Talk like Shakespeare Day

 

Today is the 457th anniversary of Shakespeare's birth, or the 405th anniversary of his death. Take your pick.

 

Not feeling terribly inspired at the moment- the best I could come up with was an elaboration on someone else's joke of turning the lyrics of 'play that funky music, white boy' into faux renaissance speech. Here instead are some verses I perpetrated back in 2016 for the 400th anniversary of his death.

 

What need has Shakespeare for me? What am I

That I should add my praise to th'immortal

Poet of my tongue? Yet grace demands it,

And gratitude: We must praise our masters

Though our praise fall ever short of their worth.

 

Then list, O reader faire, to these my words,

For on this day, this happy day, a mere

Four and one half centuries (plus years two)

Was born to us a bard. No man before

Nor since ever so wielded quill and ink.

 

Soul of his age, soul of ours, who saw

The full compass of man in all ages.

Never was born one whom Shakespeare wrote not,

Never can one be born out of Shakespeare.

In all ages and all places does brood

Hamlet in his sables, Macbeth does ford

His bloody river, and an Iago

Tempts Othello to mad, jealous murder;

Star damned Romeo seeks his Juliet,

And Lear rages at his ill-use, 'til breaks

His heart. And yet more: What tavern knows not

Its Falstaff, braggart great? He lies, we know,

Yet laugh we still, as did the wayward prince.

Theseus blesses where his law could blast,

And Malvolio storms, claiming his day

Shall come.

 

A language small was thy inheritance:

A language great was ours, enrich'd by thee

In words as well as poetry. So much

Thou gave'st thy beloved English, much more

Than can ever be repaid: And for thanks

Thou art much abused, thy name known, naught else.

Taught by ill- learn'd schoolmasters to students

Unwilling: among them, thy glorious

Name now a curse.

 

                    Take then, O master great,

My praises weak, for though small they may be,

They are honest. As long as beats this heart,

My tongue shall not be enjailed within my teeth

And I shall praise thee, not as thou deserves,

For no mouth can speak thy worth, nor hand write

Praise high enough: A mere candle am I

Lit against the darkness rising. Take, I ask,

What I give, essaying to catch thy tone

If not thy worth, as I speak as thou spoke

For this one day, and be not offended.

Thou needst not me, I know well, but I thou

Dost need and love, O William of Stratford,

This day and ever master of my tongue,

And grateful I am providence saw fit

To grant us thee for time short and for time

Eternal.