Karen Sunde

Dramatizes affair of Shakespeare and poet Emilia Bassano. A woman dark, tempestuous, musical--delicious. (A.L. Rowse found her.)

“brilliant”
“utterly beguiling... seductive night of theatre.”
“sheer adventure of a wonderful yarn”
“a masterpiece.”

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Scene from Dark Lady

EMILIA:
Master Shakespeare.

WILL:
Your servant, Madame.

EMILIA: It seems that you would have me yours.

WILL:
A fancy of my Lord Southampton’s. He hopes you’ll write him music.

EMILIA:
He’s never heard my music.

WILL:
Your reputation runs ahead of you, my lady.

EMILIA:
There’s an edge on your tongue, I think.

WILL:
It’s for his mother’s wedding. She wishes it were his. There’s a great match planned for him. The lord high treasurer’s granddaughter. But he defers.

EMILIA: So whose wedding is the music for? You’re speaking gossip.

WILL:
I think you should know what his prospects are.

EMILIA:
And mine with him, you mean?

WILL:
Since you’ll be plain.

EMILIA:
I am never otherwise. It saves time.

WILL:
You’re playing a wild game.

EMILIA:
Is he your patron? Or are you his.

WILL:
(Pause) You seduced him.

EMILIA:
Aren’t you grateful? You couldn’t drag him to a woman. Could you.

WILL:
He...seemed averse.

EMILIA:
And may be again. Perhaps he’s learned the trick of another famous virgin. Of letting them all hope by letting them all dangle. Women and men alike.

WILL:
(Pause) You found him green?

EMILIA:
A boy.

WILL:
But he came strong.

EMILIA:
Oh he’s able. But vain. I think he’ll sway to those that flatter.

WILL:
There’s much to flatter.

EMILIA:
Of course.

WILL:
And now you have him lusting.

EMILIA:
You object?

WILL:
He cannot marry you.

EMILIA:
Have I asked him?

WILL:
You have some scheme. Why else...

EMILIA:
I’ve cocked him. His mother has only now to fix the aim.

WILL:
What are you after? Did it amuse you to corrupt him? Do you think you’re safe--leaping from one great lord to another? What kind of degeneracy holds in Italy?!

EMILIA:
Degeneracy!--is all your pale-face smocks pretending they’re oh-so-prim while kicking scores of bastards beneath the bed. Their thighs will itch and their bellies swell, but, oh my dear, the mess on the sheets must be someone else. That’s degeneracy.

WILL:
Whore.

EMILIA:
Have you anything but sex to say to me?

WILL:
Have you anything but sex to do?

EMILIA:
Hypocrite! What brings you wagging in here? You think I don’t smell you coming? Music? Hah! Music is for the splendid ones--those who laugh in the sun and say that life is light, that beauty is the same thing as a child’s smile, as a woman’s moan. You come to me for music? I know you all. I’ve learned my lessons well. You have no ears, no eyes, no taste, no life. A woman’s talents all are one to you. One, only one. Her bed. You...cold, dry Englishman, come fuss to me about your golden boy. And all the while your own lust drips from you. Lecher.

WILL:
Haughty words. But your actions betray you.

EMILIA:
My actions? What do you know of what a woman does? I’ve seen your “women” on the stage, sir. Your ravenous Queen Margaret; a shrieking, brittle, scarecrow, without a drop of woman’s blood. It’s clear you’ve never known a real one.

WILL:
(Angry, takes hold of her) And you, court slut, are going to teach me?

EMILIA:
I’d never so dirty my tongue.

WILL:
Go ahead. You might find something that you need.

(scene and struggle, taking her down, continues...)