August 2010
1 post
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January 2010
43 posts
62
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed
Beated and chopp'd with tanned antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
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Listen
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Sir Toby:
Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think because thou art virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Feste:
Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth too.
Sir Toby:
Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stope of wine, Maria!
Malvolio:
Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favor at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule. She shall know of it, by this hand.
(Twelfth Night Act 2, scene 3, 114–124)
Listen
Hostess:
You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
Sly:
No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
Hostess:
I know my remedy; I must go fetch the thirdborough. [Exit]
Sly:
Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law. I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come and kindly. [Falls asleep]
(The Taming Of The Shrew Induction, scene 1, 7–15)
Maria:
Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.
Malvolio:
My prayers, minx!
Maria:
No; I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
Malvolio:
Go hang yourselves all! You are idle shallow things, I am not of your element. You shall know more hereafter. [Exit]
Sir Toby:
Is't possible?
Fabian:
If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
(Twelfth Night, Act 3, scene 4, 118–128)
True is it that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church,
And sat at good men’s feasts, and wip’d our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engend’red;
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have
That to your wanting may be minst’red.
(Duke Senior, As You Like It Act 2, scene 7, 120–126)
“I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him.”
– (Henry VIII 1.1.68-9)
Listen
111
O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdu'd
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand
Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink,
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection;
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
“You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,
With meekness and humility;...”
– Henry VIII 2.4.118-20
35
No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,--
Thy adverse party is thy advocate,--
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence
Such civil war is in my love and hate,
That I an accessary needs must be,
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
Benedick:
What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
(Much Ado About Nothing, I, i, 118)
Listen
Orlando:
Then love me, Rosalind.
Rosalind:
Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
Orlando:
And wilt thou have me?
Rosalind:
Ay, and twenty such.
Orlando:
What sayest thou?
Rosalind:
Are you not good?
Orlando:
I hope so.
Rosalind:
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
(As You Like It Act 4, scene 1, 115–124)
“Journeys end in lovers meeting,”
119
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is, by evil still made better;
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuk'd to my content,
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.
“… Every wise man’s son doth know.”
– Feste, Twelfth Night (II, iii, 44-45)
...
…
Prospero:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air.
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
(The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158)
...
This site was assembled by Alpha Auer, the aim being none other than to create entertainment to it’s creator. It is nothing but a frivolous (21st century) rococo folly and should in no way be seen as an ambitiously serious undertaking but rather as tongue-in-cheek play.
All of this has come about due to storyteller Frigg Ragu’s extraordinarily expressive poses created in Second Life....