Bill The Bard
Speak the speech he said, and we spoke it,
but to this day I can never wrap my head around it.
Now my co-mates and brothers in exile hath not even Brando wondered,
when asking Gielgud about a passage and who replied
I don't know what it means either, but just move it along and everything will be fine.
But you see, a learned friend would say, during Elizabethan times the English language was in an early rapid stage of development. Will and his merry players were constantly revising words, their spelling and usage.
During a Shakespeare class I told the instructor most of the time I didn't know what “F” William was talking about. So I listened to his method of poetic verse and within the hour I found myself heading for the door, trying to sneak out without a squeak, but fate had other plans. In order to demonstrate the drama of the bard just as I exited a firm and slippery wind came rushing down the hallway grabbed the door out from under my fingers and slammed it like a thunder clap. I heard (and felt) the class proctor step into the hallway and give me the dirtiest of looks.
Well, that's show biz.
It is beautiful language and the British have a right to be proud of their fine son of the isle who penned it. If indeed he was a son and if there was just one—damning mystery surrounding the fellow and those records don't always accommodate, I digress – nevertheless, I do wish, that I, humble of origin and pure of heart could find a love for the language of Bill The Bard, but outside of rattling off certain poetic passages, the verse leaves me wondering and my mind wandering.
Good tribute in poetic prose to the great bard that was Shakespeare. Greetings, @artgrafiken.