Anonymous Page #3

if we be friends,

and Robin shall restore amends.

Wonderful, wonderful.

Most wonderful.

It was so funny.

She really loved the donkey.

Edward, Edward,

when can we do it again?

Ah. There he is.

Your father tells me you wrote

this evening's play yourself.

I did indeed, Your Majesty.

You sport with me.

Compose something.

Now?

Yes, now.

On what subject, Your Grace?

On truth.

For truth,

is truth,

though never so old,

and time cannot make that false

which once was true.

My Lord of Oxford,

it seems you have added a poet

to your family's line of warriors.

I am as accomplished with sword

and musket as I am in verse.

Are you indeed?

It is my only desire to be Your

Majesty's most trusted servant

in matters both of war and state,

if you will but have me.

Why, Lord Cecil, we may very well

have found your replacement.

We hope not too soon,

Your Majesty.

And what thought you

of our young lord's play, William?

If plays are indeed

such a sin, I pray that I do not find

my salvation until very late in life.

Jonson!

Benjamin Jonson!

You have been released.

Got powerful friends now,

don't you?

Ship oars!

Ahem. My lord.

The Tudor rose.

The most beautiful of flowers,

do you not think?

I assume I owe my freedom to you.

That is true.

And it was hard to come by.

One does not cross

my father-in-law lightly.

Lord William Cecil.

I have the questionable distinction

to be married to his only daughter.

It was helpful

when I wrote to your jailers

to release you

in my father-in-law's name.

My release was not

officially sanctioned?

Don't be an idiot. Of course it wasn't.

But you are free, are you not?

I enjoyed your little comedy, Jonson.

You have great potential.

Thank you, my lord.

But its politics did have

quite an effect on the Tower.

My father-in-law's men

felt it quite seditious.

Politics. My play has nothing

to do with politics.

It's just a simple comedy.

That showed your betters as fools

who would barely get food

from plate to mouth without

the cleverness of their servants.

All art is political, Jonson.

Otherwise, it would just be decoration.

And all artists have something to say.

Otherwise, they'd make shoes.

And you are not a cobbler,

are you, Jonson?

Francesco?

A play, my lord.

One you shall stage Bankside.

Stage?

Under your name.

My name, my lord?

I can't very well

use my name, can I?

I'm the 17th Earl of Oxford.

The Lord Great Chamberlain

of England, Viscount Bolebec,

Lord of Escales, Sanford

and Badlesmere, etc. No.

I have a reputation to protect.

In my world, one does not

write plays, Jonson.

People like you do.

Yes, my lord.

My lord, you wrote an entire play.

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