Tuesday, 14 April 2015

L = Love



L must be Love, it is the most easy Letter of the A - Z alphabet. But what to choose with Love. A beautiful picture that says it all, or a wonderful famous quote? A piece from a book where love is so sudden, so overwhelming? Poetry. It must be poetry somehow. The grand master of poetry himself, at the end of Taming of the Shrew has been travelling with me for a long time now. It is time to share it:

Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband's foot:
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready; may it do him ease.
William Shakespeare


6 comments:

  1. Good ole' Will, can never disappoint.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Let me not to the marriage of true minds
      Admit impediments. Love is not love
      Which alters when it alteration finds,
      Or bends with the remover to remove:
      O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
      That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
      It is the star to every wandering bark,
      Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
      Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
      Within his bending sickle's compass come;
      Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
      But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
      If this be error and upon me proved,
      I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
      (Sonnet 116 )

      Delete
  2. I agree with Sunny...Shakespeare really had a way with words. Thanks for sharing Han.

    Hugs and blessings...
    Cat

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
      I all alone beweep my outcast state
      And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
      And look upon myself and curse my fate,
      Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
      Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
      Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
      With what I most enjoy contented least;
      Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
      Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
      Like to the lark at break of day arising
      From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
      For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
      That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
      (Sonnet 29)

      Delete
  3. Love .. and Shakespeare.
    Good choice.

    Take care,
    Mona Lisa

    ReplyDelete
    Replies

    1. Being your slave, what should I do but tend
      Upon the hours and times of your desire?
      I have no precious time at all to spend,
      Nor services to do, till you require.
      Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
      Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.
      Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
      When you have bid your servant once adieu;
      Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
      Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
      But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,
      Save, where you are how happy you make those.
      So true a fool is love that in your will
      Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.
      (Sonnet 57)

      Delete

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