When Shakespeare met the Vampires

When Shakespeare met the Vampires ©

By

Michael Casey

As I said before the morn broke, on yester eve, my offspring were partaking of a Tale on the magic flickering theatre box, tv in common parlance. So as the dawn has broken I will relate a Tale inspired by the Originals and how they spake like Shakespeare, to my own very ears that is.

Let us begin. O you upon the balcony, what is thy purpose, are you afte perchance a thief or a knave, or an escaped slave. You came to wash the windows? But where is thy bucket, or is it hidden in thy mighty codpiece?

Do not dally, go fetch a pale of water, and should thou meet Jake and Jill, tell them to hurry. Now with that boy gone I shall tell you the gist of the Tale. There are strange creatures abroad, they dost say they live in the darkest of the night and make merry, no not Students, but strange strange people who have exceedingly bright teeth, as white as virgin snow. And thou dost know how hard it is to come upon a virgin in this city, and as for snow, Ha, I repeat Ha, it never snows in Old Forge and Singing Anvil.

The leader of the Teeth as they are called is a man called Bert, yes Bert is how his mother did Christen him, Bert, it was to have been Gilbert, but gills sound too fishy, and it was for lack of a fish head that the bastard was born. As thou will remember fishes’ bits were used to prevent unwanted births. Brook Street had not yet been invented, it was still just a puddle filled back passage, before the Future arrived. But back to the tale, the Teeth as they were called were bold strong men that hung out together, yes very early Body Builders, who always wore deep red lipstick, or so it would seem. Perchance when I awoke from my reverie in the mist of the night, to use the chamber pot, I overfilled my chamber so I had to throw it out the window. It was then that I saw a man below, he was all red mouthed, I just thought he was a local rent boy, and I nearly waved and  said garde de l’eau below, but I did not. For on the floor by his feet was a very very pale maiden, her neck and bosoms exposed, and her neck was blood soaked. I had in the middle of the night come upon such a dreaded sight. The Teeth had bitten and a faire maiden had been bitten, and her blood been drained from her. So, I bit my tongue, and waited for the Teeth to depart, while I held in a fart, then I caste my po, because I was in dire need of it again. So, the fallen maiden was blessed with a po full of my pee, by me Will Shakespeare, consecrated from above, by a shower of water, not blessed, just expelled not heaven sent, just from a window above, without any love.

In the morrow without any sorrow I emptied my po again, and when I looked to see was the maiden still fallen, and perhaps was she still available, her bosoms did methinks were so inviting. There was naught to be seen, maybe it was all a dream, but it would be and could be inserted into a tale, inserting a maiden always makes good theatre after all, I am Will Shakespeare after all. So, I went about my business, sharpening my quills, which is always a cure for all ills for Writers such as I. Besides the Tavern, the Horse Trader had yet to open, so I sharpened my quills, as I watched my maid shake my paliass, though I must confess I dost enjoy her paliass more than my own, especially when dear Ann is away.

I was on the lookout for a tart, Greggs Olde Bakery was and still is the best, but I was wont for a strumpet, as I had great need filling my codpiece, and besides I needed a boy to play that strumpet. Not that I have inklings for boys, but you see we have to have boys playing maidens, as the Queen does not allow ladies to play ladies, she is the Queen and does not want any competition. Queen Rules OK. So unbroken boys dress as strumpets and ladies and all sorts of the female gender, where is the equity of it all, it seems all balls to me.

So I came upon Bert in the dark, the inn keeper refuses to use more candles, so it’s always dark, it’s frightening whom one couldest bump into. Then Bert opened his lips and I was dazzled, his teeth were so amazingly white, I was stunned, but I recklessly asked how he managed to get his teeth so white. Perchance a triffle I could buy the wife to keep her happy, a white teeth maker. Bert explaineth to me he had a friend from over the border, what Birmingham I asked, no a bit higher, not Wolverhampton. And we continued with said game till he explained over the Wall, the other side of Hadrian. Now Hadrian was a fat bastard, he really was fat and a bastard to boot, so I looked past Hadrian at the bar. Bert smiled and nearly blinded me in the process. No, he explained, not past that bastard Hadrian stood at the bar, but over the wall, Hadrian’s Wall into Scotland, the land of the men is skirts.

I was immediately interested then, men in skirts would be perfect to act in my plays. Bert explained his friend MacClean helped him with his teeth, after he had eaten him his teeth had forever been so bright and white. Little did I know that Bert did not mean eat but eat, you see Bert was a Vampire. But I was intrigued, if I could meet some more of the Clan MacClean then I’d have a source of actors to play the strumpets in my plays, like wot I wrote yesterday as Ernie Wise used to say, before he ran away with a sailor in Morecambe.

So Bert and I tarried in the bar, Falstaff came with the food,  he was such a fool, I said I’d put him in a play if he gave me more ale, so the fool did, and I will stick him in a play if my name is William Shakespeare. Through I have to leave my mark on parchment just for the record, so I always sign Michael Casey let that fat silver haired writer who hides in the shade, get the Kings Men chase him when I leave for London at the weekend, he can pay my bar bill, my civil bar bill, or should I reverse it, the bar bill of civil, methinks that could be a good title for something. I’ll file it in my codpiece for later.

That night as the cock crowed, as it’s neck was being strangled for crowing at a such an ungodly hour, before being put in a pot, cock in a pot is a verily a great  disk in these parts, put  your cock in my pot is a much heard refrain, not just from cooks but ladies of the night around here. Bert appeared in a flash, his codpiece was loose, too much weight being carried within. With him was a man past Hadrian, a Scots man, a man in a skirt. So, I proposed he appeared in one of my plays, and did he mind kissing me, and as I demonstrated, the man in a skirt kissed me back. A Glasgow kiss, or head butt to those who do not know, a Glasgow kiss is a head shattering head butt, the men past Hadrian may wear skirts but they were definitely all men, and as their kilts swirled I can attest definitely ALL MAN. But for a good bottle or Irn Bru they’d dress in all a girl’s finery and appear in my latest play. Measure for Measure, which was all about drinking, or so I told the Devil in a Kilt. The Scot told me he’ll accept all this carry on, so long as I left his kyber alone.

Bert smiled and dazzled us both, then he flew away after turning into a bat, he said his friend Bruce, another Scot was making the dinner, dina dina Batman.