Tried to get Kenneth Branagh to read this for us, but apparently he's still at Stratford rejoicing in Friday evening's triumph:
“Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices, That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open, and show riches Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.”
I'd love to hear your teacherly guy's analysis of that Lindsay,
3 comments:
Tried to get Kenneth Branagh to read this for us, but apparently he's still at Stratford rejoicing in Friday evening's triumph:
“Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.”
I'd love to hear your teacherly guy's analysis of that Lindsay,
Lindsay,
Your artwork is spot on - I'm so jealous ;-)
Ash
So glad God we poets still have free will, opinions and guts. Great satire Lindsay.
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