Shakespeare Fellowship Discussion Boards: The Truth Will Out

"IN THE END TRUTH WILL"
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H E N R I N E U I L L
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"VEIL LYNN HERE"
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"HENRY NEVILLE"

Any argument that requires more than one type written page will not sway the establishment.

This is a mind game an we are up against masters:
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Now Falstaff gets the role of man who wrote Shakespeare
By Dalya Alberge, Arts Correspondent
_The Times_ October 05, 2005

<<ENTER stage left: a dramatic new candidate for the authorship
of Shakespeare's plays. The real author of the works that
have been attributed to William Shakespeare for more than
400 years has beenunmasked, according to research.

A book to be published this month by a leading academic publisher,
with a foreword by Mark Rylance, the artistic director of the Globe,
will claim that the greatest plays and verse in the English language
were written by Sir Henry Neville (c1562-1615). He was a leading
Elizabethan figure, though a minor character in today's history books.

Whether Shakespeare's Stratford-on-Avon birthplace will be consigned
to a tourists' backwater, and the vast publishing industry devoted
to him condemned to pulp, remains to be seen, but the authors,
the academics Brenda James and William Rubinstein, are in no
doubt that they have finally uncovered the 'real Bard'.

They say that Neville, a rotund man nicknamed 'Falstaff'
by close friends, had the *virtue* - unlike Shakespeare,
who lacked an appropriate background - of being an educated
man of culture, a courtier and a well-travelled linguist.>>
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"is there no *vertue* extant?"
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[Henry the Fourth, Part One (1598 Quarto) 2.4]

Enter Falstaffe.

Poin. Welcome Iacke, where hast thou bin?

Falst. A plague of al cowards I say, and a vengeance too,
mar-ry and Amen: giue me a cup of sacke boy. Eare I lead
this life long, ile sow neatherstocks and mend them, and
foote them too. A plague of all cowards. Giue me a cup
of sacke rogue, is there no *vertue* extant?

he drinketh.

Prin. Didst thou neuer see Titan kisse a dish of butter,
pittifull harted Titan that melted at the sweet tale
of the sonnes, if thou didst, then behold that compound.

Falst. You rogue, heeres lime in this sacke too: there is no-
thing but rogery to be found in villanous man, yet a cowarde is
worse then a cup of sacke with lime in it. A villanous cowarde.
Go thy waies old Iacke, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good
manhood be not forgot vpon the face of the earth, then am I a
shotten herring: there liues not three good men vnhangde in
England, and one of them is fat, and growes old, God helpe the
while, a bad world I say, I would I were a weauer. I could sing
psalmes, or any thing. A plague of all cowards I say still.

Prin. How now *Wolsacke* , what mutter you?

Falst. A kings sonne, if I do not beat thee out of thy
kingdom with a dagger of lath, and driue all thy subiects
afore thee like a flock of wild geese, ile neuer weare
haire on my face more, you prince of Wales.
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http://webpages.charter.net/stairway/WOOLPACKMAN.htm

<<M.H. Spielmann makes a revealing remark in his Studies in the First
Folio, 1924, as follows, speaking of the Woolman's age, his moustache:
'The portrait is no portrait at all: it shows us a sickly, decrepit
old gentleman, with a falling moustache, much more than fifty-two years
old. Had Shakspeare really been such in his last illness would the
London sculptor have so rendered him? Do sculptors, in their monuments,
represent the great departed in their dying state, pressing pillows to
their stomachs?' (Spielmann, see http) Of course if the effigy is of
John Shakspeare, he was an old gentleman indeed, and might have been
decrepit. He was seventy when he died. The 'pillow' was a woolpack,
any Englishman would have twigged to that.

Hal to Falstaff, 'How now, *Woolsack*?'

In 1725 the English Antiquarian artist George *Vertue*
engraved the Shakspeare monument for Alexander Pope's
edition of Shakespeare's plays.

This is the first time we are shown the figure of Shakspeare writing on
a cushion. But the figure is wearing the head of the well-known Chandos
portrait of Shakspeare, as all close observers agree, the nicely
trimmed-up head of a much younger man, nothing like the head that
Dugdale pictured, nor yet very much like the head as we see it today.
Vertue (not an eyewitness in 1725) ignores the published eyewitness
testimony of the Woolpack Man in Holy Trinity, and instead gives us
an imagined version of the monument, a sort of speculation perhaps,
a suggestion of how the monument might be improved if were to honor
a great poet, and not merely a gentleman of local renown.

*Vertue* also differs from the proved eyewitnesses in setting down
the inscription beneath the figure, entering new text both of words
and phrasing. Vertue's picture in Pope's edition is an invention,
being unlike the eyewitness images of the Woolpack Man, and also
unlike the monument as we see it today.>>
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"Is there no *Vertue* extant?"
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[Henry the Fourth, Part One (Folio) 2.4]

Enter Falstaffe.

Poin. Welcome Iacke, where hast thou beene?

Fal. A plague of all Cowards I say, and a Vengeance
too, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sacke Boy. Ere
I leade this life long, Ile sowe nether stockes, and
mend them too. A plague of all cowards. Giue me
a Cup of Sacke, Rogue. Is there no *Vertue* extant?

Prin. Didst thou neuer see Titan kisse a dish of Butter,
pittifull hearted Titan that melted at the sweete Tale of
the Sunne? If thou didst, then behold that compound.

Fal. You Rogue, heere's Lime in this Sacke too: there
is nothing but Roguery to be found in Villanous man; yet
a Coward is worse then a Cup of Sack with lime. A vil-
lanous Coward, go thy wayes old Iacke, die when thou
wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot vpon the
face of the earth, then am I a shotten Herring: there
liues not three good men vnhang'd in England, & one of
them is fat, and growes old, God helpe the while, a bad
world I say. I would I were a Weauer, I could sing all
manner of songs. A plague of all Cowards, I say still.

Prin. How now *Woolsacke* , what mntter you?

Fal. A Kings Sonne? If I do not beate thee out of thy
Kingdome with a dagger of Lath, and driue all thy Sub-
iects afore thee like a flocke of Wilde-geese, Ile
neuer weare haire on my face more. You Prince of Wales?

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Art