If Richard Isn’t Going to Show Any Skin, I’ll Find a New Ophelia
By: William Shakespeare
Oh Richard? A word good sir. I fear you have done yourself some wrong. ‘Twas fresh in murmur that thee will not stand and unfold thyself during my second act. Is that anything now?
For what reason, I beseech you? Dost thou fear people will not see thee as an actor of great esteem? Dost thou rest in the branches, this role in the bushes?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. The sin of your ingratitude weighs heavy on me. If I say sooth, thou art a mocker of my labour. No man giveth a mule’s dung to hear the rumblings from thy mouth. It is the bosom, thy bosom I say! Sidebosom shall not suffice.
I brought life to plays for the Queen while thou was stilleth in swaddling. Thou art not but another piece of youthful flesh, and I dare say I have tasted the sweet nectars of every blossom betwixt London and Edinburgh. I shall procure onst more!
Thou thinkest I am in sport, in jest? Seek out James, Jonathan, Henry, and they shall praytell. Walketh now and you shan’t act in this town again. Thoust but another common pauper without me. Please, spare me thy waterworks.
Be it as you shall privately determine. I must retire to my quarters. Knock first.