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Sonofabitch, it rained! It has been so long since the last rain that this is seems somehow illegitimate. Of course, this happen just as the temperature moderates enough for a walk. And the cats cannot enjoy their little taste of the outdoors, as they must stay in the house continuously. It looks like this weather will stick with us for a few days, too.
Jan. 8th, 2014
Hamlet (4,3) Do It, England!
Jan. 8th, 2014 10:29 amAfter Claudius informs Hamlet that he is being sent to England and has him escorted out, he urgently impresses upon Rosencrantz and Guildenstern the need to carry out the fatal commission that he hands them:
Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard;
Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night:
Away! for every thing is seal'd and done
That else leans on the affair: pray you, make haste.
After Rosencrantz and Guildenstern leave, Claudius commands the stage alone.
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught -
As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to us - thou mayst not coldly set
Our sovereign process; which imports at full,
By letters congruing to that effect,
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;
For like the hectic in my blood he rages,
And thou must cure me: till I know 'tis done,
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.
It is interesting to contrast this angst-ridden soliloquy to Claudius’s first speech in Act One, when he was obviously elated in his new power and his new marriage. He had gotten away with murder. He killed the king and became the king and bedded the charming widow in the process, and no one was the wiser. But now he knows that his joys were never truly begun. He has one more big hurdle left.
Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard;
Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night:
Away! for every thing is seal'd and done
That else leans on the affair: pray you, make haste.
After Rosencrantz and Guildenstern leave, Claudius commands the stage alone.
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught -
As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to us - thou mayst not coldly set
Our sovereign process; which imports at full,
By letters congruing to that effect,
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;
For like the hectic in my blood he rages,
And thou must cure me: till I know 'tis done,
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.
It is interesting to contrast this angst-ridden soliloquy to Claudius’s first speech in Act One, when he was obviously elated in his new power and his new marriage. He had gotten away with murder. He killed the king and became the king and bedded the charming widow in the process, and no one was the wiser. But now he knows that his joys were never truly begun. He has one more big hurdle left.
Working on the Three Journal, I am back flipping through my journal entries from the 1990s. What shit! A whole decade wasted. Well, that may be too harsh and extreme, but it can feel that way. I cannot help wondering what my journal would have looked like if we had the Internet back then and I was keeping a blog. And what about the possibility of connecting with others then in the way that I did in the last ten years? But I am just torturing myself. And reading through these chicken-scratchings from the 90s is torture enough.