Discard from shakespeare's worktable

Preface:

Avon Press devotees will be thrilled with the revelation provided by this astounding discovery. The Immortal Bard must have had second thoughts concerning the direction of his new play, hence tossed this scrap of a scene. Miraculously, this ms. survived among the sweepings kept in the privy at the Globe, and recently was uncovered among ashes in excavations there. It is my honor to have edited the scribbled handwriting of the original for publication here, among so many other scholarly undertakings.

The text:

“Nurse! Nurse, where art thou?”

“Here, mending my wimple. What stirreth thy gentle soul so?”

“It’s Ro. My dearest Ro. I’m worried anent our future.”

“Thou art?”

“He’s reverted to running around with ye ruffians of the street amain again.”

“On the square?”

“Nay, Nurse.”

“Forsooth, not ’neath the bridge?”

“Yea, Nurse.”

“Thou sawest what?”

“Mercutio, young Othello, and Tybalt, mine own cousin, had open their codpieces and were lewding about with cods and rods. Ro espied their activity and flew thence like a bee. Tybault called him ‘honey’ and made to roll down his tights. Rembereth how Ro made complaint about their woolen tightiness?”

“I do. He groweth apace, as hath been obvious to all naked orbs of sight.”

“I know. My least look at him – my knees knock, my heart throbs, my cunny leaks.”

“Thou speakest in a manner most dreadful modern. Shame, girl!”

“Sorry, Nurse. But to report ye truth is a girl’s duty. More proper will be my language, lest offense be rendered thee, most sympathetic guide.”

“Proceed.”

“Mercutio, in company with Othello, placed sweet Ro on his stomach athwart an olde keg whilst Tybalt did anoint himself from a vial in his jerkin. Oh, it was terrible next! Tybalt conjoined with my Ro and appeared to buck himself within.”

“And thy Ro, didst he cry out?”

“Forsooth, if I mayest employ thy word so adroitly used before, he did. Repeatedly, I heard, ‘Yea, more!’ and ‘Plowest thou my furrow!’ and ‘Makest thou fertile room for our friends, stout-cocked Mercutio and Othello of the ebon spear.”

“Thy cause is lost, most precious girl. Gather now thy skirts and seek comfort for thy urges with the good Friars, Lawrence and John. Trust them to cause the Lord’s work be done by their attentive means.”

“Nurse, will thus I find salvation from what ailest my youthful spirit and my delicate body on the verge of womanhood?

“Aye. Now hie thee hither.”

For other evocations of the great author, consult Afternoon Wisdom and Hard Work upon the Thames