Bright Star

It's mine.

-Get down.

-You're not allowed!

-Good day, Mr. Phipps.

-You're not allowed!

Get down.

You'll have no supper if you keep that up.

-Hello, Joy.

-Hello.

-Is all well?

-Very good. Thank you.

-Hello.

-Hello.

-Good morning, Joy.

-Hello.

-Sorry.

-Welcome.

Where is Mr. Keats?

I'm afraid he is not joining us.

He's in Mr. Brown's half of the house.

Hello.

Hello.

The very well stitched Little Miss Brawne

in all her detail.

Good morning.

What is this? What have I done?

How have I offended?

I don't shake hands with the enemy.

An enemy? What have I done to you?

You do nothing to me or for me,

and that's how I'd prefer to keep it.

What?

Your offense is to my fashion, Mr. Brown.

Oh, dear.

To which I'm ''so helplessly slavish.''

I have been ill-quoted.

''Her obsession

with flounce and cross-stitch''?

Cross-stitch? Miss Brawne,

-I don't even know what that means.

-For goodness' sake. Baiting, baiting.

I feel the same about your poems,

Mr. Brown.

I know nothing of what they mean.

They puff smoke, dissolve,

leaving nothing but irritation.

Fanny, take this tea to Mr. Keats.

He is in very poor spirits.

Mr. Keats is composing

and does not want disturbing.

It's my finding in the business of disturbing,

you're the expert.

Fanny, why not speak to one of us

you hold in higher favor?

I'm praising him!

-Fanny.

-Please, Fanny.

I'm wanting to know what you shall say

about Mr. Keats.

I've been waiting two weeks

that I may enjoy your opinion.

I cannot look upon him without smiling.

And he is quick with his thoughts,

though now they are mostly sad.

His brother Tom's not at all better.

Very diminished.

Mr. Keats nurses him alone.

It's difficult work.

Mr. Keats nurses him alone.

It's difficult work.

-Is there no other family member?

-No. The parents are both dead.

There is only a much younger sister

and a brother who lives in America.

Come in.

You like jokes, Mr. Keats?

I like jokes.

Mr. Brown, I warn you,

does not like my jokes.

He complains I care for nothing but fashion.

Would you like biscuits?

You've come to spy.

Spy?

How will you describe me? My character?

I am not the least interested

in your character.

My jacket, then? Or my pantaloons?

You need a new jacket,

that's what I would say.

Is that all?

It should be of velvet, blue velvet.

Tell me, Miss Brawne,

how can you be so sure?

Well, all I wear,

I've sewn and designed myself.

I'm often told

I am clever to exception about design.

I originated the pleats on my dress,

which are charming...

Has she annoyed you sufficiently?

She has done brilliant well with me.

Men's room, out.

Poets got to do a bit of writing.

My stitching has more merit and admirers

than your two scribblings put together.

Goodbye, minxstress.

And I can make money from it.

Yes?

Have you got John Keats' poem book...

-Endymion?

-Endymion, yes.

Yes, I've not heard much good about it.

I've not sold one and took 20.

My sister has met the author,

and she wants to read it for herself

to see if he is an idiot or not.

Unwrap it.

Read it.

''A thing of beauty is a joy for ever

Its loveliness increases. It will never

''Pass into nothingness, but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

''Full of sweet dreams, and health

and quiet breathing''

-Stop.

-''Therefore, on...''

''Yes, in spite of all

''Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits''

I'd love to speak with Mr. Keats.

''A thing of beauty is a joy forever

Its loveliness increases. It will never

''Pass into nothingness''

You've read Endymion.

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