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Every way of man
is right in his own eyes, Byron.
The Lord ponders the heart.
Proverbs 21.
I pay thy poverty and not thy will.
My lady Viola.
My lord.
I have spoken with your father.
So, my lord?
I speak with him every day.
Once, I had the gift.
I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay.
Love that overthrows empires. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire and brimstone.
For sixpence a line,
I could cause a riot in a nunnery.
Stage love will never be true love while the law of the land. has our heroines being played by pipsqueak boys in petticoats.
Tell me, daughter Juliet how stands your dispositions to be married?
It is an honor that I dream not of.
Uh, one moment, sir
Who are you?
I’m, um...
I’m the money.
Henslowe,
you have no soul so how can you understand the emptiness that seeks a soul mate?
Love knows nothing of rank or riverbank.
It will spark between a queen and the poor vagabond who plays the king
an their love should be minded by each for love denied blights the soul we owe to God.
Playwrights teach us nothing about love.
They make it pretty; they make it comical; or they make it ***.
They cannot make it true.
As stories must when love’s denied,
with tears and a journey.
Those whom God has joined in marriage not even I can put asunder.