Christopher Marlowe
Hello, everyone. It’s so nice to be here with all of you on this fine morning. I remember when I was your age, studying at Corpus
Christi College in Cambridge. Oh, those were the days, before I got mixed up in all of the madness that led to my death. Wait.
Oh, excuse me. I haven’t even introduced myself. I am Christopher Marlowe. Famous writer, blah blah blah. You know, they say
that if I had lived longer (tragically, I only lived to be twenty-nine) I could have been as great as Shakespeare (they say he might
not have even have written his own works). Anyway, I suppose I should start from the beginning, give you some details about
my life. Please do try not to get too bored. I was born in Canterbury. Yes. That’s right. You remember The Canterbury Tales? It is
the same Canterbury. My father was a shoemaker. When I was fourteen years old, I attended The King’s School, where I studied
your typical subjects, religion, music, Latin and Greek literature, and history. Oops. I suppose you don’t have a religion class.
We are in America after all. Anyway, I was also encouraged to write poetry in school. I was quite a good student and I received a
scholarship to Corpus Christi College when I was sixteen. I studied there for more than six years. I made some interesting
connections while I was in Cambridge. Thomas Walsingham was a friend of mine. He was the nephew of the secretary of state,
Sir Francis Walsingham, who served as Queen Elizabeth’s spymaster. You know, there was a lot of tension at that time between
Catholics and Protestants. I might have even been recruited as a secret agent. I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.
By the time I was twenty-four, I had written the plays Dido, Queen of Carthage and Tamburlaine the Great. I had also translated
Ovid’s Amores and the first book of Lucan’s Pharsalia. Not a big deal, though. In the summer when I was twenty-five, I went to jail.
That’s right. I’m cool. I spent a whole two weeks in prison. I got into a bit of a tiff with a fellow named William Bradley in London.
My friend, Thomas Watson, ended up killing him. I say he had it coming to him. Anyhow, I joined a group that I believe today is
referred to as the “School of Night”. I was in the group with freethinkers, such as the Duke of Northumberland, Sir Walter
Raleigh, and Thomas Hariet. They were brilliant men. Together we challenged religious beliefs, studied science, and tried to
make new discoveries. We might have even dabbled a little in magic. Today, magic is simply a thing of popular fantasy stories.
You are so foolish. In my free time, I continued to write plays, including Dr. Faustus, The Jew of Malta, and Edward II. I was arrested
again when I was twenty-nine. It was such a hassle. Thomas Kyd, a playwright, was arrested for being in possession of
sacrilegious writings. They tortured him, and he finally told them that the writings belonged to me and had accidently been
shuffled in with his papers (selfish SOB). I was charged with blasphemy and atheism. I’m not going to lie; I might have been a
little frightened. You see, at that time, I could have been burned at the stake. I wasn't sent to prison, but I was required to
attend court daily. A man, Richard Baines (oh god, I hated him), was sent to gather evidence against me. He never got a chance
to present anything, though, because I was murdered. That’s right. I might have had a bit to drink that night, and I got into a
fight over paying the bill. I was stabbed above my right eye by Ingram Frizer in the house of Dame Eleanor Bull in Deptford.
Frizer spent little time in prison, though, because he claimed he killed me in self-defense. There have many questions
surrounding my death. They say that the witnesses to my murder can’t necessarily be trusted because all of them had served
in the secret service with me. They were all capable of pulling off a convincing murder. Also, they say that because the coroner
worked for the Queen, he could have been influenced by my good friend Thomas Walsingham. Not to mention that the body
was supposedly quite disfigured. They say that the timing of my murder was simply too convenient. I mean, sure, I was
supposed to go to court the next day, and they supposedly had evidence to prove that I was guilty of blasphemy. I probably
would have been tortured and possibly burned at the stake. Still, what kind of man would I be if I tried to fake my own death? I
suppose some might say brilliant. Interestingly enough some have suggested that I might actually be the great William
Shakespeare. These people say that I had already proven myself to be a brilliant author, and many elements of his work are
similar to mine. I was the one who had developed Shakespearean blank verse. I was quite devoted to the poetry of Ovid, who
happened to be Shakespeare’s favorite poet. In general, they claim that my experiences in life would seem to make me more
qualified than Shakespeare to write his amazing poems and plays. Also, it would seem like too much of a coincidence that
Shakespeare’s work began to appear precisely from the date of my death. Now, I suppose I could tell you what really happened,
but I won’t. It’s a secret that I’ll take to my grave. Oops. I guess I've already been dead for hundreds of years. Well, it’s just one of
those things that the world may never know.
Christi College in Cambridge. Oh, those were the days, before I got mixed up in all of the madness that led to my death. Wait.
Oh, excuse me. I haven’t even introduced myself. I am Christopher Marlowe. Famous writer, blah blah blah. You know, they say
that if I had lived longer (tragically, I only lived to be twenty-nine) I could have been as great as Shakespeare (they say he might
not have even have written his own works). Anyway, I suppose I should start from the beginning, give you some details about
my life. Please do try not to get too bored. I was born in Canterbury. Yes. That’s right. You remember The Canterbury Tales? It is
the same Canterbury. My father was a shoemaker. When I was fourteen years old, I attended The King’s School, where I studied
your typical subjects, religion, music, Latin and Greek literature, and history. Oops. I suppose you don’t have a religion class.
We are in America after all. Anyway, I was also encouraged to write poetry in school. I was quite a good student and I received a
scholarship to Corpus Christi College when I was sixteen. I studied there for more than six years. I made some interesting
connections while I was in Cambridge. Thomas Walsingham was a friend of mine. He was the nephew of the secretary of state,
Sir Francis Walsingham, who served as Queen Elizabeth’s spymaster. You know, there was a lot of tension at that time between
Catholics and Protestants. I might have even been recruited as a secret agent. I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.
By the time I was twenty-four, I had written the plays Dido, Queen of Carthage and Tamburlaine the Great. I had also translated
Ovid’s Amores and the first book of Lucan’s Pharsalia. Not a big deal, though. In the summer when I was twenty-five, I went to jail.
That’s right. I’m cool. I spent a whole two weeks in prison. I got into a bit of a tiff with a fellow named William Bradley in London.
My friend, Thomas Watson, ended up killing him. I say he had it coming to him. Anyhow, I joined a group that I believe today is
referred to as the “School of Night”. I was in the group with freethinkers, such as the Duke of Northumberland, Sir Walter
Raleigh, and Thomas Hariet. They were brilliant men. Together we challenged religious beliefs, studied science, and tried to
make new discoveries. We might have even dabbled a little in magic. Today, magic is simply a thing of popular fantasy stories.
You are so foolish. In my free time, I continued to write plays, including Dr. Faustus, The Jew of Malta, and Edward II. I was arrested
again when I was twenty-nine. It was such a hassle. Thomas Kyd, a playwright, was arrested for being in possession of
sacrilegious writings. They tortured him, and he finally told them that the writings belonged to me and had accidently been
shuffled in with his papers (selfish SOB). I was charged with blasphemy and atheism. I’m not going to lie; I might have been a
little frightened. You see, at that time, I could have been burned at the stake. I wasn't sent to prison, but I was required to
attend court daily. A man, Richard Baines (oh god, I hated him), was sent to gather evidence against me. He never got a chance
to present anything, though, because I was murdered. That’s right. I might have had a bit to drink that night, and I got into a
fight over paying the bill. I was stabbed above my right eye by Ingram Frizer in the house of Dame Eleanor Bull in Deptford.
Frizer spent little time in prison, though, because he claimed he killed me in self-defense. There have many questions
surrounding my death. They say that the witnesses to my murder can’t necessarily be trusted because all of them had served
in the secret service with me. They were all capable of pulling off a convincing murder. Also, they say that because the coroner
worked for the Queen, he could have been influenced by my good friend Thomas Walsingham. Not to mention that the body
was supposedly quite disfigured. They say that the timing of my murder was simply too convenient. I mean, sure, I was
supposed to go to court the next day, and they supposedly had evidence to prove that I was guilty of blasphemy. I probably
would have been tortured and possibly burned at the stake. Still, what kind of man would I be if I tried to fake my own death? I
suppose some might say brilliant. Interestingly enough some have suggested that I might actually be the great William
Shakespeare. These people say that I had already proven myself to be a brilliant author, and many elements of his work are
similar to mine. I was the one who had developed Shakespearean blank verse. I was quite devoted to the poetry of Ovid, who
happened to be Shakespeare’s favorite poet. In general, they claim that my experiences in life would seem to make me more
qualified than Shakespeare to write his amazing poems and plays. Also, it would seem like too much of a coincidence that
Shakespeare’s work began to appear precisely from the date of my death. Now, I suppose I could tell you what really happened,
but I won’t. It’s a secret that I’ll take to my grave. Oops. I guess I've already been dead for hundreds of years. Well, it’s just one of
those things that the world may never know.
Sir Walter Raleigh
Hello there! It’s very nice to meet you all. My name is Sir Walter Raleigh. I am best known as a writer
and poet but I also dabbled in the military, espionage, and exploration. What can I say, I am a man of
many hobbies. I was born in 1552..or was it 1554.. we aren’t really sure! Anyways, I was born in Devon
to a Protestant family. I spent a lot of time in Ireland as I was growing up. When I came back to England
I became a landlord. Queen Elizabeth must have really saw something special in me because in 1585
she knighted me! She trusted me so much that she granted me a royal patent to explore Virginia. In
1591 I secretly married Elizabeth Throckman, one of the queen’s ladies in waiting. She was so mad!! She
banished me and my new wife to the Tower of London. I spent the rest of my days writing. One of the
poems I wrote you will hear today. Due to my involvement within the Queen’s court and my writing,
people started to think I could be an atheist. How could they have thought that? I was put on trial and
executed in 1618. Fortunatly for me, my legacy lives on through wonderful students like you studying
my poetry many years later.
and poet but I also dabbled in the military, espionage, and exploration. What can I say, I am a man of
many hobbies. I was born in 1552..or was it 1554.. we aren’t really sure! Anyways, I was born in Devon
to a Protestant family. I spent a lot of time in Ireland as I was growing up. When I came back to England
I became a landlord. Queen Elizabeth must have really saw something special in me because in 1585
she knighted me! She trusted me so much that she granted me a royal patent to explore Virginia. In
1591 I secretly married Elizabeth Throckman, one of the queen’s ladies in waiting. She was so mad!! She
banished me and my new wife to the Tower of London. I spent the rest of my days writing. One of the
poems I wrote you will hear today. Due to my involvement within the Queen’s court and my writing,
people started to think I could be an atheist. How could they have thought that? I was put on trial and
executed in 1618. Fortunatly for me, my legacy lives on through wonderful students like you studying
my poetry many years later.
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