Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth I, was tired of the drama of life. So much blood, so much murder, so much intrigue. It was blasé. Such tragedy had become humdrum.
She wanted a bit of lightness, a bit of fun, a bit of comedy. She penned a letter* to a dear friend:
Dear William,
I fear very much the approach of death. I know you have quite a few plays in your possession already written and yet to be performed and published; some quite horrid and tragic, such as King Lear, Macbeth and Coriolanus.
However, I enclose two further play scripts, my final ones I believe, called The Winter’s Tale and The Tempest. They’re more light-hearted. I’d be happy if you added these to the list of my plays to be performed and published under your name.
I remain,
P.S. Don’t let that aberration, Frankie Bacon, get hold of them. The guy’s already tried to pass off some of the scripts as his own. He’s the only one who knows about us. I’m recommending a knighthood for him, to shut him up.
* The Elizabethan syntax and vocab of the letter have been “translated” in order to enhance the ease by which a modern reader can quickly scan.