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capri0mniTo celebrate, I will publicize one of your saddest sonnets.
Ironic? Perhaps, but I love your wordplay, here. And I also love your closing thought: that despite the cruelty of abused privilege, power and corruption, there is one thing that makes life worth trudging through -- and that's love shared between two people.
Sonnet 66:
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
Ironic? Perhaps, but I love your wordplay, here. And I also love your closing thought: that despite the cruelty of abused privilege, power and corruption, there is one thing that makes life worth trudging through -- and that's love shared between two people.
Sonnet 66:
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
