Your cart is empty now.
The sweeping moorlands of Yorkshire, often shrouded in mist and legend, hold stories that have whispered through the ages. Some tales are better left in the past, but there are those that claw their way into the present, demanding to be heard.
The chilling story of Walter Calverley, the infamous English squire, is reimagined for the modern reader. Known more for the blood he spilled than the title he held, Calverley's unspeakable act of violence in 1605 remains one of history's darkest hours. Yet, like a shadowy tapestry interwoven with threads of fact and fiction, the tale has captivated audiences for centuries, its authenticity as elusive as the fog that blankets Yorkshire's hills.
Aspiring playwright Elizabeth Moore stumbles upon the centuries-old tale while researching for her next project. Obsessed with the controversy surrounding the play's true authorship—was it Shakespeare or Middleton?—she dives deep into the historical archives. But as she unravels the mystery, the lines between the past and the present blur, and Elizabeth finds herself drawn into a narrative more haunting and personal than she could have ever imagined.
Venture into the heart of Yorkshire with this gripping retelling that pays homage to the original drama while weaving a tale of its own. With rich characterization and atmospheric prose, this story is a haunting exploration of the lengths to which one might go in the name of passion, pride, and desperation.
If you are a lover of history, mystery, and atmospheric tales that chill to the bone, then this journey is one you won't want to miss.
PURCHASE A COPY OF A YORKSHIRE TRAGEDY WELL IN PLAIN AND SIMPLE ENGLISH NOW!
Do you need to understand Shakespeare and want something more interactive? Try our free app, SwipeSpeare!
EXCERPT FROM A YORKSHIRE TRAGEY IN PLAIN AND SIMPLE ENGLISH
SCENE I A room in Calverly Hall.
[Enter Oliver and Ralph, two servingmen.]
OLIVER
Sirrah Ralph, my young Mistress is in such a pitiful passionate humor for the long absence of her love--
Well, Ralph, my young mistress is in such a pitiful passionate mood because of the long absence of her love--
RALPH
Why, can you blame her? why, apples hanging longer on the tree then when they are ripe makes so many fallings; viz., Mad wenches, because they are not gathered in time, are fain to drop of them selves, and then tis Common you know for every man to take em up.
Why, can you blame her? Why, it’s because apples are left hanging on the tree after they ripen that so many of them fall. That is to say, since mad young women are not gathered in time, they tend to drop on their own, and then, you know, it’s common for every man to pick them up.
OLIVER
Mass, thou sayest true, Tis common indeed: but, sirrah, is neither our young master returned, nor our fellow Sam come from London?
By the mass, what you say is true, it really is common. But hasn’t our young master returned? Or hasn’t our fellow-servant Sam come from London?
RALPH
Neither of either, as the Puritan bawd says. Slidd, I hear Sam: Sam's come, her's! Tarry! come, yfaith, now my nose itches for news.
Neither of either, as the Puritan pimp says. –Listen, I hear Sam; Sam himself has come! Stay! Come on, I swear now my nose itches for news.
OLIVER
And so does mine elbow.
And so does my elbow.
[Sam calls within. Where are you there?]
SAM
Boy, look you walk my horse with discretion; I have rid him simply. I warrant his skin sticks to his back with very heat: if a should catch cold and get the Cough of the Lungs I were well served, were I not?
Boy, make sure you walk my horse wisely; I’ve ridden him foolishly. I swear his skin sticks to his back with heat; if he should catch cold and get a cough in his lungs it would serve me right, wouldn’t it? [Possible secondary meaning of the last line: if he should catch cold and get a cough in his lungs you’d have served me well, wouldn’t you? (sarcastically)]
[Enter Sam. Furnisht with things from London.]
What, Ralph and Oliver.
Well, Ralph and Oliver…
AMBO (both Ralph and Oliver)
Honest fellow Sam, welcome, yfaith! what tricks hast thou brought from London?
Sam, you honest chap, welcome indeed! What tricks have you brought from London?
SAM
You see I am hangd after the truest fashion: three hats, and two glasses, bobbing upon em, two rebato wires upon my breast, a capcase by my side, a brush at my back, an Almanack in my pocket, and three ballats in my Codpiece: nay, I am the true picture of a Common servingman.
You see I’m truly hung about with packages; three hats, and two mirrors bobbing upon them, two rebato wires (for stiffening headdresses) on my chest, a capcase by my side, a brush on my back, an almanac in my pocket, and three ballads in my codpiece. Aren’t I the true picture of a common servingman?
OLIVER
I'll swear thou art. Thou mayest set up when thou wilt. There's many a one begins with less, I can tell thee, that proves a rich man ere he dies. But what's the news from London, Sam?
I’ll swear you are, and you can set up whenever you want to. I can tell you, many a man begins with less than you have and turns out to be a rich man before he dies. But what’s the news from London, Sam?
RALPH
Aye, that's well said; what's the news from London, Sirrah? My young mistress keeps such a puling for her love.
Yes, that’s well said; what’s the news from London? My young mistress whines so for her love…
SAM
Why, the more fool she; aye, the more ninny hammer she.
Well, that shows she’s a fool and a ninny.
OLIVER
Why, Sam, why?
SAM
Why, he's married to another Long ago.
AMBO
Yfaith, ye jest.
Surely you’re joking.
SAM
Why, did you not know that till now? why, he's married, beats his wife, and has two or three children by her: for you must note that any woman bears the more when she is beaten.
Why, did you not know that till now? He’s married, he beats his wife, and he has two or three children by her; for you must note that any woman bears more when she is beaten.
RALPH
Aye, that's true, for she bears the blows.
OLIVER
Sirrah Sam, I would not for two years wages, my young mistress knew so much; she'd run upon the left hand of her wit, and ne'er be her own woman again.
Sam, I’d give two years of my wages to keep my young mistress from knowing this; if she knew she’d go mad and never be her own woman again.
SAM
And I think she was blest in her Cradle, that he never came in her bed; why, he has consumed all, pawnd his lands, and made his university brother stand in wax for him--There's a fine phrase for a scrivener! puh, he owes more then his skin's worth.
And I think the fact that he never came to her bed shows that she must have been blessed in her cradle. Why, he has spent all his money, pawned his lands, and made his brother at the university sign and seal a bond for his debt. He owes more than his skin’s worth. (I skipped “There’s a fine phrase for a scrivener!” I think that here this has two meanings—Sam is praising his own fine phrasing with ‘stand in wax’, and also commenting on the work done by the scrivener (clerk) who drew up the bond.)
OLIVER
Is't possible?
Is it possible?
SAM
Nay, I'll tell you moreover, he calls his wife whore as familiarly as one would call Mal and Dol, and his children bastards as naturally as can be.--But what have we here? I thought twas somewhat puld down my breeches: I quite forgot my two potingsticks. These came from London; now any thing is good here that comes from London.
Surely, and besides he calls his wife a whore as familiarly as one would call Moll or Doll (stereotypical names for whores at the time), and he calls his children bastards as naturally as can be (a play on words; a ‘natural’ child was one born out of wedlock)—But what do we have here? I thought something was pulling down my britches; I quite forgot my two poking-sticks (used to set pins in a ruff). These came from London; now people here think anything that comes from London must be good.
OLIVER
Aye, far fetcht you know.
Yes, you know they like anything far-fetched (here meaning ‘brought in from a distance’, possibly in addition to the more common modern meaning, ‘unusual, absurd’)
SAM
But speak in your conscience, yfaith, have not we as good Potingsticks ith Country as need to be put ith fire. The mind of a thing's all, and as thou saidst e'en now, far fetcht is the best things for Ladies.
But speak truly, on your conscience: don’t we have good enough poking-sticks in the country? The way we think of a thing is all-important, and as you just said, far-fetched things are the best for ladies.
OLIVER
Aye, and for waiting gentle women too.
Yes, and for gentlewomen-in-waiting too.
SAM
But, Ralph, what, is our beer sower this thunder?
But tell me, Ralph, has our beer gone sour?
OLIVER
No, no, it holds countenance yet.
No, no, it still seems to be good.
SAM
Why, then, follow me; I'll teach you the finest humor to be drunk in't; they call it knighting in London, when they drink upon their knees.
Why, then, follow me; I’ll teach you the best way to be drunk on it. They call it knighting in London when they drink on their knees.
AMBO (Ralph and Oliver)
Faith, that's excellent. Come, follow me: I'll give you all the degrees ont in order.
My word, that’s excellent. Come, follow me; I’ll show you all the degrees of drunkenness in order.
(One text suggests that it should be Sam’s line starting with “Come, follow me…”)
Translation missing: en.general.search.loading