June 15, 2003: Difference between revisions
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<blockquote><blockquote> | |||
{{Anchor|Sonnet23}}{{Large|Sonnet 23}} | {{Anchor|Sonnet23}}{{Large|Sonnet 23}} | ||
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Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, | Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, | ||
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart; | Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart; | ||
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say | So I, for fear of trust, forget to say {{ln|5}} | ||
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, | The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, | ||
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, | And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, | ||
O’ercharged with burthen of mine own love’s might. | O’ercharged with burthen of mine own love’s might. | ||
O! let my looks be then the eloquence | O! let my looks be then the eloquence | ||
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, | And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, {{ln|10}} | ||
Who plead for love, and look for recompense, | Who plead for love, and look for recompense, | ||
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d. | More than that tongue that more hath more express’d. | ||
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::To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit. | ::To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit. | ||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
</blockquote></blockquote> | |||
{{2003|state=expanded}} | {{2003|state=expanded}} | ||
Revision as of 18:44, 14 January 2020
Shakespearian Quest-ions
| “ | The weight of this sad time we must obey, |
” |
| — William Shakespeare, King Lear (V.iii.325-ff.) | ||
OK, Bill, then what about questions? Don't ask them unless you really want to hear the answers.
| “ | Silence is the perfectest herald of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much. | ” |
| — Much Ado about Nothing, II.i | ||
Is silence a prerequisite of acceptance? Shit, that’s a question...
Sonnet 23
As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 5
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharged with burthen of mine own love’s might.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, 10
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.
O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.
