Mad world, mad kings, mad composition!

Ian McKellen as the "Bastard" Philip Faulconbridge

Where King Lear's Edmund was Chaotic Neutral at best, King John's "Bastard" is Chaotic Good at worst. The advantage of being illegitimate in a world of monarchic illegitimacy is that you're not born into a mould of pre-destined loyalty. You get to choose sides. And that side may simply be yourself. You choose the square on the alignment matrix that best suits your ambitions.

Philip Faulconbridge, re-dubbed Sir Richard Plantagenet by King John when Lady Faulconbridge admits to an affair with Richard Coeur-de-Lion, is some kind of hero. He's essentially Tony Stark--the guy who knows how to use "commodity" and his own intellect to his advantage, as well as to the advantage of the country he holds dear. Like Tony, he is cynical about how the world works, but still holds up loyalty, truth, and justice as the ideal paradigm for how he executes his powers. Unbeholden to anyone unless his experience of them proves their worthiness, the Bastard is a fresh contrast to the stuffy kings and advisors that populate the rest of the play with their stiff allegiances.

His famously insightful soliloquy on "commodity" and politics appears early in the play, proving that this kid's quick on the uptake. He has a bright future because he clearly recognizes how the system works without kidding himself. This speech begins as a righteous Jon Stewart-esque rant and ends with an epiphany. He gains the resolve to navigate the thorny world and still pick the fruits from the vines.


King John, Act II, Sc. I

Bastard: Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! 

John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, 

Hath willingly departed with a part, 

And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, 

Whom zeal and charity brought to the field

As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear 

With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, 

That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, 

That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, 

Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,

Who, having no external thing to lose 

But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that, 

That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity, 

Commodity, the bias of the world, 

The world, who of itself is peised well,

Made to run even upon even ground, 

Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, 

This sway of motion, this Commodity, 

Makes it take head from all indifferency, 

From all direction, purpose, course, intent:

And this same bias, this Commodity, 

This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 

Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 

Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, 

From a resolved and honourable war,

To a most base and vile-concluded peace. 

And why rail I on this Commodity? 

But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: 

Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, 

When his fair angels would salute my palm;

But for my hand, as unattempted yet, 

Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 

Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail 

And say there is no sin but to be rich; 

And being rich, my virtue then shall be

To say there is no vice but beggary. 

Since kings break faith upon commodity, 

Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.

It beggar'd all description

All that and a barge of pimps

The same man who efficiently convinced a town square full of ornery, confused Roman citizens that Julius Caesar was a great man, tragically cut down by "honorable men," had absolutely no chance when he went to Egypt. His clever, sharpened mind couldn't get a word in edgewise to his goolies the moment he saw the incomparable Queen Cleopatra. And really, no one can blame him. Antony's fellow triumvir Octavius tries, yes, but the fact that Enobarbus--Antony's crusty and sarcastic wingman--delivers one of the most sensuous, poetic descriptions of a woman ever penned by the human race is testament to Cleopatra's historically infamous powers of consummate seduction.

No one actually approves of Antony's "gyptian" affair (except Antony and Cleopatra themselves, who are having the time of their lives partying like the whole of Egypt is on an endless Spring Break). But the play displays such an extraordinary aura surrounding this most powerful and uncompromising of Shakespeare's women that it's a true wonder the original player who portrayed her was just a young boy in drag. 

From a memorization standpoint, it's one of the easier speeches to get down. The imagery is rich and beautiful, full of details that create their own "mind palace" mental map of its verbal progression. Imagine being amongst friends at a party, drink in hand, keeping their attention with a lurid story about a recent vacation you had. That's essentially what Enobarbus does.

In this scene, Caesar and Antony are in Rome, discussing Antony's recent sexual fugue in Egypt. Caesar hopes to curb Antony's unrestricted behavior by marrying his chaste sister off to Antony. As soon as the big men leave the room, Enobarbus and his buddies start talking about his time in Alexandria. They all want to know if the stories about Cleopatra's beauty are true, and Enobarbus really works the room with his little story of how Antony met her. Obviously, this speech leads the men into a bawdy conversation about Antony's bedroom exploits.

Antony & Cleopatra, Act II, Sc. II
Enobarbus: I will tell you. 
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 
The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, 
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
The water which they beat to follow faster, 
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
It beggar'd all description: she did lie 
In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue-- 
O'er-picturing that Venus where we see 
The fancy outwork nature: on each side her 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
And what they undid did...

Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, 
And made their bends adornings: at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers: the silken tackle 
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
Her people out upon her; and Antony, 
Enthroned i' the market-place, did sit alone, 
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, 
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, 
And made a gap in nature. 

More happy do not make our outward wall

Thou shalt talk to the hand

Not bad for a "missing play," Edward III chronicles the exploits of the grandfather and father of Richard II. Generally accepted as at least partially penned by Shakespeare, it proves at least more engaging than Cardenio and the plot is reminiscent of the Henriad in places. History tells us that Edward III was actually a very effective leader, so it's entertaining to see the King's foolish wooing of the Countess of Salisbury contrasted with the victorious French war heroics of his son, the Black Prince. It also gives us some insight as to why Richard II's reign was such an epic disappointment.

The play begins with a lot of Scot-bashing, so no wonder it wasn't included in the First Folio; no one wanted to rile up King James in those days. Anyway, Edward goes to rescue the poor Countess from some dirty Scots and winds up thoroughly infatuated with the woman, nagging his secretary Ludowick with his paltry attempts at dictating some primo poetry to win her married hand. The countess is flattered, but sees through the King's hormonal haze and shows him nothing more enticing than her raised palm. Perhaps it was her initial flowery greeting at the gate of her manse that he mistook for flirtation:

Edward III, Act I, Sc. II

Countess of Salisbury: Let not thy presence, like the April sun,

Flatter our earth and suddenly be done.

More happy do not make our outward wall

Than thou wilt grace our inner house withal.

Our house, my liege, is like a country swain,

Whose habit rude and manners blunt and plain

Presageth nought, yet inly beautified

With bounties, riches and faire hidden pride.

For where the golden ore doth buried lie,

The ground, undecked with nature’s tapestry,

Seems barren, sere, unfertile, fructless, dry;

And where the upper turf of earth doth boast

His pied perfumes and party coloured coat,

Delve there, and find this issue and their pride

To spring from ordure and corruption’s side.

But, to make up my all too long compare,

These ragged walls no testimony are,

What is within; but, like a cloak, doth hide

From weather’s Waste the under garnished pride.

More gracious then my terms can let thee be,

Intreat thyself to stay a while with me.

Such stuff as dreams are made on

Our memories are rounded in a sleep

Let an astrophysicist teach you a little something about learning Shakespeare. Yes, Neil deGrasse Tyson has helped me on my journey toward good memorization. The above video, which explains what biologists are finding out about the function of sleep in all animals' lives, points out that sleep is more than just rest. Sleep is like the great defragmenter of our brains, rearranging our memories of the day, organizing our jumbled thoughts and helping us access new memories more efficiently.

Just as Neil does in the video, I perform new memory tasks (repeating my speech of the week) right before bed. As I'm drifting off, I read the speech in my mind's eye. The next morning, while driving to work, I make myself repeat the speech at least two times without assistance. I find it works better than practicing in the middle of the day and expecting the same results. The lines I learned tend to get mixed up and lost with all the other events of the day. But when shoehorning some Shakespeare in before bed, the lines are more clear to me the next day.

After weeks and weeks of doing this on my own, I found this recent Talk of the Nation story on sleep and memory. Some subjects were trained in the morning and tested later in the day, and others were trained in the evening and tested the next morning. The study confirms what Neil's colleagues found; we tend to perform better with memory tasks if we are allowed to "sleep on it" before testing our recall.

I like to think of memories as tire tracks in a dirt road. The more the car or bike runs through that exact path, the deeper the grooves become. Also, the more your verbalize, the more than words become facial muscle memory, much as an athlete strives to achieve when drilling with a specified set of movements.

I can't tell you how many repetitions it takes to achieve an expert ease with a speech, but it's probably in the thousands. The first speech I ever deliberately memorized, Hamlet's "To be or not to be," took a few weeks to get down and I have often repeated it to myself over the years. I can do that one upside-down, drunk as a sailor if I have to.

Nowadays, it's a bit more scientific. On the first day, I start with four-line chunks. I usually repeat them until I can say them with my eyes closed (~10 times). By the time I've got all the lines of the speech down, I've probably repeated it all about 20-30 times total. Just before bed, I say it at least two more times. The next morning, two more times. After dinner, five to ten times, plus at least two more before bed, depending on how long it is and how tired I get. Over six days, that's well over 100 repetitions of a full speech in a week.

I often revisit old speeches from weeks before to keep them fresh. The grooves get filled in with rain and mud and I have to keep rolling through them. I've managed to add a handful of newer speeches to the "I can do it in my sleep" list, such as King Henry V's "Unto the breach" and Berowne's "Why? all delights are vain." Richard III's opening soliloquy is almost there as well as "All the world's a stage."

Sometimes, I feel like I'll NEVER get a certain speech as trippingly as that first one, but I've proven myself wrong already. It's a shocking, fantastic feeling, and I highly recommend it.

Could great men thunder

You could break a jackhammer on her chastity belt.

You know how every so often a town in America prosecutes some old lady for some obscure colonial-era law that was still on the books even though no one's enforced it for decades? Yeah, well, this is the story of how Vienna's Duke was so distracted "studying" that he realizes his town has gone to pot. To save face, he puts Angelo--the total Tool--in charge while the Duke roams the city in disguise to see how Angelo does re-enforcing the rules. 

Claudio gets arrested and sentenced to death for knocking up his betrothed before marriage--a punishment that hasn't been carried out in a while--and his sister, the uber-virgin nun-in-training Isabella, pleads to Angelo to spare her brother's life. Upon seeing Isabella, the Tool can only think with his three-inch fool and offers to release Claudio if she surrenders her chaste treasure. 

Isabella is appalled, obviously, and much is poetically debated by Claudio as to whether her integrity is worth more than his life. She is horrified by Claudio's suggestion that she take Angelo's offer, but the undercover Duke, whose own bauble is doing all his cogitating for him, decides to conjure up a plan to help Isabella that will keep her intact... hopefully for his own deflowering ambitions. 

Throughout Shakespeare's work, especially in the Sonnets, much argument is made over the desired increase from fairest creatures. It's a constant theme involved with boys and men wooing their lady loves into a bed-pressing session, and here, it's thrown into sharp relief due to Isabella's ultra-devout convent life choices and the relative and literal lawlessness of the men in Vienna. 
It's the classic dichotomy of the male gaze--woman as virgin or whore. Either way, it's plain to see how men see their own chastity--as nothing to get in a twist over. At least it's not worth their lives, because if Claudio valued his chastity as much as Isabella valued hers (assuming he knew of the law on the books in Vienna), he wouldn't have tumbled with his fiancee in the first place.

So here's Isabella, raging at Angelo about his bluster and abuse of authority (which of course, turns him on something awful):


Measure for Measure, Act II, Sc. II
Isabella: Could great men thunder 
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
For every pelting, petty officer
Would use his heaven for thunder;
Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

But if you mouth it: Notes on pronunciation

Forsooth.

I'm frequently entertained by tumblr. Sometimes, the posts surprise me with how insightful and clever they can be, and they always prove that Facebook and Pinterest will always be inferior due to their lack of GIFs. But there's one that shows up every so often regarding British accents. It claimed that Americans never stopped having a "British" accent, and that the current accent we regard as "British" is some over-poshified version of English developed over the centuries and that Shakespeare sounds "better" in an American (read: original British) accent.

Hold your diphthongs, there, glossophile. If American is the closest to Shakespeare's tongue, then why don't many of the rhymes in his sonnets work? Granted, even with a received pronunciation (RP) English accent, not all the rhymes work either, but this just proves there's 400 years of complex sociolinguistic history involved.

I recently came upon this short NPR story about Shakespeare's Accent. It features examples from the British Library's sound recording collection of Shakespeare's most famous scenes, as read by actors and actresses using an accent that is as close to the original as feasibly possible (90-95% accuracy). It results in a phonemic Rorschach test. It will sound familiar to almost any English speaker who hears it. It's not strictly any specific accent you'll ever hear, but if you have a sensitive ear, you'll recognize that it contains flecks of several regional British accents that contributed to what we think of as American (or even Australian) today.

I always challenge myself to guess where British actors come from just by listening to them. Then I check the IMDb and see how close I came. I once guessed that Richard Armitage came from somewhere close to Sheffield (South Yorkshire), because his vocals reminded me of Sean Bean. Richard's from Leicester after all, but I like to think that guessing within a two-county radius isn't bad for a non-native, non-linguistics graduate.

The truth is, Shakespeare sounds mellifluous, full stop. It's challenging to practice recitations in different accents. It serves to color the speech and give it a different emphasis. I'm no actress, but I have friends who are. (We've all had a go at pretending to be foreigners while we visit Disney parks as we were growing up. Orlando is the most anonymous place in Florida, where people come from all over the world, and fakers aren't likely to be given a second glance.)

If you're of the accent-loving clan, I recommend trying it yourself. Recite Hamlet in Scottish, or MacBeth in Irish. Or try Iago as a Southern belle. I dare you not to have fun.

For a quart of ale is a dish for a king

Sing a song of bollocks!

It's not every play that is honoured with having one of its quotes printed on one of those neon Tyvek wristbands at a beer festival, but The Winter's Tale recently joined those very exclusive ranks. Last year, I attended the first annual Florida Brewers Guild Beer Fest in Ybor City, and I enjoyed it so much that I went again last weekend. Being the self-taught Shakespeare/Beer Geek I am, I was doubly tickled by the fest's chosen quote of the day: "For a quart of ale is a meal for a king."

Of course, I've only seen it quoted as "dish"(at least the Folio version printed it that way) and not "meal," but hey, it's the thought that counts. I recognized it right away as a line from Autolycus' semi-bawdy song because I had already memorized the entire thing. It's a merry and cheeky tune that serves as his grand entrance into the play. He's a rogue and a conman, and so proud of it that he belts out his intentions as soon as he steps in front of the audience. Despite his disreputable occupation, Autolycus magically manages to be empathetic enough in his three whole scenes because he accidentally helps reveal the true identity of Perdita--the long lost daughter of the king, abandoned when she was a baby, raised by a shepherd in the country. 

This song is basically Autolycus' version of "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music, outlining how he loves to pilfer laundry hanging on shrubbery, listen to birds sing as he beds whores, wander aimlessly through the night, and of course, drink copious amounts of ale. 

The Winter's Tale, Act IV, Sc. III
Autolycus: When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay...
...But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
The pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget,
Then my account I well may, give,
And in the stocks avouch it. 

Speak the speech, I pray you: 5 quick and dirty tips to maximize memorization

I just started my 41st speech this week. No, I'm not done yet, so don't bust out the tankards of mead and cups of sack quite yet. I've doubled up on a few (quadrupled on Hamlet), so I have handful left before I reach my goal of at least one speech from each play. I felt this a good time to begin imparting some wisdom to anyone who might be inclined to try this on their own.


1) Practice every goddamned day. I start on Sunday with a new speech. I find it is best to learn the whole thing all in one go, and then over successive days, I progressively wean myself from checking the text every other line until I get more confident with it. I tried breaking up longer speeches up into eight- or ten-line bites over four days... but very few of them are so long that I feel I must do that to keep my sanity. I did Richard III's monstrosity over several days early on in the project, but did Richard II's behemoth much more quickly. Soon enough, shorties (20 lines or less) became a piece of the proverbial cake. Cram before bed, when your brain is ripe for filing away new things. Practice in your shower. Practice in your car on your way to or from work. No one will judge you there.

2) Say it out loud. Turn your speech into an earworm. Just like a catchy song you hear fifteen times on the radio at work, the speech will follow you around better if you know how your own voice sounds reciting it. Say it without a sound. Mouthing the words without giving them voice helps develop muscle memory. You tend to exaggerate it when you voicelessly recite, but I've found it opens you up to delivering it more clearly and effortlessly when you voice it again. It's like isometric exercise for your tongue.

3) Watch or listen to actors delivering the speeches you choose. I cannot tell you how much more easy it was to memorize speeches that were already done for me. Sir Kenneth Branagh's recitation of Hamlet's fourth soliloquy ("My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!") will never sop rolling around in my brain. Ben Whishaw's Richard II sitting on the sunny shore of his England as his voice fights the breeze will forever inform my delivery of his monologue about the death of kings. I will never not think of Tom Hiddleston soliloquizing as Prince Hal in King Henry IV Part One. They are more than just pretty faces to me ;)

4) Research the character. Research the vocabulary. Never try to recite anything out of context. Find out what is supposed to be motivating the character and keep it at the forefront of your mind. For each speech, I read the corresponding chapter in Marjorie Garber's "Shakespeare After All" just so I'd recall the plot and get more in depth analysis of characters. Look up every unfamiliar word or phrase. It'll all come more naturally if you know what the bloody hell you're actually saying. Memorization is a party trick. Comprehension takes work. We're here for enrichment of our brains, not for boot camp drills.

5) Choose speeches that intrigue you. At first, this is simple. There are so many speeches on the menu. But after a while, you're bound to hit plays that don't enthuse as much as others, or you simply aren't familiar with them at all. If you can't find something that you like, you're not going to spend as much time with it and you'll lose interest. I've read every play and highlighted the bejesus out of my old paperback copy of the Complete Works, so I could always spot a passage that got my attention and analyze it for potential memorization material. If you lack such a personalized resource, I recommend checking http://www.shakespeare-monologues.org for worthy suggestions.


This will take more than 40 weeks. I don't think I'll be satisfied with myself until a year passes. I took a few breaks to give myself a chance to review old speeches and just because real life carries you away sometimes.

I've already chosen my final speech--one that I think will test all my skills and patience. It's Shakespeare's longest soliloquy, and it marks the return of that trusty bastard Richard Gloucester in his salad days during Henry VI Part Three. 71 lines of pure, uncut soliloquizing. I can't wait!

Few love to hear the sins they love to act

He's got 99 problems and sea is definitely one.

Whenever you're feeling low, just read some of "The Painfull Aduentures of Pericles, Prince of Tyre" and you'll realize that your lot ain't that bad. Pericles gives Job a run for his money. He's shipwrecked, his wife dies, he gives up his daughter for adoption, vows not to shave, hears that his daughter is dead fourteen years later, and falls into nearly catatonic depression. Then this very hirsute gentleman is serenaded by his not-dead daughter and reunited with his not-dead wife and all is well. Only Doctor Who/Sherlock writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss write more infamously heartbreaking tales.

The story starts out innocently enough (or as innocently as Greek adventures go) with Antiochus' riddle. He offers his daughter's hand in marriage to whomever can solve it, but failure assures that the suitor's head will join the rest that so boldy furnish the anti feng-shui decor of the palace. Brave Pericles arrives and checks out the goods, then says he accepts the challenge of the riddle. He figures it out almost instantly: Antiochus is committing incest with his own daughter. This totally sinks Pericles' proverbial boat (he sinks his literal boat later), and he spouts this very subtle speech, delivered with a wink, which lets Antiochus know that the jig is up:

Pericles, Prince of Tyre, Act I, Sc. I

Pericles: Great king,

Few love to hear the sins they love to act;
'Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.
Who has a book of all that monarchs do,
He's more secure to keep it shut than shown:
For vice repeated is like the wandering wind.
Blows dust in other's eyes, to spread itself;
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear:
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts
Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng'd
By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die for't.
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's their will;
And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?
It is enough you know; and it is fit,
What being more known grows worse, to smother it.
All love the womb that their first being bred,
Then give my tongue like leave to love my head.