Shakespeare wrote many more plays than have survived. Among the lost plays are Love Labors Won, Cardenio or the Second Maiden's Tragedy, and the play that follows, of which only the first act survives. It appears to have been written in the twilight of his genius using ancient scrolls as a source. The surviving fragment of manuscript appear to be in Shakespeare's own hand and appears here for the first time in over three hundred years. I have reconstructed the ensuing text as best I can and offer it in all happiness and that eternity promised, thinking perhaps at last we have found sweet Will's Dark Lady.

_1.1

_{<Thunder and lightning. Enter three Fates.>}

_{First Fate:
When shall we meet again?
Late this week or summer rerun?}

_{Second Fate:
When 47 minutes less three have passed,
Then shall we return at last
To see the glory of our work.}

_{Third Fate:
'Til then the Warrior Princess
Shall dream imprisoned be,
Caught with Gabrielle in deepest nightmare}

_{First Fate:
Where fair is foul, and foul is fair,
And a battle waits to be won or lost.}

_{Second Fate:
'Til then.}

_{Third Fate:
Anon <Exeunt>}

_1.2

_{<Alarum within. Enter a young woman to wake another in her bed chamber>}

_{Young Woman:
My lady! Awake!
Although the night plays covers
Still over the day, a battle rages without.}

_Woman:
A battle you say? (Stirring)
Aye, that's not a cock I hear that cries for war.
Come hither now,
While the blade's still far from our pretty necks.

_{YW:
Think you time enough for sweet romance?}

_{W:
"Tis hours enough between the shrouds,
The warhounds bay but distantly.
Come hither, love.}

_{YW:
<Aside> My heart overleaps by mind's discretion.}

_{W:
Pray put your hand here, girl.}

_{YW:
Let me to the fire draw gentle murmur,
'Til the night shakes aloud
With dear passion's roar.}

_{W:
Your hand, young poet, and fewer words,
'Less your tongue grow tired before my needs.}

_{YW:
Were I the moon and you the world,
And all my luminance pale beside you,
Still I would revolve a thousand months
And a million more if you should need me.}

_{W:
To bed, Gabrielle.}

_{YW:
Aye, now to bed,
Battles enough wait on the 'morrow.}

_{<Bodies twist abound the bed. Noises and moans, growing louder over time . Offstage a trumpet sounds.>}

_1.3

_{<In the hall outside the bedchamber door. Enter two guards with pikes.>}

_{First Guard:
In she's gone, blonde incarnadine,
To warn the Princess of the noise of war.}

_{Second Guard:
Warn be but one letter off from her true intent
Unless I read her wrongly.
I expect that morning will come after them
Before they leave.}

_{FG:
This matter best be secret kept
And not proclaimed
Less ragged armies rise up against them.}

_{SG:
Innuendo lies easy on their heads
And needs not loud preaching
To make sense of their parable.}

_{FG:
What then that noise
That sometimes shouts
Inside the Warrior's rooms?}

_{SG:
Aye, she's a noisy one.
Ask her yourself. She'll tell you
They're friends and nothing more.}

_{FG:
Would my wife be so closely friend.}

_{SG:
Wife, Love, or merely friends,
All three or none on the mood depends.}

_<exeunt>

_1.4

_{<sunlight breaks through the window in the bedchamber. A runner enters.>
Runner:
The war grows close, my lady.}

_{Young Woman:}
Why does thou disturb us, Sirrah, sheeted as we are? <sitting up>

_{Runner:
The war, m'Lady.}

_{YW:
And what of that to us?}

_{Runner:
It grows close and weighs heavy upon the morning,
Even as morning does upon the noon.}

_{Woman:
I would most gladly have forgot.
Pray you, wait outside while we prepare.}

_Runner:
Aye, to ready Argo, and then to wait. <Exeunt>

_{W:
There is a fair behavior in you, Gabrielle,
That belies your many skills.
But for now, sweet tongue, the fates betray us
And prepare we must for battle.
Get me my armor, less we dally longer
And lose ourselves and then the war.}

_{YW:
I yield you nothing without the words
And gentle touches that flowed between us.
Unless fortune's prick deter us after,
By your side and bed I shall remain.}

_{W:
You're wise enough to play the fool,
Yet truly know your role is more.}

_{YW:
Shall we to war or bed, bold princess?}

_{W:
In the morrow, dear Gabrielle.
My leathers, my love, and then your staff.
Tell Tyldus we must be off
Yet the censors stop us.}

_{YW:
The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak not what we feel, but what we ought to say.}

_{<Flourish. Bulgarian chanting. Exeunt all>}