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Will Shakespeare enjoyed acting in London plays and writing plays for his troupe with a great wit and humor among audience favorite tragedies, but after his death the "aristocrat experts" wanted to deny him his fame because he was a commoner from Stratford on the Avon.Which is one more reason why the Presbyterian in me hates the British Monarchy and its Military.The disappearance of that 250 year long Evil World Empire's horrors within only 36 months after WWII ended was the greatest reason for celebration all over this earth during my lifetime.
Which is one more reason why the Presbyterian in me hates the British Monarchy and its Military.Yeesh
BTW, I used to go to that theater too back when I lived there. That was a date with me then -- Shakespeare at the APT. The stage hasn't changed much at all.
Which is one more reason why the Presbyterian in me hates the British Monarchy and its Military. The disappearance of that 250 year long Evil World Empire's horrors within only 36 months after WWII ended was the greatest reason for celebration all over this earth during my lifetime.Yes, how dare those dastardly Brits spread the rule of law, good infrastructure and increased standards of living throughout the globe. I've never bothered to spend any time thinking about Presbyterian culture or theology. If its main characteristics are ignorance, resentment and Anglophobia (as exhibited here), I guess I haven't missed much.
Yes, how dare those dastardly Brits spread the rule of law, good infrastructure and increased standards of living throughout the globe.And then proceeded to piss off all the locals.I always thought it was the best venue for seeing Shakespeare as long as the acting was up to it.
The Miranda Sonnets IFreedom, highday! highday, freedom! This is all a naked world, this islandOf music and flesh, like fugues or tempestsMixing miraculous in harmoniesSailing into the world’s teeth set on edge,Strange, passing stranger, in a falling sighLike no mere homunculus singing outFrom its innocence in a circus cage;The squalor testifies the sideshow view,Being a case of measured forms in bondage,A disintegration of emotionsSuch that the fine point of pity and fearBlunted by admixture of fool and assIs made adamantine – and brittle as glass. IIFor when Ferdinand becomes all CalibanLugging his wood from sacred wood for firesTo flame in the green eyes of Miranda,Tongues plucked will clothe the hairy apes with soul.But when Ferdinand becomes a brute toolBy which words are hammered into meaningSuch will the vulgar jaw yap out its lines:“Setebos! I am warming proper toThe weathers of this new god you left me!See Setebos, no more cold fen, sour milk!No more, but for wine! Highday! Caliban!”But the god will not speak his part’s reply –This leaves the exiles cold and their ransomIsn’t in it – except as opprobrium. IIIAll the same, this island will make farewellFor its prisoners and princes alikeWhen Caliban becomes all Ferdinand,And thus: “For the love of wood, Caliban!Savage easily scared, easily drunk!And for love, gave up the ghost, coddled wood,Tricked from love, making the most of exileUpon his own island. But then for what?For prosperous fires!” But Miranda flames,“What, shall we call this bravery our own?Shall the flame burn so pure for us in hell!We have no comedy in our laughter,We have no tragedy in our forced breath.We have only propensity for death. IV“The soul,” Miranda knows, “is hairy asThis thing my father pretends to instruct.This other’s body harmonizes meTo the brave beauty of this nude island.Freedom measures the chord by cords of wood;Sing if you must, but attend the fire first.For neither book nor stick shall drown the sea;Neither looks nor gestures will marry us,Nor shall art nor charm bury this whole earthThough the air helves in two for Caliban,All the earth embraces Ariel’s fire,And the finest emotions are fought outAnd cleansed of wit within a chess square’s space,Checkmate by endgame the design of grace.” VFreedom, highday! highday, freedom!When Ferdinand is all CalibanThen the deepness of dead kings suffer timeTo intrude with deeper eyes, introducedTo the deep dead king who suffers mostFrom pearly words. And Miranda flames;She sheds her shadow and matches sunlight –Or else the project fails, brave worlds breakWith all the staged instance of a bubble.And faith becomes the abstract vesselToo frail to hold court in search of kingship.Thus, dashed and left all at sea, our projectOf living breaks up in a dying fall,Ariel, Caliban, Ferdinand, all.
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