Jack Holt

“That phrase,” he said, looking surprised. “Even I know that phrase. ‘Star-crossed lovers.’ They’re doing Romeo and Juliet in there. The original Romeo and Juliet.” “No, the original had Saunder Cooke as Juliet,” I said. “That was much better than whoever’s doing it since Saunder grew a beard. Anyhow it’s a shite play, just a stupid court-sponsored rant against the Irish.” I grabbed his arm and began to pull him through the floods of people streaming back into the theatre. We must need get around to the back of the stage where the tiring-house was. “How is it anti-Irish?” Tristan asked. “The villain is a Catholic friar,” I pointed out. “He being a meddling busy-body who traffics in poison—he’s the reason it’s a tragedy and not a comedy, and everyone knows Catholic is code for Irish.” “Aren’t the French Catholic?” asked Tristan. “And the Spanish?” “The friar’s name is Lawrence,” I countered, as I pulled him along. “So obviously named after St. Labhrás.”
― Neal Stephenson, The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O.