SSS Week Fifteen: A Shakespearean Story of Friendship

Write a story in the style of Shakespeare.

As many of you may know, I am quite a big fan of William Shakespeare. Which is why, I imagine, it is no wonder that I chose this particular prompt for this week's Short Story Sunday.

Come to find out, it is rather difficult to write in Shakespearean English when you are quite used to writing in a more modern tongue. However, with the help of a Shakespearean glossary and some other online sources for synonyms and grammar, I managed to come up with something.

The story is rather dull and short and stupid. However, I did enjoy writing this and, maybe one day, I will produce something longer and far more interesting in the particular style. If it is too difficult to read, I greatly apologise.

So here it is:



"Cometh at me, brother!" did exclaim the unfortunate sir who hath lost his fair, young maiden to a richer man. "I shall beat thy visage in! I spiteth in thy general direction!"

The rich man did hold his arms up in surrender. "Nay! I shall not square! I didst not knoweth the lady wast thy girlfriend. I gage!"

"Of course thee didst not knoweth, thee clotpole!" The furious man cuffed up his sleeves, brows in a deep furrow. He wast preparing to square the blinking idiot who tooketh what once wast his female friend.

"I didst not knoweth, I promiseth! The lady toldeth me she wast single and wanting to mingle." The weak, rich sir wast in nay humour to square, for he lacked in physical strength-- and wast very frightened of the furious man before him.

The vexed, heartbroken sir did freeze, his fists falling softly to his sides. "Pardon?"

"I wasn't acknown. The lady toldeth me she wast unattached."

The sir, who wast so willing to brawl not a minute prior, hath broken out into a sudden, unexpected fit of drops of sorrow. "B-but I loved her. Mine own ladybird, Elizabeth! I did love her more than I loved any other!"

The sir, who wast accused of stealing the other's beloved not a minute prior, wenteth to the man in gentle steps, as if he were approaching an infant animal. "I didst to, Sir."

The once angry sir apace did look up at the other, his eyes pink and swollen. "Y-you did love her too?"

"I didst."

Those gents both hadst compassion for one another and did hug, sobbing into each other's shoulders in a not-very masculine fashion.

After some minutes, they apologised.

"I'm sorry, cousin."

"Woe, I'm sorry, too."

"It's just.... The lady wast mine own mistress, thee knoweth? The lady wast the love of mine own life. I wast going to maketh her mine own betrothed."

The other wast hurt though offered the smallest of smiles. "Ho, I'm fustian of thee, sir. I'm sorry it hadst to endeth liketh this."

After some seconds of silence, one finally offered: "Do thee wanteth to wend to a football game one day, or something?"

"That wouldst beest nice."

"Good."

Some more contrary seconds hath followed, the first gentleman embarrassed yond that he hadst did cause such a scene, and the second embarrassed yond that he hadst ruined a quite quaint relationship between his newfound cousin and the mistress he hadst loved.

"I knoweth some attractive babes," he hath said before clearing his throat. "My acquaintance, Jenny, hast a cousin. Those ladies are quaint merit. Those ladies liketh football."

Both men did smile at each other.

"Sounds admirable."