(no subject)
Nov. 18th, 2006 12:16 pmSo, there's a thread going on elseLJ about "The Happy Ending Shakespeare Company" -- how to make the Shakespearian tragedies end much quicker and happier.
http://toddalcott.livejournal.com/56566.html
http://toddalcott.livejournal.com/56865.html
Here's my attempt:
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.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Have been chosen by the producers
Of Extreme Makeover
To be refashioned according to the stamp
Of the common rabble's fashion sense.
'Though many may consider this cause mad
To find oneself remade into a clone
Of every pretty face which leers and struts
Across a carpet on fair Oscars' Night
Yet for my part I find I would
Rather have my twisted back set right.
My twisted mind I find will suffice
To make my fame in reality TV.
In these days I will now overmatch
Dog the Bounty Hunter and Richard Hatch.
http://toddalcott.livejournal.com/56566.html
http://toddalcott.livejournal.com/56865.html
Here's my attempt:
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.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Have been chosen by the producers
Of Extreme Makeover
To be refashioned according to the stamp
Of the common rabble's fashion sense.
'Though many may consider this cause mad
To find oneself remade into a clone
Of every pretty face which leers and struts
Across a carpet on fair Oscars' Night
Yet for my part I find I would
Rather have my twisted back set right.
My twisted mind I find will suffice
To make my fame in reality TV.
In these days I will now overmatch
Dog the Bounty Hunter and Richard Hatch.