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Thursday, June 15, 2017

I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks

From Richard III, spoken by Gloucester:

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

Wm Shakespeare.

ntodd

* 14th Blegiversary: wanna help feed our oxen? *

June 15, 2017 | Permalink

Comments

Tudor propaganda.

Posted by: Anthony McCarthy | Jun 16, 2017 10:12:45 PM

Tudor propaganda.

Posted by: Anthony McCarthy | Jun 16, 2017 10:12:47 PM

That Francis Bacon sure could write, couldn't he?

Posted by: Rmj | Jun 17, 2017 4:24:37 PM

His essays are like jewels. The one on theatrical production is a revelation into some aspects of Elizabethan-Jacobean theatrical practice, right down to the colors that are most effective under the ambient lighting.

Posted by: Anthony McCarthy | Jun 18, 2017 10:07:07 PM

His essays are like jewels. The one on theatrical production is a revelation into some aspects of Elizabethan-Jacobean theatrical practice, right down to the colors that are most effective under the ambient lighting.

Posted by: Anthony McCarthy | Jun 18, 2017 10:07:09 PM

His essays are like jewels. The one on theatrical production is a revelation into some aspects of Elizabethan-Jacobean theatrical practice, right down to the colors that are most effective under the ambient lighting.

Posted by: Anthony McCarthy | Jun 18, 2017 10:07:10 PM

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