Today, we think of Christmas as the season of giving—but in Shakespeare’s England, it was New Year’s Day that reigned supreme as the biggest gift-giving holiday of the entire year. 

Shakespeare himself alludes to this entrenched tradition in The Merry Wives of Windsor, where Falstaff quips: “I’ll have my brains ta’en out and buttered, and give them to a dog for a new-year’s gift.” It’s a grotesque image—thank you, Falstaff—but it reveals just how deeply the practice of New Year’s gifting permeated society, to the point where even dogs might expect a present. 

Of course, no one in Elizabethan England gave and received gifts quite like the queen herself—which is why this week, we’re diving into the fascinating world of New Year’s gifts at the court of Elizabeth I: how these gifts were chosen, presented, and meticulously recorded—and how they served as powerful tools of politics, loyalty, and social hierarchy in Shakespeare’s lifetime. 

Joining us to unravel this glittering and strategic tradition is Maria Hayward, whose research on the New Year’s Gift Rolls shines a light on the court culture, textiles, and customs that shaped this extraordinary annual ritual. 

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"Say, what abridgement have you for this evening? 

What masque? what music? How shall we beguile 

The lazy time, if not with some delight?" 

— A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, Scene 1 

There are over a dozen mentions of masques, masquers, and masquing in Shakespeare's plays, and when it came to masques in England for the 16-17th century, no one did them better than Ben Jonson, who was known for staging truly spectacular feats of gradeur at the court of James I.  

Our guest is Martin Butler, Professor of Renaissance Drama at the University of Leeds, Fellow of the British Academy, and General Editor of the Cambridge Works of Ben Jonson. He has written extensively on early modern drama and Jonson’s masques in particular, including how these productions functioned as political texts, cultural events, and artistic achievements. 

Martin joins us today to help us explore what a masque was exactly, how masques are different from a play, and why it was that Jonson's masques were so special. 

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Merry Christmas! This holiday season, we’re taking a trip back to one of the most extravagant Christmas celebrations of Shakespeare’s lifetime—the Christmas of 1603, when the newly crowned James I hosted his first royal festivities as King of England. The court was alive with feasting, pageantry, and opulent merrymaking. It was a moment of political transition, and James made sure his first Christmas made a powerful impression. 

The newly renamed King’s Men, Shakespeare’s company, performed for the court, securing their new royal patronage. Alongside these performances were dazzling masques, intricate entertainments, and diplomatic displays designed to cement James’s image as both a unifier and a sovereign of grandeur. 

This week, our guide through the glittering halls of Whitehall Palace in the winter of 1603 is Martin Wiggins, Senior Research Fellow at the Shakespeare Institute, Stratford Upon Avon, author of British Drama 1533–1642: A Catalogue, and President of the Malone Society. Today, Martin joins us to share what made this holiday season so historically important, how theater helped James define his kingship, and what the royal court’s festivities can teach us about Shakespeare’s world. Stay with us—we’re about to unwrap a Christmas filled with drama, diplomacy, and theatrical delight.

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In Shakespeare’s play Henry IV, Part 1, Falstaff declares on more than one occasion, “I am a rogue.” Several exchanges between Falstaff, Henry V, and others like Hostess Quickly and Doll Tearsheet, see characters throwing the word “rogue” back and forth as both an insult and a badge of honor.

The term connects to a real form of slang underworld language known as rogue cant. Which was a secret, cryptic lexicon, spoken and understood only by criminals. Falstaff and his companions are the closest depictions of criminals in Shakespeare’s works. Their roguish behavior includes gathering at the Boar’s Head in Eastcheap to plan their crimes and divide their spoils. By choosing to use the word “rogue,” Shakespeare was deliberately connecting his characters to the real criminal underworld of 16th-century England that trafficked in this mysterious and coded language.

To introduce us to this rogue cant, and to help us unlock the hidden meanings of these words so that we can better understand the culture that produced them, we are excited to welcome Ari Friedlander back to the show.

Ari joins us today to take a closer look at rogue cant: where the words came from, how they were used, and what they reveal about Shakespeare’s world.

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When we think of King Arthur, many of us imagine medieval romance—knights in shining armor, enchanted swords, or chivalric quests. But for the Tudors, Arthur wasn’t just storybook material. In the 16th century, Arthurian legend was a political tool, a national symbol, and—for some—an actual piece of English history. From Henry VII naming his heir “Prince Arthur,” to Elizabeth I being welcomed at Kenilworth with Lady-of-the-Lake imagery, the Tudors used Arthurian myth to define their dynasty, elevate their authority, and shape the emerging idea of English nationalism.

This week, we’re exploring how Arthur, Merlin, and the world of Geoffrey of Monmouth were reinvented for a new age of politics, performance, and propaganda. Our guest, historian Andrew, walks us through royal pageants, literary allegory, and visual symbols that connected the Tudor monarchy to a heroic—and sometimes ominous—legendary past.

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In November 1621, two communities—Wampanoag and English—came together at the edge of Patuxet for a shared harvest meal. While today we call this moment “The First Thanksgiving,” the historical reality is far richer and more culturally complex than the simplified story many of us grew up hearing.

In this week’s episode, we explore this early moment of connection with Malissa Costa (Mashpee Wampanoag) and Richard Pickering (Plimoth Patuxet Museums). Together, they guide us through the world of the Wampanoag in the early 17th century—what they wore, how they prepared deerskin through traditional brain-tanning methods, how diplomacy often involved gift-giving, including venison, and what agricultural knowledge they shared with the English that ultimately saved lives.

Rather than a single act of generosity, the 1621 harvest feast emerges as a meeting point of two sophisticated cultures—each with its own traditions of giving thanks, diplomacy, and seasonal celebration. As we step into this history, we learn how deeply both communities valued gratitude, relationship, and the generosity of the land.

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When we imagine Elizabethan dining tables, we might picture roast meats, trenchers of bread, or tankards of ale. But lurking beneath the surface of rivers, marketplaces, and even the economy itself was a creature so valuable that it could pay rent, feed a nation, and still appear in Shakespeare’s humor — the eel.

Eels once filled England’s rivers in such massive quantities that they became a crucial source of protein for the poor and a delicacy for the wealthy. They appear in legal documents, household accounts, market records, and yes — in Shakespeare’s plays. In Love’s Labour’s Lost, Don Adriano says:

“What, that an eel is ingenious?” — Love’s Labour’s Lost (I.2)

Today we’ll discover just how ingenious eels really were.

This week, I’m speaking with Dr. John Wyatt Greenlee — medievalist, cartographic historian, and the internet’s favorite eel enthusiast — to explore the culinary, economic, and cultural world of eels in Shakespeare’s England. From eel rents and floating aquarium-ships to eel pies and insult comedy, we’re diving into how this slippery fish shaped daily life in the world Shakespeare lived in.

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In All’s Well That Ends Well, a character is described as “That with the plume: ’tis a most gallant fellow” (III.5), and in Love’s Labour’s Lost, the Princess of France mockingly asks, “What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?” (IV.1), revealing how feathers could both elevate and satirize their wearer. 

Feathers might seem like a simple decoration today, but in the 16th and early 17th centuries, feathered clothing—especially feathered hats—spoke volumes about a person’s status, identity, and even their participation in the expanding global economy. 

To better understand the culture behind feathers in clothing for Shakespeare’s lifetime, we're sitting down this week with Professor Ulinka Rublack, whose article Befeathering the European investigates the history of feathers in clothing, to help us explore where the feathers come from, what they looked like, and how they were used. 

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In 1612—just one year after Shakespeare wrote The Tempest—Venetian physician Santorio Santori transformed Galileo’s simple thermoscope into the world’s first thermometer by adding a calibrated scale and sealing the device. His invention marked the birth of quantified medicine, turning vague sensations of “hot” and “cold” into measurable data that could guide treatment. In this episode, historian of medicine Dr. Fabrizio Bigotti joins us to explore Santorio’s remarkable innovations, how they predated Galileo’s own instruments, and why this quiet inventor deserves recognition as the true father of the thermometer.

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This week, we’re dipping into the strange, the enchanted, and the eerily familiar with a sampling of the rich world of 16th-century folklore during Shakespeare’s lifetime. From medieval hares and charmed pilgrim tokens to tales of mermaids, dragons, and accidental witchcraft, the folklore of this era reveals a world both magical and deeply human. 

To help us explore the kinds of beliefs that shaped everyday life—and occasionally show up in Shakespeare’s plays—we’re joined by two leading voices in folklore studies: Owen Davies and Ceri Houlbrook, co-authors of the new book Folklore. 

Rather than a deep dive into any one custom, today’s conversation offers glimpses into a few of the many fascinating traditions and superstitions that colored Shakespeare’s world. 

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“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” – Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene ii.

In Shakespeare’s England, roses were more than poetic symbols of love and beauty—they were political emblems, medicinal ingredients, culinary flavorings, and the foundation of a flourishing perfumery trade. From the red and white blooms of civil war to the distillation practices in early modern households, the rose occupied a central place in the sensory world of the 16th and 17th centuries.

This week, we’re speaking with historian Dr. Aysu Dincer, whose research uncovers the real-life role roses played in Shakespeare’s lifetime. From cultivation and trade to the recipes for perfumes and rosewaters that would have been familiar to Shakespeare’s contemporaries, Aysu joins us to share the historical backstory of this iconic flower and explore what it meant to smell sweet in the Elizabethan age.

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Linlithgow Palace, set between Edinburgh and Stirling, was one of the great royal residences of the Scottish crown. It was the birthplace of Mary Queen of Scots and a favored court for the Stuart monarchs long before the Union of the Crowns in 1603. When her son, James VI of Scotland, ascended the English throne as James I—the very monarch under whom William Shakespeare's company became the King's Men—the cultural and political world of Linlithgow directly fed into the world Shakespeare inhabited and wrote for. 

While Shakespeare likely never visited Linlithgow himself, the palace remained symbolically important in his lifetime. In fact, when part of the palace collapsed in 1607, a formal report was sent to James—now James I of England—detailing the damage and requesting royal attention. That connection between a crumbling Scottish stronghold and an English king who patronized Shakespeare makes for a compelling link between the palace and the playwright. 

Admittedly, exploring Linlithgow as part of Shakespeare’s world requires a slight chronological and geographical stretch—but it’s a leap well worth taking. The palace was a cultural and ceremonial stage for the Scottish monarchy, and its chapel in particular would have resonated with sacred music and royal spectacle that shaped the theatricality of early modern power on both sides of the border. 

Today’s guest, James Cook, is a scholar and musician who led a remarkable project to recreate the sound of choral music as it might have been heard at Linlithgow Palace in that very year—1512. Using a blend of historical research, vocal performance, and virtual reality technology, James and his team brought this long-lost acoustic experience back to life. 

In our conversation today, we’ll explore Linlithgow Palace itself—its significance in the lives of Mary Queen of Scots, James VI, and Anne of Denmark—and how music played a role in shaping royal image, religious devotion, and political theater. We’ll also talk with James about the recreation of the 1512 performance, how virtual reality is reshaping historical interpretation, and what it might have sounded like if you were a member of the royal household, listening to sacred music in that chapel over 500 years ago. 

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When Shakespeare wrote Othello, he set his Moorish general against the “general enemy Ottoman.” Elsewhere in his plays, he invoked “Turks,” “Saracens,” and “infidels”—terms that reveal just how present the Islamic world was in the English imagination. From Elizabeth I’s diplomatic exchanges with Persia to the cultural impact of the Ottoman Empire, the Islamic world loomed large in the politics, religion, and drama of Shakespeare’s England.

This week, we’re joined by Dr. Chloe Houston (University of Reading), a leading authority on Persia in early modern drama, and Dr. Mark Hutchings (University of Valladolid), whose research explores England’s engagement with Islam on the Renaissance stage. Together, they unpack how Elizabethans understood the Ottomans, Persians, and North Africans, and how those encounters shaped both history and Shakespeare’s works.

Discover how global trade, diplomacy, stereotypes, and real-life ambassadors influenced depictions of Moors, Persians, and “Turks” onstage, and why Shakespeare’s audiences would have found these references powerful, familiar, and sometimes unsettling.

Listen now and explore the fascinating world of Elizabethan encounters with Islam in Shakespeare’s plays.

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When Falstaff cries, “Let the sky rain potatoes” in The Merry Wives of Windsor, Shakespeare’s audience heard more than a vegetable—they heard novelty, superstition, and even scandal. In Elizabethan and Jacobean England, the potato was still a strange newcomer from the Americas, rumored to be an aphrodisiac, a medicine, and an oddity of the garden.

This week, historian and food scholar Rebecca Earle (University of Warwick), author of Feeding the People, joins us to explore the early history of potatoes in England. Together we trace how this humble tuber arrived on English soil, why it carried bawdy associations in Shakespeare’s plays, and what it meant for early modern diets, folklore, and global trade.

From Sir Walter Raleigh myths to potato pies at aristocratic tables, discover how Shakespeare’s world first encountered the vegetable that would one day feed nations.

Listen now and dig into the surprising story of potatoes in Shakespeare’s lifetime.

Show notes and extras: www.cassidycash.com/ep388

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For Shakespeare and his contemporaries, the line between history and myth was often delightfully blurred. Legends of King Arthur and the fabled Holy Grail captured the imaginations of 16th-century England, weaving their way into royal propaganda, courtly entertainments, and even the education of young scholars. Elizabeth I herself was likened to the Grail Maiden, and stories of sacred relics mingled with Renaissance curiosity and Protestant skepticism. 

While Shakespeare doesn’t mention the Grail directly in his plays, the ideas and imagery surrounding it would have been well known to his audiences. In a world shifting from medieval tradition to early modern innovation, what did the Holy Grail mean in Shakespeare’s England? 

To help us explore this fascinating blend of myth, politics, and early modern belief, we’re joined today by historian and author Sean Munger. 

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Shakespeare’s plays are rich with references to fashion and feathers. In All’s Well That Ends Well, he writes: “Faith, there’s a dozen of ’em, with delicate fine hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man.” 

These plumed hats weren’t just theatrical flourishes—they were part of a broader story of global trade, Indigenous artistic labor, and the ways in which early modern England encountered and represented the wider world. 

This week, we’re exploring the fascinating intersection of featherwork, costume design, and Indigenous contributions to the English stage during Shakespeare’s lifetime. Our guest is John Kuhn, whose work on Inimitable Rarities investigates how feathers traveled across oceans to arrive on early modern stages—and what their presence can tell us about colonialism, artistic labor, and performance in Shakespeare’s England. 

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“I think this be the most villanous house in all London road for fleas..." - Henry IV Part I (II.1)

So complains one of Shakespeare’s characters in The Merry Wives of Windsor, voicing what was surely a common frustration in the 16th and 17th centuries. Fleas were an ever-present part of daily life—so much so that they appeared in poems, jokes, love songs, and even seven different times across Shakespeare’s plays. This week, we’re scratching the surface of these itchy invaders to explore what their presence reveals about hygiene, health, and humor in the early modern world. Our guest is 17th-century historian Andrea Zuvich, here to help us explore how people really managed fleas in Shakespeare’s lifetime.

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