Imprudentia: The scrimmage that hath late in me derived
Departure from this scurvy world, does now
Import the damage from the linnet curves
And smite the arrows of an errant staff.
Imelda: How now, my mistress? What strange tongue or lip
Hath entered into congress with thy fearful wit,
Once strutting on the boardwalks of the Strand?
I fear the weariness of watchful strife
And hearken stripteases of careless spoors.
Imprudentia: Fear not, my gentle servant. 'Tis the night
When spirits fall upon our sweet intelligence
And lift discretion to a dizzy cliff
Where hapless faeries stir their verdant broth
And listen often for a stringy writ.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Some Shakespeare for you
I was in the Biblioteca nacional the other day, and I came upon a ms. that I think might be a lost fragment of a play by a certain Elizabethan dramatist. This discovery must might make me even more famous. I'll just give you a small taste here: