All language subtitles for Upstart Crow s01e01 Star Crossed Lovers.eng

"Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?"

Sorry, Dad. How old's this
sad weirdo supposed to be?

The maid be 13, my sweet.

Yeah, cos I'm 13.

Exactly.

I thought it might be fun to hear
my Juliet spoke in her true voice

before a middle-aged man with two
half-coconuts down his bodice

gets hold of it.

I don't say stuff like this, Dad.

I'd sound like a complete turnip!

Yes, dear.

'Tis thy sweet and useful
timbre I would feign here,

not the monosyllabic series of grunts
that passes for your conversation.

Oh, what?!

I take the view that having
my romantic ingenue say,

"Uhh, what, shut up, Romeo, you're
so weird, uhh, shut up, I hate you,"

would be slightly less effective
than mine own timeless poetry.

Timeless is the word,

as in "feels like goes
on for bloody ever".

You've never given it a chance.

You've only seen Henry VI, Part 1.

Part 1? What, you mean there's more?!

I mean, don't take this wrong
way, son, but, God, I was bored!

I thought I was actually outside
my own body watching meself die.

He sat there cracking his
nuts in the quiet bits.

I tried to shush him, but
he would not be shushed.

He's a stubborn man, your father,
William. A stubborn, common man.

Which is why you married me.
Posh birds love a bit of rough.

I married beneath me, and now
you've done the same, William.

And what's that supposed to mean?

It means that he was 17

and he got a scheming little
26-year-old tithe farm milking-slap

up the duffington, that's what!

Oh, you think you're so posh, Mary Arden.

Like you ain't sewn into your
winter knickers like everybody else.

I'm trying to work!

I've come from London to
hear Sue read my Juliet.

Well, I'm not happy, doll.

Burbage pays you as an
actor, not a writer.

It's fine. I've sent word to the theatre

that the two tunnels which lie
beneath the bridge be blocked.

Pardon?

The two tunnels which lie
beneath the bridge be blocked.

Two tunnels?

Beneath a bridge? Anyone?

Nose, my loves. Nose!

I've told Burbage that my nose be snotted
and I would not work this week or next.

Why didn't you just say "nose"?

It's what I do!

Now, Susanna, again.

All right, if I have to.

"Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?"

Dad, nobody talks like this!

It's poetry.

Sometimes I regret teaching you to read.

I do think it could be a
little less flowery, love.

I mean, why doesn't she just
say, "Where are you, Romeo?"

Because, my love, it doesn't
mean, "Where are you?"

It means, "Why are you Romeo?"

That's a bit weird.

Yeah. Romeo is just his name.

Well, exactly.

Juliet is saying, "Why are you a
member of a family that I hate?"

People will definitely think you
mean, "Romeo, where are you?"

That's what I thought it meant.

Yeah. I did, too.

It's bloody obvious.

I think, to be clear, you're
going to have to have Juliet say,

"Romeo, Romeo! Why are you called Romeo?"

"A member of a family that I hate?"

That'd do it. Although if
I was being really picky,

Romeo is just his Christian name,
isn't it? And that's not the issue.

It's his surname that's the problem.

Well, yes. Actually, I was sort of
hoping people wouldn't notice that.

- I think they might.
- Duh!

So you think she should say,

"Montague, Montague!
Wherefore art thou Montague?"

No. Cos that'd sound
like she's lost her cat.

Look, it's... probably best if
you leave this to me, my love.

I'm-I'm on a bit of a roll.

I'm particularly pleased with the comedy
scene where a group of rival serving men

exchange a series of
increasingly obscure insults.

Will, I've told you. Don't do comedy.

It's not your strong point.

It is my strong point, wife.

It's just requires lengthy
explanation and copious footnotes.

If... If you do your research,

my stuff is actually really funny.

So excited to hear about Mr
Shakespeare's teen romance.

Such a good idea for a story.

Yeah, it's all right, I suppose.

Better than his usual stuff.

Has he let slip any hints
about the romance plot?

Er, this lad falls in love with this lass,

and she falls in love with him...

and they live happily ever after.

Nice and short, which makes
a change from his Henrys.

- And an amazing part for a girl.
- Kate,

you've got to drop that. Just cos
your mum rents rooms to my master

don't mean he's going to
put you in one of his plays.

It just seems so unfair that the theatre
employs men to perform female roles

when I, a real woman, am ready and eager.

Ah, Kate, splendid!

Store these new pages in my
bureau, would you? And, Bottom,

bring ale and pie.

A "good morrow" would be nice.

I'm famished!

The coach promised a refreshment cart,
but, oh, not on this particular service,

you'll be stunned to hear(!)

I hate it when they do that.

Plus, they were filling ruts 'twixt
Stokenchurch and Chipping Norton

and had laid on replacement donkeys.

In fact, one donkey for
six of us, plus bags.

Of course, the snortish brute guffed
its last after but three furlongs

and they had to send for
another from Birmingham.

We spent two nights in a hedge.

And did we see a single rut being filled?

Oh, no, I was forgetting! This is England.

One wouldst more likely see a
toothless crone with a tooth

than an English rut-filler
actually filling a rut!

Fortunately, I had my quill and ink and
was able to make passing use of the time.

Oh, my God, Mr Shakespeare,
it's brilliant.

Timeless. Deathless!

"The Most Tragical History
Of Romeo And Julian."

Oh, yes...

That should be Juliet, obviously. Romeo
And Julian was but a working title.

Early exploratory stuff.
It meanteth nothing.

Yeah, right(!)

- What?
- Well, come on, master.

We live in t'same house.

I've heard you reading out your sonnets.

Especially 1 to 126.

Those poems are about a platonic
hierarchical relationship.

God's naughty etchings!

Why does everybody presume

that just because I write 126
love poems to an attractive boy,

I must be...

.. I must be some kind of
bechambered hugger-tugger.

Juliet is an utterly amazing part.

Yes, I really think I've got her voice.

You have, you have. She's perfect.

The real challenge will be to
find an actor to do her justice.

Master Condell was quite brilliant
as Queen Margaret in my Henrys.

But I fear he'd be too
old to play the ingenue.

On the other hand, I don't want a boy.

These downy-scrotumed
squeakers lack depth.

Ahem.

Pardon, Kate?

Leaping amphibian caught in the ruby pipe

which starts with a swallow
but knows naught of birds.

Pardon?

I think he means, have you
got a frog in your throat?

But you can never be sure with him.

I'll get it.

As if anyone else was ever going to!

Yes, Bottom. Or, alternatively, I
could get it and you could write a play

and use the money you earn to pay me.

Except, hang on, no, that wouldn't
work, because you can't read or write.

So perhaps our current distribution of
labour is the sensible and equitable one.

That's just mean, that is.

Ahem.

What?

I was hinting that the answer to
your Juliet dilemma could be...

Oh, Kate, don't go there.

Lady-acting is illegal.

Beside which, girls can't act.

Just as they cannot
practise law, cure the sick,

handle financial matters
or stand for any office.

But no woman has ever been allowed
to try any of those things.

Because they can't do them!

God's bodikins, Kate, what's not to get?

Now, please, forget this
nonsense and let me focus.

It's not Juliet I'm
worried about, it's Romeo.

I can't seem to get a handle on him.

His character eludes me.

Master Robert Greene is without.

Rob Greene...

who doth hate my gutlings?

What does he want?

Ahh...

Master Shaky Poet!

A word, if you please.

Shakespeare, Master Greene.
My name is Shakespeare.

I know your name, sirrah.

I was addressing you by trade.

Shaky Poet.

Just as I would address a
house-builder as Master Builder

or a ship's carpenter as Master Carpenter.

What would you call a
bear-baiter, Mr Greene?

Master Baiter.

- See what I did there?
- Brilliant. Loved it.

I am come on a mission of great delicacy.

My nephew, Florian Greene, has
fallen for a most unsuitable girl --

the Lady Rosaline, daughter
of a mere country knight.

There can of course be no
question of such a lowly match,

so the boy must be kept from her.

And what part of this unedifying
tale of upper-class entitlement

is of interest to me?

Florian travels to Cambridge next week
to take his place at the university.

You must keep him here till then.

You see, this lowly boarding
house is far from court.

And Miss Rosaline will
never find him here.

I am a busy writer, sirrah.
Why should I do this?

Because I am Master of the Queen's Revels,

and if you don't, I will
deny your plays licence.

You mean you're corruptly
using your public position

to further your own private interests?

Er, duh!

I will have the boy sent to
you this e'en bound tight,

for his blood runs hot.

I myself will return in a
week for a farewell dinner.

Good day.

Zounds! I am due at the theatre
to discuss my new romance,

but now must play
nursey-nursey wipey-nosey

to a rogering, roistering
student clodhopper!

And all because Robert Greene
be made Master of Revels.

Why be he Master of Revels?

What qualifies him to be my judge?

He's posh and he went to Cambridge.

Exactly.

His very birth did
guarantee him advancement

whilst mine precluded it.

It is almost as if there be
suspended over this scepter'd isle

a ceiling made of glass...

.. against which men of lower birth,
such as I, must always bonk our noggins.

D'you think that's why
you're going a bit bald?

I am not going bloody bald.

I have a very big brain.

Mr Burbage, I am the senior actor
of female roles in this company.

My dear Condell, the ingenue in
Master Shakespeare's promised play

is a maid of 13 summers,

a young bud scarce yet in bloom.

And your point?

I think it seeks an actor that
doesn't have to shave his ears.

Good morrow! Good morrow, all.

Don't you "good morrow"
me, Mr Shakespeare.

This new romance you're writing...

- Aye. Romeo And Julian.
- Juliet.

As I said.

Romeo And Juliet.

Burbage says you want me
to play some bloody nanny.

The nurse is a fine comedy role.

Oh! Comedy. Ooh!

Don't give it to him, then.

- I can do comedy.
- Yeah...

But only in London, yeah?
Not really Florence, is it?

Yes, we all know you
worked in Italy, Kempe.

Ooh, did I get an award?

Can't remember.

Oh, that's right, I
did. Yeah. A proper one.

Not English. Italian, yeah?

Commedia dell'arte. Mm!

Heard of it?

Since you became big in Italy, Kempe, an
insufferable smuglington hast thou become!

Yeah, but an insufferable
smuglington who's big in Italy.

I am the senior lady actor and
I insist on playing Juliet!

Look, the play isn't even finished.

I'm stuck on the character of my Romeo.

And what's more, as yet
I don't have an ending.

Surely our young lovers
will live happily ever after.

Hmm. Well, that's the obvious ending.

Yes.

The ending the crowd will want.

Yes.

So I thought I'd kill them instead.

Kill them?

Our teenage sweethearts?

Yes. Theatre should be challenging.

And entertaining.

- Mainly challenging.
- Oh!

I just need to work out a
decent double death plot.

I can do dying! I'm good at dying.

Hmm, yeah!

- On stage every night.
- Oh!

Who said that? Oh, I did, so...

Mr Shakespeare, I need this role.

I can woo Romeo. I know I can.

Let me show you. Find a
way for me to prove it.

Bit sad, though. Begging.

We've had a delivery!

Lock up the beef and ale, Bottom.
Tell the poor to bar their doors.

We unleash the most parasitic
creature in Christendom...

the English posh boy.

Stay your hand a moment, Bottom.
Have you your dagger handy?

Do you think he's dangerous?

Possibly. These Oxbridge yobbos
are extraordinarily strong,

having spent their entire lives
with literally enough to eat.

They join clubs called the Burst
Ballsack and the Fisted Peasant...

.. where they gorge and
fight and roger and quaff

till they coat the walls
with gut porridge.

- A bit jealous, are we?
- Bloody jealous!

Particularly as when they graduate, they
all get to be bishops and ambassadors

and members of the privy council.

In England, I'm afraid
it's not what you know,

it's what dead farmyard animals
you rogered at university!

We can put it off no longer.

Unleash the posh boy!

Rosaline...

Rosaline!

Wherefore art thou Rosaline?

Goodness. This is spooky.

He's asking why his
beloved's name is Rosaline.

Actually, I think he's
asking where Rosaline is.

Probably best to leave the
linguistic interpretation to me.

Where are you, Rosaline?

Where are you?

I wish I knew where you were.

Gonna admit I was right?

O brutal love.

Despised love.

Love is the angry thorn
upon the false rose, and I...

am a prick.

Blimey, have we got to spend
a week with this arse-mungel?

Resist your thuggish
interjections, Bottom.

I see in this lovelorn loon
the very model of my Romeo.

O thou rude and deceiving table!

Four legs hast thou,
yet none are Rosaline's.

I would cut off every one
and eat upon the floor

for but one glance at
Rosaline's sweet knees.

I'm sorry, but this bloke's
a total wankington.

You must make allowance
for his youth and ardour.

Curse the floor that doth
not support Rosaline.

Curse the ceiling that
doth not shelter Rosaline.

Curse the bondsman that
doth not serve Rosaline.

Well, maybe he's a bit of a wankington.

Sirrah, who are you?

My name is Will
Shakespeare, Master Florian.

And I've been charged with keeping
you safe till you go to university.

Never.

I will leave this place at once and
search the world until I find my Rosaline.

I'm afraid that's out of the question.

Then I will kill myself.

Rosaline, Rosaline!
Wherefore art thou Rosaline?

Mr Shakespeare, I've learned
one of Juliet's speeches,

and if you'll just let
me show you what I...

Kate, I'm really, really busy!

"What's in a name? That
which we call a rose

"By any other name would smell as sweet."

- Not now, Kate!
- Sorry.

Now, Master Florian, don't be foolish.

You're going to have to put
Rosaline out of your mind.

Rosaline?

Rosaline?

Who's this foul trollop Rosaline?

Why, your love, I thought.

Kate...

Kate be my love. I will
love none but my Kate.

Kate? You... You... You mean, our Kate?

Where she breathes, flowers bloom.

Where she sings, pixies dance.

Her most blowingly flatulent fartle-barfle

be more sweetly scented than
all the perfumes of Arabia!

Well, you see, you're wrong there.
She's not a bad-looking bird,

but let me tell you, if she
leaves one hanging in a room,

you're still chewing on it an hour later.

My Kate doth teach the
candles to burn bright.

Kate, Kate!

Zounds! I've got to get
some of this stuff down.

He is my Romeo, all right.

And what a bit of luck, him going
all diddly-doodah over our Kate!

We'd thought to be his jailer

but what better chains to keep
him close than those of love?

Mr Shakespeare...

Something quite interesting
has just happened.

Yes, I know, Kate. Master Florian
has taken a shine to you.

Just string him along
for a week, will you?

Let him sing beneath your balcony,
write you sonnets, that sort of thing.

I'm sure it's nothing serious.

It is...

quite serious.

He's asked me to marry him.

Well...

Well, that's very sweet...

Marry?!

He can't marry you!

Robert Greene thought Rosaline not
good enough for his precious Florian

and she be the daughter of a knight.

Your mum washes my puffling pants!

Yes, but 'tis not Robert
Greene who would marry me.

'Tis Florian.

And when he does, my station
will be somewhat elevated...

considerably, I might add,

above you own.

But... but, Kate, if you marry
Florian, his uncle will blame me

and never license another of my plays.

Hmm! It's not my problem, though, is it?

Particularly since you won't let me play
Juliet, even though I'd be brilliant,

and it's my dream.

But, Kate, you know very
well that it is illegal

for girls to do anything interesting.

Thus...

our only recourse is to marry,

and if we can marry rich,
besotted idiots, then...

all the better.

Bottom, we have to stop this marriage.

- We must distract the boy!
- Well, that shouldn't be difficult.

The randy little ponce
fancies anything in a skirt.

That's right. Yes, of course.

So... so all we need to do is find someone
in a skirt whom he definitely can't marry.

Oh, my God, it's so obvious!

Woo-hoo, masters!

See, here I am!

Mistress Sauce Quickly, a
shy but biddable young maid,

who is all ripe...

and hot and drippy.

Players!

Well, Master Florian? What...

What think you of Mistress Sauce Quickly?

Does she not make

your loins tremble and your
codpiece cry, "Woof, woof"?

Are you blind? She looks
like a man in a dress!

Besides, I am spoken for my Kate.

Ah, but Kate be pure
and chaste till wed...

while Mistress Sauce Quickly doth
promise the lot before dinner.

Not a bad point, actually.

Sweet, good night!

This bud of love by
summer's ripening breath

May prove a beauteous
flower when next we meet.

Good night.

Good night!

As sweet repose and rest

Come to thy heart as
that within my breast!

Sorry, Mistress Sauce Quickly, that
does it. Kate's the one for me.

I shall stand beneath Kate's balcony

and strum my lute!

If that's a figure of speech,
don't let the watchman catch you.

Oh, well, in that case, perhaps
I'll just play her some music.

I should be angry with you for
pinching my lines like that.

But you did do them rather well.

The verse is so beautiful.

Look, Kate, crazy as it sounds,

perhaps Juliet would be
better played by a girl.

And so...

If I were at some point to
try, and I only say "try",

to help you become an actor,

would you prefer that to
marrying a pervy posh boy?

Oh, Mr Shakespeare, you
know I would! But...

But I am promised now, and
that is binding in law.

Well, then, we must come up with a
plan to get this boy to give you up.

And I've got a corker.

Even better than a
middle-aged man in lipstick?

Yes. Even better than that.

Good e'en, old apothecary.

Good e'en, my master. A
dark night for business.

Perhaps thy business be dark also?

Yes, well, I... I suppose it is a bit.

My... friend loves this girl...

I see, my master.

And this "friend" has a spotted
cod-dangle and a murky discharge?

Not at all.

You take bat spit and goat
snot and rub upon your...

I mean, your friend's...

Apothecary, I be not poxed.

I just need a simple potion that
will render a person seemingly dead

but from which they will fully
recover at the appropriate moment.

Well, we have Play Dead.

Or else you could buy my own brand of
the mixture, which is exactly the same

but half the price.

Hm, I... I think I'll stick to
the popular brand, thank you.

I'm happy to pay a little more
for the nebulous sense of comfort

that a public brand imbues.

Master Florian!

I come with a message
from your true love, Kate.

Why, sirrah, if you speak Kate's
words, then you are her mouth.

Er, not really.

And so must I kiss thee.

No, this is not consensual!

Oh! Oh, urgh!

God!

Your breath doth stink
like you dine on dung.

Deliver your message and be gone.

Mistress Kate has gone
to the local chapel.

Her countenance was dark and wild. I
fear some madness is come upon her.

She called for you, master.
Hurry lest you be too late.

Right, Kate, you swig the
potion, Florian finds you,

thinks you dead and
breaks off the engagement.

I can't see how it can possibly go wrong.

Well, to play Juliet...

But soft, he comes!

Oh...

So dark.

I fear my love's not here,

for surely her bright eyes would
be a lantern in the gloom.

- Knob.
- Shh!

What's this?

My Kate lies cold.

Does she sleep?

No, she is dead!

Now will he say, "Oh, well, bad luck.

"I'll just have to forget
about her and go to Cambridge."

Poisoned.

Dead from poison?

Dead!

"Oh, well, win some, lose some,
plenty more totty in Cambridge."

If Kate be dead, then
Florian need not live.

Perchance some trace of poison
does linger on her lips.

A kiss and I will share her fate.

Blimey.

He's taking it a bit
harder than I expected.

And yet no friendly drop remains.

Perchance she did brush her teeth

and then gargle after drinking it.

Thus...

with a dagger I die!

No, no. She-She be not dead!

The potion only made her seem
dead. She'll wake up any second!

Bolingbrokes!

He dies.

Now cracks a noble heart!

Good night, sweet idiot.

Thy heart was big,

thy brain... tiny.

Soft! I wake.

Did the plan work?

Did Florian find my
still body, think me dead

and depart for Cambridge with a shrug?

Well, two out of three ain't bad.

Right, good. Don't panic,
we can deal with this.

We just need another brilliant plan.

Welcome, Master Greene,

to young Florian's farewell feast.

Burbage and his company and
Mistress Sauce Quickly have joined us

to make of it a merry evening.

Excellent, excellent.

Come, Florian, embrace your uncle!

He looks half dead.

He is, Master Greene. He is.

I did a bit of serious roistering
with young Flozza last night.

Buckets of oysters, barrels of ale!

Come, sirrah, your hand.

Good lad.

Cold, stiff, unbending --
just as a gentleman should be.

- Dinner is served, my masters.
- Shall we?

So I said to Johnny Heminges --
lovely actor, sweet, sweet man...

I said to Johnny, "Have you ever
played Gammer Gurton's Needle"?

He said, "I've played Gammer Gurton,
ducky, but the needle came from props!"

Brilliant, Burbage!

I always say there's
nothing more fascinating

than actors talking about themselves!

Tell us more!

What about Florian? Thou
hast not touched thy food.

Posh boys must quaff and
gorge whilst others starve.

Can't keep this up much
longer. Let's go for it.

Tell me, Florian, have you seen
anything of the fair Rosaline

who once you did love so well?

Rosaline? Who is Rosaline?!

You said you loved me! Your Kate!

Kate? Love Kate? Thou
said thou didst love me!

Your Mistress Sauce Quickly.

Bravo, lad! I see you've been
roistering, as a varsity man should.

And, Master Shakespeare,

it seems you have cured my nephew
of all silly notions of romance.

Well, yes, I think you
could say we've done that.

Bra-vo.

But look now, what's this?

Why, he's passed out in his plate. You'd
think he was at Cambridge already!

We took him to Cambridge,
where, not surprisingly,

they found him cold, unco-operative

and expecting advancement
without effort or talent.

In short, a perfect member
of the English Establishment.

Although he will have decomposed
long before he graduates,

I imagine he'll get a first.

Amazing tale, husband.

Particularly the bit about the
maid drugging herself in a tomb,

only for her young lover to think her dead
and killing himself before she wakes up.

Yes.

If only I could think of an
ending for my play as easily.

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