken away to see Theseus and we hear that Arcite is to be exiled while Palamon is left in jail but moved into irons away from the garden where he first spied Emilia.

Thinking that Palamon will have the advantage now in gaining Emilia’s affections, the exiled Arcite decides that he will disguise himself as a peasant and renter the city to see his beloved Emilia.

“Banishd the kingdome? tis a benefit,

A mercy I must thanke 'em for, but banishd

The free enjoying of that face I die for,

Oh twas a studdied punishment, a death

Beyond Imagination: Such a vengeance

That, were I old and wicked, all my sins

Could never plucke upon me.  Palamon,

Thou ha'st the Start now, thou shalt stay and see

Her bright eyes breake each morning gainst thy window,

And let in life into thee; thou shalt feede

Vpon the sweetenes of a noble beauty,

That nature nev'r exceeded, nor nev'r shall:

Good gods! what happines has Palamon!

Twenty to one, hee'le come to speake to her,

And if she be as gentle as she's faire,

I know she's his; he has a Tongue will tame

Tempests, and make the wild Rockes wanton.

Come what can come,

The worst is death; I will not leave the Kingdome.

I know mine owne is but a heape of ruins,

And no redresse there; if I goe, he has her.

I am resolu'd an other shape shall make me,

Or end my fortunes.  Either way, I am happy:

Ile see her, and be neere her, or no more.”

Arcite then encounters three countrymen who are going to the city for some games that Theseus is holding. Arcite sees this as the perfect opportunity to enter the city again and perhaps compete in a wrestling competition and see Emilia again.

“This is an offerd oportunity

I durst not wish for.  Well I could have wrestled,

The best men calld it excellent, and run--

Swifter the winde upon a feild of Corne

(Curling the wealthy eares) never flew: Ile venture,

And in some poore disguize be there; who knowes

Whether my browes may not be girt with garlands?

And happines preferre me to a place,

Where I may ever dwell in sight of her.”

Back inside the city, the Jailor’s Daughter reveals that she is in love with Palamon and she decides to free him and help him escape:

“Why should I love this Gentleman?  Tis odds

He never will affect me; I am base,

My Father the meane Keeper of his Prison,

And he a prince: To marry him is hopelesse;

To be his whore is witles.  Out upon't,

What pushes are we wenches driven to,

When fifteene once has found us!  First, I saw him;

I (seeing) thought he was a goodly man;

He has as much to please a woman in him,

(If he please to bestow it so) as ever

These eyes yet lookt on.  Next, I pittied him,

And so would any young wench, o' my Conscience,

That ever dream'd, or vow'd her Maydenhead

To a yong hansom Man; Then I lov'd him,

Extreamely lov'd him, infinitely lov'd him;

And yet he had a Cosen, faire as he too.

But in my heart was Palamon, and there,

Lord, what a coyle he keepes!  To heare him

Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is!

And yet his Songs are sad ones.  Fairer spoken

Was never Gentleman.  When I come in

To bring him water in a morning, first

He bowes his noble body, then salutes me, thus:

'Faire, gentle Mayde, good morrow; may thy goodnes

Get thee a happy husband.'  Once he kist me.

I lov'd my lips the better ten daies after.

Would he would doe so ev'ry day!  He greives much,

And me as much to see his misery.

What should I doe, to make him know I love him?

For I would faine enjoy him.  Say I ventur'd

To set him free? what saies the law then?  Thus much

For Law, or kindred!  I will doe it,

And this night, or to morrow, he shall love me.”

Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous and Emilia enter with Arcite (in disguise as a common man with some noble blood). Arcite has a victor’s garland on and it is obvious that he has won the wrestling contest. It is decided that Arcite will look after take a ride with Emilia the next day in the forest.

The act ends when the Jailor’s Daughter enters revealing to the audience that she has helped Palamon to escape and has led him to a forest (the same forest that the audience knows that Arcite and Emilia are soon to enter).

The Two Noble Kinsmen Act Three – “Alas, dissolve, my life, let not my sense unsettle, lest I should drown, or stab, or hang myself.”

In a forest near Athens, we encounter Arcite professing his love and admiration for Emilia. Palamon then appears, still in the shackles from his imprisonment. He has overheard Arcite and accuses Arcite of being a traitor for loving Emilia who he claims he loved first.

“Traitor kinsman,

Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signs

Of prisonment were off me, and this hand

But owner of a sword! By all oaths in one,

I, and the justice of my love, would make thee

A confess’d traitor! O thou most perfidious

That ever gently look’d! The void’st of honor

That ev’r bore gentle token! Falsest cousin

That ever blood made kin, call’st thou her thine?

I’ll prove it in my shackles, with these hands

Void of appointment, that thou li’st, and art

A very thief in love, a chaffy lord,

Nor worth the name of villain! Had I a sword,

And these house-clogs away— “

They argue over who loves and deserves Emilia more and challenge one another to a duel that very evening. Palamon wants the duel to be even and asks Arcite to bring him food and weapons for the fight. Arcite agrees to return later with both.

In another part of the forest, the Jailor’s Daughter is roaming alone after helping Palamon to escape. She realizes that Palamon does not love her and she is starting to turn mad with the thought that Palamon will never love her as she loves him and she desires to die:

“He has mistook the brake I meant, is gone

After his fancy. ’Tis now well-nigh morning;

No matter, would it were perpetual night,

And darkness lord o’ th’ world! Hark, ’tis a wolf!

In me hath grief slain fear, and but for one thing,

I care for nothing, and that’s Palamon.

I reck not if the wolves would jaw me, so

He had this file. What if I hallow’d for him?

I cannot hallow. If I whoop’d, what then?

If he not answer’d, I should call a wolf,

And do him but that service. I have heard

Strange howls this livelong night; why may’t not be

They have made prey of him? He has no weapons,

He cannot run, the jingling of his gyves

Might call fell things to listen, who have in them

A sense to know a man unarm’d, and can

Smell where resistance is. I’ll set it down

He’s torn to pieces. They howl’d many together,

And then they fed on him. So much for that,

Be bold to ring the bell. How stand I then?

All’s char’d when he is gone. No, no, I lie:

My father’s to be hang’d for his escape,

Myself to beg, if I priz’d life so much

As to deny my act, but that I would not,

Should I try death by dozens. I am mop’d:

Food took I none these two days—

Sipp’d some water. I have not clos’d mine eyes

Save when my lids scour’d off their brine. Alas,

Dissolve, my life, let not my sense unsettle

Lest I should drown, or stab, or hang myself.

O state of nature, fail together in me,

Since thy best props are warp’d! So which way now?

The best way is, the next way to a grave;

Each errant step beside is torment. Lo

The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech owl

Calls in the dawn! All offices are done

Save what I fail in. But the point is this—

An end, and that is all.”

Arcite returns to the forest with food and wine for Palamon so that they can fight fairly over Emilia. As Palamon eats and drinks, they talk of women and love. Arcite promises to return in two hours with weapons for their duel.

We cross back to the Jailor’s daughter who is going steadily mad and sings to herself as she imagines her father has already been put to death for her releasing the prisoner Palamon:

“I am very cold, and all the stars are out too,

The little stars and all, that look like aglets.

The sun has seen my folly. Palamon!

Alas, no; he’s in heaven. Where am I now?

Yonder’s the sea, and there’s a ship. How’t tumbles!

And there’s a rock lies watching under water;

Now, now, it beats upon it—now, now, now!

There’s a leak sprung, a sound one. How they cry!

Open her before the wind! You’ll lose all else.

Up with a course or two, and tack about, boys!

Good night, good night, y’ are gone. I am very hungry:

Would I could find a fine frog! He would tell me

News from all parts o’ th’ world. Then would I make

A carreck of a cockleshell, and sail

By east and north-east to the King of Pigmies,

For he tells fortunes rarely. Now my father,

Twenty to one, is truss’d up in a trice

Tomorrow morning; I’ll say never a word.

(Singing) ‘For I’ll cut my green coat a foot above my knee,

And I’ll clip my yellow locks an inch below mine e’e.

Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny.

He s’ buy me a white cut, forth for to ride,

And I’ll go seek him through the world that is so wide.

Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny.”

O for a prick now, like a nightingale,

To put my breast against! I shall sleep like a top else.’ “

A Schoolmaster and Morris Dancers enter the forest. They dance and are filled with great mirth. The Jailor’s Daughter enters, now in what seems like the complete throngs of madness. The schoolmaster suggests that someone dance with her and see if they can bring her back to her senses.

Then Theseus, Pirthous, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite and Theseus’ train enter obviously chasing a stag on a hunt. The Schoolmaster and the Morris Dancers dance to support the hunt. Theseus and the hunt participants exit.

Palamon enters another part of the forest where he agreed to meet Arcite for the duel. 

“About this hour my cousin gave his faith

To visit me again, and with him bring

Two swords and two good armors. If he fail,

He’s neither man nor soldier. When he left me,

I did not think a week could have restor’d

My lost strength to me, I was grown so low

And crestfall’n with my wants. I thank thee, Arcite,

Thou art yet a fair foe; and I feel myself,

With this refreshing, able once again

To out-dure danger. To delay it longer

Would make the world think, when it comes to hearing,

That I lay fatting like a swine, to fight,

And not a soldier: therefore this blest morning

Shall be the last; and that sword he refuses,

If it but hold, I kill him with. ’Tis justice.

So, love and fortune for me!”

Arcite enters with the weapons and they commend one another before they prepare to duel. They start the fight, but then Theseus enters. On seeing them both he initially condemns them both to death but they plea with him for mercy. Palamon explains their circumstances:

“Hold thy word, Theseus.

We are certainly both traitors, both despisers

Of thee and of thy goodness. I am Palamon,

That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison—

Think well what that deserves; and this is Arcite,

A bolder traitor never trod thy ground,

A falser nev’r seem’d friend. This is the man

Was begg’d and banish’d, this is he contemns thee

And what thou dar’st do; and in this disguise,

Against thy own edict, follows thy sister,

That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia,

Whose servant (if there be a right in seeing,

And first bequeathing of the soul to) justly

I am, and which is more, dares think her his.

This treachery, like a most trusty lover,

I call’d him now to answer. If thou be’st,

As thou art spoken, great and virtuous,

The true decider of all injuries,

Say, “Fight again!” and thou shalt see me, Theseus,

Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy.

Then take my life, I’ll woo thee to’t…

Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus,

If unto neither thou show mercy. Stop,

As thou art just, thy noble ear against us;

As thou art valiant, for thy cousin’s soul,

Whose twelve strong labors crown his memory,

Let ’s die together, at one instant, Duke.

Only a little let him fall before me,

That I may tell my soul he shall not have her.”

Emilia and Hippolyta, plead on behalf of Palamon and Arcite and Theseus decides to banish them both. Palamon and Arcite both refuse banishment. Theseus then asks Emilia to choose one of them and says that the other will be put to death.

“Say, Emilia,

If one of them were dead, as one must, are you

Content to take th’ other to your husband?

They cannot both enjoy you. They are princes

As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble

As ever fame yet spoke of. Look upon ’em

And if you can love, end this difference.

I give consent.—Are you content too, princes?”

Both Palamon and Arcite like this idea but Emilia cannot chose so Theseus declares that combat will once again decide who will live and who will die and that this combat will take place in one month:

“Thus I ordain it,

And by mine honor, once again it stands,

Or both shall die: you shall both to your country,

And each within this month, accompanied

With three fair knights, appear again in this place,

In which I’ll plant a pyramid; and whether,

Before us that are here, can force his cousin

By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar,

He shall enjoy her; the other lose his head,

And all his friends; nor shall he grudge to fall,

Nor think he dies with interest in this lady.

Will this content ye?

… Come shake hands again then,

And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel

Sleep till the hour prefix’d, and hold your course…

Come, I’ll give ye

Now usage like to princes and to friends.

When ye return, who wins I’ll settle here;

Who loses, yet I’ll weep upon his bier.”

The Two Noble Kinsmen Act Four - “Tis pitty Love should be so tyrannous.”

Act Three of ‘The Two Kinsmen’ starts outside the jail where the Jailor hears from a friend about what happened in the forest and how Palamon and Arcite were not arrested immediately because Hippolyta and Emilia pleaded on their behalf. The Jailor is pleased. A second friend of the Jailor’s enters and reveals the news that Theseus has cleared the Jailor of any wrong doing in Palamon’s escape and that Palamon, in thanks for the Jailor’s daughter helping him with her escape, has left a considerable amount of money for a dowry for her marriage. The Jailor is thankful for this news. This second friend also reveals that Palamon and Arcite have been pardoned but that they will fight for Emilia and the one who loses will die.

The Wooer enters again at this point and asks the Jailor how his daughter is. The Jailor replies that he thinks his daughter is not well. Then the Wooer reveals how he thinks that the Jailor’s daughter has gone mad and he reveals how he saw the Jailor’s daughter down by the river:

“I’ll tell you quickly. As I late was angling

In the great lake that lies behind the palace,

From the far shore, thick set with reeds and sedges,

As patiently I was attending sport,

I heard a voice, a shrill one; and attentive

I gave my ear, when I might well perceive

’Twas one that sung, and by the smallness of it,

A boy or woman. I then left my angle

To his own skill, came near, but yet perceiv’d not

Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds

Had so encompass’d it. I laid me down

And list’ned to the words she sung, for then

Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,

I saw it was your daughter…

She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her

Repeat this often, “Palamon is gone,

Is gone to th’ wood to gather mulberries.

I’ll find him out tomorrow…”

“…His shackles will betray him, he’ll be taken,

And what shall I do then? I’ll bring a bevy,

A hundred black-ey’d maids that love as I do,

With chaplets on their heads of daffadillies,

With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses,

And all we’ll dance an antic ’fore the Duke,

And beg his pardon.” Then she talk’d of you, sir:

That you must lose your head tomorrow morning,

And she must gather flowers to bury you,

And see the house made handsome. Then she sung

Nothing but “Willow, willow, willow,” and between

Ever was “Palamon, fair Palamon,”

And “Palamon was a tall young man.” The place

Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses

A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck

Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colors,

That methought she appear’d like the fair nymph

That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris

Newly dropp’d down from heaven. Rings she made

Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke

The prettiest posies—“Thus our true love’s tied,”

“This you may loose, not me,” and many a one;

And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh’d,

And with the same breath smil’d, and kiss’d her hand…

I made in to her.

She saw me, and straight sought the flood. I sav’d her,

And set her safe to land; when presently

She slipp’d away, and to the city made

With such a cry and swiftness that, believe me,

She left me far behind her. Three or four

I saw from far off cross her—one of ’em

I knew to be your brother; where she stay’d,

And fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with her,

And hither came to tell you.”

Then the Jailor’s Daughter enters with the Jailor’s Brother singing and asking for her wedding gown. She is distracted and talks to the Jailor’s friends about Palamon:

“Good ev’n, good men. Pray did you ever hear

Of one young Palamon?

… Is’t not a fine young gentleman?

…O, is he so? You have a sister?

… But she shall never have him, tell her so,

For a trick that I know. Y’ had best look to her,

For if she see him once, she’s gone—she’s done,

And undone in an hour. All the young maids

Of our town are in love with him, but I laugh at ’em

And let ’em all alone. Is’t not a wise course?

… There is at least two hundred now with child by him—

There must be four. Yet I keep close for all this,

Close as a cockle. And all these must be boys,

He has the trick on’t; and at ten years old

They must be all gelt for musicians,

And sing the wars of Theseus.

… They come from all parts of the dukedom to him.

I’ll warrant ye he had not so few last night

As twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle’t up

In two hours, if his hand be in.

(To her father, the Jailor)

Come hither, you are a wise man.

You are master of a ship?

… Where’s your compass?

… Set it to th’ north.

And now direct your course to th’ wood, where Palamon

Lies longing for me. For the tackling

Let me alone. Come weigh, my hearts, cheerly!”

The Jailor despairs since he knows his daughter is indeed mad and seems past any cure.

Emilia enters alone and looking at her portraits of Palamon and Arcite, she bemoans her predicament:

“Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open

And bleed to death for my sake else. I’ll choose,

And end their strife. Two such young handsome men

Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers,

Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons,

Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,

What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise Nature,

With all her best endowments, all those beauties

She sows into the births of noble bodies,

Were here a mortal woman, and had in her

The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless

She would run mad for this man. What an eye,

Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness,

Has this young prince! Here Love himself sits smiling.

Just such another wanton Ganymede

Set Jove afire with, and enforc’d the god

Snatch up the goodly boy and set him by him,

A shining constellation. What a brow,

Of what a spacious majesty, he carries,

Arch’d like the great-ey’d Juno’s, but far sweeter,

Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and Honor

Methinks from hence, as from a promontory

Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings and sing

To all the under world the loves and fights

Of gods and such men near ’em. Palamon

Is but his foil, to him, a mere dull shadow;

He’s swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy

As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,

No stirring in him, no alacrity,

Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile.

Yet these that we count errors may become him:

Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.

O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?

I am a fool, my reason is lost in me;

I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly

That women ought to beat me. On my knees

I ask thy pardon: Palamon, thou art alone

And only beautiful, and these the eyes,

These the bright lamps of beauty, that command

And threaten Love, and what young maid dare cross ’em?

What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,

Has this brown manly face! O Love, this only

From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite,

Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,

And this the noble body. I am sotted,

Utterly lost. My virgin’s faith has fled me;

For if my brother but even now had ask’d me

Whether I lov’d, I had run mad for Arcite;

Now if my sister—more for Palamon.

Stand both together: now, come ask me, brother—

Alas, I know not! Ask me now, sweet sister—

I may go look! What a mere child is fancy,

That having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,

Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!”

Then Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous and others enter and Emilia is asked whether she has chosen her love or whether the contest will proceed. Emilia says she cannot chose. A messenger enters and describes the various knights who are attached to Palamon and Arcite and have come for the battle. It is revealed that the knights will also lose their lives when their nobleman dies. The predicament looks precarious.

We cross back to the Jailor’s Daughter who is being watched and listened to by the Jailor, her Wooer and a Doctor. They speak in prose and it is clear to them that the Jailor’s Daughter’s madness is growing worse. The Jailor reveals that she showed no symptoms until she met Palamon and that he had before that even thought that she might marry his friend the Wooer. The Doctor comes up with a scheme which involves the Wooer initially coming to her and pretending to be Palamon and the Doctor thinks that this may gently draw her out of her madness:

“That intemp’rate surfeit of her eye hath distemper’d the other senses. They may return and settle again to execute their preordain’d faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must do: confine her to a place where the light may rather seem to steal in than be permitted. Take upon you, young sir her friend, the name of Palamon, say you come to eat with her, and to commune of love. This will catch her attention, for this her mind beats upon; other objects that are inserted ’tween her mind and eye become the pranks and friskins of her madness. Sing to her such green songs of love as she says Palamon hath sung in prison. Come to her, stuck in as sweet flowers as the season is mistress of, and thereto make an addition of some other compounded odors which are grateful to the sense. All this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and ev’ry good thing. Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still among intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her favor. Learn what maids have been her companions and play-feres, and let them repair to her with Palamon in their mouths, and appear with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in, which is with falsehoods to be combated. This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce what’s now out of square in her into their former law and regiment. I have seen it approv’d, how many times I know not, but to make the number more I have great hope in this. I will, between the passages of this project, come in with my appliance. Let us put it in execution; and hasten the success, which doubt not will bring forth comfort.”

The Two Noble Kinsmen Act Five – “That we should things desire which do cost us the loss of our desire!”

The final act of ‘The Two Noble Kinsmen’ starts before the Temples of Mars, Venus and Diana. Three altars dominate the stage as Theseus enters so that proper offerings can be made before the duel for Emilia’s hand between Arcite and Palamon. Theseus directs the proceedings:

(Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana)

“Now let ’em enter, and before the gods

Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples

Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars

In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense

To those above us. Let no due be wanting;

They have a noble work in hand will honor

The very powers that love ’em…

You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,

You royal germane foes, that this day come

To blow that nearness out that flames between ye,

Lay by your anger for an hour, and dove-like,

Before the holy altars of your helpers,

The all-fear’d gods, bow down your stubborn bodies.

Your ire is more than mortal; so your help be;

And as the gods regard ye, fight with justice.

I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye

I part my wishes.”

Theseus exits and Arcite and Palamon embrace. Arcite and his knights go before the altar of Mars. Arcite asks Mars to honour him in his quest as thunder and clamor of armour is heard:

“Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices,

True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you

Expels the seeds of fear, and th’ apprehension

Which still is farther off it, go with me

Before the god of our profession. There

Require of him the hearts of lions and

The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too,

Yea, the speed also—to go on, I mean,

Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize

Must be dragg’d out of blood; force and great feat

Must put my garland on, where she sticks

The queen of flowers. Our intercession then

Must be to him that makes the camp a cestron

Brimm’d with the blood of men. Give me your aid

And bend your spirits towards him...

O great corrector of enormous times,

Shaker of o’er-rank states, thou grand decider

Of dusty and old titles, that heal’st with blood

The earth when it is sick, and cur’st the world

O’ th’ plurisy of people! I do take

Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name

To my design march boldly…”

Then the audience sees Palamon and his knights enter and Palamon prays to Venus for success as music is heard and doves flutter:

“Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power

To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage,

And weep unto a girl; that hast the might,

Even with an eye-glance, to choke Mars’s drum

And turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst make

A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him

Before Apollo; that mayst force the king

To be his subject’s vassal, and induce

Stale gravity to dance; the poll’d bachelor,

Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires,

Have skipp’d thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch,

And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat,

Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power

Hast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou

Add’st flames, hotter than his; the heavenly fires

Did scorch his mortal son, thine him…

O then, most soft sweet goddess,

Give me the victory of this question, which

Is true love’s merit, and bless me with a sign

Of thy great pleasure…

O thou that from eleven to ninety reign’st

In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world,

And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks

For this fair token, which being laid unto

Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance

My body to this business…”

Then Emilia, dressed in white with flowers in her hair and carrying incense and with ambient music playing approaches the Altar of Diana, sets fire to it and kneels:

“O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen,

Abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative,

Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure

As wind-fann’d snow, who to thy female knights

Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush,

Which is their order’s robe: I here, thy priest,

Am humbled ’fore thine altar. O, vouchsafe,

With that thy rare green eye—which never yet

Beheld thing maculate—look on thy virgin,

And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear

(Which nev’r heard scurril term, into whose port

Ne’er ent’red wanton sound) to my petition,

Season’d with holy fear. This is my last

Of vestal office; I am bride-habited,

But maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed,

But do not know him. Out of two I should

Choose one, and pray for his success, but I

Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes

Were I to lose one, they are equal precious,

I could doom neither; that which perish’d should

Go to’t unsentenc’d. Therefore, most modest queen,

He of the two pretenders that best loves me

And has the truest title in’t, let him

Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant

The file and quality I hold I may

Continue in thy band.

(A rose tree ascends with a rose on it)

See what our general of ebbs and flows

Out from the bowels of her holy altar

With sacred act advances: but one rose!

If well inspir’d, this battle shall confound

Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flow’r,

Must grow alone, unpluck’d.

(Sudden twang of instruments, and the rose falls from the tree, which vanishes under the altar.)

The flow’r is fall’n, the tree descends. O mistress,

Thou here dischargest me. I shall be gather’d,

I think so, but I know not thine own will:

Unclasp thy mystery.—I hope she’s pleas’d,

Her signs were gracious.”

The action of the play crosses back to a darkened room in the prison, where the Doctor hears from the Wooer of the success of plan to treat the Jailor’s Daughter’s madness through having the Wooer pretend to be Palamon. The Wooer relates:

“…the maids that kept her company

Have half persuaded her that I am Palamon.

Within this half hour she came smiling to me,

And ask’d me what I would eat, and when I would kiss her.

I told her, presently, and kiss’d her twice.”

The Jailor enters and the Doctor says that all is going well. The Jailor has his doubts and leaves to get his daughter. The Doctor says to the Wooer that if the Jailor’s Daughter makes advances towards him he should succumb. The Jailor enters with his daughter and the Wooer retires. The Jailor’s Daughter waxes lyrical about the virtues of her love. The Wooer reappears. They talk and the Wooer proposes that they get married. The Jailor’s Daughter agrees and they kiss. Still a little deluded and thinking that the Doctor is Arcite while still believing that the Wooer is her Palamon, the Jailor’s Daughter expresses her contentment and plans for the future:

“We shall have many children.—Lord, how y’ are grown!

My Palamon I hope will grow too, finely,

Now he’s at liberty. Alas, poor chicken,

He was kept down with hard meat and ill lodging,

But I’ll kiss him up again.”

In the next scene, Theseus and his party go off to see the contest between Arcite and Palamon. Emilia pleads to not see this event since it will distress her. Theseus eventually allows Emilia to stay and avoid seeing the contest. Emilia weighs up the merits of both men who are her suitors:

“Arcite is gently visag’d; yet his eye

Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon

In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage

Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon

Has a most menacing aspect, his brow

Is grav’d, and seems to bury what it frowns on,

Yet sometime ’tis not so, but alters to

The quality of his thoughts; long time his eye

Will dwell upon his object; melancholy

Becomes him nobly. So does Arcite’s mirth,

But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth,

So mingled as if mirth did make him sad,

And sadness merry; those darker humors that

Stick misbecomingly on others, on him

Live in fair dwelling.

Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge.

Hark how yon spurs to spirit do incite

The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me,

And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to

The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity

Enough for such a chance? If I were by,

I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes

Toward my seat, and in that motion might

Omit a ward, or forfeit an offense,

Which crav’d that very time. It is much better

I am not there. O, better never born

Than minister to such harm!”

The battle happens off stage and at first the cries indicate Palamon is winning and then the final cries declare that Arcite has won. Theseus enters with Arcite and tells Emilia that the Gods have given her Arcite as her knight and victor:

“…Fairest Emily,

The gods by their divine arbitrement

Have given you this knight: he is a good one

As ever strook at head. Give me your hands.

Receive you her, you him, be plighted with

A love that grows as you decay…

O loved sister,

He speaks now of as brave a knight as e’er

Did spur a noble steed. Surely the gods

Would have him die a bachelor, lest his race

Should show i’ th’ world too godlike. His behavior

So charm’d me that methought Alcides was

To him a sow of lead. If I could praise

Each part of him to th’ all I have spoke, your Arcite

Did not lose by’t; for he that was thus good

Encount’red yet his better. I have heard

Two emulous Philomels beat the ear o’ th’ night

With their contentious throats, now one the higher,

Anon the other, then again the first,

And by and by out-breasted, that the sense

Could not be judge between ’em. So it far’d

Good space between these kinsmen; till heavens did

Make hardly one the winner.—Wear the girlond

With joy that you have won.—For the subdu’d,

Give them our present justice, since I know

Their lives but pinch ’em. Let it here be done.

The scene’s not for our seeing, go we hence,

Right joyful, with some sorrow.—Arm your prize,

I know you will not loose her.—Hippolyta,

I see one eye of yours conceives a tear,

The which it will deliver.”

However, Emilia expresses her distress that Fate has given her a Arcite who she suspects does not love her as much as Palamon does. Emilia accepts her fate although is clearly distressed.

We cross to a place near the lists for the contest. Palamon and three of his knights are pinion’d and a block is made ready for their execution. Palamon prepares himself and his men for death:

“There’s many a man alive that hath outliv’d

The love o’ th’ people, yea, i’ th’ self-same state

Stands many a father with his child. Some comfort

We have by so considering: we expire,

And not without men’s pity; to live still,

Have their good wishes; we prevent

The loathsome misery of age, beguile

The gout and rheum, that in lag hours attend

For grey approachers; we come towards the gods

Young and unwapper’d, not halting under crimes

Many and stale. That sure shall please the gods

Sooner than such, to give us nectar with ’em,

For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen,

Whose lives (for this poor comfort) are laid down,

You have sold ’em too too cheap.”

The Jailor enters and Palamon asks about his daughter who helped him escape. The Jailor says his daughter is restored to health and is to be married soon. Palamon gives his purse to the Jailor for his daughter. His knights do the same. It seems that the end is near for Palamon and his knights. Then a cry of “Hold” is heard and a Messenger, Pirithous and others enter in haste. Pirithous then reveals how fate has twisted its course and intervened once more and he relates how Arcite has been injured and is on the verge of death from a horse riding accident. He relates the story:

“Mounted upon a steed that Emily

Did first bestow on him—a black one, owing

Not a hair-worth of white, which some will say

Weakens his price, and many will not buy

His goodness with this note; which superstition

Here finds allowance—on this horse is Arcite

Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins

Did rather tell than trample; for the horse

Would make his length a mile, if’t pleas’d his rider

To put pride in him. As he thus went counting

The flinty pavement, dancing as ’twere to th’ music

His own hoofs made (for as they say from iron

Came music’s origin), what envious flint,

Cold as old Saturn, and like him possess’d

With fire malevolent, darted a spark,

Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made,

I comment not—the hot horse, hot as fire,

Took toy at this, and fell to what disorder

His power could give his will, bounds, comes on end,

Forgets school-doing, being therein train’d,

And of kind manage; pig-like he whines

At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather

Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means

Of boist’rous and rough jad’ry, to disseat

His lord that kept it bravely. When nought serv’d,

When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff’ring plunges

Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that

He kept him ’tween his legs, on his hind hoofs

On end he stands,

That Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head,

Seem’d with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreath

Even then fell off his head; and presently

Backward the jade comes o’er, and his full poise

Becomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living,

But such a vessel ’tis that floats but for

The surge that next approaches. He much desires

To have some speech with you. Lo he appears.”

Theseus and his train enters with Arcite on a chair, close to death. Before he dies, Arcite gives Emilia's hand to Palamon. Arcite dies. Theseus ends the play by telling everyone that we cannot know what fortune and the Gods want since they often play with us and we should be thankful for what hand Fortune deals us:

“Never fortune

Did play a subtler game. The conquer’d triumphs,

The victor has the loss; yet in the passage

The gods have been most equal. Palamon,

Your kinsman hath confess’d the right o’ th’ lady

Did lie in you, for you first saw her, and

Even then proclaim’d your fancy. He restor’d her

As your stol’n jewel, and desir’d your spirit

To send him hence forgiven. The gods my justice

Take from my hand, and they themselves become

The executioners. Lead your lady off;

And call your lovers from the stage of death,

Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two

Let us look sadly, and give grace unto

The funeral of Arcite, in whose end

The visages of bridegrooms we’ll put on

And smile with Palamon; for whom an hour,

But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry

As glad of Arcite; and am now as glad

As for him sorry. O you heavenly charmers,

What things you make of us! For what we lack

We laugh, for what we have are sorry, still

Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful

For that which is, and with you leave dispute

That are above our question. Let’s go off,

And bear us like the time.”

Epilogue - “Our revels now are ended. These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air…”

After the summer of 1613, Shakespeare retired permanently to Stratford and perhaps only visited London a couple of times over the next two and a half years. From the “poor player” who made about £35 for the year, he ended his life in comfortable retirement with probably a healthy income from houses, land, tithes (rents on fields and common land), grain storage, the family wool businesses and storage and also some money would come from his share in the King’s Men and some money would come in from his plays. All of this would add up to about £2000 a year when the average wage was about £75. He probably made only about £1200 in 1615. That means that in today’s terms Shakespeare would probably have been making about £800,000 a year in his retirement. So Edward Bond’s image in his 1973 play ‘Bingo – Scenes of Money and Death’ of Shakespeare spending his last days getting money from the new land enclosures in Warwickshire and drinking with visitors from London like his fellow playwrights Ben Jonson and John Fletcher, his poet friend Michael Drayton and his acting buddies John Heminges and Henry Condell, is probably not too far from the truth. He had blown away much of this before his death, since he seemed to have only about £500 on his death bed (including 40 pounds to buy rings for his friends and about 5 pounds for funeral expenses including a stone covering for his grave which was engraved), 3 houses, 3 tenements, plates, crockery, two beds and a sword.

We know that he visited his son-in-law John Hall (who was married to William Shakespeare’s daughter Susanna) from October until November 1614 in London. This probably related to an accusation which John Lane made of adultery against Susanna and the subsequent defamation case brought against John Lane that saw him found guilty of defamation and excommunicated from the local church and the local Stratford community.

Sometime late in January 1616, Shakespeare called to his house his lawyer Francis Collins, to dictate to him an important document. This draft was not completed and so on March 25^th, 1616, Shakespeare summoned Francis Collins again to his house, along with Julyus Shawe, John Robinson, Hamnet Sadler and Robert Whattcott. Shakespeare’s last piece of writing was dictated to Francis Collins, witnessed by Shawe, Robinson, Sadler and Whattcott and signed by Will’s now shaky hand. It was not a sonnet, nor a long narrative poem nor a play. It was neither comedy, history or tragedy. It had no profound and poetic thoughts, no characterization, metaphors and imagery. It had very little punctuation and no paragraphing. It was Will Shakespeare’s last will and testament which read as follows:

“In the name of god Amen I William Shackspeare, of Stratford upon Avon in the countrie of Warr., gent., in perfect health and memorie, God be praysed, doe make and ordayne this my last will and testament in manner and forme followeing, that ys to saye, ffirst, I comend my soule into the hands of God my Creator, hoping and assuredlie beleeving, through thonelie merites, of Jesus Christe my Saviour, to be made partaker of lyfe everlastinge, and my bodye to the earth whereof yt ys made. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto my [sonne and] daughter Judyth one hundred and fyftie poundes of lawfull English money, to be paid unto her in the manner and forme foloweng, that ys to saye, one hundred poundes in discharge of her marriage porcion within one yeare after my deceas, with consideracion after the rate of twoe shillings in the pound for soe long tyme as the same shalbe unpaied unto her after my deceas, and the fyftie poundes residwe thereof upon her surrendring of, or gyving of such sufficient securitie as the overseers of this my will shall like of, to surrender or graunte all her estate and right that shall discend or come unto her after my deceas, or that shee nowe hath, of, in, or to, one copiehold tenemente, with thappurtenaunces, lyeing and being in Stratford upon Avon aforesaied in the saied countrye of Warr., being parcell or holden of the mannour of Rowington, unto my daughter Susanna Hall and her heires for ever. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto my saied daughter Judith one hundred and fyftie poundes more, if shee or anie issue of her bodie by lyvinge att thend of three yeares next ensueing the daie of the date of this my will, during which tyme my executours are to paie her consideracion from my deceas according to the rate aforesaied; and if she dye within the saied tearme without issue of her bodye, then my will us, and I doe gyve and bequeath one hundred poundes thereof to my neece Elizabeth Hall, and the fiftie poundes to be sett fourth by my executours during the lief of my sister Johane Harte, and the use and proffitt thereof cominge shalbe payed to my saied sister Jone, and after her deceas the saied l.li.12 shall remaine amongst the children of my saied sister, equallie to be divided amongst them; but if my saied daughter Judith be lyving att thend of the saied three yeares, or anie yssue of her bodye, then my will ys, and soe I devise and bequeath the saied hundred and fyftie poundes to be sett our by my executours and overseers for the best benefitt of her and her issue, and the stock not to be paied unto her soe long as she shalbe marryed and covert baron [by my executours and overseers]; but my will ys, that she shall have the consideracion yearelie paied unto her during her lief, and, after her ceceas, the saied stocke and consideracion to be paied to her children, if she have anie, and if not, to her executours or assignes, she lyving the saied terme after my deceas. Provided that yf suche husbond as she shall att thend of the saied three years be marryed unto, or att anie after, doe sufficientlie assure unto her and thissue of her bodie landes awnswereable to the porcion by this my will gyven unto her, and to be adjudged soe by my executours and overseers, then my will ys, that the said cl.li.13 shalbe paied to such husbond as shall make such assurance, to his owne use. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto my saied sister Jone xx.li. and all my wearing apparrell, to be paied and delivered within one yeare after my deceas; and I doe will and devise unto her the house with thappurtenaunces in Stratford, wherein she dwelleth, for her naturall lief, under the yearlie rent of xij.d. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto her three sonnes, William Harte, ---- Hart, and Michaell Harte, fyve pounds a peece, to be paied within one yeare after my deceas [to be sett out for her within one yeare after my deceas by my executours, with thadvise and direccions of my overseers, for her best frofitt, untill her mariage, and then the same with the increase thereof to be paied unto her]. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto [her] the saied Elizabeth Hall, all my plate, except my brod silver and gilt bole, that I now have att the date of this my will. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto the poore of Stratford aforesaied tenn poundes; to Mr. Thomas Combe my sword; to Thomas Russell esquier fyve poundes; and to Frauncis Collins, of the borough of Warr. in the countie of Warr. gentleman, thirteene poundes, sixe shillinges, and eight pence, to be paied within one yeare after my deceas. Item, I gyve and bequeath to [Mr. Richard Tyler thelder] Hamlett Sadler xxvj.8. viij.d. to buy him a ringe; to William Raynoldes gent., xxvj.8. viij.d. to buy him a ringe; to my dogson William Walker xx8. in gold; to Anthonye Nashe gent. xxvj.8. viij.d. [in gold]; and to my fellowes John Hemynges, Richard Brubage, and Henry Cundell, xxvj.8. viij.d. a peece to buy them ringes, Item, I gyve, will, bequeath, and devise, unto my daughter Susanna Hall, for better enabling of her to performe this my will, and towards the performans thereof, all that capitall messuage or tenemente with thappurtenaunces, in Stratford aforesaid, called the New Place, wherein I nowe dwell, and two messuages or tenementes with thappurtenaunces, scituat, lyeing, and being in Henley streete, within the borough of Stratford aforesaied; and all my barnes, stables, orchardes, gardens, landes, tenementes, and hereditamentes, whatsoever, scituat, lyeing, and being, or to be had, receyved, perceyved, or taken, within the townes, hamletes, villages, fieldes, and groundes, of Stratford upon Avon, Oldstratford, Bushopton, and Welcombe, or in anie of them in the saied countie of Warr. And alsoe all that messuage or tenemente with thappurtenaunces, wherein one John Robinson dwelleth, scituat, lyeing and being, in the Balckfriers in London, nere the Wardrobe; and all my other landes, tenementes, and hereditamentes whatsoever, To have and to hold all and singuler the saied premisses, with theire appurtenaunces, unto the saied Susanna Hall, for and during the terme of her naturall lief, and after her deceas, to the first sonne of her bodie lawfullie yssueing, and to the heires males of the bodie of the saied first sonne lawfullie yssueinge; and for defalt of such issue, to the second sonne of her bodie, lawfullie issueing, and to the heires males of the bodie of the saied second sonne lawfullie yssueinge; and for defalt of such heires, to the third sonne of the bodie of the saied Susanna lawfullie yssueing, and of the heires males of the bodie of the saied third sonne lawfullie yssueing; and for defalt of such issue, the same soe to be and remaine to the ffourth [sonne], ffyfth, sixte, and seaventh sonnes of her bodie lawfullie issueing, one after another, and to the heires males of the bodies of the bodies of the saied fourth, fifth, sixte, and seaventh sonnes lawfullie yssueing, in such manner as yt ys before lymitted to be and remaine to the first, second, and third sonns of her bodie, and to theire heires males; and for defalt of such issue, the said premisses to be and remaine to my sayed neece Hall, and the heires males of her bodie lawfullie yssueinge; and for defalt of such issue, to my daughter Judith, and the heires males of her bodie lawfullie issueinge; and for defalt of such issue, to the right heires of me the saied William Shackspeare for ever. Item, I gyve unto my wief my second best bed with the furniture, Item, I gyve and bequeath to my saied daughter Judith my broad silver gilt bole. All the rest of my goodes, chattel, leases, plate, jewels, and household stuffe whatsoever, after my dettes and legasies paied, and my funerall expenses dischardged, I give, devise, and bequeath to my sonne in lawe, John Hall gent., and my daughter Susanna, his wief, whom I ordaine and make executours of this my last will and testament. And I doe intreat and appoint the saied Thomas Russell esquier and Frauncis Collins gent. to be overseers hereof, and doe revoke all former wills, and publishe this to be my last will and testament. In witness whereof I have hereunto put my [seale] hand, the daie and yeare first abovewritten.”

On either Friday April 22^nd or Saturday April 23^rd 1616, Michael Drayton and Ben Jonson arrived from London and either took William Shakespeare out to celebrate his 52^nd birthday or had considerable alcohol delivered by cart from the local tavern to Will's house. Then as the Vicar of the Holy Trinity Church in Stratford relates in his diary:

"Shakespeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson had a merry meeting and it seems drank too hard, for Shakespeare died of a fever there contracted."

Another possible cause of Shakespeare’s death could have been Typhus, since a new outbreak seemed to happen in Stratford around this time. C. Martin Mitchell, uses the death mask made of Shakespeare, his will and last signatures to conclude that Shakespeare died of cerebral hemorrhage or apoplexy.

William Shakespeare probably died in his own bed on his 52^nd birthday on Saturday April 23^rd 1616 late in the evening. His own son-in-law John Hall, who was a doctor, probably pronounced him officially dead. I do not know exactly why Shakespeare left his “second best bed" to his wife but I would like to think that this was their matrimonial bed and rich in sentimental significance. On Monday April 25^th, probably around 11 am since this was the custom at this time of year, William Shakespeare was buried in the chancel of the Holy Trinity Church in Stratford. A stone slab with engraving covering was probably added a few days later when the carving was completed. It is Shakespeare’s final epitaph and it includes a final curse to those who wish to disturb the remains of William Shakespeare:

“Good frend for Iesvs sake forbeare,


To digg the dvst encloased heare.


Bleste be ye man yt spares thes stones,


And cvrst be he yt moves my bones.”

I have thoroughly enjoyed re-reading Shakespeare's plays and poems. I have blogged approximately 300,000 words on Shakespeare (about 50,000 are direct quotes from Shakespeare so I have written about 250,000 words).

My favourite plays to re-read were ‘Macbeth’, ‘Hamlet’, ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘King Lear’ and these were also the hardest and most enjoyable to blog about.

So some final stats on Shakespeare:

·      Shakespeare wrote about 845,000 words

·      Shakespeare wrote between 36 to 39 plays and co-wrote 1 or 2 plays

·      About 50% of Shakespeare’s plays are comedies, 25% are tragedies and 25% are histories

·      Shakespeare invented about 28,820 new words

·      Outside of common words like articles such as “the”, the word which Shakespeare uses the most is “sweet” which appears 840 times in his complete works.

The final words should rest with William Shakespeare himself who once gave the character of the melancholic Jacques in ‘As You Like It’, the following now famous ‘seven ages of man’ speech:

“All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lined,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”