“Now is the winter of our what’s-its-name
Turned into summer by this Yorkshire – er.
Think when we speak of those four-footed – um.
What country, friends, is this? No, that’s her line ‒
Two noble families, both alike in something
In fair wherever, where we set our play ‒
And gentlemen in England, now abed
Shall think – what shall they think? I’m blooming lost!
Was this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burned the rising things of whereabouts?
O Christ! I can’t recall a single line!
What blasted play tonight? What blasted play!?”
“Oh, frame yourself! You’re on set! Curtain up!”
“Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York…”