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O Romeo, Romeo...

'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world. ~William Shakespeare
 
He that has and a little tiny wit--
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,--
Must make content with his fortunes fit,
For the rain it raineth every day.
 
KATHARINA


Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband's foot:
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready; may it do him ease.

Now who can name that play?
 
He who writes on TK walls
rolls their shit in little balls
and who reads these words of wit
eats those little balls of shit
 
Here's one with a familiar line to some:

Hymn to the Lowered

Dance a cross. The way is light.
Rapt, in silence. Let's not fight.
Can we visit? Shall we dance?
Lose ourselves in neck romance?
Mine, not yours is Truth and Way.
Turtles eating Lettuce pray.
 
Mares eat oats
and does eat oats
and little lambs eat ivy
a kid'll eat ivy too
wouldn't you?
 
Now there you got me. My dad used to sing it to me when I was a kid, and I remember the crazy father in Twin Peaks singing it in one episode.

Oklahoma? Pajama Game? Evita?
 
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