Archives For Poetry


Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Love’s Labour’s Lost

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

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

Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL,  and

DULL.

Hol. Satis quod sufficit.

Nath. I praise God for you, sir: your reasons

at dinner have been sharp and sententious;

pleasant without scurrility, witty without af-

fection, audacious without impudency, learned

without opinon, and strange without heresay.

I did converse this quondam day with a com-

panion of the king’s, who is intituled, nomi

nated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

Hol. Novi hominem tanquam te: his humour

is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue

filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and

his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and

thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too

affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate,

as I may call it.

Nath. A most singular and choice epithet.

[Takes out his table-book.

Hol. He draweth out the thread of his ver-

bosity finer than the staple of his argument. I

abhor such fanatical fantasms, such insociable

and point-devise companions; such rackers of

orthography, as to speak dout, fine, when he

should say doubt; det, when he should pro-

nounce debt, d, e, b, t, not d, e, t: he clepeth

calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur

nebour; neigh abbreviated ne. This is abho-

minable (which he would call abominable), it

insinuateth me  of insanie: Ne intelligis, domine?

to make frantic, lunatic.

Nath. Laus Deo bone intelligo.

Hol. Bone!——bone for bene: Priscian a little

scratched; ’twill serve.

Nath. Videsne quis venit?

Hol. Video, et gaudeo.

Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTRAD.

Arm. Chirra!                                 [To MOTH.

Hol. Quare Chirra, not sirrah?

Arm. Men of peace, well encountered.

Hol. Most military sir, salutation.

Moth. They have been at a great feast of

languages and stolen the scraps.

[To COSTARD aside.

Cost. O, they have lived long on the alms-

basket of words! I marvel thy master hath not

eaten thee for a word; for thou art not so long

by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou

art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.

Moth. Peace; the peal begins.                [tered?

Arm. Monsieur [to HOL.], are you not let-

Moth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the horn-

book;—What is a, b, spelt backward with the

horn on his head.

Hol. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.

Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn.—

You hear his learning.

Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant?

Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you

repeat them; or the fifth, if I.

Hol. I will repeat them, a, e, i,—

Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you

repeat them; or the fifth, if I.

Hol. I will repeat them, a, e, i.—

Moth. The sheep; the other two concludes

it; o, u.

Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediter-

raneum, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit:

snip, snap, quick and home; it rejoiceth my

intellect: true wit.                 [which is wit-old.

Moth. Offered by a child to an old man;

Hol. What is the figure? what is the figure?

Moth. Horns.                                  [thy gig.

Hol. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip

Moth. end me your horn to make one, and

I will whip about your infamy circum circa; a

gig of cuckold’s horn!

Cost. An I had but one penny in the world

though shouldst have it to buy gingerbread: hold,

there is the very remuneration I had of thy

master, thou halpenny purse of wit, thou

pigeon-egg of discretion. O, an the heavens

were so pleased that thou wert but my bastard,

what a joyful father wouldst thou make me!

(On 11/25/14 - Join me for the continuation of “Love’s Labour’s Lost”,

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

love labours lost


Ecce (n.)

Ecce means behold the evidence. Ecee was cited in Henry IV Part 1 (1H4 II.iv.163). Falstaff says to Prince Hal: “through, my sword hacked like a handsaw-ecce”

The robbery trouble has been resolved but Falstaff now must lead a troop of foot soldiers.


My Poem of the Day

(11/23/14)

There Are Possums Among Us©

There are possums among us but they don’t mean to stun us

They’re just hungry like me and you

But they’re big and they’re scary

They’re menacing too

They’ll stare you down

They’ll break you down

They’ll make you frown

You know there’s no winning when they start their grinning

They’re laughing at you because you don’t know what to do

But they sure do

And they surely won’t let you forget it

So set those traps

In order to catch them

So that they can be taught a lesson

They’ll be taken home

Where they will be free to roam

And hopefully leave us alone

Boy I’ll sure be glad when they’re no more possums among us

Copyright 2014

There Are Possums Among Us©

By Felina Silver Robinson

This poem was inspired when my 21-year-old told me he had gone to take out some trash

and there was a possum staring up at him almost daring him while begging him not to put his trash on top of him

Startled by this he opted not to continue and let me know that he left the trash in front of the barrels


Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Love’s Labour’s Lost

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

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

Dum. Some salve for perjury.

Biron.                    O, ’tis more than need!—

Have at you, then, affection’s men-at-arms:

Consider what you first did swear unto;—

To fast,—to study,—and to see no woman;—

Flat treason ‘gainst the kingly state of youth.

Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young,

And abstinence engender maladies.

And where that you have vow’d to study, lords,

In that each of you hath forsworn his book,—

Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?

Why, universal plodding prisons up

The nimble spirits in the arteries,

As motion and long-during action tires

The sinewy vigour of the traveller/

Now, for not looking on a woman’s face,

You have in that forsowrn the se of eyes,

And study, too, the causer of your vow:

For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,

In leaden contemplation, have found out

Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes

Of beauteous tutors have enrich’d you with?

Other slow arts entire keep the brain,

And therefore, finding barren practisers,

Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil;

But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes

Lives not alone immured in the brain,

But, with the motion of all elements,

Courses as swift as thought in every power,

And gives to every power a double power

Above their functions and their offices.

It adds a precious seeing to the eye:

A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind;

A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound,

When the suspicious head of theft is stopp’d,

Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible

Than are tender horns of cockled snails;

Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in

taste:

For valour, is not love a Hercules,

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?

Subtle as sphinx; as sweet and musical

As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair?

And when love speaks the vice of all the gods

Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.

Never durst poet touch a pen to write

Until his inke were temper’d with love’s sighs:

O, then his line would ravish savage ears,

And plant in tyrants mild humility.

From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive:

They sparkle still the right promethean fire;

They are the boos, the arts, the academes,

That show, contain, and nourish all the world,

Else none at all in aught proves excellent.

Then fools you were these women to forswear;

Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.

For wisdom’s sake.—a word that all men love

Or for love’s sake—a word that loves all men,

Or for men’s sake, the authors of these women,

Or women’s sake, by wgin we neb are men,

Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,

Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths:

It is religion to be thus forsworn;

For charity itself fulfils the law,

And who can sever love from charity?

King. Saint Cupid, the! and, soldiers, to

the filed!                             [them, lords;

Biron. Advance your standards, and upon

Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advis’d

In conflict that you get the sun of them

Long. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes

by;

Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?

King. And win them too: therefore let us

devise

Some entertainment for them in their tents.

Biron. First, from the park let us conduct

them thither;

Then homeward every man attach the hand

Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon

We will with some strange pastime solace them,

Such as the shortness of the time can shape;

For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,

Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with

flowers.

King. Away, away! no time shall be omitted,

That will be time, and may by us be fitted.

Biron. Allons! Allons!—Sow’d cockle reap’d

no corn;

And justice always whirls in equal measure:

Light wenches may prove plagues to men for-

sworn;

If so, our copper buys no better treasure.

[Exeunt.

(On 11/24/14 - Join me for the continuation of “Love’s Labour’s Lost”,

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

love labours lost


Kirtle (n.)

Kirtle is defined as ‘a dress’ or ‘a gown’. Kirtle is cited in two of Shakespeare’s works. 1) Henry IV Part 2 (2H4 II.iv.268). Falstaff says to Doll: “What stuff wilt have a kirtle of?”, 2) The Passionate Pilgrim (PassP XIX.II) Pilgrim says to his love: “There will I make thee…a kirtle, Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.”

Falstaff with Doll Tearsheet in the Boar’s Head tavern, illustration to Act 2, Scene 4 of the play by Eduard von Grützner

The Passionate Pilgrim


My Poem of the Day

(11/22/14)

Turkeys at bhs-2

Picture by Felina Silver Robinson “Turkey’s on the Prowl©”

When Turkey’s Attack (in Brookline)©

Here they come walking down your street

They’re not too happy so it’s not a good time to meet

Don’t get in their space or they may peck you in your face

They’re on a mission

To end their malnutrition

They must quickly find something ultra delicious

They’re going door-to-door to see what they’ve missed

They’re eyeing your gardens

They’re eyeing your trash cans

But if they don’t find anything worth eating

Listen for your doorbell

Because they might come a ringing

Just remember

Manners are missing from these Turkey’s

So don’t be expecting anything good from their visit

Be ready to call your local animal control

Because once you open your door

The only way they’re going is once they’ve been tranquilized

Be ready to hose down your house

Because boy do they leave a horrendous smell

This is what you’ll get when those darn turkey’s attack

This is what we get for taking all their land

And adding more buildings instead

They’re missing all their reservations

Where they were able to walk about

Without hesitation

And food was plentiful

And with no need

for menacing local neighborhoods

There’s still time to fix this

Before these Turkey’s do some fixing of their own

Copyright 2014

When Turkey’s Attack (in Brookline)©

By Felina Silver Robinson


Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Love’s Labour’s Lost

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

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

Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,—

Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not;

To things of sale a seller’s prasie belongs;

She passes praise: then praise too short doth

blot.

A wither’d hermit, five-score winters worn,

Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:

Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,

And gives the crutch the cradle’s infancy.

O, ’tis the sun, that maketh all things shine!

King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!

A wife of such wood were felicity.

O, who can give an oath? where is a book?

That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack

If that she learn not of her eye to look:

No face is fair that is not full so black.

King. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,

The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night;

And beauty’s crest becomes the heavens well.

Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling

spirits of light.

O, if in black my lady’s brows be deckt,

It mourns that painting and usurping hair

Should ravish doters with a false aspect;

And therefore is she born to make black fair.

Her favour turns the fashion of the days;

For native blood is counted painting now;

And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,

Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.

Dum. To look like her are chimney-sweepers

black.                                                [bright.

Long. And, since her time, are colliers counted

King. And Ethiopes of their sweet complex-

ion crack.                                        [is light.

Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark

Biron. Your mistress dare never come in

rain,

For fear their colours should be washed away.

King. ‘Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell

you plain,

I’ll find a fairer face not wash’d to-day.

Biron. I’ll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-

day here.

King. No devil will fright thee then so much

as she.                                               [dear.

Dum.I never knew man hold vile stuff so

Long. Look, here’s thy love: my foot and

her face see.                 [Showing his shoe.

Biron. O, if the streets were paved with

thine eyes

Her feet were much too dainty for such treat!

Dum. O vile! then, as she goes, what up-

ward lies

The street should see as she walk’d over head.

King. But what of this? are we not all in

love?                                        [forsworn.

Biron. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all

King. Then leave this chat; and, good Biron,

now prove

Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

Dum. Ay, marry, there;—some flattery for

this evil.

Long. O, some authority how to proceed;

Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the

devil.

(On 11/23/14 - Join me for the continuation of “Love’s Labour’s Lost”,

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

love labours lost