Monday, December 5, 2011

"When others would give life, and bring a tomb .."






  Whence com'st thou?
  What would'st thou?
  thy name?
  Why speak'st not?
  Speak, man: what's thy name?





                
                I never saw that you did painting need,
                And therefore to your fair no painting set;
                I found (or thought I found) you did exceed
                The barren tender of a poet's debt:
                And therefore have I slept in your report,
                That you yourself, being extant, well might show
                How far a modern quill doth come too short,
                Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.


If, Tullus,
Not yet though know'st me,
and seeing me, dost not
Think me for the man I am, necessity
Commands me name myself.

What is thy name?

A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine.

Say, what's thy name?
Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face
Bears a command in't. 
Though thy tackle's torn,
Thou show'st a noble vessel. What's thy name?



                This silence for my sin you did impute,
                Which be most my glory, being dumb;
                For I impair not beauty, being mute,
                When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
                   There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
                   Than both your poets can in praise devise.


Prepare thy brow to frown: know'st thou me yet?

I know thee not! Thy name?

My name is Caius Martius, who hath done
To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces,
Great hurt and mischief: thereto witness may
My surname, Coriolanus. 
.. 

O Martius, Martius!
Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart
A root of ancient envy.











William Shakespeare

Coriolanus, IV, v 
  [in italic font]
op. cit.

Sonnet, 83
  [in plain font]
1593-1596
1609 publication
Helen Vendler
The Art of Shakespeare's Sonnets
Harvard University Press, 1997©


René Girard
A Theatre of Envy:
  William Shakespeare
Oxford University Press, 1991©







4 comments:

  1. This is how I know that the very gods speak through men :

    This silence for my sin you did impute,
    Which be most my glory, being dumb;
    For I impair not beauty, being mute,
    When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
    There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
    Than both your poets can in praise devise.

    ReplyDelete
  2. They don't seem to mind, you could say, adopting us to voice their love.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Shakespeare often times brings me so much Joy , it brings me to tears .

    ReplyDelete