by 
William Shakespeare was a massive stoner known to friends as ‘Chilliam Bakespeare’, historians have claimed today.
The claims emerged after a huge bong made out of an oversized codpiece was buried found in the garden of his house in Stratford-upon-Avon, where he had hidden it from his wife Anne.
The discovery lends credence to a contemporary description of Shakespeare penned by his friend Kit Marlowe, which described him ‘as constantte as ye northerne star; constantte he be trippéd of his tittes, forsooth’, which has confused historians until now.
Some stories also credit the bard with spending several years living out of the back of a brightly-coloured van with a cowardly great Dane.
“Up until now rumours that Shakespeare was a massive caner have been just that – rumours”, said Professor Passthe-Dutchy of the University of Heidelberg.
“Nothing conclusive, but it’s long been believed he hid subtle drug references in his work, such as the description of Queen Mab’s chariot in Romeo & Juliet, or this passage from Henry V.”
“Once more unto the reefer, my bro’s, once more
To chill the fuck out with fogged head
At peace there ain’t nothing more befitting
Than knitted hat and natty dread
And when blow or weed fills up our mouth
Then imitate the action of the ligger
Suck up the joint, ring up the takeout
Disguise sweet smell with hard-scented Glade.
Then lend the eye zoned out aspect;
Let fly with the expression of peace and love
Pass the weed cone, let blow o’erwhelm you
As chillfully as Hendrix rock
Swoop and jams your befuddled brain
Swelled with wild and masterful chord.
Now set the joint and stretch the nostril wide
Hold hard the breath and lift up every spirit
To Yah above. Smoke, smoke you blasted English
Whose blood is filled with THC dilute!
Tetrahydrocannabinol that, just like yesterday
Has in these parts made morn a rumour unseen
And chilled you out with lack of argument.
Dishonour not your sistas, nor dis
Your babymommas who did beget by you.
Pass on now to men of less buzzy blood
And let them reach a high. And you, good yeomen
Whose blunt was made in Holland. Show us here
The method of your toking; let us see
That your joint is worth the rolling; which I doubt not
For there is none of you so square and boring
That has not whiteout lustre in your eyes.
I see you sit like potatoes in a sack
Sucking upon the roach. The reefer’s done
Follow your spirit, and upon this find
Cry, God for Skunk, Sativa and Indica!”
“So I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up once and for all,” he added.
Archaeologists have flocked to Shakespeare’s garden in the wake of the discovery for purely scientific reasons, they assured us.
The search has now turned to the remains of the 15th century privy, after librarians turned up a mention in contemporary church records that Shakespeare was suspected of having flushed his stash when the parish Reeve came round to discuss an unrelated matter.
