Anonymous asked: Ok, I'm giving up, you completely convinced me that you're a rubbish interlocutor, because there's no way I can reason with you - you want to hear only yourself, and yourself only.
Faith (wench), I cannot court thy sprightly eyes
With the bass viol placed between my thighs.
I cannot lisp, nor to some fiddle sing,
Nor run upon a high-stretched minikin.
I cannot whine in puling elegies,
Entombing Cupid with sad obsequies.
I am not fashioned for these amorous times
To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes.
I cannot dally, caper, dance and sing,
Oiling my saint with supple sonneting.
I cannot cross my arms, or sigh, Ay me,
Ay me, forlorn — Egregious foppery!
I cannot buss° thy fist, play with thy hair,
Swearing by Jove thou art most debonair.
Not I, by cock! But shall I tell the roundly,
Hark in thine ear: Zounds, I can ( ) thee soundly
Actually, anon, I would say
He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.
(for context, y’all should check out the preceding responses and pages-long cited arguments about how queer Shakespeare’s sonnets are)
Even out of context of the contention, Icryyoumercy’s explanation is a very good (if somewhat lengthy) read, and worth recommending to anyone interested in the subject.
that was the most beautiful smackdown in the history of ever.