Much Ado About Shakespeare
Benedict: This can be no trick. The conference was sadly borne; they have the truth of this from Hero; they seem to pity the lady. It seems her affections have their full bent. Love me? Why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censur'd. They say I will bear myself proudly if I perceive the love come from her. They say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry. I must not seem proud. Happy are they that hear their detractions and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair--'tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous--'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me--by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me because I have railed so long against marriage. But doth not the appetite alters? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humour? No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
Enter Beatrice.
Beatrice: Against my will I am sent to bid You come in to dinner. Benedict: Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beatrice: I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come. Benedict: You take pleasure then in the message? Beatrice: Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knives point, and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior. Fare you well. Benedict: Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.'There's a double meaning in that. 'I took no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me.' That's as much as to say, 'Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks.' If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture.
There is something very appealing when reading Shakespeare in a dark and rainy day. I don't know why, but when everything is kinda gloomy and out of sorts, I tend to get more poetic by the moment. Not the usual kind mind you, but when it pours buckets of rainwater, my sarcarms tend to become laced with deeper meanings and inane half truths. Oh well, at least the person I'm insulting with will get confused whether I really did insult him or not.
Then there's also the conceited bastard type where they twist the words into their liking, thinking that the woman who insulted them just professed their undying love. This also happens frequently sadly. Take for example above where Beatrice invited Benedict inside for dinner underlined with insults yet the latter twisted them into his liking. Not to say that Benedict himself is a concieted bastard in Shakespeare's play and is fact a honorable and worthy man, but that singular passage struck me as a regular symptom to people in love. We try to interpret when the person we like secretly speaks, trying to gauge whether they like us in return. Then if the signs are favorable, we make our move. In this case there are three kinds of persons. First, there's the one that interprets everything to his favor, where he thinks subconciously he is the sole reason of creation, and hitches up with everyone he can get his hands into. While this is makes him a complete jackass, he doesn't succeed most of the time and, thankfully, comes in a minority. The second one interprets everything as a catastrophe, where he blithely believes he doesn't feel worthy to grovel at her feet, much less stand within 10 yards of her. This person is pathetic, and even if the lady in question drops hints that she likes him, the person is too involved in own misery to make a move. Surprisingly, this kind comes in a majority, like 30-40% of the population. The last one is at least kinda normal for people, the kind that interprets the right signals and, after a suitable time, makes his move. It takes practice to achieve this I guess, though not without failures of course.
I'm not saying that most persons are like those I mentioned above, some are a mixed of the two or even three! In case you're asking, and you probably might I fall between the second and third. Im usually have no qualms about making my move, but when the person is too much for me, let's say a ramp model like one of my female friends or maybe even a lady like the Ice Lady, I tend to stop thinking clearly and offer worship and grovel from a distance. Ah, how well do I love thee, if only it was not for love that I myself loathe but for act of loving itself ... ... ... ok that's enough Shakespeare. No more cold spaghetti and ice cold cola at 3am, must remember I tend to act up when it's early morning and full on the stomach. Must think about real stuff ...
... cars, airplanes, sky high buildings, starbucks, goverment corruption ...
... and I'm back to the real world.
Whew.
Beatrice: What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much? Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! No glory lives behind the back of such. And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee, Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand. If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee To bind our loves up in a holy band; For others say thou dost deserve, and I Believe it better than reportingly.
Enter Beatrice.
Beatrice: Against my will I am sent to bid You come in to dinner. Benedict: Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beatrice: I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come. Benedict: You take pleasure then in the message? Beatrice: Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knives point, and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior. Fare you well. Benedict: Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.'There's a double meaning in that. 'I took no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me.' That's as much as to say, 'Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks.' If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture.
There is something very appealing when reading Shakespeare in a dark and rainy day. I don't know why, but when everything is kinda gloomy and out of sorts, I tend to get more poetic by the moment. Not the usual kind mind you, but when it pours buckets of rainwater, my sarcarms tend to become laced with deeper meanings and inane half truths. Oh well, at least the person I'm insulting with will get confused whether I really did insult him or not.
Then there's also the conceited bastard type where they twist the words into their liking, thinking that the woman who insulted them just professed their undying love. This also happens frequently sadly. Take for example above where Beatrice invited Benedict inside for dinner underlined with insults yet the latter twisted them into his liking. Not to say that Benedict himself is a concieted bastard in Shakespeare's play and is fact a honorable and worthy man, but that singular passage struck me as a regular symptom to people in love. We try to interpret when the person we like secretly speaks, trying to gauge whether they like us in return. Then if the signs are favorable, we make our move. In this case there are three kinds of persons. First, there's the one that interprets everything to his favor, where he thinks subconciously he is the sole reason of creation, and hitches up with everyone he can get his hands into. While this is makes him a complete jackass, he doesn't succeed most of the time and, thankfully, comes in a minority. The second one interprets everything as a catastrophe, where he blithely believes he doesn't feel worthy to grovel at her feet, much less stand within 10 yards of her. This person is pathetic, and even if the lady in question drops hints that she likes him, the person is too involved in own misery to make a move. Surprisingly, this kind comes in a majority, like 30-40% of the population. The last one is at least kinda normal for people, the kind that interprets the right signals and, after a suitable time, makes his move. It takes practice to achieve this I guess, though not without failures of course.
I'm not saying that most persons are like those I mentioned above, some are a mixed of the two or even three! In case you're asking, and you probably might I fall between the second and third. Im usually have no qualms about making my move, but when the person is too much for me, let's say a ramp model like one of my female friends or maybe even a lady like the Ice Lady, I tend to stop thinking clearly and offer worship and grovel from a distance. Ah, how well do I love thee, if only it was not for love that I myself loathe but for act of loving itself ... ... ... ok that's enough Shakespeare. No more cold spaghetti and ice cold cola at 3am, must remember I tend to act up when it's early morning and full on the stomach. Must think about real stuff ...
... cars, airplanes, sky high buildings, starbucks, goverment corruption ...
... and I'm back to the real world.
Whew.
Beatrice: What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much? Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! No glory lives behind the back of such. And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee, Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand. If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee To bind our loves up in a holy band; For others say thou dost deserve, and I Believe it better than reportingly.
posted by Big Hamster at 11:36 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home