Not Such Stuff by Chris Wind

This Play is the copyright of the Author and must NOT be Performed without the Author's PRIOR consent

Lady MacBeth: I didn't kill myself.

Ophelia: I hear it told a suicide.

Lady MacBeth: I outperformed them in their own play.
So they removed me
To the realm of insanity
And then
they killed me.

Any ambition in the fair sex—
'Tis vilified as unnatural perversion.
A bitch, by any other name.
Nay, even absent ambition—
Fair is foul and foul is unfair
The weaker sex whines.

Then how are we to achieve that to which we aspire?
That we do not slips and slithers into our minds
Confusing and confounding even the strongest.
It stings, it burns, anon, it numbs.
And she who pours all her spirits into her man's ear
Has none left for herself.

There's daggers in men's smiles.
Any woman who by unlikely means power gains
Is so feared, she shall find herself harshly
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
To the last syllable of recorded time.

Unsex us all!
Free us from this tyranny!
Spring us from that unnatural perversion!

Juliet: Romeo, Romeo,
Where the fuck art thou?

Have you stopped along the way
To play at your stupid battle games?

Or have you changed your mind,
And decided not to come
Thinking me too 'easy' and thus insincere:
What perversion of thought is this?
Because I say what it is I want,
Direct and forthright,
You judge my desire false?

Kate: But for a man to be so bold is not a fault.

Juliet: While the one who dallies,
Says no to mean yes,
You deem true and take her
Or perhaps you think to be 'easy' is to be unchaste:
If so, you misjudge
Because I want you (I want you)

Ophelia: Desiring, am I thus impure?

Juliet: Does in no way mean
I am a woman who wants every man.
Do you think of yourself so poorly?
Can you not accept that it is you who–
That one look of yours makes me wet
One touch sends a fire through every nerve

That it is you, standing there
In your tights so tight
And your shirt
Carelessly open,
Your chest–

Oh Romeo, Romeo,
Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
'Tis true you asked the same last night
When you came
And I bid you go
–For you had come so ill-prepared!
I bid you go to the Friar–
Not for a marriage,
'Tis but a farce:
We say there will be no sex
Until there is marriage
Meaning until there is love;
But if we marry at first sight,
Then 'tis surely not a token of love
But a license for sex.
(Indeed, my mother's talk to me
Of marriage
Was as awkward as a first broaching
Of the subject of sex!)
And what need have we of a license–
Better use can we make of a sheath!
(The Friar, do you forget, is also a pharmacist!)

Yes, I bid you go
But only to return–

Ophelia: I crave to love with opening arms.

Juliet: Return, Romeo, come–
Part thy close curtain, love-perfuming night,
As I will soon mine own unclasp,
let fall,
To offer sweetest heavens
To my love, my Romeo, come–
Steal upon catpaws silent in the night
Follow my purr, come,
Leap into my arms!
Let us kiss once for every star in the sky
A thousand times our lips shall meet!
Let me feel your body
move sleek along mine
Let me touch you, Romeo, here and here
('Tis true, as spoken, strangers' love is boldest!)
Flutter your fingers upon my breast,
Play with me love, at tug and nip
'Till my body stiffens in arched pleasure!
Come, let me surround you
Let me suck at the moon's liquid
'Till you clench and howl!
Then lick me love,
Seek my treasure with your teasing tongue
Nibble the pearl in folds of oyster,
My hands tearing at your head,
'Till I am gasping in wild heat,
Come, now, thrust your hard desire
reach deep in to me love–
Let me feel your panting breath–
Come night, loving black-silked night,
Come take me, wake me,
Make me cry out
For more!
Come, Romeo, come

Nurse laughs to see me so–

Lady MacBeth: Outperforming them in their own play.

Juliet: (Though mother would faint,
Still confusing innocence with ignorance)
Young love, she mutters, fanning my face;
But I protest, 'tis not love,
Not of ones so young,
Nor of ones just met–
Let us be clear:
Yours was an artful come-on
("Let lips do what hands do")
For a classic pick-up–
'Tis young lust, I tell her true:
I want sex

Kate: Surely in a man this is much applauded.

Juliet: With a desire pure as the lace on my bodice;
She clucks to hear me talk so,
And I would persist–
But what's in a name?
That which we call making love
By any other name
Feels as good.

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