This is how literature works though, you start with a premise and then follow it, your way. It's not "Newton", it's "Shaw's Newton", which is conceivably interesting not as a function of his form (ie, Newton) but as a result of its substance (Shaw).

I suppose the fucktarded puritan view is that Charles should've not fucked at all, but spent all day "contenting for the faith" or whatever such argutious crenelation atop obvious if obviously disavowed impotence the retards deem pooper proper.

Shaw's head was a pretty strange place. What difference would it have made if Newton had met Charles II ?

And is Shaw arguing that Charles II ought to have fucked Newton instead of the concubines ?! What "slash fiction" is this.

I ended up reading it because that indomitable moron Shaw thus leads his Charles 2 play :

In providing a historical play for the Malvern Festival of 1939 I departed from the established practice sufficiently to require a word of explanation. The "histories" of Shakespear are chronicles dramatized; and my own chief historical plays, Caesar and Cleopatra and St Joan, are fully documented chronicle plays of this type. Familiarity with them would get a student safely through examination papers on their periods.

A much commoner theatrical product is the historical romance, mostly fiction with historical names attached to the stock characters of the stage. Many of these plays have introduced their heroines as Nell Gwynn, and Nell's principal lover as Charles II. As Nell was a lively and lovable actress, it was easy to reproduce her by casting a lively and lovable actress for the part; but the stage Charles, though his costume and wig were always unmistakeable, never had any other resemblance to the real Charles, nor to anything else on earth except what he was not: a stage walking gentleman with nothing particular to say for himself.

Now the facts of Charles's reign have been chronicled so often by modern historians of all parties, from the Whig Macaulay to the Jacobite Hilaire Belloc, that there is no novelty left for the chronicler to put on the stage. As to the romance, it is intolerably stale: the spectacle of a Charles sitting with his arm round Nell Gwynn's waist, or with Moll Davis seated on his knee, with the voluptuous termagant Castlemaine raging in the background, has no interest for me, if it ever had for any grown-up person.

But when we turn from the sordid facts [1] of Charles's reign, and from his Solomonic polygamy, to what might have happened to him but did not, the situation becomes interesting and fresh. For instance, Charles might have met that human prodigy Isaac Newton. And Newton might have met that prodigy of another sort, George Fox, the founder of the morally mighty [2] Society of Friends, vulgarly called the Quakers. Better again, all three might have met. Now anyone who considers a hundred and fiftieth edition of Sweet Nell of Old Drury more attractive than Isaac Newton had better avoid my plays: they are not meant for such. And anyone who is more interested in Lady Castlemaine's hips than in Fox's foundation of the great Cult of Friendship should keep away from theatres and frequent worse places. Still, though the interest of my play lies mainly in the clash of Charles, George, and Isaac, there is some fun in the clash between all three and Nelly, Castlemaine, and the Frenchwoman Louise de Kéroualle, whom we called Madame Carwell. So I bring the three on the stage to relieve the intellectual tension.

How the fuck can one that smart be fucked in the head enough to 1, and to 2, and especially 1, except wtf 2 HOLY SHIT OMGWTFBBQ.

That story with the "fairness" weights ever comes to mind, in that the smarter god makes them, the more dumb their "fellows" load them up with, until every single fucking walker's exactly in balance and nothing can ever happen.

And yeah, I think Stan's comment fits here much better: Ana are mere! Let all Ana's apples be taken away!