Tired with all these…

…from the quills of the dead white poet

William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)

 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,-

As, to behold desert a beggar born,

And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,

And purest faith unhappily forsworn,

And gilded honour shamefully displaced,

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,

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.

 [Sonnet LXVI]

This could also go as “Nothing New Under the Sun (Almost)”.

About Avadoro Worden

Iconoclast
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>