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#shakespeare

24 posts24 participants0 posts today
Sonnet a Day

Sonnet 013 - XIII
O! that you were your self; but, love, you are
No longer yours, than you your self here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give:
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again, after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,
You had a father: let your son say so.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet#poem#Shakespeare
Sonnet a Day

Sonnet 068 - LXVIII
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head;
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet#poem#Shakespeare
Glyn Moody

"Thomas Nashe’s 1594 novel The Unfortunate Traveller (Wikipedia, original text, modern-spelling text) is a strange and grisly piece of work, equal parts The Spanish Tragedy, Inglourious Basterds, and The Dying Earth." - 3d.laboratorium.net/2025-07-27 sounds fascinating #literature #shakespeare

The Laboratorium (3d ser.) · The Unfortunate TravellerThomas Nashe’s 1594 novel The Unfortunate Traveller (Wikipedia, original text, modern-spelling text) is a strange and grisly piece of work, equal parts The Spanish Tragedy, Inglourious Basterds, and The Dying Earth. It follows Jack Wilton, an Englishman who is half scoundrel and half philosopher, on a picaresque journey through mid 16th-century Europe. (“I was at Pontius Pilate’s house, and pissed against it.”)
Sonnet a Day

Sonnet 103 - CIII
Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O! blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit,
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet#poem#Shakespeare
Continued thread
Raye :tattoo_butt:

Today's session at the apartment is over, and I'm sweating so much, I may have to take a 2nd shower.

The spare room is done, the bedroom is done, the balcony is done, the bathroom and kitchen are both 3/4 done. I took some time to clean out the vacuum filters (yes, ewww) and it worked a lot better after that.

All the donation items were picked up. The guy was supposed to call when he was a 1/2 hour out, and he didn't and then he yelled at me when I told him he couldn't park in my neighbor's driveway. I won't short your tip, mister, but I do give lower ratings.

Did my last laundry at the apartment while all of the above was happening. I will have laundry again by Wednesday. I took a bag of stuff to the mutual aid, nabbed lunch, and headed back to the AirBnB.

my afternoon, transwhatyouwill.org.uk/twelft

www.transwhatyouwill.org.ukTwelfth Night – Trans What You Will
#Moving#Cleaning#Shakespeare
Sonnet a Day

Sonnet 068 - LXVIII
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head;
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet#poem#Shakespeare
Sonnet a Day

Sonnet 104 - CIV
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet#poem#Shakespeare
Replied in thread
Vassil Nikolov

P.S.
If that allusion is too obscure:
the three witches greet Macbeth, ending with
"All hail, Macbeth, who shalt be king hereafter!"

Then Banquo, his comrade-in-arms, inquires about himself and is told:
"Lesser than Macbeth and greater.
Thou shalt get kings though thou be none."

["Get" for"beget".]

#Lisp
#Macbeth
#Shakespeare

@phil @screwlisp

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