Shakespeare + Seuss

A blog about rhyming about writing.
I write these, yes I do. 
"Why?" You ask: got no clue. 

-That was for whomever thought I don’t get meter. I do, I just don’t care for it much. I find it less alluring than most, and to really just be a crutch. That’s all, as I have more writing to conduce. I remain, as always, yours, a coffee fueled Seuss. 

I write these, yes I do. 

"Why?" You ask: got no clue. 

-That was for whomever thought I don’t get meter. I do, I just don’t care for it much. I find it less alluring than most, and to really just be a crutch. That’s all, as I have more writing to conduce. I remain, as always, yours, a coffee fueled Seuss. 

2.1 Romeo and Juliet

I had nearly forgotten to update this post, 

Ne’er fear, nearly finished, I’m close.

Romeo, coming forward

Romeo: Soft now, what’s this light through yonder widow breaking?

The East? Is Juliet now my sun, or am I mistaking?

Well, get on with it fair sun, and go on with your moon killing,

You go through this every day-turn, You’ll find your prey willing

And even more willing, for you are far fairer than she,

She that guides the stars with her celestial liberty.

She, that moon, who wears her green virginity

She wears it like clothing, her v card on her sleeve,

like those fools looking to grow old and do nothing but weave.

It is, it must be my Juliet, indeed it is she,

But speak soon, my love, if my love you would be.

Her eyes provide words, though soundless to me,

If only I could discern what it that she wants mine ears to see.

Too bold here, she speaks not to Romeo, upon bended knee.

Two of the brightest stars in the sky, she tonight addresses

She seeks heavenly guidance, not my arms and caresses.

What if it is these bright stars shine from Juliet’s sockets?

I’d rip out mine heart, present to her in mine locket.

For the radiance of her face would shame even the star’s shine,

like a house cat: a lion; a river: the Rhine.

Would that there were birds to call in the day,

Then she to me, without any delay.

See how she leans, with gloved hand upon cheek

Would that I were that glove, that glove’s role I seek.

Juliet: Ay, me, it is me, the only true Juliet.

From that fair house of Verona, the one Capulet.

Romeo: She speaks, oh glory, tongue moves inside heavenly cheeks,

One, only Juliet, Bright Angel, unique.

Thou art as glorious as the night, which reigns above my crown

Thou art something indescribable, escaping noun-bounds.

She must be heavenly, a celestial being,

So powerful, mere man I fall backward in seeing.

Juliet (Not knowing of Romeo): Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou my love?

Deny thyself Montague, your name dispose of.

Or if you can not, or will not, then I’ll drop my own name,

Juliet of the Capulets no more, our love no longer a shame.

Romeo: Shall I let her continue with love speeches for now,

Or shall I call out, with my true love’s vow?

Juliet: 'Tis only the name that does keep us apart,

Not anything else separates you from mine heart.

You are you Romeo, no name can contain this,

Why should Montague stain Romeo, when Romeo’s blameless?

And on that same point, what does Montague mean?

It is not hand, nor foot, nor face, nor spleen.

Oh, be some other name soon, and take to wedding this teen.

What’s in a name, Romeo, oh what’s in a name?

I have pondered this often, but I keep coming up with the same.

That which is a rose, by other names would smell as divine,

Just as different vintages make merlot no less of a wine.

So if Romeo Montague became Romeo Mcgee,

He would still smell as sweet, and be all to me.

Therefore, ditch the name Montague, which is no part of thee,

And take all myself, and let two become we.

Romeo (To Juliet now):I will trust thy words my dear maiden fair,

Consider me newly baptized in the heat of your stare.

I will no longer be Romeo, while I still draw air.

Juliet: What man art thou? You cowardly snitch,

yes you, hiding yourself low in that ditch.

Listening in on a maiden and her private word,

Stumbling and bumbling and “accidentally over-heard.”

Romeo: By a name now, I know not what to call this man,

For my name is hateful to me, and to your own clan.

Had I written it down on parchment you’d see,

That this name is disgusting to you and to me.

Juliet: My ears have yet gotten from your tongue not 100 words,

But is it Montague, and Romeo, or am I misheard?

Romeo: Neither Montague nor Romeo if either name causes distress,

Juliet: Say quickly then why you undertake this night’s egress.

For orchard walls prove high, too high to climb I would guess,

And this yard is death for you, if caught in transgress.

Romeo: I alight on love’s air did climb these high walls,

And kinsmen pose no danger to my passion, these Capulet thralls.

Juliet: Don’t be so sure my fair and my sweet,

let not love’s labors be lost, in true love’s heat.

Romeo: You carry more danger in one of your eyes,

Than twenty swords of any Capulet espied.

If you would but look upon me with your beauty and grace,

These looks be my armor, unbreakable love encased.

Juliet: I would not give all the world to see that you’re here,

Romeo: I have the darkness of night to cover me, abate fear.

And if you do not love me, then let them be hunters, and me the deer.

My life would be better ended upon the point of a spear,

Than a prolonged death, and never having you near.

Juliet: Who led you to this place so unsafe and armed?

Romeo: It was the fair god of love himself, do not be alarmed. 

Not so nearly done, though I promise, yes by Zeus, 

it’s tomorrow then, I remain yours always, Seuss. 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern aren’t dead yet.

Tonight I was asked to read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, 

I assigned my self to a chair, and with thoughts of my bed, 

and letting pretty nightmares fill up my head,

no, no, I must read, and read some more instead. 

And then the time comes when it’s first morning light, 

When you start to hear birds all aroused and in flight, 

And you begin to ponder your studious blight, 

and what to do now with your brain’s dimming light. 

But, that’s all for now, my dearest, silly, unread Tumblr, 

I do not desert you lightly, and not for night’s slumber,

No it’s back to my books now, with mind still a-loose.

Though nearly unwound, Dr, I remain yours, Seuss.  

Clip of Romeo and Juliet 2.1 (a name?)

Juliet: 'Tis only the name that does keep us apart,

Not anything else separates you from mine heart.

You are you Romeo, no name can contain this,

Why should Montague stain Romeo, when Romeo’s blameless?

And on that same point, what does Montague mean?

It is not hand, nor foot, nor face, nor spleen.

Oh, be some other name soon, and take to wedding this teen.

What’s in a name, Romeo, oh what’s in a name?

I have pondered this often, but I keep coming up with the same.

That which is a rose, by other names would smell as divine,

Just as different vintages make merlot no less of a wine.

So if Romeo Montague became Romeo Mcgee,

He would still smell as sweet, and be all to me.

Therefore, ditch the name Montague, which is no part of thee,

And take all myself, and let two become we.   

The entirety of this labor of love will be posted tomorrow, 

So keep all eyes dry, avert all impatient sorrow. 

I am weary this evening, and my rhyme is becoming rather toothless, 

But I remain, as always, yours, if a little less Seussish. 

Clip from Hamlet 3.1

To die, to sleep, to rend mortal coil asunder.

To break natural bindings, “is it possible?” I wonder.

To plow human heartache a thousand leagues under.

Or is it futile?

Like the clouds yearning to break their ties with the thunder.

To sleep, perchance to dream, but I must here insert pause,

To consider for a moment the consequences and cause

Of a potential long life, suffering, whips, and scorns of time

And bearing a mind so perplexed it whispers only in rhyme.

http://tmblr.co/ZPeQ4tdRxYMZ

Clip from Titus Andronicus 5.1 

For there is a certain joy is propping up dead men 

upon their best friends door,

What? Did you think me not capable of happiness,

on the contrary, with radiance I pour

When I carved on dead skin,

With my knife etched in gore:

“Let not sorrow die, though I am done for.”

Yes, I was happy in my evil, I’ll swear like I’ve swore.

Even in death, from the grave I shall roar,

Here lies Aaron, the blackest of Moor.

But I come to conclusion, since I don’t mean to bore,

And it happens to be that I still have the floor:

Regret? Yes regret, with regret I am sore:

10,000 further deeds I wish I could add to my score.

http://tmblr.co/ZPeQ4tdUFij3

Titus Andronicus, 5.1 

Titus Andronicus, 5.1 Aaron.

A ladder is brought, leading to a scaffold, which Aaron is made to ascend. Titus and crowd surround him.

Aaron: Bear my son to the empress,

Please, save the child Lucius

Do this, and I’ll show thee wondrous things,

Do not, and my testimony bears fruitless.

Lucius: Speak, upon death’s doorstep, speak up I say

If the testimony proves worthy, he’ll live many a’day.

Aaron: Be assured of my forthcoming words Lucius and crowd,

The crimes of which I tell, I am nothing but proud.

I will speak of murders and massacres, and general mistrust,

Of blackest deeds, of treason and villainous lust.

Ruthless, you’ll call me, but I hope: Pity inspire

For the child’s sake, you abate and abandon thine ire.

Lucius: And whom should I swear by, thou believes’t in nought,

there can be no peace when truces upon distrust are wrought.

Aaron: And what if no gods? As no gods there are, I insist,

I know for a fact you’re religious, for you, gods exist.

For I have seen you a-prayer, and upon bended knee,

in the pangs of devotion, overcome by piety.

Therefore swear by your own gods, that you hold so dear,

Keep trouble from my child, relieve me this singular fear,

and then, only then, all of my testimony you’ll hear.

Lucius: I swear by mine own gods, I swear to thee,

Your child shall be subject not to this death penalty.

Aaron: Well then, first you must know,

I begot him on the Empress, ‘twas a regal show.

Lucius: For this fact, myself, I had no idea,

That our queen would prove devilish, as Jason’s Medea.

Aaron: Hush now, soft Lucius, you’ve heard nothing yet,

Of this betrayal and the deeds of beget.

This, no black deed at all in compare,

To the murder of thy brother, ‘twas Tamora’s sons, the pair!

The same cut off the tongue of your sweet sister fair!

They cut her and trimmed her, and left her mute in despair.

Lucius: Foul blackness! Blood sport! Villainous array!

Aaron: Not finished yet, Lucius, I’ve not said what’s to say,

I’ve much more story to tell, seeing that my death is today.

Indeed, it was I that taught them their villainous tricks,

To blow out bright candles, to snuff mortal wicks.

While their penchant for rapine, they’ve their mother to thank,

I etched murder onto minds, which before had been blank.

I set the trap for your family in the murderous hole,

I laid Bassianus in the ground, like a freshly slain mole.

I wrote the letter including the gold that it mentions,

that same epistle which pricked your father’s attentions,

These blackest deeds are my offspring,

they were indeed my inventions.

I, the architect of the terrors that you now behold,

These egregious acts I shall willfully unfold,

Though, I should mention the part of the Queen and her sons

For they had a hand in the deeds of which I have done.

These evils that cause you to curse even the light of the sun.

I watched your own father, hold your brother’s dead skulls,

Your same brother’s which my band had recently culled.

I espied him through a crack in the wall, and I laughed at his tears,

At the realization of filial murder, a father’s deepest fears.

Lucius: Aaron, be done now, your cunning is lost upon my crowd,

There’s no resolution but death, with these deeds now avowed.

How can you say all of these things and never once even blush?

While spewing out all of dreams, and the love that you’ve crushed.

Aaron: I am black as the crow, and my spirit is such.

Lucius: Are you not even repentant, for this murderous rush?

Crowd starts to jeer.

Lucius: Let him speak, now crowd, hush.

Aaron: Aye, I’m repentant, this thought a bell rings,

that I had not done 1,000 more of such things.

Few now shall come to the evils my spirit compasses,

Of all the murdered men, and all the raped lasses.

Can you think of a day, you, or you, or you,

When I did not break happiness under the heel of my shoe?

When I did not sprinkle blood on the grass like the dew?

When I did not speak heinous lies, vicious untrues?

And on days that I did not manage to stab a man through,

I would sleep plotting his death, planning my evil’s anew.

I have broken men’s spirits, and broke their cattle’s necks,

I have dug up men’s graves, and left them a wreck.

And all this I gave not one care, not even a speck.

For there is a certain joy is propping up dead men

upon their best friends door,

What? Did you think me not capable of happiness,

on the contrary, with radiance I pour

When I carved on dead skin,

With my knife etched in gore:

“Let not sorrow die, though I am done for.”

Yes, I was happy in my evil, I’ll swear like I’ve swore.

Even in death, from the grave I shall roar,

Here lies Aaron, the blackest of Moor.

But I come to conclusion, since I don’t mean to bore,

And it happens to be that I still have the floor:

Regret? Yes regret, with regret I am sore:

10,000 further deeds I wish I could add to my score.

Lucius: Cut him down from the scaffold, and with no more delay,

We must devise fitter end, for this soul so ripe with decay.

Aaron: If there be devils, would that I were a devil,

that in your sorrows I could rejoice and revel.

And in hell I may lash you with unrestrained tongue,

breathe fire and smoke from my blackest of lung.

Lucius: Gag him! Stop him! No words from this whore!

This devilish beast, this Aaron the Moor.

P.S. Sometimes stories even this dark deserve telling

There’s something true in the evils, something compelling. 

While it’s not a moral road-map, for do this or do that,

It’s instead inherent, it’s what the exposition is trying to get at.

But I’ve been here for too long, and it’s not my intention to be obtuse, 

so that’s all for now, I remain yours, Seuss.  

My First Work, Hamlet 3.1

Enter Claudius, Gertrude, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords.

Claudius: Is it you? Can you tell me of no other reason,

why our dear Prince Hamlet is so out of season?

Rosencrantz: My king, He confesses that he feels rather distracted,

But whatever the cause, He has by no means reacted.

Guildenstern: He wanders around his brain all aloof,

His life is a parody, a play, or a spoof.

Rosencrantz: His comments are polite, yet unthinkably brief.

Guildenstern: And nothing of substance springs forth from his teeth.

Gertrude: Well, have you presented him any pastime,

To cut through all his madness, delivered in rhyme?

Rosencrantz: Oh wait! Perhaps! Of something we were told,

Guildenstern: Of which our young prince Hamlet is overjoyed to behold!

Rosencrantz: It is of the players, the show, the drama, the stage,

Guildenstern: of something theatrical to dispel all the rage.

Claudius: Good gentlemen, dispel to Hamlet, and give news of delights,

We shall have the show in court, here, on this very night.

Rosencrantz: Away with we, with a bow and a flourish

Guildenstern: We bring news to Hamlet, a spirit to nourish.

EXIT R & G

Claudius: Sweet Gerturde, away you too, I am sorry to announce,

I will be with you soon, but for now I have other accounts.

I stay for Ophelia, and the Prince to overhear,

Away with you quickly! Young Hamlet draws near.

Gertrude: I do obey, and bid you both my loving kiss

And I pray that this night may not go amiss.

Ophelia: Sweet Gertrude, I wish for nothing but this.

EXIT GERTRUDE

Polonius: My sweet, my darling, take in hands this book,

That virtue and devotion may color your look.

Claudius: Nowaway with we to the shadows, to our little nook,

We have laid our trap soundly, we’ve baited our hook.

EXIT POLONIUS AND CLAUDIUS, ENTER HAMLET

Hamlet: To be, or not to be;

that is the question of late,

To suffer the slings, and the arrows and fettering hate

in our minds, and bear all of the weight,

of a seas awash with troubles, of this outrageous fate.

And by opposing, “end them”,

but for brevity’s sake I abate.

[pause]

To die, to sleep, to rend mortal coil asunder.

To break natural bindings, “is it possible?” I wonder.

To plow human heartache a thousand leagues under.

Or is it futile?

Like the clouds yearning to break their ties with the thunder.

To sleep, perchance to dream, but I must here insert pause,

To consider for a moment the consequences and cause

Of a potential long life, suffering, whips, and scorns of time

And bearing a mind so perplexed it whispers only in rhyme.

[Pause]

And keeping us here is nothing but dread,

Of what comes swiftly, once we’ve snipped mortal thread.

And it’s the what we know not that’s the cause of the fear,

not those we know well, of suffering, and the tear.

And so my conscience does make a coward of me,

though my mind, from my weariness, longs to be free.

Be all my sins remembered, and not one forgot,

Mind, soft you, now, Not one more thought.

Ophelia looks up.

Ophelia: Good morrow my lord, How are you this day?

Hamlet: I humbly thank thee Ophelia, I’m doing okay.

Ophelia: My lord, loving words under soft moonlight were spoken,

And on that I have with me some amorous tokens.

And I long to regift them, you’ll find them unbroken.

Hamlet: No, No, I never gave you ought you fool.

Ophelia: My lord, with your harsh words, methinks you cruel.

Giving love, then rejecting,

you’ll find i’m no longer in middle school.

To be treated thus, by some ghastly, some ghoul.

Hamlet: Are you honest? Ha, ha, My Ophelia,

Are these things really true loves memorabilia?

Ophelia: My lord I know not what you mean,

I am honest and fair, though I’m scarcely 18.

Hamlet: A woman, honest and fair, ha, that’s a laugh,

Might as well say you’ve found a golden calf.

Ophelia: My lord, to be beautiful and honest, there is no greater gift.

Hamlet: I can see clearly, and can see through your shift,

And I’m realizing my thoughts may be floating adrift,

to a time when I did love you, well once that is,

you are of unparalleled beauty there, ms.

Ophelia: Now you come to the same terms you had on that night,

Hamlet: Stop. I’m truly sorry to end your source of delight,

and to give you this unspeakable, terrible fright,

But I can no longer with these lies weave,

You’ve never touched my heart,

not a scratch, not a cleave.

Not even on that fanciful day you’ve conceived,

We’ve never ever shared one amorous eve.

Ophelia: I find myself doubly, and now thrice deceived.

Hamlet: Get thee to a nunnery, would you breed sinners instead?

Have these vile thoughts entered Ophelia’s head?

Although, I may consider myself marginally well read,

men are arrant knaves all, hovering ‘tween live and dead.

Clear your mind from me, from us, from this dread

And get out, “get thee to a nunnery,” I said.

[Pause]

If thou dost marry, a plague’s your wedding gift from me,

and do not marry some nobleman, some shining marquis,

if you must marry, I pray you marry some dolt,

Then at least you’re not the cause of nobility’s moult.

Ophelia: Oh! Heavenly Powers! Restore Him! I pray!

Hamlet: You’ve not heard the end of this tirade, this day.

You jig, you amble, you nickname God’s creatures,

You inexorably amplify your own subtle features.

I know of your makeup, the falsifying of goods,

One up God? You women decided you should.

So away, now Hamlet’s speeches are over and done,

Get thee to our lord’s house, and become a nun.

EXIT HAMLET

Ophelia: O what a nobel mind is here overthrown!

And that, Hamlet demands of me to atone?

Alas, Woe is me, I would rather my beauty turn stone

Than to see seeds of discord in healthy mind sown.

Enter CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS

Claudius: Love or madness, this seems to be neither nor,

I wish we had seen this scene acts before,

For I am nervous of dangers I seek to prevent,

To keep Hamlet away from his brooding bent.

Thus, to England with him I say,

In hopes of preventing any more trouble this day.

Ay? Good sir Polonius, what do you think?

Will this plan pull our Hamlet back from the brink?

Polonius: Verily, a wonderful idea majesty,

But of one request, I request just one plea.

To send Hamlet forth later, to Ophelia and me,

I shall hide once more where unseen I can see,

That I may find if it’s love that has him weak in the knee.

Claudius: Agreed, agreed, it shall be so.

Indeed, to England, soon, with Ophelia’s Beau,

But first he heads to Ophelia’s chateau.

for Madness in great ones must not go unwatched, no.

P.S. -I’m not certain what moral from reading this tale you’re supposed to deduce.

But I remain yours, in most recent misery, Seuss.