By Cock and Pie

"Wait till you see me in my doublet sweating my heiney off."

If that isn't an invitation to experience Shakespeare in the courtyard of Agecroft Hall, I don't know what is.

And it wasn't even said to me, merely overheard.

As if I needed more incentive, it was the closing night of "Merry Wives of Windsor," the weather was decidedly less July-like than usual and a friend had been called a standout in the cast.

We picnicked on the grass behind the grand house, with a view of the James and a series of trains chugging along the riverside.

Members of the company's young troupe, calling themselves Lord Moxley's Players, wandered from picnic to picnic, offering to do monologues.

When it was our turn, I chose Kate from "Taming of the Shrew" and heard Kate lament her fate as Petrucchio's soon-to-be wife.

Waiting in line to enter the courtyard, I spoke with some first-timers to Agecroft and Richmond Shakespeare.

When they asked me where the best place to sit was, I didn't hesitate.

The front row is my favorite because it allows me to see the actors spit, both literally and figuratively.

As proof, spit began flying during the first scene,

That's what I'm talking about.

I spy entertainment in her. She discourses, she carves, she gives the leer of invitation.

Personally, I would be flattered if a man spied entertainment in me.

The story of the large and boastful knight Falstaff wooing two middle-aged wives who in turn trick and degrade him is one of my favorites, mainly for the substance of the characters.

The appetite of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning glass!

The role of Falstaff is key to this play and Todd Schall-Vess nailed it, doing buffoonery and humanity equally well.

It's so easy to overdo the role and leave the audience uncaring about Falstaff, but that wasn't the case.

After he is dumped into the river with the laundry and comes out sputtering and sneezing, a tiny fish comes out of his nose (mouth?) as he blusters about such indignities.

Brilliant.

Can I love her? I hope so.

The entire cast was assured, no doubt partly a function of this being the fourth week of production.

Evan Nasteff as the French Dr. Caius managed to be hysterical and dashing at the same time.

Use your art of wooing. Win her to consent to you.

That particular line was followed by a flock of geese flying over Agecroft, honking in the dark blue almost-night sky.

It was a sky that eventually changed over to a moonlit one which we enjoyed from the veranda during intermission.

I assure thee, setting the attractions of my good parts aside, I have no other charms.

Guitar and cello music came courtesy of Matt Treacy, whom I've seen at Richmond Shakespeare's staged readings.

He managed to imbue any kind of scene, comical or fighting, with just the right musical emphasis.

I must advance the colours of my love.

If ever a play focused on the art of wooing, it's this one.

Watching men, young and old, try to win the affection of the objects of their affection (or at least, lust) was probably the equivalent of a chick-flick.

And while I don't go see those, I'd happily watch Shakespeare's characters woo and charm any night of the week.

Sure, partly it's the language ("I rather will suspect the sun of cold than you of wantoness"), but also the humor ("I'll no pullet sperm in my brewage").

And all from the front row where twice actors gazed into my eyes to deliver their lines.

No rom-com at a multi-plex is capable of giving me that distinct pleasure.

Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one who makes fritters of English?

Have I lived to savor a talented cast who woo with language on a moonlit night?

I hope so. After all, there is entertainment to be spied in me.