When one doth perchance to partake of Shakespeare in the park
verily he feels himself a rogue…alone…amiss
For ‘tho he hath found himself truly nourish’d by the play…
He is loathe to discover his calamity…
to speak like this.
He mayeth stop at yonder McDonalds on his journey home…
his desire: to order a quaff to quench his thirst
and fie, fie drive away with nothing but his scorn
when the stewed prune behind the counter thinks him accursed.
He, may, perchance, bite his thumb at thee
or call thee a most notable coward…a lowly philistine
He may say, “away you dried neat’s tongue…you three-inch fool”
Forsooth…without knowing what the words he spoke doth mean.
Pray, pardon he, if consum’d he be
to playeth his sweet Alexa ’til the break of dawn,
crying out in discordant harmony…
if music be the food of love
play on…
forsooth play on.
And when he finally retires for the e’en…
ready to woo so into his bed he leaps…
he behold’st the object of his affection,
his fair maiden…
the one he woos…
hath fallen fast asleep!
Fear not, when thy spy yonder person under such a spell!
Strain not the quality of thy mercy..but hark!
Alas, do not think him vile or mad…again fear not…
he is but a knave…
who forgot to leave his Shakespeare in the park.
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