For Barbara and John Huddart

On this calm summer evening the North Sea falls

unheard on the wide sands below the castle

in whose inner ward the play is set – and we

(an eclectic collection of friends)

have brought folding chairs, prosecco, pop,

and fish suppers from Seahouses nearby

along this coast of raiders and saints.

 ‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love as deep; the more I give to thee,

The more I have, for both are infinite,’

says Juliet, a canny lass – though all

four players are canny lasses in this

very British, outdoor, touring ‘tale of woe’.

In the interval the sun sets like fire,

a titian furnace stretched across The Borders,

out-performing any artifice –

and when, in the last act, beyond the charmed

arena of spots and floods, night falls

and the air chills, bats, out of ancient crevices,

flitter between the words and over the shore.

Note: See The Handlebards.