The Late Mr Shakespeare

It is the outcome of a lifetime of labour, and testament to a lifetime’s love as well. From King John on, I worshipped Mr Shakespeare. I thought him more a god than a mortal man.

You see, although the writing of this book has come late in my life, I think I was preparing for it all along.

Sometimes I wear a false beard, but not today. One does not put on a false beard to write the Life of William Shakespeare.

How old would you be if you didn’t know your age?

Pickleherring’s mad again

This first meeting of ours took place in the yard of a tavern called the Cock

Reader, don’t get me wrong. I believe in ghosts and visions. I pray only to be spared from seeing them.

suck on my wrinkled dugs

I have now to write of the death of William Shakespeare. I think my own death won’t be far behind.

Unknown friends, let us put our religious cards on the table. My name is Robert Reynolds, called Pickleherring. I am by birth a Papist, by life abused, by copulation disappointed.