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In honor of glorious leader, we watched Weekend at Bernie's the other night (I'd never seen it). I made a joke about adapting it into a full-blown Elizabethan comedy, ala Shakespeare.
Now it is all I can think about. The poetry consumes me.
Now it is all I can think about. The poetry consumes me.
Richard, doth thou differ so much from thine Lord?
Art thou not a poppet on the strings of Fate,
Sent dancing on the caress of crass Fortune
Across this masquerade poets call the Earth?
Art thou not a poppet on the strings of Fate,
Sent dancing on the caress of crass Fortune
Across this masquerade poets call the Earth?
Dead flesh, ignorant of thy own nature,
Set to gyre? Cast in schemes beyond thy low
Understanding, forever a toy
To gods, whose only form thou canst conceive
Resembles the countenances thou hast
Known in this so-called life? Tis a dumb show,
Set to gyre? Cast in schemes beyond thy low
Understanding, forever a toy
To gods, whose only form thou canst conceive
Resembles the countenances thou hast
Known in this so-called life? Tis a dumb show,
A shadow-play across the unmoving
Backdrop of Eternity. We are all
But jesters to an invisible court,
Serving their fancies, forever shrouded
By the darkness that lurks beyond the stars,
Blinded by the lights of our tiny stage.
Backdrop of Eternity. We are all
But jesters to an invisible court,
Serving their fancies, forever shrouded
By the darkness that lurks beyond the stars,
Blinded by the lights of our tiny stage.
Who dare claim so clear a vision! A hawk
On wing, seeking prey from lofty heaven,
Could not make so fine a distinction ‘twixt
A corpse in the hands of a pair of fools
And a pauper posed by the whims of kings!
On wing, seeking prey from lofty heaven,
Could not make so fine a distinction ‘twixt
A corpse in the hands of a pair of fools
And a pauper posed by the whims of kings!
Thus, I implore thee, my gentle Richard,
To help me marionette this old shell
Of Lord Bernard, as undiminished as
We in agency nought but illusion,
Through this night’s revels, so that those that still
Fret on this stage might know the favor of
Sweet lady Gwendolyn!
To help me marionette this old shell
Of Lord Bernard, as undiminished as
We in agency nought but illusion,
Through this night’s revels, so that those that still
Fret on this stage might know the favor of
Sweet lady Gwendolyn!
Her beauty rots!
Wasted on the corpse of our dear late host!
It is the duty of true gentlemen,
such as ourselves, to appreciate
Such fineries, lest the memory of
Our departed Lord be sullied and stained
By vile slanders of spend-thrift tastelessness.
Wasted on the corpse of our dear late host!
It is the duty of true gentlemen,
such as ourselves, to appreciate
Such fineries, lest the memory of
Our departed Lord be sullied and stained
By vile slanders of spend-thrift tastelessness.
What waste it is to waste such wantonness!
How else should a man prove he still doth live
If not in pursuit of beauty so fine
It would animate the dead to dance once more?
How else should a man prove he still doth live
If not in pursuit of beauty so fine
It would animate the dead to dance once more?
