The Tell-Tale Rocker

[Paul Mackin]

Right on, Terrance. The Bush reign won't have a Shakespeare to rewrite
history for it. (not that I don't support pretty much the anti-terrorists
efforts of Rumsfeld and Powell).

The War of the Rose law firm.

        P.

----- Original Message -----
From: "Terrance" <lycidas2 at earthlink.net>
To: <pynchon-l at waste.org>
Sent: Monday, November 26, 2001 10:21 AM
Subject: Re: The Tell-Tale Rocker


> Now is the winter of our discontent
>     Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
>     And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
>     In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
>     Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
>     Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
>     Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
>     Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
>     Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
>     And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
>     To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
>     He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
>     To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
>     But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
>     Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
>     I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
>     To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
>     I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
>     Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
>     Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
>     Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
>     And that so lamely and unfashionable
>     That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
>     Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
>     Have no delight to pass away the time,
>     Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
>     And descant on mine own deformity:
>     And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
>     To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
>     I am determined to prove a villain
>     And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
>     Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
>     By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
>     To set my brother Clarence and the king
>     In deadly hate the one against the other:
>     And if King Edward be as true and just
>     As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
>     This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
>     About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
>     Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
>     Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
>     Clarence comes.
>
> Pointsman has a dog named GLOUCESTER.
>
>
>
> Paul Mackin wrote:
> >
> > Richard Duke of York exemplifies Poe's human compulsion toward death and
> > destruction. (HenryVI, part 3)
> >
> > Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
> > I have no brother, I am like no brother;
> > And this word "love", which greybeards call divine,
> > Be resident in men like one another
> > And not in me: I am myself alone.
> > Clarence, beware: you keep me from the light.
> > But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
> > For I shall buzz abroad such prophecies
> > That Edward shall be fearful of his life,
> > And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
> > King Henry and the Prince his son are gone.
> > Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,
> > Counting myself but bad till I be best.
> >
> >         P.
>