lunes, agosto 21, 2006
::Time to get tragic::
Why not? My job[less]-stay-at-home-too-much panic does sometimes bring me down, with a little help from the black hole our world and country seem to be heading towards... and no, I am not feeling tragic at all at this moment but I found a sonnet, by the Bard, which reflects my feelings sometimes. Especially when things are not going my way.
LXVI.
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
Why not? My job[less]-stay-at-home-too-much panic does sometimes bring me down, with a little help from the black hole our world and country seem to be heading towards... and no, I am not feeling tragic at all at this moment but I found a sonnet, by the Bard, which reflects my feelings sometimes. Especially when things are not going my way.
LXVI.
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
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