_
I'm married.
- "What light through yonder window..." - Breaks?
I'll always have need of thee.
I mean, I'll always need your help.
Baxter was carrying a letter for the traitor Southwell.
What news of my cousin in the letter?
- I should be paid more. - You brought us something half good.
We turn it into something half decent,
helped, of course, by poor, dear Baxter.
Perhaps he died of shame... an easy thing for a traitorous player.
I am Catholic. I don't know why Marlowe cut Baxter, but...
Should've been you who was arrested, and not him.
I saw greatness. That's why I saved you.
And who are you?
My mistress requests a private performance.
- I'm an actor. - It wasn't me watching.
Dost thou desire money, power?
Oh, speak, coward! Speak!
Yes! Money, power, greatness!
But above all, freedom!
- sync and corrections by Zac - - www.addic7ed.com -
_
The lesser of two poets...
and that means he deserves to die for you?
The torments of hell are real...
God is merciful.
Absolve yourself, would you, sinner?
Are you a priest?
Please... take me to Mr Cotton.
Around the back.
- Who are you?! - I am kin to Father Robert Southwell!
In my... my pocket, the rosary!
- Tell me your catechism! - Credo in unum Deum,
Patrem omnipotentem, Factorem caeli et...
Visibilium omnium...
Good cousin.
I see you are in need.
Yes.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
It has been 12 months since my last confession.
I let another man take my place.
He had a wife and children.
He should, by rights, be living,
and I should be dead.
A sin of omission,
but you did not directly lie.
Carrying that letter was God's work.
And that pretty, pretty girl.
And then...
there is...
God already knows what you have done.
Make your peace with Him.
A woman...
I feel such passion that I'm afraid to be near her.
She is young?
- Beautiful? - Yes.
Of course.
She is but a toy, sent to test you.
These feelings will pass if you are strong.
Yes.
For your penance,
15 rosaries.
Pater noster, qui es in caelis,
sanctificertur nomen tuum...
This portable press is a modern marvel.
Catholics worship in secret,
priests hide in holes,
but this machine enables my humble writings
to be broadcast throughout our network.
And now God has led you here.
It is as we dreamed of as boys.
We will claim victory for the One True Religion,
or lay down our small lives trying.
I...
I came to London to write.
For God!
I want to touch people's souls in another way.
With plays?
How?
I don't know.
That is my struggle.
Struggle?
Catholic priests are outlawed unto death.
Your friend Baxter was killed
because evil times allow evil men like Topcliffe
to flourish.
I need men like you,
men of talent and conviction to fight with me.
I will help.
I'll come again, soon.
To mass, Sunday.
Yes.
May God shine upon you, cousin.
Yeah!
Whoo-hoo!
Excuse me, Your Wondrousness.
It may be the hour
when Lord of the Chamber Pot has his yelling time,
but there be others still abed, meditating on the day ahead.
Apologies to every sleeper,
beauteous tavern keeper.
- Where is thy coin? - Here, and will be translated
into the heavier kind this very day.
This is the last day, or our business is finished, you and I.
The glory of my words shall save me from the turds.
Shit be your poetry, and shit still your duty.
Sweet Prince, an offering.
Ugh!
A turd by any other name...
does not smell sweet.
Beloved Magdalen weeps forever.
Her heroic captain lost to watery depths,
her love as brief as lightning which doth cease to be,
her grief as deep as the sea which bore it.
She will mourn forever more,
and always and anon
and anon.
The end.
That is...
pure, gleaming, glistening,
steaming, unadulterated...
Shit!
Shit?
Did you not mark the poetry?
Poetry? Where's the comedy!?
Where are these towering roles you said you'd write me?
I never thought I'd say this, but...
I pine for Baxter, God rest his soul.
There's promise in the dog.
And the Captain could be heroic.
And Horatio, loyal.
- And if we shortened the end... - And added a song...
? That'll blow winds, crack your cheeks ?
Shut up!
A pig's ear is still a pig's ear!
- You're out. - Out?
- Father! - I can't feed stray dogs.
Sir, my very first play...
Was part Baxter's, and Baxter is no more.
I have a queer feeling about you, Master Shakespeare.
All I would do is write.
Bad luck is like the plague... contagious.
Stay away from my theatre!
Make 'em laugh, make 'em cry.
That'll make 'em snore.
I'll, eh...
see you.
- Your father's a fool. - Normally, yes,
but today, he's right.
You, too, Alice?
The poetry and passion are good.
The story is not good.
- You're wrong. - You must work at your craft.
- You just need time. - I don't have time!
Well, I can help you.
I have no time for toys.
Toys?
I have a family to feed.
I'll take it to Henslowe.
He's a man of business. He'll see.
Take it to Henslowe.
I wish you every success.
Wake up. Up. Come on.
Get up.
Get out.
Day!
Light! Rouse yourselves! Come on!
Out of bed.
Out of bed. Leave me be.
Huh? Up!
I must go wrestle with that bitch, the muse.
Hmm?
Now, begone.
Begone!
- Come on. - Christ! What the hell is got into you?
It is a work day, Thomas.
Horrible... chair!
Horrible... paper!
Write a damned play...
...you tragic degenerate!
No!
Aah!
Only babies cry when they don't get what they want.
Gratia Plena... Dominus tecum.
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,
ora pro nobis peccatoribus nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.
Amen.
Dearly beloved brethren,
the scriptures move us in sundry places,
to acknowledge and confess our manifold sins.
The only word of God...
- Oh! - ... Is the One True Religion!
You do the devil's business!
Leave him! Not him!
No! No!
Traitor! Stop!
Come on!
Stay thy hands!
- I know this man! - Catholic devil!
Matthew?
I know this man.
And how are things with Burbage?
Not good, I expect.
You didn't read that page fully.
That part is very good.
It pains me to say this, but Burbage is right.
It's an early draft. I'm prepared to make changes.
I've known many writers.
I can smell the good ones.
Nothing but poverty, drink,
despair, and death...
in a ditch.
Sir, give me a chance.
Go home to whatever backwater spawned you.
That is your only chance.
Cannons in an hour. We should go.
"The Husband's Complaint"...
it's nothing but Kemp showing his arse.
It's the least Will could have done, is to write me a great role.
I mean, how hard can it be?
Quite difficult, I expect.
There you are.
Slovenly wench! Come, drink with us.
My lady wants a repeat performance.
I think not.
Why not, oh Lord of the Bedchamber?
Yes, why, oh Shaft of Greatness?
You know why.
It's... weird.
I thought you liked an audience.
I thought it was you watching.
Aw! I'm happy to have such an effect on you.
You don't...
not when you're out of the shadows.
Piss off.
I didn't mean...
You're very...
handsome,
but my audience demand of me a certain magnificence.
- What? - You can't be my punk.
Punk?
My friend, who is a girl who is more than a friend.
I know what a punk is.
Why would I want to be that?
My lady complained of your performance.
You're just saying that.
If it were bad, why would she want another?
Her husband.
He likes seeing seeing her with men who are...
- lesser. - Lesser?
Hmm. It's good for his ball-less male ego.
I'll tell her you're not... up to it.
I would be up to it if I wanted to be,
but I don't.
It's fine, Richard.
We're friends.
Your frailty is safe with me.
Mathew...
you are a good man.
A man of faith.
Are you ill?
Not ill my friend, but well.
The truth has set me free.
What truth is that?
That the only way to reach God is through the One True Religion.
How did you discover this glorious truth?
I read such words,
writings passed around at my shop.
Richard, you must read them.
You must.
Yes. I will.
And then at a secret meeting, I met their author... him.
Such purity of mind.
So humble, so loving.
Who?
Father Robert Southwell.
He is truly God's messenger on Earth.
How may I speak with Father Southwell?
I...
I-I don't know.
Mathew...
I want to help you.
No, Richard.
Your family... surely they need my help?
My wife and children died in the summer plagues.
Of course.
You have nothing but your pain?
No.
Now I have God.
No.
Now you have the devil.
Her sweet, long life to be sadly endured.
You're not good enough.
They both said it.
Baxter died for what?
Wife widowed, children orphaned
so you could continue with your fool's errand?
Leave me.
You're a coward and a bad husband.
Confession couldn't change that.
I am here for my family.
For vanity, self glory.
For the touch of that pretty girl.
Her lips, her eyes, her...
Aah!
I will have payment.
I am noth... I have nothing.
Toby! Up here!
Master Will requires a hand with his effects.
He's leaving us tonight.
Pleasant night for a stroll.
Come, drink with me.
I have to write. Out here in the rain?
How do you...
- I mean, could you... - Could I what?
It doesn't matter.
Still feeling guilty about poor Baxter?
No.
- I mean, yes, but... - Ah.
Had some of that famous Catholic absolution, have you?
What can I help you with?
No. You can't.
- Yes? - I'm William Shakespeare.
Oh, you're the theatre poet.
Yes.
I would speak with Mr. Cotton.
I don't think I know a Mr. Cotton.
No one of that name here.
It's all right.
Let the poor, bedraggled lamb into the manger.
I'm sorry I didn't make it to Mass on Sunday.
But now I have no money for ink and nowhere to stay.
Tonight, you shall sleep.
Tomorrow, we fly.
It's all right.
Porks, horses and hounds.
That's how Mr. Cotton,
the Protestant sporting gentleman,
travels about the country without arousing suspicion.
You give up so much for God.
God fills me with joy and purpose,
neither of which your plays seem to give you.
I felt so close.
It's as if I've lost a key,
and if only I could find it again...
You have found it.
I'm working on an enterprise of great import...
a book written to Her Majesty,
pleading for religious freedom.
But I need your help.
It must be so persuasively and beautifully written
that the Queen will be unable to deny the justness of our cause.
Neither will any soul who reads it.
We will print thousands...
and it will thaw people's hearts like...
spring thaws a mighty river.
This hawk soars on currents of the air
that we cannot see,
so God creates a hidden pattern for all things.
The key is to accept which part you must play in it.
A hidden pattern.
That's it.
Yes. That's why God led you here.
Thank you, cousin, for your kindness.
I will do all I can to help, anon.
But now I have pressing business.
All things have a hidden pattern.
What are you doing here?
- You were right. My play is no good. - And?
I do need your help.
And?
I wish to apologize.
For being...
Foolish, rude, thoughtless,
- stubborn, blind, base, vile... - Enough.
How can I help?
Who are you, slag?
Ha ha, sis! Fooled ya!
You little Nancy.
What are you doing dressed like that?
This is my disguise.
Why do you need a disguise?
For this!
Pres!
- Looks like a big one! - Believe it, sis. Our best ever.
Oh! This'll get me plenty of fine dinners
and acres of French plonk and...
No.
We've gotta save this.
A couple more of these, and we'll be out of here.
Pres, this ain't nearly enough.
Savin' it would be a waste.
But, sis...
Don't you think I deserve a bit of fun?
But... But nothin', shithead!
Sorry. It's just...
sometimes I gotta get out,
forget about stuff.
- But if we don't save... - We will.
With your disguise, there'll be lots more.
We'll save every single one, I promise.
I'll see you in a few days.
Give us a smile, then.
That's it. Mwah!
Go on. Go.
What are you lookin' at, bitch?
All things have a code,
a pattern whereby the obscure becomes clear.
If I can study enough plays, I can crack their code.
The performance has two hours to run.
Thank you, Alice.
You are quite insane, Will Shakespeare.
So it seems.
Mrs. Burbage.
Mr. Cooper.
Mrs. Cooper.
My mother is completely deaf.
Deaf!
I had hoped your, uh...
Alice may have joined us today.
Oh, she was so disappointed.
A prior appointment with the...
parish... sewing circle.
- She's so committed. - Beautiful and kind.
How did she react to my, um, interest?
Oh, Mr. Cooper.
She blushed from here to here.
Oh.
She's so young, so unspoiled.
Spoiled?!
Unspoiled, Mrs. Cooper.
You'll, uh, have to excuse Mother.
She's, um... not quite the full pint.
None of your sluts!
No, no. Modest as the day is long.
A virgin, Keenan, if she's poor!
Quick! Father's coming!
I was right. They all share a common pattern!
Really?
A hero with a quest or a dream.
And then an obstruction which the hero must remove
to achieve his goal.
Brilliant. Just follow the code.
The hard part is finding the hero
and the quest and the setting.
- Steal them. - Steal them?
- All the writers do it. - Even Marlowe?
- Yes, even Marlowe. - Really?
Yes.
All right. Just this once.
From where?
Look for something shorter.
You're searching for a new story?
A good story is top of the list.
If it's new, all the better.
Just translated from the Spanish.
Romance, mistaken identity.
- Where's it set? - Ah...
- Italy. - Ooh! Exotic and hot.
Wonderfully funny and unexpected.
You're forced to keep turning the pages
to know what happens next.
We'll take it. 5 shillings.
5 shillings? 5 shillings?
That is hand-bound in kid leather.
You won't find another in London.
- If you could give me credit... - I will not.
Your ink-stained fingers are a beacon.
- Yes, and I have a commission. - So pay me.
- It's been a very difficult week. - Well... Hey!
Stop that girl! Thief! Thief!
Aah! Aah!
Unhand me!
Meet me under the clock tower! Go!
Stop, thief!
Oh!
Sir, let me go!
- This punk stole from me... - Please sir, let me go!
Just now, from my shop at St. Paul's!
Well, where is your silly book?
She gave it to her accomplice.
If I was to steal anything, it would not be a book.
I can't eat it, I can't drink it, and I can't read.
What self-respecting woman can?
You're the one that should be arrested.
Books will be the death of us.
Ruin our eyes, rot our minds,
leave us blind, lazy, and dumb!
- Good on ya, girly! - Let the poor kid go!
Yeah, piss off, ya pestilent prick!
Oh, ye of little faith.
And you say I'm insane.
Well, friend, it seems you have a play to write.
Yes, but I'll need your help, if you'll give it to me.
What are friends for?
Yes?
Well, hello.
Now I see why my friend Will Shakespeare
spends so much time here.
And he swore it was merely to commune with your special guest.
Special guest?
I would commune with him.
You see my soul is heavy with too much sin.
How... how thrilling.
Does sinner have a name?
Christopher Marlowe at your service.
"Holler ye pampered jades of Asia."
Yes.
"Holler."
- May I enter? - Oh, yes of course.
I love theatre.
Beware it does not lead you astray, as it has this poor soul.
Agnes! What do I told you about answering the door?
Father, it's... it's Christopher Marlowe!
- Who? - Don't shame me, Father.
Sir, the fault is entirely mine.
Get out.
I must speak with Father Southwell.
All our souls depend upon it.
Tomorrow is Sunday.
Until Monday, this place is ours.
I cannot leave fair Milan
because one fairer still,
beloved Gina...
Gina?
- Silvia? - Silvia.
Silvia.
To him she must be like...
day, like...
night, like...
light.
Like light.
Like light?
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that she is by
and feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Pray, speak again, bright angel.
Unless it be to think that she is by
and feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except...
I be by Silvia in the night,
there is no music in the nightingale.
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
there is no day for me to look upon.
She is my essence.
_
You vile, hedge-born villain!
Fa-Father, please!
Out of my theatre!
Sir, my only crime was exhaustion!
He has a play!
A play? There's been plenty of playing, I can see that!
- No, it's wonderful! - Wonderful?
Would you, for once in your life,
shut up and listen to me, you foolish old man?!
The play is good,
and this theatre needs a good play,
or this theatre may tomorrow be no more.
When have I ever failed you in such matters?
Read it to me.
"That done, our day of marriage shall be yours.
One house, one mutual happiness."
Well, it's not great,
but it has some merit.
And the romance will appeal.
And the dog is funny.
Ruff!
We'll perform it this afternoon.
All the parts are copied and ready.
Cannons in six hours.
Here you are. And yours.
Sir, one quick word.
Wish it were "goodbye."
- Payment... 5 pounds. - What?
Oh, please.
I must be paid.
You are a stranger here.
What?
Topcliffe asked about a man with a cut hand.
I neglected to tell him that you had suffered the very same.
If you would throw me to Topcliffe, then so be it.
Prison is looking like a welcome place to be me today.
I have nowhere to live
and I cannot send money to my family.
Here.
Take it.
Not 5 pounds, but something.
It will have to do.
And stay away from my daughter,
or I will throw you Topcliffe's way.
Search it! Tear it apart!
The door was already open.
It's a shame.
It's rather fine craftsmanship.
It appears we have both been sold the same bill of goods.
- Your informant... Marlowe? - The very same.
You will soon be raid by the Queen's men.
I urge you to quit this place under pain of death.
Let us hope his information produces results.
Otherwise, Mr. Marlowe will find himself
very sorely tested indeed.
There's more through here, sir.
Find the filth! Find them!
So close.
Damn you, Marlowe.
The Catholics have many spies.
They must have learnt of our raid.
But Marlowe, distasteful a man as he may be,
did almost lead us to our prize.
Surely it would behove us not to ignore his value as our spy.
You are right, nephew.
We must not let emotion cloud our judgment.
Get that down now!
Shouldn't you be at the theatre?
Will's written a new play, a comedy.
Hardly anything in it for me.
You seem melancholy.
It's nothing.
Mm, tell me.
Your Mistress, did she say in which aspects...
- I was lesser? - Why?
Well, it's been...
difficult in the bedchamber since.
I was wondering how I might remedy the situation.
- How does it feel? - Hmm?
To be spoken down to?
Consigned to the shadows?
Oh. That.
What's that got to do...
You mean you were just getting back at me?
I'm... sorry?
In certain lights, you're very pretty?
- Certain lights? - Any light.
The reason I don't want to do it with you
is not because you're unattractive.
Don't assume. I'm not.
But if we did do it, I'd get sick of you.
I always do. And...
Well...
I don't want to get sick of you.
You're the first girl who's a friend,
but not more than a friend, I've ever had.
And...
I'm quite fond of it.
You're an idiot, Richard.
Thanks.
Nature.
Naturally, Richard.
I could just cock a leg,
and then tip the jug that's hidden under the table,
and water will run down the stage into the front row,
- like it's... - Yes, yes, yes, very good.
Ruff! Ruff!
There's a Mr. Cotton to see you,
claims he's kin.
Well, everyone, how do I look?
- Delicious. - How do I look?
- Thank you. - You look delicious.
Come here!
Cousin, this is dangerous.
The Strand house is safe no more.
Raided today.
I was warned.
This is my entreaty to Her Majesty.
It is my only copy of the book. Keep it safe.
I...I... These times are hard.
Men and women are murdered for what they believe.
You can no longer pretend this is not your fight.
Baxter's blood was spilled so that you might live.
If God decides my time on Earth is done, finish this for me.
For the love I bear thee
and our cause.
I'll find you when it is safe.
May God watch over you.
Who was that?
It's a friend from Warwickshire.
What's in the bag?
- A book on falconing. - Falconing?
He's a great sportsman, my friend.
But quickly! Our play is to begin.
A kiss for good luck.
Aah!
Where is Southwell?
Inspire me. If it wasn't for me,
my uncle and Topcliffe would have your head!
What brilliance!
Paid for the same information twice,
and I was able to warn Southwell to flee.
Why in Christ's name would you do that?
Because the only place for me is the very slicing edge of life.
Ohh, come on.
Come on, boys!
Inspire me!
Yeah!
Whoo!
I don't know, guys.
- Just wanted to say goodbye. - Leaving so soon?
Probably a good idea. Big day tomorrow.
Put that down. Well done, Will.
I couldn't have done it without my friends.
- Good night. - Good night, Will.
And so my play today was a success.
I'm enclosing 8 shillings.
Ny trusted man Peter shall bring it to you,
with more to follow soon.
Your loving husband, Will.
Peter. Thank you.
And this is for thy troubles.
No trouble, Will.
- Stratford, but... - Well, thank you, Peter.
You should be going.
The hour is late.
Aye, indeed.
It's the, uh, it's the road for me.
Safe journey to Stratford. Bye.
Peter...
What are you doing here?
Stop. Stop. Stop.
- sync and corrections by Zac - - www.addic7ed.com -