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Ebook has 107 lines and 10116 words, and 3 pages
A SHAKESPEAREAN FANTASY 1
NOTE BY WILLIAM J. ROLFE, LITT.D. 63
A SHAKESPEAREAN FANTASY
A SHAKESPEAREAN FANTASY
What, Trinculo! Get me some food, I say, or thy bones shall pay thy jape. Get thee hence at once, for a mighty hunger is come upon me and I would eat. Sing thou, and caper nimbly the while.
STEPHANO
A lass I had, A lass I had, But I've a lass no longer. She's dead and cold In churchyard mould Grim Death he was the stronger.
In churchyard mould She lieth cold: From her dust the violets spring. To her dark bed Have fairies sped To sing her welcoming.
CALIBAN Methinks like music have I heard before When Prospero I did serve. And it should bode Damn'd Prospero's return then were I slave Again, doing his will in everything.
STEPHANO. What is this same that sings i' the air without lips or body?
TRINCULO Master Nobody is at his ancient tricks. An' he be a devil, he hath an angel's voice.
CALIBAN. Retire ye both, for I would be alone.
Where, O where, Is the isle so fair? 'Tis far to the east, 'Tis far to the west; 'Tis here, 'tis there, That isle so fair: O where, O where? 'Tis everywhere, That isle so fair.
MIRANDA. 'Tis Ariel's voice, my Ferdinand, but whence-- The voice we heard upon the isle long since. Sweet sound, with poppies curiously mix'd-- With poppies mix'd--O, I did dream--but where Am I? 'Tis strange, and yet not strange. This place I do remember. Here Miranda saw I first--
MIRANDA How say you, husband, I have slept, And all I look on now is chang'd, and yet Not so, for surely here I dwelt of old With Prospero, my father.
FERDINAND. 'Tis naught else But the same place, and we transported hence Perchance as playthings of some kindly god, Hearing thy tale and loving thee.
MIRANDA. Sweet prince, My Ferdinand, then do we wake indeed, Or is't enchantment, and a sleep?
FERDINAND. I deem It truth, and be it thus, or not, in truth 'Tis pleasant seeming, and we twain will fleet The time as happily as when each knew The other first.
O Setebos, 'tis she, Damn'd Prospero's daughter.--Mistress, if it be Thou'rt come to rule the isle I'll serve thee well, And Prospero be absent. Him I fear As I do dread the awesome thunderstone.
FERDINAND. Lo! here come other of his company.
And mine eyes serve me truly.
ROMEO. O how rare One pearl's esteem'd until another's found, While that becomes the chief, till straight a third Shines forth. So is't with me. When Rosaline I saw no lesser she might then with her Compare. Next Juliet came athwart my sight, And her I lov'd, forgetting Rosaline. But now is Capulet's young daughter sped From forth my heart and in her place this fair Unknown in Juliet's stead is worshipped.
He was a goodly youth to look on, but he is dead by this and burns in hell.
He is dead who wronged the maid; He is dead, perdy. In the grave his bones are laid, Hey, and woe is me.
O my love was tall and fine; Fair he was to see. As light doth from a jewel shine, His eyes shined on me.
I cry your pardon, good people all. But there's something lost, I think, and 'twill not be found for all my searching.
He is dead that wronged the maid; He is dead, perdy.
MIRANDA. I scarce can see for weeping. Would there were But somewhat I might do to ease her pain.
FERDINAND. Her woe, me thinketh, is long past its cure. But look! here comes a sadder wight than she.
Thy wits are all disorder'd as mine own: Then might we play at grief as who should know The worst, but mine's the heavier. You do mourn A lover faithless, I a son whose face, So sweet and gracious, made the world for me; Perpetual solace to my widowhood.
OPHELIA. I do not know you, but you weep and so do I, and surely that doth make us sisters in grief, and so because of that I'll follow you whither you list, and you will let me.
CONSTANCE. Come then, and such cold comfort as I may I'll share with you, but sorrow's cure is not For us. Your lover groans in hell; my son, My Arthur, lies within some oubliette, Far down beneath the gracious day, dog's food His only meat, and cries on me, his mother. Then may I well make friends with stubborn grief, Since grief alone the heavens have spar'd to me.
OPHELIA. Sad lady, I will go with you, weep when you weep, and be your humble pensioner in grief.
HAMLET Ophelia, stay a little! What! not know Me yet? Doth recollection show thee naught Familiar in these eyes, this face, this form? What, faded quite, my love and me, from out Thy memory as the summer shower when past Is quick forgot with one short hour of sun?
OPHELIA. Love? I know what that doth signify. Is not love what we poor maids are fool'd with? Thus have they told me, and therefore I'll not listen to you, for indeed I never saw you before, that I remember, and yet there's something not so strange lurks within your speech. But go your ways, sweet sir. My Hamlet he is dead, and so I care for none of mankind now.
He is dead, perdy.
No, Juliet, but a Niobe. Eh, man?
ROMEO. Prate not of Juliet now, for I do love Another way from her.
MERCUTIO. O, Romeo, Once yet again I tell thee; have a care!
The fat fellow is verily in the right on't, but since the old gentleman Prospero did give us here the sack there's no sack here for the wishing.
FALSTAFF Francis.
TRINCULO. I think there be none here by that name.
FALSTAFF. 'Tis no matter for the name; the play 's the thing, the name is mere hollowness and sound. Here, you fellow with the dog, you whoreson shaveling of a man, what is thy name?
LAUNCE. They call me Launce, an' it doth please you, sir.
LAUNCE. I could never i' the world tell that, sir, and no more, indeed, sir, could my dog Crab that's here, who, saving your presence, is the most hard-hearted cur alive.
FALSTAFF. No exceptions, good Launce; exceptions are the devil's counters, therefore, beware of exceptions. But hark you, good man Launce. Fetch me here some sack, and let it o'erflow the tankard, too, for I've a thirst upon me such as Hercules came most honestly by after his twelve labours.
LAUNCE. Please you, sir, I do not know the meanings of sack and Hercules. I did never see either of the gentlemen you speak of.
FALSTAFF. 'Tis no matter for Hercules, but, God's pity for 't, to be unacquainted with sack is to have lived as a dead man liveth. Sack, good Launce, is the prince of roystering blades; the pearl of price; the nonpareil of the world, the--nay, there's no fit comparison to be made. Ambrosia and nectar together were but ashes i' the mouth to 't.
TRINCULO You speak nothing aside the matter, sir, as I'm a true man. There's nought to be named i' the world before sack, and herein, of all places i' the world, there's no inn, no sack, no sack within. So you'll e'en have to stomach that, though you've small stomach to't.
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