I can no longer tolerate my overprotective father. I know he means well and only wants to do good by me, but he goes about it entirely wrong. Does he honestly believe I wish to be treated like a young, immature child, retreating inside the house for security the moment my older sister acts rudely? I can handle her, even if she does smack me occasionally. I only wish I could prove that I am not the goody-good girl everybody thinks I am. I live under the guise of a quiet, obedient, tame lady. Well, that is a total deception. My father expects me to get married the minute Katherine has a man to call her own, for I have many suitors vying for my hand. Katherine, on the other hand, is often called a shrew behind her back (I know this because I don't always retire into the house like I'm told). No man wishes to wed an outspoken, disobedient, rash, insensitive person. Hence Katherine remains unmarried, while I must bide my time till it is my turn. I am not a 'feminist' by the definition of the extreme word, but I do admire Katherine for standing up to men so, and demanding that she have the same rights as any other male in Italy. Yet, as much as I secretly look up to Katherine, I maintain my "good girl" image. I am aware that I am not being true to myself, but I have no choice. I lack the courage Katherine seems to possess in abundance to defy my father, never mind my suitors, just as my sister does. I suppose I will eventually marry and be the loyal perfect wife everyone expects me to be, for I am almost positive that Katherine's dowry is enough to tempt some man to take her as his wife. And when that happens, Katherine will be forced to marry, as will I soon thereafter. But the difference is, she will oppose her wedlock openly, while I only in a clandestine manner, so no one shall know what I truly believe.

Note: The author of the postings below has been accused of treason to Her Highness the Queen and will be dealt will accordingly. He shall be heard from nevermore. ~ BPF (British Police Force)

Poor Mr. Lopez. That unfortunate physician just got sent to his shameful death while a mass of townspeople looked on eagerly. Now, if a criminal was receiving justice for some heinous act of violence, I'm all for his hanging. But Roderigo Lopez, the Queen's loyal doctor, was a different case. His so-called "trial" (a misnomer if you ask me) was no trial at all once his arch-nemesis Earl of Essex came to the stand;rather, it was merely a chance for the accused to receive one final blow at his reputation. Really, how the man kept his composure is beyond me. Especially considering the reaction he got from the public when he spoke the last words of his innocent life, with all the sincerity a man possesses moments before his death. "I loved the Queen as much as I do Jesus!" Lopez cried out, for he allegedly plotted the Queen's death by poisoning in cahoots with much-hated Catholic King of Spain. This utterance of desperate truth was met with (I regretfully recount), laughter on behalf of the bloodthirsty public. The once-respected man was reduced to a mere mockery. Not a soul took his words seriously, as Lopez was born a Jew and his conversion was never considered sincere. Thanks to Marlowe's dreadfully anti-Semitic play "The Jew of Malta" and Essex' persistent testimony, the public believed Lopez to be a villainous, traitorous Jew. One may ask how I am so certain of my controversial convictions. I simply reply that having previously lived in a land where Jews are common citizens, I know they are not an evil people like England makes them out to be. In fact, Jews are among the most dutiful and forthright people I know (or at least, used to know). Aside from the fact that I'd firmly believe Lopez' innocence had he been a practicing Jew, pure logic is all that is needed to assert the man's innocence. The Earl, being the anti-Semite anti-Catholic he is, concocted this story of Lopez and the King of Spain for his own personal satisfaction. Moreover, Essex resented Lopez ever since the virtuous man disclosed the Earl's sly plan to the Queen, which was to recruit Lopez as a member of Essex' own powerful gang. One must possess only an untainted mind to see through the lies and framing to realize the truth staring him in the face. Which, I concede, is almost (if not completely) an impossibility in Jew-hating England.

Upon visiting Her Highness Queen Elizabeth I today, I discovered that I am not very fond of royalty. Perhaps it is wrong of me to categorize all kings/queens/princes, etc. like that, but it cannot be helped. The only reason I was even granted a prestigious visit to the proud queen, is because my son is a rising star in the theatre. Since his debut in "Hamlet", he has acted in several Shakespearean plays, all of which Her Ladyship the Queen highly approved of (for the plays did nothing but flatter Her Majesty, which was a bit too much for me personally). I understand it must not be an easy task managing an entire country-never mind the greatest country in the modern world-especially with the disadvantage of being a single female ruler. Nevertheless, I firmly believe that monarchs are most efficient and beneficial to their respective countries when they treat their fellow subjects with love and respect. As a citizen, I can safely state that people are more apt to obey a monarch who treats them well. When the ruler is tyrannical, however, fear replaces admiration in the eyes of civilians. And Queen Elizabeth I is the epitome of a dictator. Well, with one exception. She is a true patron of the arts, and to that I owe much homage to her. Without her generous funds to the Playwrights and Actors Association, my son would not have the oppurtunity to do what he loves (acting, of course). For this I am indebted to Her Ladyship, and am willing to dissmiss her ignoble actions to all those who serve her. For though the Queen acts all high and mighty in character, in truth, she is nothing but an ugly, wretched, cold-hearted little woman. You may not believe my harsh words, but if you want proof to what I say, just go to her court yourself. That is, if she even admits your lowly prescence. If you happen to be a sychophant, and a playwright to boot, you will undoubtedly be approved of. And while you fawn over Her Highness with all sorts of untruths pouring from your deceitful mouth, take a look of your surroundings. Her elegant court is filled with humble, poorly-treated servants. Her Highness' wine-fetcher daren't look up at the Queen until she smacks her painted lips with approval; that is, if she doesn't throw her fine goblet down to the floor in a burst of anger over foul wine. This is but one example of Her Majesty's "refined" character. I shall say no more, for my treachorous words may have endangered me more than I dare to imagine.

Yesterday I watched my first-ever Shakespeare play in the famous Globe Theatre. I couldn't not go, as my son James acted as Ophelia, who, everyone knows, is an integral character in "Hamlet." I must say, he did a splendid job, as did the rest of the actors. Before I get to the actual performance, however, there is much to say about my first experience in the Globe Theatre. Following a wise friend's advice, I camped out overnight next to a large sign with a picture of Hercules bearing the would on his shoulders to acertain that I get myself and my wife good seats the following day. Even so, I did not get a front-row seat as I expected, but a decent seat in the gallery. I could not get over the numbers of people rushing through the doors. Shakespeare's plays are always big hits, apparently. (Having just moved to London this past year, it's taking me quite some time to adapt to the crowded, ever-busy cosmopoliton.) As I sat in my seat, I absorbed my surroundings. The colossal stage was set with props of all sorts, including a real cannon bolted to the wooden floor. I counted three galleries (including mine), each capable of seating a thousand, I guessed. The building reeked of ham and tomatoes, the first was everyone's lunch, the latter in case it was a poor production, I've been told. The theatre was very noisy as more and more people walked in, yet the moment the bell struck to get everyone's attention, the room fell silent. I felt the excitement in the air and, I must confess, nervousness on my part for my son.

The production was utterly amazing, from the superb acting to the colorful costumes. Everything was swell, that is, until the cannon was shot. It was all downhill from there. The wooden platform was set ablaze, and the fire spread quickly. There was chaos all around as men, women, and children alike scrambled for the tiny exit down the dangerously rickety stairwell. My wife and I frantically searched for our James, who, thank the Lord, was found unhurt. Though he did look rather silly dressed partly as a woman and partly a boy. After escaping from the burning polygon, the family celebrated James' splendid acting with extra scones and jam at teatime. It is unfortunate that my first experience at the Globe Theatre was cut short by an unfortunate accident, but if it is still standing in the future, I would love to go see "The Taming of the Shrew." It is a comedy, I'm told, which is just as well; I've seen enough tragedies to last me until the next Ides of March!