I'll take your horse, sir.
Bring me some ale, boy, please.
We heard a theater burnt, sir.
Which one was it?
You're Shakespeare, the poet.
You tell stories.
I used to.
I had a story, but it was never finished.
Will you finish it for me, please?
I'm done with stories, lad.
I wouldn't know how to finish yours.
Yes, you would.
Good night, husband.
Twenty years, Will.
We've seen you less and less.
To us, you're a guest,
And a guest must have the best bed.
I always thought he'd end his life in London.
It's where he lived.
Doesn't matter where he lived or where he dies,
All that matters is who will be his heir.
I am his heir,
And our daughter, Elizabeth, after me.
Not if your sister gives him a grandson.
Or we do.
I was thinking perhaps I could make a garden.
We've got a garden.
I know, but not a kitchen garden
Or a flower garden.
A special garden for Hamnet.
Hamnet's in paradise, he doesn't need a garden.
Perhaps I do.
Bit of a change from making plays in London.
Well, in some ways, Maria.
In others, really rather similar.
Similar? I don't see how.
Well, like today,
We take the measure of our stage.
A garden ain't a play.
Yes, but play, garden, loaf...
Like the ones you bake every morning.
...all of them begin with an idea
From a compulsion
To create something of beauty
Or of need.
Bread begins with yeast and flour.
Exactly. Ingredients. Now you're getting me.
Bushes, brambles, yeast, flour versus players,
And they all need a dream which will not be denied,
And which must weather all kinds of adversity
Because the weather will turn, the bugs will infest,
The oven will cool, the yeast will sour,
And in my case, your fellow workers,
Heh, like a brilliant lunatic actor
Called Dick Burbage, will interfere,
And they will demand a bigger show
For a smaller budget,
And a shorter play with a much longer part for him,
And all of these trials must be overcome
Without ever losing sight of the dream itself.
And what does it feel like when all of that works?
Well, what does freshly baked bread smell like?
What on earth are you doing here?
Now, here's what I need you not to pee on.
This is what you don't pee on,
And this is what you don't pee on here.
Ooh. Thank you.
Digging up roots is heavy work.
You'll find that.
I once uprooted an entire forest
And moved it across the stage to Dunsinane.
Well, it's a bit different in real life.
He showed such promise, Anne.
You scarcely knew him.
I knew him through his poems.
- Well, you say "poems." - Well, poems, yes.
Childish scribble, perhaps,
But wit and mischief in every line.
Well, he'll write no more.
And nor will I.
It's not Hamnet you mourn.
I mourn my son.
You mourn him now.
At the time, you wrote The Merry Wives of Windsor.
Yes, I did.
Well, it's an adjustment.
She must learn to be a wife once more.
My husband thinks you've come home to die.
- Really? - Mm.
I've just bought a pension.
I can't die for at least 10 years
Or I'll be ruined.
So why are you come home, hmm?
No more stories left to write?
Susanna, I've lived so long in imaginary worlds,
I think I've lost sight of what is real,
What is true.
Judith says, "Nothing is true."
Judith is 28 and a spinster.
That is true.
When Father dies, I shall be destitute.
A third of his fortune comes to me while I live.
While you live.
You're older than him, remember?
Well, Susanna will never see you want.
Susanna will obey her husband.
I will get nothing, which is what I deserve.
If you can't forgive yourself,
How do you expect God to forgive you?
I ran here to this greenwood pond
On the day I was sacked from the school.
I know, Father.
You know, the son of an alderman
Has a free education, but the son of a thief...
I thought my world had ended.
But I loved this place.