O Fairest Fandom
They speak in verse to everyone in sight
Spout sentences iambic left and right
Their one-true-pairings fall to tragedy
And each one knows “to be, or not to be”
Abbreviated names they seem to hear
Uncommon terms like “Midsummer” or “Lear”
Their “you’s” are always changed to thee and thine,
And each brave heart knows love is their divine
A fellowship of poet-lovers, all
Ye Shakespeare Fandom members, take roll call
A bit of verse
This is a prologue I wrote to King Lear. I love the Fool and wanted to see him make another prophecy.
(Source: slamasaurusrex, via rocknrollercoaster)
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
—
Shakespeare - Sonnet 29
One of the things I love about this is the use of the word “haply”
Not to a rage; patience and sorrow strove
who should express her goodliest. You have seen
sunshine and rain at once, her smiles and tears
were like a better way. Those happy smilets
that played on her ripe lip seemed not to know
what guests were in her eyes, which parted thence
as pearls from diamonds dropped. In brief,
sorrow would be a rarity most beloved
if all could so become it.
—King Lear 4.3.16
It is the east, and Juliet is the SNNNARL GRRRRAWL GROWL
(Source: rocknrollercoaster)
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”I must read more Shakespeare, it has been far too long..
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.
bup bup
it is tatooine, and it has two suns!
Arise, Luke my son, and kill my envious master
who is already sick and pale with power
oh, darth, that i were that glove upon thy hand
that i might touch that mask!
O Luke, Luke! Wherefore art thou Luke?
I am your father and you share my rage;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn by fear,
And I’ll no longer be a sith lord.
(via rocknrollercoaster)
