Wow, these last two weeks have been the fortnight of my life!
My family and I celebrated Michaelmas a week ago, and my sister Jane fixed us the most delicious roast goose. This morning I attended an English Protestant church, because that is what my family has done in the past.  Now we are all heading down to the new Globe Theatre tonight to see the premier of Macbeth.  My fellow commoners always tell me that Shakespeare has the most brilliant plays.
As we near the Globe, I hear several thousand people screaming and bantering about before the show.  The wafting smell of mixed nuts reaches out and tingles my olfactory senses, and I am reminded of my slight walnut allergy.  I reach into my wool trousers and bring out a heaping handful of pennies. Whenever I attend the theatre, I always buy the one-cent standing seats.  I know that they aren't the best, but if you want to be a barber in England these days, you really have to be frugal.  Oh well.  Judging by the sun in the sky, I can tell that it's almost noon.  I pay for the tickets and work my way through the crowd to the nearest open space that I can locate.  As I push people out of my way, I realize that nobody here has taken a bath for days.  Suddenly I am taken aback by a small group of cackling witches onstage. The play has begun.
The only reason I am able to see the stage is because I am six feet and one inch tall. Most people around me have a height of about five and a half feet, allowing me a very nice vantage point.  By Act III, the play has touched me in a very strong and emotional embrace that I could not have anticipated.  Even though I cannot understand the actors occasionally, I never stop perceiving the passion and drama in each of their voices.  I soon realize that the Globe Theatre has put on an act far beyond that of which the Swan Theatre ever could.  As I converse with my kin upon the smashing performance, they reaffirm the thoughts and sentiments that reverberate around in my mind.  The play has ended, and we exit the theatre to join some friends in a Sunday witch burning.  As we grab our pitchforks, we decide together that we should come back to see the play of Henry VI.  A fellow theatre enthusiast tells me that there will even be real cannon fire!  Shakespeare's Macbeth has definitely won my thespian heart.