Archives For Poetry


Imperator (v.) past tense form of begirt

Imperator means Emperor, absolute ruler, sovereign. Imperator was cited in Shakespeare’s King Edward III twice. (E3.II.ii.40). King Edward says to himself about the Countess: “She is as imperator over me.” Imperator is also sited in Loves Labours Lost (LLL III.i.182) Berowne alone says about cupid: Sole imperator and great general of trotting paritors.

Edward III as he was portrayed in the late 16th century.


Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Love’s Labour’s Lost

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

ACT V. SCENE I.—Another part of the Park.

Prin. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What

are they                                          [say.

That charge their breath against us? say, scout,

Boyet.  Under the cool shade of a sycamore

I thought to close mine eyes some halfe an hour;

When, lo! to interrupt my purpos’d rest,

Toward that shade I might behold addrest

The king and his companions: warily

I stole into a neighbour thicket by,

And overheard what you shall overhear,

That, by and by, disguis’d they will be here.

Their herald is a pretty knavish page,

That well by heart hath conn’d his embassage:

Action and accent did they teach him there;

Thus must thou speak and thus thy body bear:

And ever and anon they made a doubt

Presence majestical would put him out;

For,  quoth the king, an angel shall thou see,

Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.

The boy reply’d, An angel is not evil;

I should have fear’d her had she been a devil.

With that all laugh’d, and clapp’d him on the

shoulder,

Making the bold wag, by their praises bolder.

One rubb’d his elbow, thus, and fleer’d, and

swore

A better speech was never spoke before:

Another with his finger an his thumb

Cried, Vial we will do’t come what will come:

The third he caper’d, an cried, All goes well.

The fourth turn’d on the toe, and down he fell,

With such a zealous laughter, so profound,

That in this spleen ridiculous appears,

To check their folly, passion’s solemn tears.

Prin. But what, but what, come they to

visit us?                                     [thus,—

Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel’d

Like Muscovites, or Russians, as I guess;

Their purpose is to parle, to court, and dance;

And every one his love-suit will advance

Unto his several mistress; which they’ll know

By favours several which they did bestow.

Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be

task’d:—

For, ladies, we will every one be mask’d;

And not a man of them shall have the grace,

Despite of suit, to see a lady’s face.—

Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear;

And then the king will court thee for his dear;

Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me

thine;

So shall Birón take me for Rosaline.—

And change your favours too; so shall your

loves

Woo contrary, deceiv’d by these removes.

P

(On 11/29/14 – Join me for the continuation of “Love’s Labour’s Lost”,

ACT V. SCENE II.—Another part of the Park.

love labours lost


My Thanksgiving Offering

Bountiful©

Consider the homeless and all that has been lost to them.

They are grateful for small things

A cup of coffee

A hot meal

A cot to sleep on

Shelter from the rain, snow, heat or cold weather

A smile

A nod

A hug

A change of clean clothes

All the things that most take for granted

Consider your wealth

You may think you have nothing but someone else has less

Your fortune is grater than you may realise

Share what you have and your soul will grow strong

You will be at peace within yourself

Copyright 2014

Bountiful©

By Felina Silver Robinson

Inspired by Aesop’s Fable: A Covetous Man

A Miser once buried all his money in the ground, at the food of a tree, and went every day to feast upon the sight of his treasure. A thief, who had watched him at this occupation, came on night and carried off the gold. The next day the Miser, finding his treasure gone, tore his clothes and filled the air with his cries. One of his neighbors told him that, since he didn’t spend the money anyway, he hadn’t really lost anything. “Go every day,” he said, “and just pretend your money is there, and you’ll be as well off as ever.”


Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Love’s Labour’s Lost

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

ACT V. SCENE I.—Another part of the Park.

Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well

play’d

Sut, Rosaline, you have a favour too:

Who sent it? and what is it?

Ros.                                   I would you knew!

An if my face were but as fair as yours,

My favour were as great; be witness this.

Nay, I have verses too, I thank Birón:

The numbers true; and, were the numb’ring too,

I were the fairest goddess on the ground:

I am compar’d to twenty thousand fairs.

O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!

Prin. Anything like?

Ros. Much in the letters; nothing in the

praise.

Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

Ros. ‘Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your

debtor.

My rod dominical, my golden letter:

O that you face were not so full of O’s!

Kath. A pox of that jest! and be shrew all

shrows!                        [from fair Dumain?

Prin. But, Katharine, what was sent to you

Kath. Madam, this glove.

Prin.                 Did he not send you twain?

Kath. Yes, madam; and, moreover,

Some thousand verses of a faithful lover;

A huge translation of hypocrisy,

Vilely compil’d, profound simplicity.

Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent

Longaville;

The letter is too long by half a mile,  [heart

Prin.I think no less. Dost thou not wish in

The chain were longer and the letter short?

Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might

never part.

Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.

Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mock-

ing so.

That same Birón I’ll torture ere I go.

O that  I knew he were but in by the week!

How I would make him fawn, and be, and

seek,

And wait the season, and observe the times,

And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes,

And shape his service wholly to my ‘hests,

And make him proud to make me proud that

jests!

So portent-like would I o’ersway his state

That he should be my fool and I his fate.

Prin. None are so surely caught, when they

are catch’d,

As wit turn’d fool: folly, in wisdom hatch’d,

Hath wisdom’s warrant, and the help of school,

And wit’s own grace to grace a learned fool.

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such

excess

As gravity’s revolt to wantonness.

Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note

As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote,

Since all the power thereof it doth apply

To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.       [face.

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his

Enter BOYET.

Boyet, O, I am stabb’d with laughter

Where’s her grace?

Prin. Thy news, Boyet?

Boyet.             Prepare, madam, prepare!—

Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are

Against your peace: Love doth approach dis-

guis’d,

Armes in arguments; you’ll be surpris’d:

Muster your wits: Sand in your own defence;

or hid your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

 

(On 11/28/14 – Join me for the continuation of “Love’s Labour’s Lost”,

ACT V. SCENE II.—Another part of the Park.

love labours lost


Begird (v.) past tense form of begirt

Begird means surround, encircle, besiege. Gambold was cited in Shakespeare’s King Edward III twice. (E3.I.i.129). Montague says to King Edward III, about the Scottish King: “the tyrant hath begirt with siege. The castle of Roxborough.”  (E3 III.iv.119) King Edward says to all about Caais: “There begirt that haven town with siege.”

David II, king of Scotland, acknowledges Edward III, king of England, as his feudal lord.


My Poem of the Day

(11/26/14)

Felina with youngest.jpg Felina n Joe 04-2010 Felina with oldest three.jpg

Why Am I Thankful?©

I’m both thankful and grateful for all those whom I love

For

The parents who raised me

The siblings who befriended me

The air I breathe

The water I drink

The food I eat

The bed I sleep in

The sun that rises

The night that falls and brings the stars

The birds that sing

The heat that warms me

The light that shows me the way

The peace that calms me

The joy that keeps me going

The freedom  and skill to write

The years that I’ve beat illness

The family that gives me all that I need

Copyright 2014

Why Am I Thankful?©

Felina Silver Robinson


Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Love’s Labour’s Lost

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

ACT V. SCENE I.—Another part of the Park.

Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the

audience hiss, you may cry: Well done, Her-

cules! now thou crushest the snake! that is the

way to make an offence gracious, though few

have the grace to do it.

Arm. For the rest of the worthies?-

Hol. I will play three myself.

Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman!

Arm. Shall I tell you a thing?

Hol. We attend.

Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an

antic. I beseech you, follow.

Hol. Via, goodman Dull! thou hast spoken

no word all this while.

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.

Hol. Allons! we will employ thee.

Dull. I’ll make one in a dance, or so; or I

will play on the tabor to the worthies, and let

them dance the hay.

Hol. Most dull, honest Dull!—to our sport,

away.                                             [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Another Part of the Park.

Before the PRINCESS’S Pavillion.

Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALIND,

and MARIA.

Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be reach ere we

depart,

If fairings come thus plentifully in:

A lady wall’d about with diamonds!

Look you what I have from the loving king.

Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with

that?                                              [in rhyme

Prin. Nothing but this? yes, as much love

As would be cramm’d up in a sheet of paper,

Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all,

That he was fain to seal on Cupid’s name.

Ros. That was the way to make his godhead

wax;

For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows

too.

Ros. You’ll ne’er be friends with him; he

kill’d your sister.                          [heavy;

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad; and

An so she died: had she been light, like you,

Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,

She might have been a grandam ere she died.

And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

Ros. What’s your dark meaning, mouse, of

this light word?

Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark.

Ros. We need more light to find your mean-

ing out.                                               [snuff;

Kath. You’ll mar the light by taking it in

Therefore, I’ll darkly end the argument.

Ros. Look what you do, you do it still i’ the

dark.                                                [wrench.

Kath. So do not you; for you are a light.

Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore

light.

Kath. You weigh me not?—O, that’s you

care not for me.                               [care.

Ros. Great reason; for, Past cure is still past

Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well

play’d.

(On 11/27/14 – Join me for the continuation of “Love’s Labour’s Lost”,

ACT V. SCENE II.—Another part of the Park.

love labours lost