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William Shakespeare, Feel free to add replies to this.... |
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Aug 9 03, 13:14
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Mosaic Master
Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,892
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep
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Works of William Shakespeare
Spring
When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!' O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!' O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Winter
When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When Blood is nipped and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-who; Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-who; Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sonnet I: From Fairest Creatures We Desire Increase
From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding. Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sonnet V: Those Hours, That With Gentle Work Did Frame
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, Will play the tyrants to the very same And that unfair which fairly doth excel; For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter, and confounds him there; Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where: Then were not summer's distillation left, A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was: But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet, Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.
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"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the RingsCollaboration feeds innovation. In the spirit of workshopping, please revisit those threads you've critiqued to see if the author has incorporated your ideas, or requests further feedback from you. In addition, reciprocate with those who've responded to you in kind. "I believe it is the act of remembrance, long after our bones have turned to dust, to be the true essence of an afterlife." ~ Lorraine M. KanterNominate a poem for the InterBoard Poetry Competition by taking into careful consideration those poems you feel would best represent Mosaic Musings. For details, click into the IBPC nomination forum. Did that poem just captivate you? Nominate it for the Faery award today! If perfection of form allured your muse, propose the Crown Jewels award. For more information, click here! "Worry looks around, Sorry looks back, Faith looks up." ~ Early detection can save your life.MM Award Winner
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Guest__*
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Sep 7 03, 13:22
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Guest
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these are ones i like:
--Shakespeare, Sonnet CXVI
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his ending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
From Shakespeare's As You Like It.
All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
- Friends, Romans, countrymen (from Julius Caesar 3/2)
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest - For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men - Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him? O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.
Shakespeare's Henry IV. Part II.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch A watch-case or a common Ôlarum-bell? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge, And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads ad hanging them With deaf'ning clamour in the slippery clouds, That with the hurly death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial* sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a King? Then, happy low, lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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Guest_Jox_*
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Sep 17 03, 14:15
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<< Sorry about this - I thought I had read the above carefully but I had missed Cleo's posting of this very poem. Rather than delete it here and now I will leave it for Cleo to delete later (it is, after all a duplicate). However, I think it deserves a short while of greater exposure because it is so accessible even to those who often find Shakespeare somewhat obscure. Sorry again! Jox >>
I really find it hard to contribute to the Shakeapeare strand because the Bard of Avon has written so much of such high quality that selecting is neigh impossible. However, I looked for something quirky and reassuring to all struggling poets. So, I present "Winter" by Master Shakespeare - playwrite and Poet...
Just in case you find Shakespeare's poetry somewhat elegant - here we meet Greasy Joan and an owl!
William Shakespeare, English Dramatist and Poet - 1564 to 1616
Winter by William Shakespeare
WHEN icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail; When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl Tu-whoo! Tu-whit! tu-whoo! A merry note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all around the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl— Then nightly sings the staring owl Tu-whoo! Tu-whit! tu-whoo! A merry note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
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Guest_Brahms_*
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Sep 17 03, 15:33
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Wholly appreciating such skilled verse, quiet allows more growth.
Brahms
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Guest_codger_*
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Jan 29 04, 09:05
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Guest
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Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that does fade, But does suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange. Sea- nymphs hourly ring his nell: Ding - Dong. Hark! now I hear them Ding-dong, bell!
Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry, On the bats back I will fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bow.
These two poems from The Tempest (one of Shakepeare's last plays) are sung by Ariel, the spirit slave of Prospero.
This was the first reference to "Sea change" a phrase now often used. I wonder if people who use the phrase, know its origin.
I remember fondly, singing "where the bee sucks" at school. Alas they don't make them like this anymore.
Gerry.
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