Corpsey
bandz ahoy
I was looking at Lear for quotes about eyes for the eye thread and I was stopped in my tracks by the cruelty of this line:
REGAN Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
His way to Dover.
Yesterday evening, it being Shakey's birthday, I dutifully read Prospero's famous speech
You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;
Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk,
To still my beating mind.
What occurred to me, frowning over this, is how difficult it is to read some Shakespeare due to overfamiliarity.
It's easy to miss the emotional modulation here - from "be cheerful sir" to a melancholy reflection on life's transience, to "my brain is troubled... a turn or two I'll walk, To still my beating heart".
But also, the words themselves are so familiar - "We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep". It's easy to pass over the poignancy of refering to life as "little". (Noticing now too that "rounded" might be related to "the great globe itself".
REGAN Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
His way to Dover.
Yesterday evening, it being Shakey's birthday, I dutifully read Prospero's famous speech
You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;
Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk,
To still my beating mind.
What occurred to me, frowning over this, is how difficult it is to read some Shakespeare due to overfamiliarity.
It's easy to miss the emotional modulation here - from "be cheerful sir" to a melancholy reflection on life's transience, to "my brain is troubled... a turn or two I'll walk, To still my beating heart".
But also, the words themselves are so familiar - "We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep". It's easy to pass over the poignancy of refering to life as "little". (Noticing now too that "rounded" might be related to "the great globe itself".