Sonnet 86 ~ William Shakespeare


Sonnet 86

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,

Bound for the prize of all too precious you,

That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,

Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?

Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write

Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?

No, neither he, nor his compeers by night

Giving him aid, my verse astonishèd.

He, nor that affable familiar ghost

Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,

As victors of my silence cannot boast.

I was not sick of any fear from thence;

  But when your countenance filled up his line,

  Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine.

About Pop Haydn

I am not originally from the 21st Century myself, but have been stuck here by accident--not entirely my fault--with a bunch of other maroons from another very different time and place... Nevertheless, my companions and I love it here and just like everyone else we are just trying to get by in this exciting and progressive era. With a variety show of steampunk-oriented magic, comedy and music, Pop's company entertains and sells a few bottles of Amazing Miracle Oil, Wonder Elixer, or Magnetized Water.

Posted on May 23, 2020, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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