stroke finished him off. Others have noted that he sat up and wrote his will about a month earlier, and that his signature [R] is a little shaky; so maybe his fever had lasted longer. And there is no evidence that he died on the 23rd, but he was buried in Stratford on the 25th, so as at the other end of his life se non è vero è ben trovato. Shugspew is rightly respected for raising the hairs on the back of your neck:
- Derek Jacobi giving Henry V a start
- Benedick and Beatrice finally get it down
- Getting in a bawdy bilingual joke for the groundlings
- A rant against anti-semitism. (altho Shylock gets screwed in the end)
spent a number of years in Titchfield as tutor to a young aristocrat and/or as a schoolmaster. The evidence extends from such tenuous logic as a girl being described both as black as ebony and a whitely wanton with a velvet brow Conundrum! How can a dark-skinned woman be described as ‘whitely’??? Because ‘Whitely’ is not a reference to Rosaline’s skin, but to ‘Whitely Lodge’ – a property owned by the Wriothesleys [Wm's sponsors and patrons] a mile or so away from Place House . . . in Titchfield. This must be true because it has been picked up by the BBC. What is more certain is that was Henry Wriothesley, the 3rd Earl of Southampton [L stryking a pose and shewing a legge] was probably Wm's pupil / companion when growing up. Many people believe that the 'onlie begetter of these insuing sonnets Mr W.H.,' is really HW the 3rd Earl and some further suggest that the same person is both the Fair Youth and the Dark Lady of the Sonnets. It looks like HW was, in the Byronic sense, mad bad and dangerous to know: he was a brawler, boozer and eclectic in his sexual preferences. The relationship between the two men depends on how much you want to accept homosexual innuendo / action or just put the language down to extravagant flattery and a difference nuance in the English of 400+ years ago. Like 'The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end ... What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours'. You wouldn't get Brian Friel or Seamus Heaney talking like that to anyone.
When I was in school, we went to service every Sunday in St Peter's Church down in the village of Titchfield, where all the Southamptons are buried. None of my teachers back in the 1960s made any suggestion of a little literary gayness in the village back in the day. It would have enlivened the English lessons.