Posted on 09/09/2017 6:47:03 PM PDT by nickcarraway
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man!
Ping
Lear, buddy...have a Snickers...
bttt
Lol!!!
Post of the day
The ONLY good thing about being my age is that somebody might ask me to play Lear.
I think I can remember a line from that play (at least I think it’s Lear):
“We are but wanton flies to the gods. They kill us for their sport.”
A great work, but dark!
Maybe a Milky Way.
As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods. They kill us for their sport.
Ok, thanks for that.
At least—after some 50+ years—my memory got close!:)
Sir Ian tears off his clothes in the “storm scene” as a disturbed Lear says: “Off, off you lendings! [clothes]. Come unbutton here.” One of two Sirs doing storm duty.
Very close, it’s: “As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods. They kill us for their sport.”
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