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121 EXT. MEADOW. DAY VIOLA'S horse grazes. WILL lies on his back, still sobered and full of guilt. VIOLA sits on the grass among the buttercups and looks down at him. VIOLA is plaiting a finger-ring from stems of grass. She has not yet revealed her feelings. Marlowe's touch was in my "Titus Andronicus" and my "Henry VI" was a house built on his foundations. You never spoke so well of him. He was not dead before. I would exchange all my plays to come for all of his that will never come. You lie. WILL turns to look at her. You lie in your meadow as you lied in my bed. My love is no lie. I have a wife, yes, and I cannot marry the daughter of Sir Robert Lesseps. It needed no wife come from Stratford to tell you that. And yet you let me come to your bed. Calf love. I loved the writer, and gave up the prize for a sonnet. I was the more deceived. Yes - you were deceived. For I never loved you till now. ... Now ? I love you, Will, beyond poetry. WILL, lying down, now gets to his knees so that they are kneeling face to face. He touches her face. Oh, my love ... (he kisses her) You ran from me before. You were not dead before. When I thought you dead, I did not care about all the plays that will never come, only that I would never see your face. I saw our end, and it will come. You cannot marry Wessex ! If not you, why not Wessex ? All other men but you are the same man who is not you. They kiss again, passionately. (through his kisses) But I will go to Wessex as a widow to these vows, as solemn as they are unsanctified. And as their desperate kisses turn into love-making we cut to ... |
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