You kiss by the book

Sonnets are a girl's best friend

My dear lover, body and soul, has of late importuned me with love in Shakespearean fashion... meaning, he's sent me emails full of poetry. Appropriately, a few of them have been Elizabethan sonnets, which, as all the boys should know, are still a surefire means of winning any girl's heart. Or at least a girl whose hobby is memorizing Hamlet and King Henry V and Much Ado About Nothing and what-not.

But he has also been bugging me (in the most delicate and nerdy ways possible) to join him in memorizing some more Romeo and Juliet. The first fourteen lines the titular characters speak to each other form a sonnet, and represent a most romantic (if not ultimately auspicious) meeting of souls. It's a semi-cheeky dance of phrasing and it speaks to both of these kids' abilities to charm and evade with nought but words. Comparing Juliet to a holy shrine, Romeo implores she grace his "unworthy" lips with a touch of hers, so that he, the pilgrim, be blessed. She is convinced, eventually, and sin is purged by their pure kisses.

So yeah, OF COURSE I'd love to add this to my repertoire! If only because it would be our repertoire in the end, which will probably grow as time progresses. Given our mutual adoration of all things Shakespeare (and many other beautifully geeky things), I anticipate the day we recite this to each other will be exciting enough that it will inspire us to continue the tradition. Possibly with some Macbeth, and definitely some Benedick and Beatrice banter. Oh, the possibilities.



Romeo and Juliet, Act I Sc. V

ROMEO	[To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand
	This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
	My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
	To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
JULIET	Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
	Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
	For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
	And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
ROMEO	Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
JULIET	Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
ROMEO	O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
	They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
JULIET	Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
ROMEO	Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. (kisses her)
	Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
JULIET	Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
ROMEO	Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
	Give me my sin again. (they kiss)
JULIET	You kiss by the book.

Fear no more the heat o' the sun

Imogen's long-lost bros obviously haven't seen a lady in a long while.

Who the hell is Cymbeline? He's a curmudgeonly old king of Britain with an ice queen of a wife, and he soooo doesn't deserve first billing, much less the titular role of one of Shakespeare's most tragically underrated plays. It's his whip-smart nerd of a daughter, Imogen, who carries this story of forbidden love, betrayal, long lost family, and yet more cross-dressing.

Imogen is probably my favorite female character in all the plays. She's headstrong and beautiful, clever and sharp, and she tends to fall asleep in bed while reading. She's an outspoken geek girl of her time and she holds her own amongst all the confused men in her life.

The detailed and pretzel-like plot in no way diminishes the play's enjoyability, but I take no joy in trying to sum it up within the confines of a pithy blog post. For this speech, this is all one needs to know:

Against her father's will, Imogen elopes with the love of her life, the oddly-named Posthumus (which is semi-prophetical, since Imogen only gets to be with him after she "dies") instead of marrying her evil step-mother's clotpole of a son, Cloten. Posthumous runs off to Rome to escape Cymbeline's wary eye. Imogen is locked up by her parents, but when she gets a fake letter telling her that her husband is in Milford-Haven, she resolves to sneak out, dress as a boy named Fidele, and find him. She meets two young men--Guderius (aka Polydore) and Arviragus (aka Cadwal) who are actually her missing brothers, but the trio are none the wiser. Imogen takes a potion to cure her ills, but she pulls a Juliet and she appears to be dead, and her brothers weep over the loss of their lovable new adopted sibling. 

Over her "dead" body, Imogen's brothers sing this obsequy, which is one of the most beautiful and touching pieces of poetry in all of Shakespeare. I'd be honoured to have this read at my funeral, FYI.

Cymbeline, Act IV, Sc. II
GUIDERIUS: Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
ARVIRAGUS: Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
All follow this, and come to dust. 
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Arv. Thou hast finished joy and moan;
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
Gui. No exerciser harm thee! 
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! 
Both. Quiet consummation have; 
And renowned be thy grave!

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart

That's right. Hamatio.

This marks my foray into the "songfic" so popular amongst fanfiction circles (keep them coming, BBC Sherlock slash lovers!). Generally, these one-shot stories are based on lyrics of the author's choosing, usually of schmaltzy, romantic, or particularly emo subject matter. I felt that Hamlet was overqualified for this writing task. The song is "I Trust You To Kill Me" by Rocco Deluca and The Burden. The poem is mine. I wish the OTP name was mine, but sadly, tis not. Enjoy.

By Caitlin, Sept. 17, 2010

Most loyal Horatio, I beg thee

though mine heart dost tether itself to thy

friendship, that most harbored of stoic craft

whose stately sail catches only the wind

that it wisely desires, and thus favors

starboard nor port; simple distinction this

world hath not, ample time this Dane hath not

to study the cold waves as thou can read,

to feel the dark flames as thou can tame

I possess not the bleak facility

to take life, much less my very own

In you, Horatio, I place the judge

of my sanity and my name’s honor

I trust you with my life, my stark essence;

that which can suffer no earthly peril

None can harm me that love me, and therefore

I trust you to kill me