Wednesday, 12 September 2007

Sad But Happy Post

JAQUES: Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

ROSALIND: Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

JAQUES: I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

ROSALIND: A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

Shakespeare (or Sir Bacon or Earl Oxford or Dame Jobsworthy CBE or whatever have you as long as he or she is not common or clever) "As You Like It" IV 1

Glossary: melancholy, emulation, fantastical, politic, nice, simples, sundry, humorous: alas poor Jaques, these words don't mean, any more, what you thought they meant. Did they, even then?

Alas poor Yorick, your skull (featured) and bones (not) were being dug up to make room for more, and nobody ever cared whether they really were yours or not.

Or whether the Play was "written" by somebody, once. By whom? Your opinions and more importantly feelings welcomed.


Wickedred said...

Scholar's Melancholy? That sounds contagious.

My head was all digging for a FEELINGY passage...but it kept spitting this out I give you - Shakespeare for Wednesday...

What is it that they do when they change us for others? Is it sport?I think it is: and doth affection breed it? I think it doth: is't frailty that thus errs? It is so too: and have not we affections, Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have? Then let them use us well: else let them know, The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.

Chertiozhnik said...

Contagious? I would bet it is a disease of plums, quinces and other soft fruits.

So I am standing in my orchard, with my straw hat on, looking sadly at the trees, and my Catalan orchard-manager is saying, "Wot they got is scholar's melancholy, mate" only in Catalan, and unconvincingly.

Shakespeare - and Joy - for Wednesday!

While I am examining my fruit trees, at least in the back of my mind a problem is solved: why my good lady wife ran off with the postman. Or "carter" in Catalan.