O
that this too too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw,
and resolve itself into a dew,
Or
that the Everlasting had not fixed
His
canon ‘gainst self-slaughter. O God, God,
How
weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem
to me all the uses of this world!
Fie
on’t, ah, fie, ‘tis an unweeded garden
That
grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature
Possess
it merely. That it should come to this,
But
two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So
excellent a king, that was to this
Hyperion
to a satyr, so loving to my mother
That
he might now beteem the winds of heaven
Visit
her faced too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must
I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As
if increase of appetite had grown
By
what it fed on, and yet within a month –
Let
me on think on’t ; frailty, thy name is woman –
A
little month, or ere those shoes were old
With
which she followed my poor father’s body
Like
Niobe, all tears, why she, even she –
O
God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would
have mourned longer – married with my uncle,
My
father’s brother, but no more like my father
Than
I to Hercules. Within a month,
Ere
yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had
left the flushing in her galléd eyes,
She
married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With
such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It
is not nor it cannot come to good.
But
break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
|
Oh,
if only my body could melt away,
And
just disappear.
Or
that God had not set
His
laws against suicide – Oh, God
How
useless, worn out and boring
The
world seems to me.
Dammit!
It’s like an unweeded garden
That’s
left there, and choking, ugly things
Grow
in it. That it’s come down to this:
My father has barely been dead two months.
He
was a great king! Compared to my uncle,
Like
a sun god to a grungy animal.
He
cared for her
So
much, he wouldn’t even let the wind
Be
too rough on her face. Oh my God,
Must
I remember? She would follow him
As
if her love for him swelled
From
his presence, not his absence, but within one month –
I
can’t stop thinking about it; my mother is such a hypocrite –
The
clothes she wore aren’t even old,
From
when she attended my father’s funeral,
Constantly
crying, she was constantly crying and yet -
Oh
God, a creature without any sense of reason
Would
have mourned longer – married to my uncle,
Who,
although my father’s brother, is no more like my father
Than
I am like a demigod. Only one month,
Before
the sting of false tears,
Had
left her eyes,
She
married. The speed was wicked, to go
So
quickly into incestuous marriage.
This
has not and will not do us any good.
But
alas, nothing I say can change it now.
|
We'd had to do some research on the references (like Niobe), but I was pleased with her understanding. The second stage had me laughing, when I said to boil it all down and give me a very modern version of it. It was as follows:
I HATE MY LIFE!
MY DAD’S DEAD,
AND MY MOM’S AND
IDIOT
AND MY UNCLE’S AN
UGLY JERK! AND
NOBODY’S
LISTENING TO ME! OMG!
Shakespeare, meet the Twitter version...
