Previously in this series.
Old women have prophesied against thee.
Thou talk’st to thyself of murder. Often. Thou dost not even attempt to hide this.
Thy friend has been horribly mutilated.
Thy fool is remarkably faithful.
Thou must avenge a death.
Thou hast seen a ghost! (But only college-educated men may speak to it.)
“Thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?” asks thy love, upon thy parting. (The answer to her question? “Ha ha, no.”)
Thou hast thy family much offended. In return, thy family causes thy death.
Thou knowest at least two people murdered this eve.
Thy husband doubts thy fidelity.
The only more common crime than poisonings are regicides.
Thou hast had a prophetic dream.
Though in a grave profession, thou hast such wit, disguised princes seeking revenge cannot help but stop to banter with thee.
Thou seest thy foe, and more dances thy rapt heart than when thou first thy wedded mistress saw bestride thy threshold.
Thy friend demands of thee, “What hast thou done?” I’faith, thou canst respond, “Thy mother.”
Everyone is terrible. If they be not bad, they be mad. Or dead.
Thy friend’s newly mad child has sung a hey-nonny-nonny full of horrifying implications.
Equivocators are we all — save for children, fools, and madmen. They are remarkably on point.
Alas, how troubled thy marriage bed! Thinkst ‘twill improve? Too late! Thou art dead.
Regicide makes any marriage stronger.
Thou hast eaten thy children. Literally.
Thy impulsiveness has led thee to murder nearly everyone thou knowest.
Thou hast trouble with thy garments or thy personal hygiene habits.
Thou hast been attacked by pirates.
Thou hast not received a letter of great import.
Thou art consumed with thoughts of thy own death.
Thou hast been attacked by the landscape!
Thou takest political advice from strangers in moors.
Thou hast murdered thy wife’s previous husband. She’s fine with this.
Think not on what men say of thee behind thy back. Beware of the daggers behind thee, though.
What warlike noise is this? A subplot thou hast completely forgotten about.
Someone has impaled themselves on a sword. Oddly enough, this is not a dick joke.
Who art thou kidding? That was totally a dick joke.
Thy friend is dead.
Thy mother is dead.
Thy father is dead.
I’faith, everyone thou knowest is dead.
Thou art dead. Thy death was probably easily avoidable.
Tags: books, elyse martin, how to tell what novel you’re in, shakespeare
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Every line of this was a thing of beauty and a treasure.
Phew! I was worried for a bit. Wait a moment – there’s a moor outside that wishes to speak with me.
I’m not sure about that last one. Can someone write “How to Tell You’re Dead”?
Regicide makes any marriage stronger.
Truth. Or at least, hornier.
I don’t often miss teaching summer lit courses to adolescents, but I do right now. My students would’ve loved this,
Thou art departing with great haste, pursued by a bear.
Best stage direction ever.
…sad as it may be for you, you’d still be in a comedy. At best, you’re at the end of the tragic bit of a tragicomedy.
Except Horatio, that shifty motherfucker.
In high school I wrote a lengthy essay about Horatio actually being Hamlet’s imaginary friend and I was very proud of it. I’ve come to learn since that this isn’t an uncommon argument and the special snowflake teenager inside of me is crushed.
“Someone has impaled themselves on a sword. Oddly enough, this is not a dick joke.
Who art thou kidding? That was totally a dick joke.”
100%
The only more common crime than poisonings are regicides.
But what if the regicides are poisonings?
I have an idea for a new Infocom text-based adventure game.
Oh, Titus. *shakes head* *throws away pies*
I just wanted to say–thank you for using thee, thou, and the second person informal correctly.
“Thy death was probably easily avoidable.”
You know that ‘yelling at the idiotic characters on the TV’ thing people frown upon? They really REALLY frown upon it when you do it at the Shakespeare Festival. And yet.
Well, the people frowning are less historically accurate than the person yelling at the villains onstage, so there.
Best stage direction ever.
Uh oh. My daughter is constantly singing nonsense songs and being attacked by the landscape. And I have not received any letters of great import! I’ faith, I have found me mine genre.
Well, the people frowning are less historically accurate than the person yelling at the villains onstage, so there.
“Old women have prophesied against thee”
Well, this is definitely familiar.
Aunt Hydra: *sniff* ‘You’re probably never gong to work and be a student all your life’.
If only this would come to pass. But alas, grad school is expensive.
WHY IS THIS IN PROSE? Here:
If mentioned in a grey dam’s prophecy,
Or speakst of deadly matters openly,
Not hiding that thy thoughts are all of blood,
If keenly missing digits is thy bud,
If others mark how much thy Fool is leal,
If to avenge a death thou canst not fail,
If thou the dreadful ghost can only see
If thou art well equipp’d with higher Degree,
If when thy love doth ask “Shall e’er again
We two unite and knit our hearts clove twain?”
Thou hearest in the distance clear but low
A hundred voices whisper “Haha, NO!”
If all thy kin, offended, doth repay
Thine offense with thy death within the day,
If on this eve already thou’st slain two,
And if thy husband doubts thou hast been true,
If e’en more common than a poisoning
Is in this land the murther of a king,
If future portents often thou dost see,
When sleeping, napping, or feeling drowsy,
If in thy grave profession thou’st such wit
That often disguised princes with thee sit
And take just for a scene, a break to chat,
Before they try again their vengeful act,
If seeing thy foe’s visage dost thou feel
More joy than on thine evening hymeneal,
If when thy friend demands, “What has thou done?”
Thou answerest “Thy mother!” not in fun,
If all around are awful, dead, or mad
As thy friend’s child who with music sad
Doth even now a “hey nonny” intone
That for thee hast fell implication,
If all around thee doth equivocate
Save children fools and those in maddened state,
If lo how troubled is thy marriage bed,
And ‘fore thou canst improve’t thou art too dead,
If regicide a marriage will improve,
If thy child’s bones do through thy bowels move,
If thine impulsiveness has led thee to
Exterminate, just, everyone we knew,
If troubled thou’rt by garments, lack of bath,
Or thou’rt beset e’en now by pirates’ wrath,
If thou’st received a letter of import,
Or thou art troubled thou art not immort,
If thou hast been attacked by the landscape,
Or seeking to thy court intrigue escape
Thou tak’st advice from strangers in the moor,
If killing thy wife’s ex is no big for
Thy wife, thyself or anyone around,
If thou pay’st no attention to the sound
Of whispers in thy shadow but beware
Of all the daggers thou finds’t lurking there,
If warlike noise thou canst safely ignore
Because it doesn’t matter past Scene IV,
If one impaled upon a sword is not
At all a dick joke (But it is; a lot)
If friend, and mother, father, all are slain,
Along with, just, all thou knewest, I fain,
If thy death couldst thou easily avoid
But didn’t, and it was by all enjoyed,
Then, though the news to take thou may’st find hard,
Thou mayst be in a play writ by the Bard.
This is amazing. I don’t know how long it took you, but I felt I had to comment, since no one else had. Well in!
HOLY. MOTHERFUCKING. SHIT. This is the greatest thing I have ever seen in my life.
A poet honey-tongued thou art indeed!
And now again your rhymes I will re-read.
A poet honey-tongued thou art indeed!
And now again your rhymes I will re-read.