Time once again for another episode...

Time once again for another episode of “Discount Shakespeare.” In today’s installment, “Ale, Aye,” the Bard tries to comfort an old friend, John Foxworth, who’s the town smithy, over the recent breakup of his marriage.

Supporting characters: Trask, the barkeep; Loudsley, an elderly gentleman well into his cups ; a town crier.

The setting: tavern, Stratford-on-Avon.

Foxworth: O, love! Like a stone wrapped ‘round my throat--and just as cold! I am adrift, Bill . . . adrift on a ship with tattered, dark sails!

The Bard: The sun will shine again--

Foxworth: Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!

The Bard: A fair turn of phrase, my friend. Mind if I write that one down?

He scribbles in a note pad.

Foxworth: O, Mary! Mary!

Trask: Is there no chance to mend your broken hearth?

Foxworth: None. She’s already gotten herself a solicitor to pursue her goal. . . . The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.

The Bard: (getting out note pad again) Another winner, if I say so myself.

He scribbles down line.

Foxworth: More spirits! But no beer! I need something stronger!

Buries his face on the bar.

Loudsley: (from next bar stool) Buddy lose a bet?

The Bard: Hardly. A woman ails his ale.

Loudsley: O, aye. Another mule kicking in his stall?

The Bard: Come again?

Loudsley: Is it another man? No matter. A shot of the blues is what he needs. And Jimmie Wood is performing Delta blues at Lulu’s Alibi, 1638 Sawtelle Blvd., at 9:30 p.m. two days after the morrow. That would be Wednesday. Call (310) 450-0544. A $2 donation is all that is asked.

Foxworth: As if mere sound can soothe me.

Trask: A good bawl always does it for me, John.

Foxworth: To weep is to make less the depth of grief. (pause) Now is the winter of my discontent . . .

The Bard: Good lord, that’s beautiful!

Feverishly begins to scribble.

Foxworth: . . . I have nothing, nothing can I lose . . .

The Bard: Keep it coming!

Foxworth: . . . Just death, kind umpire of men’s miseries. What is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must . . .

The Bard: Would you have anything in mind for this tale I’m working on? Just a little ditty about these two star-crossed lovers . . .

Foxworth: . . . For Mary seemed to hang upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear . . .

The Bard: (still scribbling) Now that I can use.

Town crier enters.

Town crier: (announcing) All is well. On a cultural note, the Orion String Quartet will play Haydn’s String Quartet in G Minor, Brahms Clarinet Quintet in B Minor and Schubert’s “Shepard on the Rock” at 8 p.m. Saturday at Santa Monica Unitarian Community Church, 1260 18th St. Call (310) 453-3325. An $8 donation is asked.

He exits.

Loudsley: I’m pottery! (pause) Hic.

Foxworth: The word, sir, is potted.

Loudsley: No, no. I meant it. Sometimes I think I’m a piece of southwestern Indian pottery, the kind being showcased along with jewelry at the Beverly Hills Library beginning today from 6 to 8 p.m. Admission is free. Call (310) 288-2201 for reservations and information.

He curls up on the floor and falls asleep.

Foxworth: Barkeep! Another draught for Bill, and another of these wonderful concoctions for me!

The Bard: What is that?

Trask: A little invention of mine: Tomato juice, to restore the vigor to the arteries; the fermented liquid from squeezed potato peels, to bring on sweet forgetfulness; a dash of Tabasco, to remind us of the sting of life; pepper, salt and a stalk of celery for no reason whatsoever.

He hands it to Foxworth.

Trask: Drink up, lads!

Foxworth: (holding up glass) O Mary, thou villainess! For you have strangled my dreams and drove a dagger into my heart! Murderess! O Mary! Bloody Mary!

Trask: Hmm. (Scribbles it down) I like the ring of that.

Exeunt.

The End.