"Remind me again why I have to be here?" Emma asked, sitting next to Regina.

Regina rolled her eyes. "Because you are his mother and your support is appreciated. Besides, he's a lead."

"Playing a lead in a school play does not count," Emma said. "Especially when the director is your grandmother."

Regina laughed. "You make a good point. Regardless, I'm going to enjoy Henry being Hamlet. It's probably the only time I'll ever see him interested in Shakespeare."

"He was only interested because there's sword fighting involved," Emma said.

"As if you wouldn't be excited to sword fight," Regina teased.

Emma laughed. "Oh you know I would."

The auditorium got quiet as the curtain opened, revealing the two boys playing Barnardo and Francisco starting the play. Emma shifted in her chair and got comfortable. This was going to be a long night.

Regina chuckled before nudging Emma. "This is probably the twentieth time that I've had to wake you up."

Emma yawned before sitting up. "Not my fault that Shakespeare is boring."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Well stay awake. Henry's about to start his big monologue."

"His what?" Emma asked.

"Just pay attention," Regina said, chuckling. Emma huffed in annoyance before turning her attention back to the stage.

Henry walked up to the front of the stage as a spotlight came to shine just on him. He took a deep breath, and recited the monologue that was so widely known.

"To be or not to be-that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep-
No more-and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to-'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep-
To sleep, perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.-Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia.-Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered."

As he walked offstage, the audience erupted in thunderous applause; Regina and Emma included.

"Who knew?" Emma asked. "The kid's actually really good."

Regina laughed. "He's been practicing that in front of his mirror for over a month."

"He has?" Emma asked. "I am going to have to give him a really hard time for that."

"Don't you dare," Regina scolded. "He was embarrassed enough when he was even casted in this play. He tried out just to make your mother happy."

Emma smiled at Regina before nudging her gently. "You did one heck of a job raising him."

Regina smiled back at her. "I really did, didn't I?"